catching, as well as our position near the door allowed us to do, a
few stray sentences of a prayer, which was feelingly offered up by the
parish clergyman, we became so oppressed by the heat of the room, that
we ventured to steal away to enjoy the air in the porch.

That porch was soon tenanted in our imagination by that venerable ideal
image which we had been all this while courting to our side. With it
we continued to hold sacred communion--with it we looked, as we had
formerly done with the reality, on the effigy of _Maida;_[2] and
the harsh truth that Maida's master was now as cold as Maida itself,
went rudely home to our hearts. But footsteps came slowly and heavily
treading through the small armoury: they were those of the servants
of the deceased, who, with full eyes, and yet fuller hearts, came
reverently bearing the body of him whose courteous welcome had made
that very porch so cheerful to us. We were the only witnesses of this
usually unheeded part of the funeral duties: accident had given to us a
privilege which was lost to the crowd within. We instinctively uncovered
our heads, and stood subdued by an indescribable feeling of awe as the
corpse was carried outwards; and we felt grateful, that it had thus
fallen to our lot to behold the departure of these the honoured and
precious remains of Sir Walter Scott from the house of Abbotsford, where
all his earthly affections had been centered. The coffin was plain and
unpretending, covered with black cloth, and having an ordinary plate on
it, with this inscription, "Sir Walter Scott, of Abbotsford, Bart., aged
62." "Alas!" said we, as we followed the precious casket across the
courtyard--"alas! have these been the limits of so valuable a life?"

Having followed the coffin until we saw it deposited in the hearse,
which stood on the outside of the great gate of the courtyard, we felt
ourselves unequal to returning into the apartment where the company were