conscience void of offence, (without which, by-the-by, they can hardly exist,) are the quiet exercise and enjoyment of the social feelings, in which we are at once happy ourselves, and the cause of happiness to them who are dearest to us." 11. Every page of the work, almost, shows us how intimately he blended himself with the pleasures and the pursuits of his own family, watched over the education of his children, shared in their rides, their rambles, and sports, losing no opportunity of kindling in their young minds a love of virtue, and honorable principles of action. 12. But Scott's sympathies were not confined to his species, and if he treated them like blood relations, he treated his brute followers like personal friends. Every one remembers old Maida and faithful Camp, the "dear old friend," whose loss cost him a dinner. Mr. Gillies tells us that he went into his study on one occasion, when he was winding off his "Vision of Don Roderick." "Look here,' said the poet, 'I have just begun to copy over the rhymes that you heard to-day and applauded so much. Return to supper if you can; only don't be late, as you perceive we keep early hours, and Wallace will not suffer me to rest after six in the morning. Come, good dog, and help the poet.' 13. "At this hint, Wallace seated himself upright on a chair next his master, who offered him a newspaper, which he directly seized, looking very wise, and holding it firmly and contentedly in his mouth. Scott looked at him with great satisfaction, for he was excessively fond of dogs. Very well,' said he; 'now we shall get on.' And so I left them abruptly, knowing that my 'absence would be the best company.'" W. H. PRESCOTT. II. 120. SCENE FROM IVANHOE.1 OLLOWING with wonderful promptitude the directions of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of the large ancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of 'This scene is laid in England, in the twelfth century. Wounded and a captive in the castle of Front-deBœuf, a Norman knight, Ivanhoe, carries on this conversation with Rebecca, the young Jewess, while the castle is undergoing an assault from a party of outlawed forest rangers, led on by Richard, king of England, the unknown knight. the window, Rebecca, with tolerable security to herself, could witness part of what was passing without the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were making for the storm. 2. "The skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although only a few are advanced from its dark shadow." "Under what banner?" asked Ivanhoe. "Under no ensign of war which I can observe," answered Rebecca. "A singular novelty," muttered the knight, "to advance to storm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed!-Seest thou who they be that act as leaders?" "A knight, clad in sable armor, is the most conspicuous," said the Jewess; "he alone is armed from head to heel, and seems to assume the direction of all around him.” 3. "What device does he bear on his shield?" replied Ivanhoe. "Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted blue on the black shield." "A fetterlock and shacklebolt ăzure,” said Ivanhoe; "I know not who may bear the device, but well I ween it might now be mine own. Canst thou not see the motto ?" Scarce the device itself, at this distance," replied Rebecca; "but when the sun glances fair upon his shield, it shows as I tell you." 4. "Seem there no other leaders?" exclaimed the anxious inquirer. "None (nŭn) of mark and distinction that I can behōld from this station," said Rebecca; "but, doubtless, the other side of the castle is also assailed. They appear even now preparing to advance." Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements. 5. "And I must lie here like a bedridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand of others!-Look from the window once again, kind maiden,-but beware that you are not marked by the archers beneath,-look out once more, and tell me if they yet advance to the storm."-With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again (ă gen′) took pōst at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath. 6. "What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again demanded the wounded knight. "Nothing (nuth'ing) but the cloud of ǎrrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them." "That can not endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for, as the leader is, so will his followers be." "I see him not," said Rebecca. 7. "Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe ; " does he blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?" "He blenches not! he blenches not!" said Rebecca; "I see him now; he leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbacan.' They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers-they rush in-they are thrust back!-Front-de-Bouf' heads the defenders ;-I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. It is the meeting of two fierce tides-the conflict of two oceans, moved by ǎd'verse winds!" 8. She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable lõnger to endure a sight so terrible. "Look forth again, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. Look again; there is now less danger." Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed :"Front-de-Bœuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife. Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed, and of the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed:-"He is down!-he is down!" "Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe. which has fallen ?" "For our dear lady's sake, tell me 9. "The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again shouted, with joyful eagerness,-"But no-but no!-he is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty 1 Bar' ba can, an advanced work defending the entrance to a castle or city, as at a draw-bridge or gate. ? Păl`i sade', a strong sharp stake, one end of which is set firmly in men's strength in his single arm-his sword is broken-he snatches an axe from a yeoman-he presses Front-de-Bœuf with blow on blow-the giant stoops and totters, like an oak under the steel of the woodman-he falls-he falls!" 10. " Front-de-Boeuf ?" exclaimed Ivanhoe. "Front-deBoeuf!" answered the Jewess. "His men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar-their united fōrce compels the champion to pause-they drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls." 11. "The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?" said Ivanhoe. "They have-they have!" exclaimed Rebecca, "and they press the beseiged hard upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of each other-down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they bear the wounded men to the rear, fresh men supply their place in the assault. Great God! hast thou given men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!" 12. "Think not of that," said Ivanhoe; "this is no time for such thoughts. Who yield?-who push their way?" "The ladders are thrown down," replied Rebecca, shuddering. "The soldiers lie groveling under them like crushed reptiles-the besieged have the better!" 13. "Saint George strike for us!" exclaimed the knight; "do the false yeomen' give way?" "No!" exclaimed Rebecca; "they bear themselves right yeomanly-the Black Knight approaches the postern' with his huge axe-the thundering blows which he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts of the battle-stones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion-he regards them no more than if they were thistledown or feathers!" 14. "By Saint John of Acre!" said Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his couch; "methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed!"-"The postern gate shakes," continued Rebecca; "it crashes-it is splintered by his blows they rush in-the outwork is won-they hurl the defenders from the battlements-they throw them into the 'Yeo' man, a man free born; a freeholder. sage between the parade and the main ditch, or between the ditches of * Pōs' tern, an under-ground pas- the interior of the outworks of a fort. moat! Oh, men,-if ye be indeed men,-spare them that can resist no longer!" 15. "The bridge,—the bridge which communicates with the castle, have they won that pass?" exclaimed Ivanhoe. "No," replied Rebecca; "the Templar has destroyed the plank on which they crossed-few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle-the shrieks and cries which you hear, tell the fate of the others! Alas! I see it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle!" 16. "What do they now, maiden?" said Ivanhoe; "look forth yet again-this is no time to faint at bloodshed." "It is over for the time," answered Rebecca. "Our friends strengthen themselves within the outwork which they have mastered, and it affords them so good a shelter from the foeman's shot, that the garison only bestow a few bolts on it, from interval to interval, as if rather to disquiet than effectually to injure them." SCOTT. SIR WALTER SCOTT, a Scottish poet and novelist, one of the most remarkable and laborious writers of any age, was born in Edinburgh, August 15th, 1771. Being a delicate child, he was sent at three years of age to reside on his paternal grandfather's farm, in Roxburghshire, a region abounding in traditions of the border wars, to which even in infancy he was an eager listener. He returned to Edinburgh in 1779, greatly improved in health, excepting a lameness from which he never recovered. He soon became a pupil in the high school of Edinburgh, whence, in 1783, he was transferred to the university. His career at school or college was not brilliant; but he was an indefatigable reader of romances, old plays, poetry, and miscellaneous literature, and a keen observer of natural scenery. After six years devoted to professional study in his father's office, to miscellaneous reading, and composition, he was called to the Scottish bar, in 1792. He married Miss Charlotte Carpenter, a young lady of great beauty, in 1797. His first great poem, "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," on its publication in 1805, was received with universal admiration, and placed the author among the foremost poets of the age. His appointment, in 1806, to one of the chief clerkships in the Scottish Court of Sessions, with a salary soon increased to £1300, enabled him to devote himself exclusively to literature. In 1808" Marmion" appeared; in 1810, the "Lady of the Lake;" which were followed by the "Vision of Don Roderic," "Rokeby," and in 1815, "The Lord of the Isles." In the summer of 1814, he commenced his more splendid career, as a novelist, by publishing "Waverley." In that year a portion of his literary gains were devoted to the purchase of a small farm on the river Tweed, not far from Melrose, to which he gave the name of Abbotsford, now one of the most famous literary shrines of Scotland. To "Waverley" rapidly succeeded, for nearly fifteen years, his series of novels that appeared anonymously. In 1826, two firms, his publishers and his printers, failed, leaving Scott's liabilities little less than £150,000. Unappalled by the magnitude of his misfortunes, having secured an extension of time, at the age of fifty-five, he heroically set to work to reimburse his creditors by his literary labors. At the time of his death, at Abbotsford, September |