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10 piedes by Melvbeing in a more delight.

familiar landscape. Presently he murmured a name or two—“Gala Water, surely — Buckholm - Torwoodlee." As we rounded the hill at Ladhope, and the outlines of

the Eildons burst on him, he became greatly excited; and 5 when, turning himself on the couch, his eye caught at

length his own towers, at the distance of a mile, he sprang up with a cry of delight.

The river being in a flood, we had to go round a few miles by Melrose bridge ; and during the time this occu10 pied, his woods and house being within prospect, it re

quired occasionally both Dr. Watson's strength and mine, in addition to Nicholson's, † to keep him in the carriage. After passing the bridge, the road for a couple of miles

loses sight of Abbotsford, and he relapsed into his stupor; 15 but on gaining the bank immediately above it, his excitoment became ungovernable.

Mr. Laidlaw I was waiting at the porch, and assisted us in lifting him into the dining-room, where his bed had

been prepared. He sat bewildered for a few moments, 20 and then resting his eye on Laidlaw, said, “ Ha, Willie

Laidlaw! O man, how often have I thought of you !” By this time his dogs had assembled about his chair; they began to fawn upon him, and lick his hands, and he

alternately sobbed and smiled over them, until sleep op25 pressed him.

Dr. Watson, having consulted on all thirgs with Mr. Clarkson and his father, resigned the patient to them, and returned to London. None of them could have any

hope, but that of soothing, irritation. Recovery was no 30 longer to be thought of. And yet something like a ray of

hope did break in upon us, next morning. Sir Walter

* Torwoodlee is a country seat near Abbotsford. Suckholm is an old tower.

t Nicholson was Sir Walter Scott's servant.

| Mr. Laidlaw, a worthy and intelligent man, to whom Scott was much attached, was the manager of his estate.

& Mr. Clarkson was a surgeon.

15

awoke perfectly conscious where he was, and expressed an ardent wish to be carried out into his garden. We procured a Bath chair from Huntly Burn,o and Laidlaw and

I wheeled him out before his door, and up and down for 5 some time on the turf, and amon, the rose-beds, then in

full bloom. The grandchildren admired the new vehicle, and would be helping in their way to push it about. He sat in silence, smiling placidly on them, and the dogs,

their companions, and now and then admiring the house, 10 the screen of the garden, and the flowers and trees. By

and-by he conversed a little, very composedly, with us; said he was happy to be at home; that he felt better than he had ever done since he left it, and would perhaps disappoint the doctors, after all.

He then desired to be wheeled through his rooms, and we moved him leisurely for an hour or more up and down the hall and the great library. "I have seen much,” he kept saying, “ but nothing like my ain house ; give me

one turn more.” He was gentle as an infant, and allowed 20 himself to be put to bed again the moment we told him that we thought he had had enough for one day.

Next morning he was still better. After again enjoying the Bath chair for perhaps a couple of hours, he desired to be drawn into the library, and placed by the central window, that he might look down upon the Tweed. Here he expressed a wish that I should read to him ; and when I asked from what book, he said, “ Need you ask ? There is but one.” I chose the fourteenth chapter of St.

John's Gospel ; he listened with mild devotion, and said, 30 when I had done, “ Well, this is a great comfort; I have

followed you distinctly, and I feel as if I were yet to be myself again.” In this placid frame he was again put to bed, and had many hours of soft slumber.

On Monday he remained in bed, and seemed extremely feeble ; but after breakfast on Tuesday, the 17th, he appeared revived somewhat, and was again wheeled about on the turf. Presently he fell asleep in his chair, and after

* Huntly Burn is a cottage on the estate of Abbotsford, then occupied by Sir Adam Ferguson, a friend of Scott's.

dozing for perhaps half an hour, started awake, and shak5 ing the plaids, we had put about him, from off his shoul

ders, said, “ This is sad idleness. I shall forget what I have been thinking of, if I don't set it down now. Take me into my own room, and fetch the keys of my desk.”

He repeated this so earnestly that we could not refuse ; 10 his daughters went into his study, opened his writing

desk, and laid paper and pens in the usual order, and I then moved him through the hall and into the spot where he had always been accustomed to work. When the chair was placed at the desk, and he found himself in the old position, he smiled and thanked us, and said, “ Now give me my pen, and leave me for a little to myself.” Sophia put the pen into his hand, and he endeavored to close his fingers upon it, but they refused their office — it dropped

on the paper. He sank back among his pillows, silent 20 tears rolling down his cheeks ; but composing himself, by

and-by, motioned to me to wheel him out of doors again. Laidlaw met us at the porch, and took his turn of the chair. Sir Walter, after a little while, again dropped

into slumber. When he was awaking, Laidlaw said to me, 25 “Sir Walter has had a little repose.” “No, Willie,”

said he, “no repose for Sir Walter but in the grave." The tears again rushed from his eyes. “ Friends,” said he,“ don't let me expose myself; get me to bed — that's the only place."

With this scene ended our glimpse of daylight. Sir Walter never, I think, left his room afterwards, and hardly his bed, except for an hour or two in the middle of the day; and after another week he was unable even to do this.

After this he declined daily, but still there was great strength to be wasted, and the process was long. He seemed, however, to suffer no bodily pain, and his mind,

though hopelessly obscured, appeared, when there was 5 any symptom of consciousness, to be dwelling, with rare

exceptions, on serious and solemn things; the accent of the voice, grave, sometimes awful, was never querulous, and very seldom indicative of any angry or resentful

thoughts. 10 All this time he continued to recognize his daughters,

Laidlaw, and myself, whenever we spoke to him, and received every attention with a most touching thankfulness. Mr. Clarkson, too, was always saluted with the old

courtesy, though the cloud opened but a moment for him 15 to do so. Most truly might it be said that the gentleman survived his genius.

As I was dressing on the morning of Monday, the 17th of September, Nicholson came into my room, and told me

that his master had wakened in a state of composure and 20 consciousness, and wished to see me immediately. I found

him entirely himself, though in the last extreme of feebleness. His eye was clear and calm, every trace of the wild fire of delirium extinguished. “ Lockhart,” he

said, “I may have but a minute to speak with you. 25 My dear, be a good man; be virtuous; be religious; be

a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here."O He paused, and I said, “Shall I send for Sophia and Anne ?”'t "No," said he,

don't disturb them. Poor souls ! I know they were up 30 all night. God bless you all!” With this he sank into

a very tranquil sleep; and, indeed, he scarcely afterwards

* These are remarkable words. Here was a man who had won the highest prizes of life; had gained the most splendid literary reputation ; had been honored, flattered, and caressed as few men have ever been ; and yet, at the last moment, falls back for support on moral worth and religious faith -- that possession which all may earn.

| Anne was his second daughter.

gave any sign of consciousness, except for an instant on the arrival of his sons. They, on learning that the scene was about to close, obtained a new leave of absence from

their posts, and both reached Abbotsford on the 19th. 5 About half past one P. M., on the 21st of September,

Sir Walter breathed his last, in the presence of all his children.

It was a beautiful day; so warm that every window was wide open, and so perfectly still that the sound of all 10 others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the

Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his eyes.

XIX. — THE CHARACTER OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

PRESCOTT.

WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT was born in Salem, Massachusetts, May 4, 1796, and died in Boston, January 28, 1859. His grandfather was Colonel William Prescott, who commanded in the redoubt at Bunker Hill. He is the author of four historical works - "The History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella," "The History of the Conquest of Mexico," " The IIistory of the Conquest of Peru,” and “ The History of the Reign of Philip the Second ;” which last was left unfinished at the time of his death. These are all productions of great merit, and have received the highest commendations at home and abroad. Among their most conspicuous excellences may be mentioned their thoroughness of investigation and research. Mr. Prescott examined, with untiring industry, all possible sources of information, whether in print or in manuscript, which could throw light upon the subjects of which he treated. This was the more honorable to him, as, in consequence of an accident in college, he was deprived, to a considerable degree, of the use of his eyes, and was constantly obliged to make use of the sight of others in prosecuting his studies.

He was also candid in his judgments alike of historical personages and of particular periods. The character of his mind forbade his being a partisan on any side; and he preferred to state cases rather than to argue them.

Besides these substantial merits of learning and sound judgment, his works have an element of attraction in their and manner, which, more than anything else, has contributed to their great popularity. He describes scenes and narrates events with the greatest beauty and animation; and the subjects he has chosen - dealing with romantic adventure among the mountains of Spain, or in the splendid scenery of Mexico and Peru - give ample scope to this power. There is a limpid purity and engaging sweetness in his style

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