Originally published in The Casket, or Flowers of Literature, Wit and Sentiment (Atkinson & Alexander) vol.3 #2 (Feb 1828).
The recent publication of the Chronicles of the Canongate, and the avowal contained in them that Sir Walter Scott is the author of it, and also of its predecessors from Waverley downwards, has excited a greater interest to know more of the domestic habits, residence, furniture, &c. of the hitherto Great Unknown. To gratify this curiosity, we proceed to extract from a late book of Travels in England and Scotland, the following description of Abbotsford, of which we rejoice to learn his creditors have left him in possession.
The antiquarian reputation which the 8cottish romancer has acquired, created in us a great desire to visit his chateau on Abbotsford. Whoever has read the works of Walter Scott, knows with what minuteness he describes the arms, dresses, and furniture of his countrymen. Beyond all doubt he has made a valuable collection of these different objects. Moreover, we love to penetrate the home of a man of genius, to visit the places which he frequents and repairs to enjoy the inspirations of his muse.
"Before the principal door of the chateau there is a small garden, in the middle of which there is a basin; this basin is ornamented by rude figures, of a style of architecture belonging to the middle ages. The dining hall is large, beautiful, and decorated with paintings. We remarked, among other things, a magnificent engraving of the famous ballad of Chevy Chace—Percy and Douglass immolated on the same day; two illustrious warriors falling victims to predatory habits. I admired a fine portrait of Fairfax, the republican general; another of Falstaff, with his round paunch; a portrait of Dr. Rutherford, a maternal uncle of Sir Walter; Shakspeare, in comedy, holding a glass in his hand; several scenes of the Flemish school; a fine portrait of the Duke of Monmouth, and particularly one of Claverhouse, calm and dignified as he is described by the author of Old Mortality. This picture is so beautiful, that it may explain the predilection with which the Viscount of Dundee has been brought into the scene, by a poet who had him so constantly before his eyes: another portrait, on the opposite wall, excited in mean emotion not less vivid. This was the head of Mary Stuart;—but the bleeding head of Mary Stuart, placed in a basin just when it was separated from the body; the enchanting countenance which always inspires melancholy, made me shudder for the olden time.
"We entered next the cabinet of the Poet, or rather his armory. This is, in fact, a small museum of arms. We entered with caution into this sanctum sanctorum, which recalled to us that of the laird of Monckbarns.
"Daylight cannot enter here but through the gothic glass, painted in various colours. On a large table placed in the middle of the apartment, there were placed three of the ancient shields, or targets, which were a part of the armour of the Highlanders. This armour consisted of a long sword or claymour, hanging on the left, and a dagger stuck in the belt on the right, to be used in personal encounters, when the combatants are so closely engaged that the sword has become useless.
"A fusee or a pair of pistols complete this apparatus of war. Sometimes the mountaineers carried a kind of axe; and previously to their using the fusees, or when they wanted ammunition, they supplied their place by the Lochaber axe, a kind of long spike, terminated by a frightful iron, equally calculated to keep off or to kill an adversary. All these instruments of war figure in the cabinet of Walter Scott, though but one coat of mail, an addition to the Scottish costume, which was sometimes adopted by the chiefs. Among the fusees, there was one which originally belonged to Rob Roy Macgregor. These antique arms are placed in the corners of the room, and appear at first sight like the ancient heroes to whom they belong, waiting for the magician to record their mighty deeds, and render their names illustrious.
"From the armory, I passed to the library, traversing again the rooms which I had already visited. Here I confess that if I had not been apprehensive of becoming troublesome, I would have requested permission to devote at least one good hour to the inspection of this collection. With what avidity would I have opened those volumes, which appeared to be most used! What an hour of solitude might have been employed amidst these treasures! The shelves of the armory were occupied by Danish and German books, these of the other by Italian and Spanish. I admired, in the department of French literature, a fine collection of our fables and memoirs, a Montaigne, a Corneille, magnificent editions, &e. I ought to have seen Racine, who was not there, at least I could not find him.
"From the library, I repaired to the apartments in the first story, where I remarked several portraits, one of which represented Mrs. Lochart, and her sister, with Maida, (Sir Walter's dog.) I saw likewise a portrait of the celebrated critic, Jeffrey—an excellent likeness.
"A terrace conducted me to a square tower which forms part of the chateau, and to an old iron grate, decorated, which seemed to me immovable, and incrusted in the wall. I inquired into the use of it, and learned that it was the door of the old goal of Edinburgh, the Tolbooth, the same door which replaced that which had been destroyed by the mob when they sought the life of Porteus; the door which closed upon Effie Deans, when the Tolbooth was taken down. It was presented by the magistrates of the city to Sir Walter Scott. I mounted to the top of the tower, from which I enjoyed a fine prospect. The music of a bagpipe was heard in the neighbouring hills; whether its shrill accents were softened by distance, or the poetry of the place had communicated itself to the instrument, I know not, but, for the first time, I was delighted with it. I imagined that it might be the pipe of Roderic of Sky, the old musician of the mountains, who had found a welcome in the domains of Abbotsford."