The walls of one room were of carved oak from the Dunfermline Abbey; the ceiling of another imitated from Roslin Castle; here a fireplace was wrought in the image of a favorite niche in Melrose; and there the ancient pulpit of Erskine was wrought into a wall.  To him, doubtless, every object in the house was suggestive of poetic fancies; every carving and bit of tracery had its history, and was as truly an expression of something in the poet’s mind as a verse of his poetry.

A building wrought out in this way, and growing up like a bank of coral, may very possibly violate all the proprieties of criticism; it may possibly, too, violate one’s ideas of mere housewifery utility; but by none of these rules ought such a building to be judged.  We should look at it rather as the poet’s endeavor to render outward and visible the dream land of his thoughts, and to create for himself a refuge from the cold, dull realities of life, in an architectural romance.

These were thoughts which gave interest to the scene as we passed through the porchway, adorned with petrified stags’ horns, into the long entrance hall of the mansion.  This porch was copied from one in Linlithgow palace.  One side of this hall was lighted by windows of painted glass.  The floor was of black and white marble from the Hebrides.  Round the whole cornice there was a line of coats armorial, richly blazoned, and the following inscription in old German text: 

“These be the coat armories of the clanns and chief men of name wha keepit the marchys of Scotland in the old tyme for the kynge.  Trewe men war they in their tyme, and in their defence God them defendyt.”

There were the names of the Douglases, the Elliots, the Scotts, the Armstrongs, and others.  I looked at this arrangement with interest, because I knew that Scott must have taken a particular delight in it.

The fireplace, designed from a niche in Melrose Abbey, also in this room, and a choice bit of sculpture it is.  In it was an old grate, which had its history also, and opposite to it the boards from the pulpit of Erskine were wrought into a kind of side table, or something which served that purpose.  The spaces between the windows were decorated with pieces of armor, crossed swords, and stags’ horns, each one of which doubtless had its history.  On each side of the door, at the bottom of the hall, was a Gothic shrine, or niche, in both of which stood a figure in complete armor.

Then we went into the drawing room; a lofty saloon, the woodwork of which is entirely of cedar, richly wrought; probably another of the author’s favorite poetic fancies.  It is adorned with a set of splendid antique ebony furniture; cabinet, chairs, and piano—­the gift of George IV. to the poet.