As soon as Scott was enough recovered of lameness to be able to take active exercise, and when simplicity of life and increasing years had relieved him of the weaknesses and illnesses by which in infancy and early youth he was beset, he often wandered off on excursions, sometimes of weeks in duration, among the beautiful scenes for which Scotland is famous. With a trusty servant of about his own age, he would walk from village to village, dining now in some hospitable farm-house or cottage, now by roadside. He was pos

sessed of a genial disposition and a pleasing address; and what with his skill as a story-teller, his humor and joviality, was always a welcome guest at any of the humble abodes in which he found it convenient to pass the night. The "gudeman" was liberal, and with drinking and singing the evenings passed pleasantly away.

Until Scott received the appointment of Sheriff, these excursions were frequent; but afterwards as he became better known, the nature of his position put a restraint upon these wild rambles, and rendered him more cautious and less familiar in his intercourse with

the peasantry. It was in these strolls that Scott picked up the materials for the Border Minstrelsy, the first of his youthful compilations that gained him any credit, and it is without doubt to the vividness of his recollections of these journeys-on-foot that we owe some of the most striking of his portraitures of landscape and some of the most natural of his delineations of character. He would always carry a note-book about him, to which he confided the beauties that delighted, the jokes that amused, and the characters that interested him, and to which he could refer when occasionally his astonishing memory was at fault. We have now followed Scott from his birth to the beginning of his literary career. We have seen a few of the circumstances under which his character developed, have learned the materials which he had collected and with which he was about to build for himself an unprecedented fame, — and, what is more than all, have become aware how little he had to work with except what Providence had bestowed upon him when he entered the world, and what his assiduous observation of nature and of human character had given him besides, — how little he had been fitted for his great task by an acquaintance with the minds of other men, how much by a study of his own.

The "Lay of the Last Minstrel" made its appearance in 1805, and was followed by "Marmion in 1808. The sale of these two poems was immense. In England, in a space of twenty years, sixty

six thousand copies of the two works were disposed of. Between the years 1808 and 1814, the "Lady of the Lake,” the "Vision of Don Roderick," "Rokeby," "Lord of the Isles," and "Harold the Dauntless" appeared in rapid succession. In 1812, Lord Byron published his "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," which, by its richness of thought and expression, and novelty of construction and subject, succeeded in diverting public attention from Scott. The last of the latter's poems were received with greatly diminished favor; and Scott seems to have discovered, almost simultaneously with the public, that the sphere in which he had previously reigned supreme was invaded by an enemy who overmatched him. He had too much pride to occupy a subordinate position after his former supremacy, and cast his eye about him for some new ground, to which his right of possession should be undisputed, and, if possible, indisputable. It seems that, some time before, he had begun a romance, which the unfavorable verdict of a friend, who heard it in an unfinished state, had caused him to lay aside. This long-neglected manuscript he now drew from its obscurity, completed, and gave to the world in 1814, under the title of "Waverley; or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since." The success of this novel was immediate and brilliant. Immense numbers of copies were printed and sold in Great Britain, and it was, besides, translated into foreign languages, and extensively circulated through Europe. The complete success of "Waverley" incited Scott to renewed efforts; and "Guy Mannering," "The Antiquary," "Rob Roy," and a host of others, delighted the world, and, in spite of the attempted concealment of their authorship, elevated Scott to the highest pinnacle of literary fame.

In 1820, Scott was created Baronet; and after enjoying his title for five years amid unexampled prosperity, after building on the Tweed the immense and incongruous castle of Abbotsford, and carrying it on with all the lavish hospitality of the feudal ages; after receiving at it all the distinguished men of his time whom curiosity led to visit the home of the far-famed Scotchman, he was in a day reduced to beggary. In 1825, Ballantyne & Co. and Constable & Co. failed; and Scott, having been connected in business with both firms, was discovered to be liable to the enormous extent of £147,000, or half a million of dollars.

Although it is thought that he was not free from blame, and was not wholly unconscious of the impending storm, which (to use his own words) broke upon him "almost without one note of premoniVOL. VIII. NO. 72.

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tion," his conduct after his disaster was certainly noble, and ought to counteract any prejudice against him to which his previous actions may have given rise. Instead of allowing his misfortunes to depress or dishearten him, Scott bent to his work with redoubled energy, and seemed to encounter his increased burden with increased strength. He determined to pay off his debts by his pen! The task was Herculean. But, nothing daunted, he begun it. In the midst of all the trials which poverty imposed on him, and to the bitterness of which the death of his wife added immensely, Sir Walter finished the beautiful novel of "Woodstock," and wrote his "Napoleon," a history which, however it may be marred by inaccuracies and tinged by national prejudice, contains some splendid specimens of descriptive writing. Soon after "Napoleon" appeared the "Chronicles of the Canongate," which indicate scarcely any decay of intellectual power. Gradually, however, labor, sorrow, and age broke him down. In 1831 it was decided that a sojourn in Italy was the only thing which could restore him to health, or even keep him alive; and as the journey through France was too fatiguing to be undertaken, application was made to the government to obtain for him a berth aboard some vessel of war. So earnestly did his friends bestir themselves in his behalf, that the king ordered a free passage for Scott, his son, and daughter, to Malta in the frigate Benham. In October, 1831, Sir Walter Scott bade adieu to the shores of his native land, and, after a stay of about a year at Malta and in Italy, returned to England in June; and having, at his earnest request, been borne to Abbotsford, expired there on the 21st of September, 1832. "The intelligence of Scott's death," says Allan, "long expected as it was, passed like the voice of a tempest over Britain, subduing and hushing to silence every sound save of itself.” "We can be charmed no more," says Bulwer. "The elegant tongue is mute; the master's wand is broken up; the right hand hath forgot its cunning; the cord that is loosened was indeed of silver, and the bowl that was broken at the dark well was of gold beyond all price." Thus, in the sixty-first year of his age, passed away the poet, novelist, and historian, honored and lamented by the world, — a man whom the intoxications of fame could not upset, and whom the rude buffetings of misfortune never discouraged.

Whether Scott deserves to be classed among the great poets has always been a matter of controversy. Many men who are ready to allow his pre-eminence as a novelist are reluctant to admit his claims

to be enrolled among the famous English bards, and some see in him neither a great poet nor novelist. His poetry is so thoroughly original in its character, that where the originality fails to please the poetry itself is distasteful. The "Lay of the Last Minstrel❞ achieved an immense success; but this success, Scott himself avers, was in a measure owing to the low state of poetical composition at the time of its publication, and to the relief which the octosyllabic metre in which it was written afforded from the monotony of the heroic metre which had long prevailed, and which Dryden and Pope had employed almost exclusively. It is of course impossible for us to determine how great an effect the causes to which Scott partially attributed the favor of his reception really had upon the popularity of his poems at their first publication; but now that the octosyllabic metre is no longer a novelty, we can be sure that it prejudices us but little when we attempt to form an opinion of his merits as a poet.

The great charm of Scott's poems, as of his novels, is their naturalness. Nature, whether inanimate or human, seems reflected from his page as from a mirror of the purest glass. There is no distortion of its forms, no change in its coloring. There was a maiden in a certain fairy tale who possessed a mirror, in which, even when far away from them, she could behold her home or her friends, as it appeared or as they were acting at the moment. The works of Scott are such a mirror, with this difference, that, instead of a single individual, all mankind may behold their reflections, and in them may witness men and things, not of to-day, but long ago dead and passed away, restored to life again and represented with all the vividness of reality. Scott's fidelity to nature is observable alike in his poetical and prose writings, and in fact there are few merits to which his prose or poetry can exclusively lay claim. The wealth of their author's imagination, the purity and clearness of his expression, the delicacy of his sentiment, and the rigor of his dialogue are equally noticeable in both. Mr. Carlyle designates Scott's poems as "metrical," and his novels as 'prose romances"; and so they are. The poems could, one and all, have been expanded into novels. The "Lady of the Lake" and "Rokeby" would have made quite as good novels as "Waverley" and "Old Mortality." The poems are rose-buds, the novels full-blown roses. Both contain equal amounts of material. Both have the same coloring, and both are equally beautiful. The poems are the more delicate and finished, the novels the more luxuriant and gorgeous. It needed but the warm breath of Scott's unfettered imagination to have

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made the buds roses, and required only the restraints of versification to have kept the roses buds.

In his elaborate argument to prove Scott unworthy of the appellation "great," Mr. Carlyle says: "There is nothing spiritual in him. A love of picturesque, of beautiful, rigorous, and graceful things, -a genuine love, yet not more genuine than has dwelt in hundreds of men named minor poets, this is the highest quality to be discerned in him." I have always liked to think that a love so pure as the love of the beautiful in nature was akin to the love of God, and should be very reluctant to be convinced, even if such a love were not entirely spiritual, that it had not in it a strong element of spirituality. I do not believe, therefore, that there was nothing spiritual in Scott, nor shall I, until convinced that the love and admiration of nature have nothing elevating and ennobling in them, or rather until I am satisfied that they do not spring from something high and noble in a man's character and aspirations. That inferior poets have had a "love of beautiful, rigorous, and graceful things" as genuine as Scott had no one will attempt to deny. But who would think of asserting that this love alone entitles them to stand in the same rank with the Scottish bard? A poet must be able not only to feel, but to express. If all that mankind ever thought or felt had been committed to writing, the sublimest ideas and the noblest emotions of Shakespeare and Milton would possibly have seemed comparatively weak and mean. A great musician must not only appreciate music, but must be able to manifest his appreciation. He gains credit, not for what he feels, but for what he expresses. So is it also with the painter, and so with the poet. The question is not, then, who has loved the picturesque, the beautiful, the rigorous so much as Scott, but who has expressed that love so beautifully. A question not easily answered, and one that must be answered by any one desiring to disprove Scott's claim to greatness.

It has been said of Scott, "No man has written as many volumes with so few sentences that can be quoted." If we acknowledged, which we do not, that having one's words quoted were a sign of their valuableness, then we should have to yield the palm to Pope above all other poets. For, tried by this test alone, Milton and Shakespeare are inferior to him. But the test is an unfair one. It is not to be supposed, because Scott is seldom quoted, that he did not therefore utter many noble sentiments and inculcate many moral lessons. Scott was a very diffuse writer. He did not attempt to