very much indeed--was the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, literally the
head cut off and lying on a dish. It is said to have been painted by an
Italian or French artist, two days after her death. The hair curls or
flows all about it; the face is of a death-like hue, but has an
expression of quiet, after much pain and trouble,--very beautiful, very
sweet and sad; and it affected me strongly with the horror and
strangeness of such a head being severed from its body. Methinks I
should not like to have it always in the room with me. I thought of the
lovely picture of Mary that I had seen at Edinburgh Castle, and reflected
what a symbol it would be,--how expressive of a human being having her
destiny in her own hands,--if that beautiful young Queen were painted as
carrying this dish, containing her own woful head, and perhaps casting a
curious and pitiful glance down upon it, as if it were not her own.

Also, in the drawing-room, there was a plaster cast of Sir Walter's face,
taken after death; the only one in existence, as our guide assured us.
It is not often that one sees a homelier set of features than this; no
elevation, no dignity, whether bestowed by nature or thrown over them by
age or death; sunken cheeks, the bridge of the nose depressed, and the
end turned up; the mouth puckered, and no chin whatever, or hardly any.
The expression was not calm and happy; but rather as if he were in a
perturbed slumber, perhaps nothing short of nightmare. I wonder that the
family allow this cast to be shown,--the last record that there is of
Scott's personal reality, and conveying such a wretched and unworthy idea
of it.

Adjoining the drawing-room is the dining-room, in one corner of which,
between two windows, Scott died. It was now a quarter of a century since
his death; but it seemed to me that we spoke with a sort of hush in our
voices, as if he were still dying here, or had but just departed. I