cannot perish which is committed unto thy mercy, willingly now I leave this frail and wicked flesh, in sure hope that thou wilt in better wise restore it to me again at the last day in the resurrection of the just. I beseech thee, most merciful Lord Jesus Christ, that thou wilt by thy grace make strong my soul against all temptations, and defend me with the buckler of thy mercy against all the assaults of the Devil. I see and knowledge that there is in myself no hope of salvation, but all my confidence, hope, and trust is in thy most merciful goodness. I have no merits nor good works which I may alledge before thee; of sins and evil works, alas! I see a great heap. But yet through thy mercy I trust to be in the number of them to whom thou wilt not impute their sins; but wilt take and accept me for righteous and just, and to be the inheritor of everlasting life. Thou, merciful Lord, wast born for my sake; thou didst suffer both hunger and thirst for my sake; thou didst teach, pray, and fast for my sake; all thy holy actions and works thou wroughtest for my sake; thou sufferedest most grievous pains and torments for my sake; finally, thou gavest thy most precious body and thy blood to be shed on the cross for my sake. Now, most merciful Saviour, let all these things profit me that thou freely hast done for me, which hast given thyself also for me. Let thy blood cleanse and wash away the spots and foulness of my sins. Let thy righteousness hide and cover my unrighteousness, Let the merits of thy passion and blood-shedding be satisfaction for my sins. Give me, Lord, thy grace, that the faith of my salvation in thy blood waver not in me, but may ever be firm and constant. That the hope of thy mercy and life everlasting never decay in me, that love wax not cold in me. Finally, that the weakness of my flesh be not overcome with the fear of death. Grant me, merciful Saviour, that when death hath shut up the eyes of my body, yet the eyes of my soul may still behold and look upon thee; and

when death hath taken away the use of my tongue, yet my heart may cry and say unto thee, Lord, into thy hands I commit my soul; Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. Amen.'

* *AUG. 1827.-LETTER OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, Descriptive of a Picture painted by David Wilkie, Esq. R.A., exhibited at the Royal Academy, 1818, a beautiful engraving of which is inserted in Mr. Pickering's Bijou, whence we have extracted the following Letter to Sir Adam Ferguson:

'My dear Adam, -I have duly received your let. ter, with that inclosed from the gentleman whom you have patronized, by suffering the sketch from the pencil of our friend Wilkie to be engraved for his work. The picture has something in it rather of a domestic character, as the personages are represented in a sort of masquerade, such being the pleasure of the accomplished painter. Nevertheless, if it is to be engraved, I do not see that I can offer any objection, since it is the wish of the distinguished artist, and the friendly proprietor of the sketch in question But Mr. Balmanno mentions, besides, a desire to have anecdotes of my private and domestic life, or, as he expresses himself, a portrait of the author in his night-gown and slippers; and this from you, who, I dare say, could furnish some anecdotes of our younger days, which might now seem ludicrous enough. Even as to my night-gown and slippers, I believe the time has been, when the articles of my wardrobe were as familiar to your memory as Poins's to Prince Henry ; but that time has been for some years past, and I cannot think it would be interesting to the public to learn that I had changed my old robe-de-chambre for a handsome douillette when I was last at Paris. The truth is, that a man of ordinary sense cannot be supposed delighted with the species of gossip which, in the dearth of other news, recurs to such a quiet in

dividual as myself; and though, like a well-behaved lion of twenty years' standing, I am not inclined to vex myself about what I cannot help, I will not in any case, in which I can prevent it, be accessory to these follies. There is no man known at all in literature, who may not have more to tell of his private life than I have: I have surmounted no difficulties either of birth or education, nor have I been favoured by any particular advantages, and my life has been as void of incidents of importance, as that of the weary knife-grinder."

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Story! God bless you; I have none to tell, Sir."

The follies of youth ought long since to have passed away; and if the prejudices and absurdities of age have come in their place, I will keep them, as Beau Tibbs did his prospect, for the amusement of my domestic friends. A mere enumeration of the persons in the sketch is all I can possibly permit to be published respecting myself and my family; and as must be the lot of humanity, when we look back seven or eight years, even what follows cannot be drawn up without some very painful recollections.

The idea which our inimitable Wilkie adopted was to represent our family group in the garb of south country peasants, supposed to be concerting a merry making, for which some of the preparations are seen. The place is the terrace near Kayside, commanding an extensive view towards the Eildon hills. (1) The sitting figure, in the dress of a miller, I believe, represents Sir Walter Scott, author of a few scores of volumes, and proprietor of Abbotsford, in the county of Roxburgh. (2) In front, and presenting, we may suppose, a country wag somewhat addicted to poaching, stands Sir Adam Ferguson, Knight-Keeper of the Regalia of Scotland. (3) In the back-ground is a very handsome old man, upwards of eighty-four years old at the time, painted in his own character of a shepherd. He also belonged to the numerous clan of Scott. He used to claim credit

for three things unusual among the Southland shepherds: first, that he had never been fou in the course of his life; secondly, he never had struck a man in anger; thirdly, that though entrusted with the management of large sales of stock, he had never lost a penny for his master by a bad debt. He died soon afterwards at Abbotsford. 4, 5, 6, Of the three female figures, the elder is the late regretted mother of the family represented. (5) The young person, most forward in the group, is Miss Sophia Charlotte Scott, now Mrs. J.G. Lockhart: and, (6) her younger sister, Miss Ann Scott. Both are represented as ewe-milkers, with their leglins, or milkpails. (7) On the left hand of the shepherd, the young man holding a fowling-piece is the eldest son of Sir Walter, now Captain in the King's Hussars. (8) The boy, is the youngest of the family, Charles Scott, now of Brazenose College, Oxford. The two dogs were distinguished favourites of the family; the large one was a stag-hound of the old Highland breed, called Maida, and one of the handsomest dogs that could be found; it was a present from the Chief of Glengary to Sir Walter, and was highly valued, both on account of his beauty, his fidelity, and the great rarity of the breed. The other is a little Highland terrier, called Ourisk (goblin), of a particular kind, bred in Kintail. It was a present from the Hon. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie, and is a valuable specimen of a race which is now also scarce.

Maida, like Bran, Luath, and other dogs of distinction, slumbers" beneath his stone," distinguished by an epitaph, which, to the honour of Scottish scholarship be it spoken, has only one false quantity in two lines:

"Maidæ marmorea dormis sub imagine Maida,
"Ad januam domini sit tibi terra levis."

'Ourisk still survives, but, like some other personages in the picture, with talents and temper rather the worse for wear. She has become what Dr. Rutty, the

Quaker, records himself in his journal as having sometimes been-" sinfully dogged and snappish." If it should suit Mr. Balmanno's purpose to adopt the above illustrations, he is heartily welcome to them; but I make it my especial bargain, that nothing more is said upon such a meagre subject.

'It strikes me, however, that there is a story about old Thomas Scott, the shepherd, which is characteristic, and which I will make your friend welcome to. Tom was, both as a trusted servant and as a rich fellow in his line, a person of considerable importance among the class in the neighbourhood, and used to stickle a good deal to keep his place in public opinion. Now, he suffered, in his own idea at least, from the consequence assumed by a country neighbour, who, though neither so well reputed for wealth or sagacity as Thomas Scott, had yet an advantage over him, from having seen the late King, and used to take precedence upon all occasions when they chanced to meet. Thomas suffered under this superiority. But after this sketch was finished and exhibited in London, the newspapers made it known that his present Majesty had condescended to take some notice of it. Delighted with the circumstance, Thomas Scott set out, on a most oppressively hot day, to walk five miles to Bowden, where his rival resided. He had no sooner entered the cottage, than he called out, in his broad forest dialect, "Andro, man, de ye anes sey (see) the King?" "In troth did I, Tam," answered Andro; "sit down, and I'll tell ye a' about it: ye sey, I was at Lonon, in a place they ca' the park, that is no like a hained bog-fence, or like the four-nooked parks in this country— "Hout awa," said Thomas, " I have heard a' that before: I only came ower the Know to tell you, that, if you have seen the King, the King has seen mey,' (me). And so he returned with a jocund heart, assuring his friends" it had done him much muckle gude to settle accounts wi' Andro."