Sir Walter Scott, poet and novelist, was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, five years before the Declaration of Independence in America. Unlike most little Scotch boys, he was not sturdy and robust, and in his second year, a lameness appeared that never entirely left him. Being frail and delicate, he received the most tender care from parents and grandparents. Five consecutive years of his life, from the age of three to the age of eight, were spent on his grandfather's farm at Sandyknow. At the end of this period, he returned to Edinburgh greatly improved in health, and soon after, entered the high school, where he remained four years. A course at the university followed the high school, but Scott never gained distinction as a scholar. He loved romances, old plays, travels, and poetry too well, ever to become distinguished in philosophy, mathematics, or the dry study of dead languages.

In his early years, he had formed a taste for ballad literature, which very significantly influenced, if it did not wholly determine, the character of his writings. The historical incidents upon which the ballads were founded, their traditional legends, affected him profoundly, and he wished to become at once a poet of chivalry, a writer of romance. His father, however, had other plans for his son, and the lad was made a lawyer's apprentice in the father's office. Continuing, as recreation, his reading, he gave six years to the study of law, being admitted to the bar when only twenty-one. For years, he cultivated literature as a relaxation from business.

At the age of twenty-six he married, and about this time accepted the office of deputy sheriff of Selkirkshire, largely moved to do so by his unwillingness to rely upon his pen for support. Nine years later, 1806, through family influence he was appointed, at a good salary, to one of the chief clerkships in the Scottish court of sessions. The fulfillment of his long-cherished desire of abandoning his labors as an advocate, in order to devote himself to literature, was now at hand. He had already delighted the public by various early literary efforts, the most important being the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," parts of which had occupied him since childhood. This was followed by "Sir Tristrem" and the "Lay of the Last Minstrel." Scott was now enrolled among the poets of the day, and while never neglecting the duties of office, he entered upon his literary career with unflagging industry. "Marmion," "The Lady of the Lake," "Don Roderick," and "Rokeby" reflected his romantic fervor.

Lord Byron now had entered the field of letters, and Scott, conscious of the power of his rival, determined to seek fame in other than poetic paths. This determination produced "Waverly," whose success gave birth to Scott's desire to be numbered among the landed gentry of the country. Under the influence of this passion, the novels now associated with his name followed with startling rapidity, and their growth developed in the author an unwillingness to be known as a penman writing for fortune. Literary fame was less dear to him than the upbuilding of a family name. The novels went for a time fatherless, but the baronial mansion, still one of the most famous shrines of the curious, grew into the stately proportions of Abbotsford.

In 1820. George IV. conferred upon Scott the baronetcy, dearer than all the plaudits of the public. But

"Giddy chance never bears,
That mortal bliss shall last for years,"

and the failure of banker and of publisher disclosed that the landed baronet had been a silent partner in the house of his printer for a quarter of a century, for whose debts Scott was liable to the extent of one hundred thousand pounds and to his bankers for enough more to make the entire debt one hundred fifty thousand pounds. Unappalled by the loss, Scott refused all offers of release from his creditors, and began to pay the debt by means of his pen, determined to preserve Abbotsford to his children's children. At a dinner given in 1827, he threw off all disguise, and acknowledged the authorship of the Waverly novels.

His great exertions brought on paralysis. A visit to Italy failed to improve his condition, and he returned to die on the banks of the Tweed, and to be laid at rest in Dreyburg Abbey. He had paid one hundred thousand pounds of the debt, and the publishers of his works had sufficient confidence in their sale to advance the remaining fifty thousand pounds, the estate thus being left free of encumbrance.

Of his four children, two sons and two daughters, none left male issue. A grandchild, the wife of Robert Hope, was permitted by Parliament to assume the name of Scott, and her son Walter, at the age of twenty-one, was knighted by Queen Victoria.

Edinburgh has erected to his memory a most graceful monument, and Westminster Abbey a memorial. Visitors, under certain limitations, are permitted to visit the mansion, to see the enchanted library, and the famous study, to stray about the grounds where the famous writer spent the happiest, as well as the saddest, years of his life.

[Illustration: ABBOTSFORD.]

hat mischievous bullfinch again," said Mr. Wilson; "if I do not drive him away, I shall never have an apple on that favorite young tree of mine." Then he took down his gun and went into the garden, followed by the children. But Mr. Wilson was a kind man and would not harm a living thing. So he pointed the gun away from the bird and fired. The loud report not only frightened the bird, but startled little Edward also, which made his cousins laugh heartily. The children all thought they had rather lose the apples than such a pretty bird, and were not quite satisfied with Mr. Wilson for sending him away. To divert their minds, he told them to put on their hats, and take a ramble in the fields with him, and perhaps he would walk with them up the high hill near his farm, if their little visitor thought his legs were strong enough to climb so high. Edward thought they were; so they set off, shouting and racing through the fields, while Mr. Wilson followed leisurely in the road.

They found it rather hard work to climb the hill, which was very steep, but when they got to the top, they were well paid for all their trouble. They could see many pretty towns, with the beautiful river gliding along through them, and many high hills, like the one they were on, far away in the distance. Mr. Wilson pointed out and told them the names of the different villages which were in sight, and thus amused and instructed them till they were all well rested. Then they started down the hill, and except a few tumbles, reached the foot of it in safety.

Mr. Wilson then led the way for a walk over his large farm. In one of the fields they stopped to see a flock of sheep. Among them were a great number of pretty white lambs, skipping and jumping about, kicking up their little legs, wagging their tails, and looking so innocent and happy, that Edward could not bear to leave them. But his cousins, who were accustomed to these things, were impatient to be gone, and Edward was soon scampering after them, from field to field;—first to see the men plowing, where George mounted one horse and William another, and rode before the plows for a few minutes; then, leaving Mr. Wilson there, they chased the butterflies, and picked the early flowers, as they ranged through other fields, until they came to a pleasant little piece of woods, where they stopped to look at the old hollow oak, in which all four could just crowd in. Here they stopped to rest a little, and to watch the labors of a a pretty bird building its nest on the branch of a neighboring tree.

Then they wandered down in a meadow to get a drink of water from a fine spring near the foot of a huge old tree, and having refreshed themselves, turned their steps homewards. On their way, the cousins showed Edward a shining little brook of clear water, which ran murmuring through their farm, and pointed out a great many objects which were quite new to him. It was a pleasant and joyful ramble to them all; but Edward was well tired when they reached home.

The next day Edward and his parents started for home. He was sorry to leave his cousins, but he began to wish to see his brothers and sisters once more. It was a pleasant morning, and Mr. Jones decided to take a different route from the one they had traveled before. Edward was delighted with the fine scenery which this new route opened to his view. In the afternoon they came to the river side, where there was a ferry. A large boat was there, for the horses and carriage, and a small one in which Edward and his parents seated themselves and were soon rowed across; The sun had not yet set, but threw a bright yellow light on the water, that made it look like gold. Edward did not wonder that the geese and ducks were so fond of swimming about on it, and he felt sorry when they reached the opposite shore, and his pleasant sail was over. Then he and his mother sat down on the green bank to look at the beautiful sight before them, while the horses and carriages were coming across. There was the river all smooth and shining like gold, and beyond it were the high mountains, looking like purple clouds, and opposite, the sun was setting in all the rich splendor of a summer evening.

Soon the carriage drove up, and they all got in and continued their journey. Edward saw nothing that pleased him so much as that river, and often wished that he could sail over it again in the little boat. But soon they drew near home, and then he began to think of the joyful meeting he should have with his brothers and aunt Mary.

The first thing they saw as they came near the house, was Edward's dog, Romeo, who came running up to the carriage, barking, wagging his tail, and looking as much pleased as Edward was.

I need not tell you how happy the children were, nor what they said the night Edward got home; nor how delighted he was in telling of all the sights he had seen. But I think he learned enough during this pleasant journey, to make him a somewhat wiser, if not a happier little boy.

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