The interior of the castle bespeaks the mansion of the lesser Scottish Baron. The sunk-floor, or keep, seems, from its structure, to have contained the cattle of the Baron during seasons of alarm and invasion. It is vaulted in the roof, and the light is admitted by a small outshot. Some have conjectured that this apartment was occupied as a dungeon, or _Massy More_, where the captives taken in war were confined; but this idea is improbable, not only from the comfortable appearance it exhibits, but from the circumstance of every border fortress having a place of the description formerly alluded to. Ascending a narrow winding staircase, we arrive at a spacious hall, with the customary distinction of a huge chimney-piece. The roof is gone, but the stone props of it, which were of course the support of another floor, remain. This latter would seem to have been the grand banqueting-room, where the prodigal hospitality of our ancestors was displayed in its usual style of extravagance. There also remain the marks of a higher floor, thus making three storeys in all. The highest opens by a few steps to the bartizan we have already mentioned, whence we ascend to a grass-grown battlement, which commands a magnificent prospect. To the east the spires of Berwick are descried, terminating an extensive plain, beautified by the windings of the Tweed; to the south, the conical summits of the Eildon Hills; to the north, the Lammermoors rear their barren heads above the verdant hills of the Merse; and on the south, the blue Cheviots are seen stretching through a lengthened vista of smaller hills. Besides this grand outline, the eye can take in a smaller range, beyond the rocky barrier of the Castle,—a most cultivated dale, varied with peaceful hamlets, crystal streams, and towering forests. The history of the ancient possessors of the tower is involved in obscurity. We only know that there were Barons of Smailholm, but no memorable qualities are recorded of them. They were, as we already observed, in the rank of the _lesser_ Barons—that is, those who had not the patent of peerage, but who were dignified only by the extent of their possessions. But we know that the present proprietor, Mr. Scott, of Harden, is not a descendant of that ancient family, as we believe he acquired the estate by purchase. This gentleman cares so little for the antique pile within his domains, that it is not long since he intimated his intention to raze it to the ground, and from its materials to erect a steading to the farm of Sandy-knowe. This would have certainly taken place, had not his poetic kinsman, Sir Walter Scott, interfered, and averted the sacrilegious intent; and to prevent the recurrence of the resolution, he composed the admired ballad of the Eve of St. John, which ranks among the best in the Border Minstrelsy.