And yet in the midst of this homage and increasing prosperity, one of
the most fortunate of human beings, Scott's head was not turned. His
habitual modesty preserved his moral health amid all sorts of
temptation. He never lost his intellectual balance. He assumed no airs
of superiority. His manners were simple and unpretending to the last. He
praised all literary productions except his own. His life in Edinburgh
was plain, though hospitable and free; and he seemed to care for few
luxuries aside from books, of which life made a large collection. The
furniture of his houses in Edinburgh and at Abbotsford was neither showy
nor luxurious. He was extraordinarily fond of dogs and all domestic
animals, who--sympathetic creatures as they are--unerringly sought him
out and lavished affection upon him.

When Scott lived in Castle Street he was not regarded by Edinburgh
society as particularly brilliant in conversation, since he never
aspired to lead by learned disquisitions. He told stories well, with
great humor and pleasantry, to amuse rather than to instruct. His talk
was almost homely. The most noticeable thing about it was common-sense.
Lord Cockburn said of him that "his sense was more wonderful than his
genius." He did not blaze like Macaulay or Mackintosh at the
dinner-table, nor absorb conversation like Coleridge and Sydney Smith.
"He disliked," says Lockhart, "mere disquisitions in Edinburgh and
prepared impromptus in London." A _doctrinaire_ in society was to him an
abomination. Hence, until his fame was established by the admiration of
the world, Edinburgh professors did not see his greatness. To them he
seemed commonplace, but not to such men as Hallam or Moore or Rogers or
Croker or Canning.

Notwithstanding Scott gave great dinners occasionally, they appear to