remember nothing else in this room. The next one is the armory, which is
the smallest of all that we had passed through; but its walls gleam with
the steel blades of swords, and the barrels of pistols, matchlocks,
firelocks, and all manner of deadly weapons, whether European or
Oriental; for there are many trophies here of East Indian warfare. I saw
Rob Roy's gun, rifled and of very large bore; and a beautiful pistol,
formerly Claverhouse's; and the sword of Montrose, given him by King
Charles, the silver hilt of which I grasped. There was also a superb
claymore, in an elaborately wrought silver sheath, made for Sir Walter
Scott, and presented to him by the Highland Society, for his services in
marshalling the clans when George IV. came to Scotland. There were a
thousand other things, which I knew must be most curious, yet did not ask
nor care about them, because so many curiosities drive one crazy, and
fret one's heart to death. On the whole, there is no simple and great
impression left by Abbotsford; and I felt angry and dissatisfied with
myself for not feeling something which I did not and could not feel. But
it is just like going to a museum, if you look into particulars; and one
learns from it, too, that Scott could not have been really a wise man,
nor an earnest one, nor one that grasped the truth of life; he did but
play, and the play grew very sad toward its close. In a certain way,
however, I understand his romances the better for having seen his house;
and his house the better for having read his romances. They throw light
on one another.

We had now gone through all the show-rooms; and the next door admitted us
again into the entrance-hall, where we recorded our names in the
visitors' book. It contains more names of Americans, I should judge,
from casting my eyes back over last year's record, than of all other
people in the world, including Great Britain.