and appearance. He was more than six feet high, deep and broad chested, his head of remarkable height and small circumference. His eyebrow was projecting, and hedged with coarse, reddish gray hair; his eye was deep-set, small and piercing; his features were coarse, but his expression sagacious and keen. The skin of his face was coarse and dappled with freckles. His voice was deep and rough, but hearty. His speech smacked of the broad Scottish dialect.

I saw him frequently afterwards. On one occasion, I met him at the house of his son-in-law, Mr. Lockhart, then living in Edinburgh, a lawyer of high standing, and since renowned for his literary works, which had already attracted general attention. Nothing could be more quiet and simple than Sir Walter's manners. He abounded in anecdote, relating his stories with the least possible ostentation.

He spoke of Miss Edgeworth, and related an amusing scene which took place upon her first introduction to Abbotsford. A wild man, from the Highlands, had for some reason gone thither, and Sir Walter had taken so much notice of him as to entertain him, and at evening requested him to sing a Gaelic song. The man consented, but required the whole party to sit down in a circle upon the floor, in the dining-room, when he commenced his strain with truly stentorian lungs. While all, including Sir Walter, were engaged in this way, Miss Edgeworth was announced and introduced into the room!

Sir Walter spoke of several American writers; of Irving, whom he claimed to have introduced to Mur

ray, the London publisher, thus setting him forward in the path of fashion and success; of Charles Brockden Brown, the author of Wieland-whom he regarded as possessing a genius superior to his model, Godwin; and of Cooper, whose "Pilot" had been recently published, and which Sir Walter had just read. He expressed great admiration of the work; and when I told him that Mr. Cooper published nothing under his own name, until after he was thirty years of age, he remarked-" A man is generally foolish who does otherwise."

We sat at the dinner table for some hours after the ladies had withdrawn. The news of Byron's death had just reached Edinburgh, and the noble poet became the subject of conversation. Sir Walter spoke of him with great feeling; indeed, with a melancholy and touching interest. When we went to the drawing-room, Mrs. Lockhart was requested to sing. She was a small, lively lady, rather handsome, and of much grace and graciousness of manner. She sung several Scottish songs, accompanying herself upon the harp. Sir Walter seemed to relish the songs greatly; he beat time vigorously with his lame foot, and struck into the chorusses-but neither in tune nor time. His heart was affected by the sentiment of the song and the music, though his defective ear could not accurately appreciate the measure or the melody. His eyes often rested with fondness upon his daughter, who gave him back a look of recognised and returned affection. These beautiful lines were brought forcibly to my mind by the

Scene:

"Some feelings are to mortals given,
With less of earth in them than heaven:
And if there be a human tear,

From passion's dross refined and clear—
A tear so limpid and so meek-
It would not stain an angel's cheek—
'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head."

I was most agreeably impressed with Sir Walter's manners; he was kind and condescending to me, and his demeanor toward Mr. Lockhart was that of a father to a son. Charles Scott, then a youth, and since dead, was present, and having been recently at a school in Wales, one of the party present, a great mimic, gave us an address in Welsh. He stood in a chair, making the bald, broad pate of Mr. William Blackwood, the bookseller and publisher of the magazine, his desk, and one of Mrs. Lockhart's music books, his notes. The whole scene was amusing, and Sir Walter joined very heartily in the laugh.

Mrs. Lockhart told me some pleasing anecdotes of her father. It seems she was much in the habit of taking long walks with him, when they lived at Abbotsford. Scott had himself a knack of recognising horse-shoes, and he had learned to know, at sight, the track of every horse in the neighborhood, by the size and shape of the impression his shoe made in the path. This art he had also taught Mrs. Lockhart.

On one occasion, Southey, the poet, had come to pay Sir Walter a visit at Abbotsford. The two were walking at a distance of some three or four miles from Abbotsford, when coming to a bridle path, Scott saw

the track of a horse that he knew. Saying nothing of his observation or his art, he stopped, and assuming a mysterious air, said to Southey,-" We Scotch pretend to second sight. I foresee that we shall have a friend to dinner; and I think his name will be Scott!" "It is some invited guest, I suppose," said Southey. "I assure you, not," said Sir Walter; "the man himself shall tell you that I could not know of his visit before this moment."

The two passed on, and when they arrived at Abbotsford,-behold, there was one waiting,--a remote kinsman of Sir Walter, who had come to pay him a visit! On inquiry, he stated that this was accidental, and that Sir Walter knew nothing of his intention. Mr. Southey's wonder was greatly excited, but it was finally appeased by Sir Walter's telling him that he had been able to prognosticate the arrival of the stranger, by recognising the foot-prints of his horse, leading in the direction of Abbotsford.

When Mrs. Lockhart had finished the anecdote, Sir Walter, who had heard it, stated that he found his kinsman Scott in his library, when he returned with Mr. Southey. The old man was engaged in poring over a volume of Johnson's quarto dictionary. "I am afraid," said Sir Walter, "that you are reading a very dry book." "Na, na!" said he, "they be bra stories-but unco short!"

Late in the evening I walked with Sir Walter to his house. He used a stout oaken cane, with a thick iron ferrule. He moved with great vigor, and kept me in full exercise. I have never seen a great man who had less self-assertion, self-declaration, than Sir

D

Walter Scott. I was an humble individual, having no particular claims upon his kindness; yet he treated me in a manner to make me feel at ease in his presence,—as if I were with one who understood the feelings of others, and would not offend them by a word or look.

It will be remembered that this was in June, while the courts were in session, rendering it Sir Walter's duty to be in attendance there. After the court dispersed, he was accustomed to return to Abbotsford. His habits there have already been described.

Scott's fame continued to increase, attended by an uninterrupted tide of prosperity; he appeared to be a most happy man. His life proceeded with the splendor and brilliancy of a gorgeous dream. It has seldom fallen to the lot of man to hold a position so enviable, and yet be so much beloved. Beneath this fair seeming, however, the elements of trouble were gathering for the tempest. His expenditures had been enormous; all he received for his works was lavishly expended upon Abbotsford-in the construction of the vast edifice, and in filling it with a wonderful collection of curiosities and antiquities of every kind-in its furniture-its library-its entertainments. But this was not all. In 1826, the Ballantynes and Constable went down in a crash of bankruptcy, bearing Sir Walter with them; and he, as a partner, was left to pay debts to the amount of seven hundred thousand dollars!

It cannot be denied that Scott had incurred these tremendous responsibilities somewhat presumptuously. He had not speculated merely upon his pop