Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey | Page 9

pet spaniel, placed herself near Mrs. Scott, by whom, I soon
perceived, she was completely spoiled.
The conversation happening to turn on the merits of his dogs, Scott
spoke with great feeling and affection of his favorite, Camp, who is
depicted by his side in the earlier engravings of him. He talked of him
as of a real friend whom he had lost, and Sophia Scott, looking up
archly in his face, observed that Papa shed a few tears when poor Camp
died. I may here mention another testimonial of Scott's fondness for his
dogs, and his humorous mode of showing it, which I subsequently met
with. Rambling with him one morning about the grounds adjacent to
the house, I observed a small antique monument, on which was
inscribed, in Gothic characters--
"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
capacity of sheriff, administered the laws for a number of years, during
which there had been very few trials. The old feuds and local interests,
and rivalries, and animosities of the Scotch, however, still slept, he said,
in their ashes, and might easily be roused. Their hereditary feeling for
names was still great. It was not always safe to have even the game of
foot-ball between villages, the old clannish spirit was too apt to break
out. The Scotch, he said, were more revengeful than the English; they
carried their resentments longer, and would sometimes lay them by for
years, but would be sure to gratify them in the end.
The ancient jealousy between the Highlanders and the Lowlanders still
continued to a certain degree, the former looking upon the latter as an
inferior race, less brave and hardy, but at the same time, suspecting
them of a disposition to take airs upon themselves under the idea of
superior refinement. This made them techy and ticklish company for a
stranger on his first coming among them; ruffling up and putting

themselves upon their mettle on the slightest occasion, so that he had in
a manner to quarrel and fight his way into their good graces.
He instanced a case in point in a brother of Mungo Park, who went to
take up his residence in a wild neighborhood of the Highlands. He soon
found himself considered as an intruder, and that there was a
disposition among these cocks of the hills, to fix a quarrel on him,
trusting that, being a Lowlander, he would show the white feather.
For a time he bore their flings and taunts with great coolness, until one,
presuming on his forbearance, drew forth a dirk, and holding it before
him, asked him if he had ever seen a weapon like that in his part of the
country. Park, who was a Hercules in frame, seized the dirk, and, with
one blow, drove it through an oaken table:--"Yes," replied he, "and tell
your friends that a man from the Lowlands drove it where the devil
himself cannot draw