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SOME Sixty five years ago, and in the county of Berwickshire, upon the silvery border stream-in an 'auld wifes' cottage there lay a crippled boy-son of a briefless barrister, with few to care for, and none to instruct his mind. But there were instructors there, better than 'doughty gerund grinders,' or any human teachers. Scenes of the Lowland border song and minstrelsy, are spread in grandeur round him! Yonder stands the chivalric seat of an ancient family, famous in the story of Southron spoil ;beyond, across the winding Tweed lies the venerable mansionthe scene of many a festive hour in the days of his prosperity. Below, stands frowning on the yew tree's shade, the tablature of Dryburgh-the waste of Lammermoor stretches away behind him, while on the distant range of the Cheviots, dark battlements break the line of the horizon, and towards the western ocean, Melrose, memorable in after legend, stands fretted on the blue hills of the Ettrick and the Yarrow!

Years roll on, and that cripple boy is a giant man. Within his own baronial hall, nobles court his favor, and princes do him reverence! A short time more, and misfortunes swarm upon him, as if to try his strength; the gilded castle which industry and merit had reared, Mammon levels at a blow. Scotland sees her birthright sinking, and weeps! but scarce a helping hand is outstretched to save his wreck, and he sinks-proudly, and with giant struggles-yet he sinks! and death, which had left a warning, a half century back, in that crippled limb, comes to redeem his pledge, and cuts him down!

And now, where is the mysterious unknown? Where his baronetcy-where his kingly possessions

VOL. VI.

"His glittering towers,

His golden mountains, where? All darkened down

To naked waste; a dreary vale of tears!

The great Magician's dead!

1

Oh, how ambition flush'd

That glowing cheek! ambition truly great

Of virtuous praise. Death's subtle seed within,
(Sly treacherous miner,) working in the dark,

Smiled at the well concerted scheme, and beckoned
The worm to riot on the rose so red,

Unfaded ere it fell!"

Such was the scene of Sir Walter's existence; mystery veiled it for a time, but the light which revealed it, showed the curtain falling!-yet music floated round-a voice was there-Scott left behind him more to tell the story of himself, than ever man before him.

Struggling in early years with difficulties which gave a resolution to his character, he achieved by his almost unaided exertions, a name and an eminence which few, if any literary man ever attained. But viewing his unexampled favor with the world, as not even presumptive evidence of his merit, we propose to consider, what reflection, and attentive observation may expose in the character of such a man, worthy our admiration. Feeling has ever given a decision in his favor; and while the sweeping tide of blandishments that flowed from his pen, coursed over our sympathies, judgment was not allowed a sitting. Now the charm is broken, and the jury of a dispassionate throng give in their verdict.

Educated in the high school of Edinburgh, which was possessed of the best means of communicating instruction that the times afforded, we find him apparently neglectful of imposed duties, and as he playfully says, 'greater in the yards, than at the desk.' Still, attaining a competency of learning by his wonderful quickness and retentive memory, he is by no means without admiration at that early period of life; and he there manifests to his schoolmates that trait of mind, which has given him his fame. Nature had aided him by general physical superiority; of a stalwart form, and possessing a lively expression of countenance, he found it by no means difficult to arrest the attention and enchain the feelings of his school-boy companions, as effectually, as he has since bound the reading world by the charms of his genius. The law, was the branch in which his energies were destined by a watchful father, to be caught up from their wanton propensities, and to be bent and matured for future eminence. Dis aliter visum. Law was too strict for his recreant fancy-too much confined for his buoyant character. He possessed a mind which left free to its own suggestions, though hazarding many a rude encounter, would work ably. Confined, its energies were relaxed, because subdued; weakened, because fettered. And who may not say, that many a mind training its faculties for usefulness, in oneof the great thoroughfares of professional livelihood, if left to ins

own direction, would work out for itself high ends, under the guidance of that Providence which nourishes its life.

But it were a bold experiment, and dangerous to follow the heedless wanderings of genius, confiding in the event of reaching the same gaol.

Scott's efforts were by no means wholly unsuccessful, and a knowledge of the practice of law, acquired at Edinburgh, was the source of a valuable income to him throughout his life. But amid the briefs of criminal trials, and quires of writing to the Signet, his indefatigable mind is pursuing as far as legal restraints admit, the native bent of his giant intellect. The vacation months, see him wandering through the Highlands, telling his border tale, and receiving in turn the ballad of clan and feud. Not insensible to the tenderer emotions of the heart, we find him losing it amid the northern hills, and, alas! only to be disappointed! But he bore it like a strong man-valiantly. He did not cease to live within himself,' nor had 'his heart outgrown his years, * but he battled with his agony, and subdued it in silence. Nor was this the only coincidence of the life of Scott with that of Byron; both were smitten with infirmity-how unequally they bore their lots! One ever rebelling against the dispensation of Providence, and with a fatuity most singular, keeps it before him as the incentive to misanthropy, and to the utter discomfiture of self-content. The other, if ever called to reflect upon so trifling a misfortune, makes it the medium of shad.owing forth that modesty and humility, so eminently characteristic of him in every sphere of action; and if I may be allowed a passing comparison, their private lives, in all their varied walks, were as distinct as their reputations have ever been. The one admired in its terrific grandeur; the other loved for its gentleness, while admiration of his mind was almost forgotten, in sympathy with his creations. The genius of the one was looked upon as some fearful convulsion of the elements, striking with awe, while calling for admiration; that of the other was viewed as are his soft paintings of the border valleys and the heather wilds. Their minds, too, flowed out unlike the one gushing periodically with force, and the live strength of the leaping cataract; the other running ever like his own sweet Yarrow,

-"through the green woods

And down the meadow ranging."t

In one the power of Genius unshrouded in the enchantments which render private character a gem, stands forth in relief-the sole object of contemplation; in the other, Fancy putting on the garb of modesty and benevolence eludes the casual observer, and

*

Byron's Dream.

↑ Wordsworth's Yarrow Revisited.'

presents a harmony of mind, at which the world wondering, scarce know what they admire most.

Years flew away with the Edinburgh barrister, and German, French and Italian, as they severally presented new storehouses for his imagination to hold its revels in, were made subjects of persevering and successful study.

A translation of Burger's Leonora, playfully constructed by him in rhyme, for a female friend, was his first printed essay: it having been published by her, with a hope to stimulate the bard of Sandy Knowe to more successful and vigorous effort. Shortly after, the same, with a translation of the Wild Huntsman, followed in a thin quarto, published by himself at the age of twentyfive. At this period, also, success crowned with lasting happiness his second love; but misfortune gave him of her cup to moderate the beaker of his pleasure. A father was snatched away, and Walter Scott was now senior writer to the Signet. His legal calls afforded however but a scanty pittance, and his literary worth rising gradually in public opinion, from the publication of his Border Minstrelsy, afforded some relief; until the Lay of the Last Minstrel established his fame as a poet, and secured to him a safe means of securing an ample livelihood. The melody of his verse ended not with the Lay, but chimed on, until the taste of society ever vacillating expressed itself sated, and looked anxiously for something new from the Rokeby minstrel. And they received, what came upon them like refreshing showers in the dust of a summer's heat-came like them too, they saw not whence.. Strains of that wild romance fell on their ears again and again, until the marvel was, not how beautiful, but whence comes it!

Already mystery had lent its charms, and was now imbuing with honors unprecedented in literary annals the unknown magician. Criticism tried to divest itself of the magnifying wonder, and the mysterious charm. Its opinions came forth blended with all the effrontery of self-importance, until popular opinion laughed their frown to scorn, and adored their mythological hero, with all the assiduity of the Sun worshipers of old! Nothing could resist the charm, and the Waverley novels were found with the artisan after the day's labor had lain him toil-worn upon his couch-but not to sleep. The judge concealed the last issue under his gown, and with mock gravity pondered over the sayings of a new Baillie-Nicol Jarvie.

But was Walter Scott a man of vigorous intellect? or was the attraction owing to some distorted imagery which caught up the passions-played the truant with the judgment, and excited pleasurable emotions from the strangeness and novelty of combinations -the wildness of an untamed fancy? Was his political sagacity which sent forth the epistles of Malagrowther, startling the nation, but the result of an overwrought imagination—weakened by sin

gleness of effort? Scott had a great intellect. His poems, which Bulwer says have never yet been appreciated, and which the poet Crabbe avows worthy more applause than his after works-these exhibit the proofs-tangible and forcible, of a richness of mind rarely, if ever surpassed.

The wild melody of the Last Bard-the beauty of its conception-the fervor of its thrilling scenes-all bespeak a mind of no ordinary tone. Marmion in lines of living fire rolled forth its strains to attest his power; and the sweet Lady of the Lake with a pathos and richness of imagery, and beauty of description equaling any thing ever penned, drew clouds of witnesses around Loch Katrine, till what was before a wilderness-sublime in its wildness, became softened to the tints of civilized life, and beauty usurped places of magnificence!

The character of his first heroine of romance, could have been drawn by none other than a high intellectual hand; her nobly proud spirit, her high aims-her sweet disposition, her romantic hopes, all made her what she was, too pure for mortal associations, and wisely did Scott preserve the charm unbroken by finding no counterpart to her loveliness, this side the grave. The strange, wild pictures of Guy Mannering, with that native woman Meg Merrilies; the richness of description in Ivanhoe, which the belles-lettres scholar might study with advantage; the dark striking pictures of Old Mortality's scenes among the mountains -pale Habbakuk Mucklewrath with phrenzied ire, and zeal of a maniac kindling in his Cameronian heart-all these were drawn by none other than a soul of fire.

The leading characters in the romances of Scott, are founded upon those of reality. Launcelot Whale, was pictured not inaptly in the Dominie; George Constable was his Oldbuck; the high hearted daughter of Davie Deans, was the portrait of her, whose monument commemorates in his own language, the theft of her virtues; an able Lowlander of Millburn-Holm, was his Dandie Dinmont; Peter Pattieson, has become immortal in the garb of Old Mortality. David Ritchie, of Tweedsdale, was the original of his Black Dwarf; Croftangry of the Chronicles died as his father died—not a feature of the scene at variance with the picture of the old barrister's last hours. And many an incident and scene of real life, has been engrafted with all the thrift of genuine fancy upon the body of his fiction.

It may appear paradoxical to cite these in corroboration of his genius; yet the painter depicts more easily an imaginary beauty, than one real; he would startle more by his imaginary drawing of a cataract, than by filling the outlines of Niagara. In confining to reality, fancy is checked-made subservient to the bid of judgment, and reveals not all its wildest freaks, which unrestrained revel in the freedom of their nature.

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