rather, the ideas which it suggested to his mind. He actually shed tears. He asked whose the lines were; and it chanced that nobody but myself remembered that they occur in a half-forgotten poem of Langhorne's, called by the unpromising title of 'The Justice of the Peace.' I whispered my information to a friend present, who mentioned it to Burns, who rewarded me with a look and a word, which, though of mere civility, I then received and still recollect with great pleasure.

"His person was strong and robust; his manners rustic, not clownish; a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity, which received part of its effect, perhaps, from one's knowledge of his extraordinary talents. His features are represented in Mr. Nasmyth's picture; but, to me, it conveys the idea that they are diminished, as if seen in perspective. I think his countenance was more massive than it looks in any of the portraits. I would have taken the poet, had I not known what he was, for a very sagacious country farmer, of the old Scottish school, i. e., none of your modern agriculturists, who keep laborers for their drudgery, but the douce gude man, who held his own plough. There was a strong expression of sense and shrewdness in all his lineaments; the eye alone, I think, indicated the poetical character and temperament. It was large, and of a dark cast, and glowed,— I say literally glowed,-when he spoke with feeling or interest. I never saw such another eye in a human head, though I have seen the most distinguished men in my time.

"His conversation expressed perfect self-confidence,

without the slightest presumption. Among the men who were the most learned of their time and country, he expressed himself with perfect firmness, but without the least intrusive forwardness; and when he differed in opinion, he did not hesitate to express it firmly, yet, at the same time, with modesty. I do not remember any part of his conversation distinctly enough to be quoted, nor did I ever see him again, except in the street, when he did not recognise me, as I could not expect he should. He was much caressed in Edinburgh, but, considering what literary emoluments have been since his day, the efforts made for his relief were extremely trifling."

In his earlier rambles, Scott often travelled on foot, attended by two companions-one, a youth about ten or twelve years old, named George Walkinshaw, the other an old dog named Snap. The first was rather simple, and the last uncommonly sagacious. It is said that old Snap, who was always accustomed to sleep at his master's bedside, when the latter wanted any particular servant, and would only name him,— would set out and find him, and bark at him, until he went to his master. On account of this, and other similar proofs of wisdom, above his race, George had a kind of reverence for the brute, and was accustomed to say that he was not altogether canny; by which he meant to insinuate that he was a little bewitched.

With these two friends, young Walter would trudge over hill and valley, sometimes being absent for weeks. A few articles of necessity were packed in a bundle, and strapped to George's back. In this guise they wandered from house to house. When

they came to a tenement that they desired to enter, George went in first to see how the land lay. If it appeared that his master would be welcome, the latter entered. His fancy for tales and legends induced him to seek for the houses of aged people, and particularly where there were old women, having the rep. utation of being good story-tellers. With such people as these, he would sit down, and wheedle out of them all the tales they could tell. These were packed away in his capacious memory, and were woven up in his romances, when he became an author.

Scott never permitted his real character to be known in these rambles. He appeared like a plain country lad, and treated the people he met in such a simple, sincere and familiar way, as to gain their hearts. He was always welcome, after an introduction. Thus, he not only secured much kindness and amusement, but he obtained vast stores of valuable knowledge, touching local history, and the manners, customs, and feelings of country people. It was the good sense and right feeling of Scott, which dictated this course of conduct, and which, by the acquisitions he consequently made, enabled him to surpass all other writers of his time, in drawing pictures of common life. It is pleasant to see such results, not as the compensations of genius, but of virtue.

It is delightful to go in imagination, with our hero, over the picturesque hills and valleys of Scotland,-to see him stumping bravely and cheerfully on,-now climbing the steeps, leaving even George and old Snap behind; now pausing to pluck a flower; now looking with a poet's eye down from some height, and

tracing the far-winding path of a river, through the valley; to see him, now grave,-now gay; at one time bantering his dog, or joking his attendant; and now soaring away,-away,-like the very eagle, upon the strong wing of his fancy, amid the blue tops of the mountains. How little did this youth then dream that these very mountains, these hills, and vales, and waters, were to become classical to all future time, by virtue of a wand that he alone could wield!

During these rambles, Scott was accustomed to take his food in some sequestered nook by the roadside. Here he would lie down,-eat a little, talk to himself, and often break into a hearty laugh. Then he would finish his meal. Along the road he seemed often to be carrying on a conversation with himself, and frequently burst into fits of laughter. He would sometimes stop and write down his thoughts in a memorandum book. George and Snap looked on, thinking their master a very droll fellow; but as he was always kind to them, taking every care to supply their wants and gratify their wishes, they still loved and reverenced him.

Sometimes Scott and his companions travelled on ponies. In cases of this kind, he always gave some change to George, and left it for him to pay the tolls at the turnpike gates. George was also expected, from time to time, to supply himself with gingerbread from the funds thus furnished. On one occasion, Scott handed him some change, remarking, "Mind the gingerbread, George.". Scott went on, and soon passed a gate, saying his servant would pay the toll. But as George did not come up for some time, he

went back at last, to see what detained him. When he got to the gate, he there saw George, stuffing every pocket and place about him with gingerbread. "What does this mean?" said Scott. (6 Why, ye said, 'mind the gingerbread,' and I ha nae forgotten it!" was the answer. "But how are we to pay the tolls?" said Scott. "Ye told me to mind the gingerbread," was still the reply. Scott paid the toll, laughed heartily, and went on.

In 1786, Scott was apprenticed, as a clerk, in his father's office, and it appears, had determined to become an advocate. He was often absent, however, upon visits to the Highlands, indulging his taste for fine scenery, and the poetic reveries it engendered. He also spent much time in playing chess. He was now robust, and in spite of his infirmity, often walked thirty miles in a day, and sometimes rode a hundred without stopping. During his frequent excursions at this period, he became familiar with the localities. which he has wrought into his tales, especially those depicted in the Lady of the Lake, Rob Roy, &c. He appears to have been greatly moved when he first approached these scenes. He says that he drew up his horse, and gazed at them with a sort of fear, lest, like the changes in a theatre, they should be removed and give place to more common objects.

On returning to Edinburgh, from one of his excursions, he called on his Aunt Jenny, and asked if she had any commands for town. She accordingly gave him a considerable parcel, addressed to a blacksmith in the city, and requested him to be "careful of it for there was siller in it." He took it accordingly