I give but a faint outline of the story from vague recollection; it
may, perchance, be more richly related elsewhere, by some one who may
retain something of the delightful humor with which Scott recounted it.

When I retired for the night, I found it almost impossible to sleep;
the idea of being under the roof of Scott; of being on the borders of
the Tweed, in the very centre of that region which had for some time
past been the favorite scene of romantic fiction; and above all, the
recollections of the ramble I had taken, the company in which I had
taken it, and the conversation which had passed, all fermented in my
mind, and nearly drove sleep from my pillow.

* * * * *

On the following morning, the sun darted his beams from over the hills
through the low lattice window. I rose at an early hour, and looked out
between the branches of eglantine which overhung the casement. To my
surprise Scott was already up and forth, seated on a fragment of stone,
and chatting with the workmen employed on the new building. I had
supposed, after the time he had wasted upon me yesterday, he would be
closely occupied this morning, but he appeared like a man of leisure,
who had nothing to do but bask in the sunshine and amuse himself.

I soon dressed myself and joined him. He talked about his proposed
plans of Abbotsford; happy would it have been for him could he have
contented himself with his delightful little vine-covered cottage, and
the simple, yet hearty and hospitable style, in which he lived at the
time of my visit. The great pile of Abbotsford, with the huge expense
it entailed upon him, of servants, retainers, guests, and baronial