lating blow which came near to break down the very roof-tree of his noble mansion, I need not here speak-they are well known. The law construed him a partner, and honor bound him to payment. One hundred and twenty thousand pounds sterling, namely, more than half a million of dollars, seemed to him a lighter weight to bear, than the disgrace of insolvency. Three years after he had entered on this course of lofty daring, it was my good fortune to spend with my family some days an invited guest at Abbotsford; and setting aside all reverence of genius, on no one of its proud monuments could I look with such veneration, as on its noble master, then approaching to his sixtieth birth-day, with some few infirmities of body, but none of mind or spirit, gallantly bearing up under this load of debt, and paying it off year by year with the fabled profusion of some eastern sage, whose magic wand gave him access to hidden treasures. It was a high and ennobling picture, yet not without its strain of melancholy. To see one whose years demanded, and whose toils so well deserved repose, whom genius had crowned with unenvied laurels, whom nations contended to reverence and kings to honor; to see such an one tasking his strength in an herculean labor, that through his imprudence no poor man should suffer, and no rich man complain; and no man, whether rich or poor, touch with a blot the fair escutcheon of his fame this was a sight as full of moral worth as it was of intellectual greatness, and could hardly be viewed then, as it can hardly be contemplated now, without tears. There was in it that proud disdain of wealth, that lofty integrity of purpose, and that jealous sense of honor, which showed from what inner fount he had drawn those living traits of nobleness which so charm us in his novels.

Remuneration from the sale of his works in this country he had received none, and I felt humbled as an American, from the knowledge of it, as I ventured to suggest to him the manner in which his future copyright might be guarded

from the treachery of the press, and the inadequacy of the law. He listened to me, methought, with the spirit of some belted knight; regarded the plan as a subterfuge, unworthy, and most probably inoperative, and concluded, with putting it upon the score of natural justice, reciprocal right, and becoming courtesy between nations using a common language. On this occasion alone, was there a touch in his manner of the ancient Bruce, which seemed as if when chafed it could easily have taken the tone and bearing of that haughty baron.

"Proud was his tone, but calm; his eye

Had that compelling dignity;

His mien, that bearing haught and high,
Which common spirits fear."

Such, however, was far from his usual manner, which was all kindness, gentleness and courtesy. But I have already elsewhere given this picture.*

Where Scott has dwelt is classic ground. His earlier residence was at Ashiesteel, about six miles above Abbotsford, where the Ettrick forest borders upon the Tweed, and gave the scene of several of his romances. It is more picturesque than his later residence, but less strongly associated with a name which now gives an interest above beauty. Abbotsford was the spot of an early choice.

"Here have I thought [said he] 'twere sweet to dwell

And rear again the chaplain's cell,

And deem each hour to musing given

A step upon the road to heaven."

In 1811 he became the purchaser of it. There was then, he

*This alludes to a letter addressed by the author, to the editor of the New-York American, November 19, 1832, on the news of Sir Walter's death.

+

told me, not a tree between the road and the river; but "time
and I against any two," was ever his cheerful motto. And
so it proved. In 1830, when I stopped at the outer gate, it
was a forest of wood, out of which arose the turrets of his
"dreamlike mansion,” like one of his own magic creations.
To me, indeed, it was a magic scene; it was like the dark
power of "gramarye;" for on the right arose the Eildon hills
with their triple rent, and at their foot among the ruins of
holy Melrose slept that wizard priest, to whose words of power
"by art that none may name," that rent was attributed.
Beyond the house, and partially seen, rolled the Tweed with
its dark waters; and beyond was Newark's birchen hill and
riven tower, and all the associations of the minstrel's lay. If
such was the influence of the scene, what was that of the
mansion? ""Twere long to tell," and not here the place.
Within that noble mansion then all was joyous, now alas!
is its light quenched, and Abbotsford can be henceforth to
the traveller but the scene of reverential musings;
transit." And of that dreamlike mansion, how like a dream
is now the recollection. Its stately towers and storied halls,
seem to me but like some splendid vision of the night, when
thoughts and forms not of mortal mould, fill the heart with
feelings to which waking life is a stranger. "To meet and
part, is mortals lot," such were Sir Walter Scott's farewell
words to me. Alas! but too prophetic. One is gone, then
my companion; and he now is gone, then my honored host.
Such is life, a watch in the night for its duration, a dream
for its substance, and shadows for its actors; with nothing
real in it, save the duties of life and the consolations of
religion.

Such gentlemen, was one whom it requires an abler pen than mine rightly to delineate: but he is gone! milder skies were tried in vain; even soft Parthenope with its genial breezes failed to revive him, than whom it never received a