"Cy git le preux Percy." (Here lies the brave Percy.)

I paused, supposing it to be the tomb of some stark warrior of the
olden time, but Scott drew me on. "Pooh!" cried he, "it's nothing but
one of the monuments of my nonsense, of which you'll find enough
hereabouts." I learnt afterward that it was the grave of a favorite
greyhound. Among the other important and privileged members of the
household who figured in attendance at the dinner, was a large gray
cat, who, I observed, was regaled from time to time with tit-bits from
the table. This sage grimalkin was a favorite of both master and
mistress, and slept at night in their room; and Scott laughingly
observed, that one of the least wise parts of their establishment was,
that the window was left open at night for puss to go in and out. The
cat assumed a kind of ascendancy among the quadrupeds--sitting in state
in Scott's arm-chair, and occasionally stationing himself on a chair
beside the door, as if to review his subjects as they passed, giving
each dog a cuff beside the ears as he went by. This clapper-clawing was
always taken in good part; it appeared to be, in fact, a mere act of
sovereignty on the part of grimalkin, to remind the others of their
vassalage; which they acknowledged by the most perfect acquiescence. A
general harmony prevailed between sovereign and subjects, and they
would all sleep together in the sunshine.

Scott was full of anecdote and conversation during dinner. He made some
admirable remarks upon the Scottish character, and spoke strongly in
praise of the quiet, orderly, honest conduct of his neighbors, which
one would hardly expect, said he, from the descendants of moss
troopers, and borderers, in a neighborhood famed in old times for brawl
and feud, and violence of all kinds. He said he had, in his official