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

ularity, but he had even put at hazard all his possessions, as well as health and life itself. But to his honor be it spoken, he shrunk not from the fearful crisis. "Give me time," said he to his creditors, “and I shall be able to pay you every farthing.” Having relinquished his property to his creditors, he said to a friend, in a deep, thoughtful tone, "It is very hard thus to lose all the labors of a lifetime, and be a poor man at last. But if God grant me life and strength a few years longer, I have no doubt I shall be able to pay it all.”

He set to work in good earnest; and, during the three years that followed the events we have just detailed, he performed an amount of literary labor, and reaped an amount of profits, probably altogether unparalleled. Among his productions were the Life of Napoleon, in seven volumes; the first and second series of the Chronicles of the Canongate, five volumes; a juvenile history of Scotland, addressed to Hugh Littlejohn, intended for his grandson, John Lockhart, in nine volumes; the History of France, in three volumes; Anne of Geirstein, in three volumes; Sermons by a Layman, and Essays on Gardening, one volume; a History of Scotland in two volumes, for Lardner's Cyclopædia; and letters on Demonology and Witchcraft, one volume.

Such were the almost superhuman efforts Scott made in behalf of his creditors. What must have been the powerful energy of the feeling of integrity that could call forth such giant labors! In three years, that is, from 1827 to 1830, he produced about thirty original volumes; making more than ten a

year. Nor is this all. During this period, he was editing an edition of his novels, to which he added copious notes; and such was the demand for these works, that one thousand persons,-one hundredth part of the population of Edinburgh,-were occupied in their mere manufacture. Nineteen of these volumes were edited and published in a single year! The profits resulting from Scott's labors, during these three years, amounted to about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars!

It was now evident that Scott would accomplish the formidable task he had undertaken, unless some fatality should intervene ; and such was his devotion to his object, that he seemed to be under the influence of a mania. He resigned his office of clerk, and spent ten, twelve and sometimes fourteen hours a day, in writing. But his powerful constitution at last gave way, under this dreadful pressure. His speech began to be affected; his contracted right foot became painful, and there were signs of a general paralysis. The best medical advice was called in; but such was the fever of thought into which Sir Walter had wrought himself, that it was almost impossible for him to stop. Dr. Abercrombie, of Edinburgh, one day besought him to moderate his efforts; when the invalid replied, "I tell you what it is, doctor; when Molly puts the kettle on, she might as well say don't boil!"

His disease, however, increased so rapidly that he at last consented, though with great reluctance, to seek health in the gentler climate of Italy. A free passage was offered him in a national ship, and he

set out with his daughter, Miss Ann Scott. On his way to Malta, he had the pleasure to see a volcanic island, which had been thrown up from the sea, and which has since disappeared. At Malta he was honored by a public reception; and in an address, he was requested to immortalize the place by writing its history. He was requested to sit for his portrait; but as he could not spare the time, an artist was employed to obtain his lineaments by looking at him through a key-hole!

At Naples, he was invited to the court levee, where, by a queer whim, he appeared in the dress of the Scotch archers. The courtiers took this for a field marshal's uniform, and wondered in what battles Sir Walter had won his military rank! Wherever he went he was noticed as one of the great lights of the age. Proceeding to Germany, he called at a bookstore in Frankfort, to purchase pictures of some of the interesting objects he had seen in his route. After showing views of abbeys and castles of various countries, the bookseller, not knowing the name of his customer, selected and held up, as if it must strike every one with interest-a view of Abbotsford ! Scott, smiling sadly, remarked, "I have a faithful picture of that,"-meaning in his heart, and walked away!

He pursued his journey, but, on the fourth of June, he was rendered insensible by a shock of paralysis. Being bled by his servant, his life was saved for the time-but he remained insensible for a long period. He was brought at last to England, and finally to Scotland. At Edinburgh, he seemed to revive a little ;

he recognized a few friends; and being aware that he was going to Abbotsford, he manifested a great desire to reach that place. When he came to a point where he could get a sight of the longed-for home, his anxiety was extreme. He raised himself up-but, at once, as if overtasked, sank into a state of apathy.

He did not recognise any one, till, after a few days, his old friend and factor, Laidlaw, appeared at his bedside. He shook him warmly by the hand, and said, "I know I am at Abbotsford." In a short time he revived a little. He had himself borne into his garden, and afterwards into his library. Here he requested paper and pens to be set before him, and then asked to be alone; he attempted to take up

the

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pen, but the palsied fingers refused their office. sat back in his chair, with a look of the utmost melancholy. Laidlaw, who saw him, said, "I hope you are happy now, sir." "No;" said he; "there is no more happiness for Sir Walter!”

During this period, his chief pleasure was in having the poems of Crabbe read to him,-a great and well-merited compliment to that admirable writer. But he continued gradually to sink, and at last his great mind was shrouded in insensibility. His powerful frame struggled with death for some days, but at last it yielded, and on the 21st September, 1832, Sir Walter Scott expired. His age was exactly sixty-one years, one month, and six days.

The writer of this sketch was in Edinburgh at this time. The intelligence of Scott's death, long expected as it was, passed, like a dark cloud, over the