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Since the publication of this work, in addition to the Novels mentioned in their proper place, Sir \Valter Scott has published three Series of Tales of a Grandfather, being stories selected from Scottish History, and told in an easy unpretending style ; this work is principally intended for youth, and is both interesting and amusing, though in many parts too strongly tinctured with the political feelings and prejudices of the author,to deserve unqualified praise as an historical _work. He has also written a small History of Scotland for Dr Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopedia, which although necessarily merely an epitome, is a work of judgment and merit; a small volume entitled, - Letters on Demonology and Witchcrafgn addressed to Mr Lockhart; and two Religious Discourses, originally given to a young friend in manuscript, but subsequently published. His miscellaneous works, such as songs, biographical sketches, and articles in periodical publications, particularly the Edinburgh, Quarterly, and Foreign Quarterly Reviews, Blackwoodfs Magazine, Ballantyne's :1 Sale-Room,»

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and some of the annuals, are too numerousto be particularised, even were it possible to ascertain them correctly. Some of these scattered pieces, particularly two stories in prose, written for the - Keepsake,» and the Essay on Moliére, inserted in the Foreign Quarterly Review, have been reprinted in a small duodecimo volume by Messrs Galignani.

The family of Sir Walter Scott consists of two daughters, Sophia and Ann (the eldest of whom is married to Mr John Gibson Lockhart, author of Adam Blair, Reginald Dalton, and Matthew Wald), and two sons, one a captain in the ioth Hussars, and the other a student at Oxford.

We cannot better conclude this sketch than b

Y quoting the following paragraph from the Edinburgh Journal; which records an incident equally honourable to both parties concerned in it :

1 At the meeting of the creditors of Sir Walter Scott, heldat Edinburgh on the 17th of December, 1830, the followin resolution was unanimous]

5 Y passed :—That Sir Walter Scott be requested to accept of his furniture, plate, linen, paintings, library, and curiosities of every description, as the best means the creditors have of exliressing their very high sense of his most l1(;I1l?I’ ahle conduct, and in grateful acknowledgm t for the unparalleled and most successful exertions he has made, and continues to make for then‘:

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The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye-
No humhler resting-place was nigh.
With hesitating step, at last,

The embattled portal-arch he pass'd,
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar
Had oft roll'd back the tide of war,

But never closed the iron door

Against the desolate and poor.

The duchess‘ murk’d his weary pace,
Ilis timid mien, and reverend face, I
And bade her page the menials tell

That they should tend the old man well :
For she had known adversity,

Though born in such a high degree;

In pride of power, in beauty's bloom,
Had wept o'er Monmouth’s bloody tomb.

When kindness had his wants supplied,

And the old man was gratified,

Began to rise his minstrel pride:

And he began to talk anon,

Of good Earl Francis,‘ dead and gone,
And of Earl Walter,3 rest him God!

A braver ne'er to battle rode;

And how full many a tale he knew

Of the old warriors of Buccleuch;

And, would the noble duchess deign

To listen to an old man's strain,

Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, Ile thought, even yet, the sooth to speak, That, ifshe loved the harp to hear,

He could make music to her ear.

The humble boon was soon obtain'd;

The aged Minstrel audience gain'd.

But when he reaclfd the room of sate,
Where she with all her ladies slate,
Perchance he wish'd his boon denied :
For when to tune his harp he tried,

His trembling hand had lost the ease
Which marks security to please;

And scenes, long past, ofjoy and pain,
Came wildering o'er his aged brain-
He tried to tune his harp in vain.

The pitying duchess praised its chime,
And gave him heart, and gave him time,
Till every string’s according glee

Was blended into harmony.

And then he said, he would full fain
He could recal an ancient strain,

He never thought to sing again.

It was not framed for village churls,
But for high dalfles and mighty earls;
He had play'd it to King Charles the Good,
When he kept court in llolyrood;

And much hewi,sh'd', yet ff-'fll"d Ill try
The long-forgotten melody.

Amid the strings his fiflfifls 5"aY'd7
And an uncertain warbling made,

And oft he shook his hoary head.

celebrated warrior.

1 Anne, 9nd,. of Buggleuch and Monmouth, repreteuutive of

the “mien; lord; of Buecleuoh, and widow of the unfortunate James, Duke of Monmouth, who wt!

2: beheaded in 1685.
5"] or Buccleuch, father to the duchess.

’ I7 n c’: Qeott
r n I i ' grandfather to the duchesl, and n

’ Walter, Earl of Buccleucb,

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But when he caught the measure wild, The old man raised his face, and smiled; And lighten'd up his faded eye

With all a poet's ecstasy!

In varying cadence, soft or strong,

He swept the sounding chords along:
The present scene, the future lot,

His toils, his wants, were all forgot:
Cold diffidenceland age's frost

In the fullvtide of song were lost;

Each blank, in faithless memory void,
The poet's glowing thought supplied;
And, while his harp responsive rung,
‘T was thus the LATEST Mmsrar-:t. sung.

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V.

Ten squires, ten yeomen, mailclad men,
Waited the heck of the warders ten;
Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight,

Stood saddled in stable day and night,
Barh‘d with frontlet of steel, I trow,

And withledwood-axe at saddle-bow : (3) -
A hundred more fed free in stall :—

Such was the custom of Branksome-hall.

VI.

Why do these steeds stand ready dightt

VVhy watch these warriors, arm'd, by night?

They watch to hear the hlood-hound haying;

They watch to hear the war-horn braying;

To see St George's red cross streaming;

To see the midnight beacon gleaming;

They watch against southern-force and guile,
Lest Seroop, or Howard, or Percy’s powers,
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers,

From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Garlisle. (4)

vii. ‘ Such is the custom of Branksome-hall.— Many a valiant knight is here; '

But he, thechieftain of them all,

His sword hangs rusting on the wall,

Beside his broken spear.
Bards long shall tell
How Lord Walter fell ! (5)

When startled hurghers fled, afar,

The furies of the Border war;

When the streets of high Dunedin

Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, And heard the slogan's ' deadly yellThen the Chief of Branksome fell.

vln.

Can piety the discord heal,

Or staunch the death-feud’s enmity! Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal,

Can love of blessed charity? No! vainly to each holy shrine,

ln mutual pilgrimage they drew; (6) lmplored, in vain, the grace divine

For chiefis their own red falchions slew : While Cessford owns the rule of Car, (7)

While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, The slaughter’d chiefs, the mortal jar, The havoc of the feudal war,

Shall never, never be forgot!

IX. In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier The warlike foresters had bent; And many a flower, and many a tear, Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent : But o'er her Warrior's bloody bier The Ladye dropp’d nor flower nor tear! Vengeance, deep hrooding o'er the slain, Had lock'd the source of softer woe; And burning pride, and high disdain, Forhade the rising tear to flow;

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Her son lisp’d from the nurse's kneeu and ifl live to he a man, My father's death revenged shall be !»

t Then fast the mother's tears did seek

To dew the infant's kindling cheek.

X. All loose her negligent attire, All loose her golden hair, Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, And wept in wild despair. But not alone the bitter tear Had filial grief supplied; For hopeless love, and anxious fear, Had lent their mingled tide: - _ Nor in her mother's alter'd eye Dared she to look for sympathy. Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan, With Car in arms had stood, _ When Mathouse-burnwto Melrose ran, All purple with their blood; And well she knew her mother dread, Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed, (8) Would see her on her dying bed.

XI.

Of noble race the Ladye came;

Her father was a clerk of fame,
Of Bethune's line of Picardie: (9)

He learn’d the art that none may name,
In Padua, far beyond the sea. (to)

Men said he changed his mortal frame By feat of magic mystery;

For when, in studious mood, he paced St Andrew's cloister’d hall,

llis form no darkening shadow traced Upon the sunny wall! (I i)

Xll.
And of his skill, as bards avow,
He taught that Ladye fair,
Till to her bidding she c_ould how
The viewless forms of air. (t2)

And now she sits in secret bower,

ln old Lord David's western tower,

And listens to a heavy sound,

hat moans the mossy turrets round.

Is it the roar of Teviot’s tide,

That chafes against the scaur's ‘ red side? is it the wind, that swings the oaks!

Is it the echo from the rocks?

What may it he, the heavy sound,

That moans old Branksome's turrets round?

Xlll. At the sullen, moaning sound, The ban-dogs hay and howl; And from the turrets round, Loud whoops the startled owl. In the hall, both squire and knight Swore that a storm was near, And looked forth to view the night; But the night was still and clear!

1 The war-cry, or gathering word of 1: Border clun.

' Scour, a precipitous bank of earth.

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