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.
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