terest depends on the mental recipient; and when bodily powers decay, the mind clings rather to the remembrance of early years than to any enjoyment which novel impressions can excite. The Pompeian ruins alone would for- merly have been a source of the great- est amusement and delight to Sir Walter Scott. He would have exca- vated and explored in this region with the same enthusiasm with which he once "drained the well" at Dunnottar Castle, and exulted in every mouldering remnant which he brought to light. But now, whatever attractions this world could afford him, were, in Italy, faint and feeble; whereas the ties which connected him with his own country, especially with his favourite Abbots- ford, were yet strong, and, while life remained, indissoluble. In the course of the spring his health did not, as was expected, improve. Every means had been adopted to keep his mind constantly and cheerfully occupied; so that, in the complete absence of anxiety and intellectual pressure, the vital or- gans might possibly recover their tone. On this principle, when at Rome in the month of April, he was induced to visit all the scenes and spectacles that usually interest a traveller; but here he became so painfully conscious of his own increasing weakness, that henceforward all efforts devised by friends for his amusement were in vain. Nothing could dispel or overcome the apprehension, that his strength would altogether wear out before it was pos- sible to reach that home which he had never wished to leave.
The plans formerly recommended by physicians were now, therefore, abandoned. It would have been only injurious and cruel to detain him in a country where this gloomy impression kept his mind always on the rack. But the route home by land, through Switzerland and down the Rhine, was preferred, in hopes that perpetual change of scene, together with the consciousness that he was every day drawing nearer to England, might yet have a favourable effect. Alas! this consciousness formed the sole interest he now took in his journey, and was accompanied with such impatience to proceed, that he sometimes could hardly be prevailed on to desist from travelling both night and day. Still
1 1'- mental faculties until
on his passage down the Rhine; where the intense heat of summer aggravated his sufferings, and brought on the worst of symptoms, another paralytic stroke, which at first it was supposed would prove immediately mortal.
Henceforward, the light of intellect was almost entirely obscured, and the remaining three months of his exist- ence were spent in a state far too painful for description. Only at in- tervals could he recognise his relatives and attendants, or express himself so Under these as to be understood. complicated sufferings he arrived in London, where he remained for about ten days at a hotel in Jermyn Street, receiving the utmost attention from his friend Sir Henry Halford, and other physicians, and affectionately watched by his family. In so far as his wishes could be ascertained, they remained unchangeably bent on home; and he therefore embarked, on the 7th of July, in a steam-vessel, which, by a rapid and easy voyage, arrived at Edinburgh on the evening of the 9th. Here he rested for two days at his house in Shandwick Place, scarcely, I believe, recognising where he was; but on the first view of Abbotsford from the car- riage-windows, during his journey thi- ther, it has been told that his excite- ment was intense-that he fully re- cognised the friends around him, and expressed the utmost joy and gratitude because he had once more beheld that home to which he was so fondly at- tached. But this recognition was like an expiring gleam of the intellectual lamp, which immediately afterwards subsided into the faint glimmer of ex- haustion. On his arrival at his own house, it is said that he no longer took any interest in the objects around him, or shewed recollection, except by shak- ing hands cordially with his old ac- quaintance and faithful steward, Mr. William Laidlaw. In short, the grasp of Death was on him; and the long struggle which followed was only a final indication of that innate strength of constitution which had already borne up under so many trials.
During most of the time from the 12th of July, when he arrived at Abbotsford, till his death, he remained in a state either of stupefaction or delirium; a symptom which, I believe, never fails to attend the last conflict of an originally robust frame and strong
21st of September he was released from all his sufferings, and on the 26th took place his funeral; on which day, as it is remarked by a contemporary journalist, all nature was wrapt in the deepest gloom of a lowering autumnal sky, as if even the elements mourned the extinction of a light such as on earth may not appear again for centuries. His remains were interred in the evening at Dryburgh Abbey, where, as yet, no monument is erected to his memory. Nor is this to be wondered at. By his varied works and his untarnished fame, he has himself created the most imperishable of monuments; and by no efforts of the most highly gifted sculptor could the affection of surviving friends be expressed. Such works of art would seem rather a mockery of their attachment and affiction. On similar principles, his immediate relatives have deserted Abbotsford; the sight of which only adds poignancy to feelings which, even after the lapse of years, are almost too acute for endurance. It may be from a morbid impression, but, instead of wishing to visit Abbotsford, I would, if travelling in the neighbourhood, rather take a circuitous route to avoid it. With all its natural and artificial beauty, with its now well-grown and flourishing woods, it presents to the eyes of a friend only the sad memorial of happiness which has been, and which no earthly power can restore.
To this brief memoir it may possibly be objected, that I have set down nothing but praise; but on the part of all those who can speak from personal knowledge of its subject I shall be acquitted, at least, of having written under the influence of any prejudice. Mere truth has been commemorated, without the slightest colouring from imagination. That those who were honoured with his friendship might be wholly blinded to faults or failings, is, indeed, a natural result where GOOD so decisively preponderated in the balance. And that his friends should be firmly attached was the unavoidable effect of a direct and obvious cause, namely, that, for firmness and consistency of character (the rarest of human virtues), Scott might invariably be relied on. In all emergencies of life, where sterling integrity, honour, selfpossession, command of temper, and, though last not least, benevolence, were required, I could predict with certainty
in what manner he would act, and almost anticipate the very language that he would use. I needed not to fear, as in other cases, that the lapse of a year, a month, or perhaps a day, might possibly have made an entire change in his views or disposition. Never
was he known to adopt the ordinary principles of the world, and desert a friend in adversity; even by errors and misconduct, whilst he always expressed his disapprobation and tendered his advice, yet he was not readily to be alienated. Of this I remember several instances, with regard to persons who, by waywardness and imprudence, had given him ample cause for provocation and anger.
It is said that no commodity is so cheap as good advice, but I suspect that advice given in such manner as to do any real good is a "commodity' of very rare occurrence. Of all counsellors on occasions of perplexity that I have known, Scott was infinitely the best; nor, when obstinately fixed in his own opinion, did he assume a harsh and dictatorial tone. He never took up a one-sided view of the subject, but saw it, as if intuitively, in all its bearings; then, if he had made up his mind, and entertained any real interest in behalf of the person so counselled, he was not, like the once notable General Trappaud, satisfied with announcing what ought to be done, but exerted himself to bring his own suggestions into execution. I shall never cease to remember how earnestly, in 1825, he deprecated certain plans which were then of some consequence, though to himself individually of no moment. He had given his advice, and he perceived plainly enough that it would not be followed. I was at the threshold of the outer door of his house in town, when he called to me from the upper floor, and came down stairs. "Before you go home," said he, "I wished to impress on your mind once more my perfect sincerity in the offers I have made to-day. Do not abandon a friend's counsels without due reflection; for be assured I have not advised without having myself carefully reflected. Your plans involve great trouble and great risk; those which I recommend are not attended with any. Yours may indeed, must-succeed to a certain extent; but to reach the goal would require sustained efforts of which no mortal, under adverse cir
cumstances, can rationally be supposed capable. If you proceed, time will be thrown away, property sacrificed, character attacked, if not injured; and, after a vain and most fatiguing struggle, you will end in a situation far worse than when you began." A witness to the conversation observed, that it was an extraordinary instance of disinterested zeal; but that any one should be insane enough to reject the proffers so kindly made, or the advice so forcibly given, was yet more extraordinary. As to the verification of his predictions, this may be understood as a matter of course.
By some envious detractors it has been occasionally alleged, that Scott through life enjoyed advantages such as rarely fall to the lot of men devoted to literature; on which grounds they would infer that his eminence is less to be wondered at. It is true, that from the beginning he was independent; he might talk of the res angusta domi in early years, but could never experience the horrors of that thraldom entailed by poverty, when the labour of each day is required to provide for existing wants. If, however, in a state of perfect independence he submitted to long and arduous literary tasks, without any necessity for so doing,
surely his merit is not thereby lessened, but enhanced. Such cavillers, per- haps, wish to insinuate, that, if doomed to write for daily bread, his genius would not have triumphed; and, in truth, could any obstacle have broken the practically calm but originally irrit- able spirit of Scott, it would have been poverty. Yet, as there is no state of prosperity to which we cannot natu- rally enough suggest a contrast, I could imagine his unyielding and stern self-control-even playfulness and mildness over a cup of water and crust of bread, or his expression, "It is my lot in this world, and, if not quite content, I endeavour to be so." He would, even then, have maintained the same principles of independence by which he was actuated through life; and the perfect tranquillity and fortitude with which he "looked diffi- culties in the face" would have dis- armed them of their terrors.
In this, as in many other passages, I have wished to illustrate the moral character of Scott; in which respect he was even more worthy of admiration than for his literary excellence. Hence no man of genius was ever so universally regretted, or left behind him a reputation so completely without a blot.
To Bethlehem, with all abundance rife, In Judah's lot, with many a spring supplied, Called Ephrata from Caleb's fruitful wife, Two lonely women came at evening-tide. "Ha! can it be? it is Naomi !" cried The gossips of the place, and gathered round The friend long absent, lost, forgotten, found.
"Is this Naomi? this our pleasant one?" "Nay!" she replied, with accent sad and stern, "Naomi call me not; I've undergone Much grief and bitterness: in one word learn, I went out full, and empty I return; With me most bitterly has dealt the Father: Naomi call me not, but Mara, rather."
Ten years were passed since she from Bethlehem, With her two sons and husband, turned in flight To Moab's land: what was become of them? Long since Elimelech, the Ephratite,
In Moab's land was buried out of sight; And now the same way both her sons were gone, Her only props, Mahlon and Chilion.
By famine pressed, they sought in Moab's land A refuge, and therein they found their graves, All but the widow. Now three widows stand On Judah's confines, and Naomi craves A blessing from the Lord, who only saves, On the two women, widowed in their youth, The wives of her dead sons, Orpah and Ruth.
For they were both of Moab, and though loath To part with them, as for their sakes seemed best, She to their mothers' homes dismissed them both: "The Lord deal kindly with you! make you blest, Each at her mother's house, and give you rest, Each in her husband's home! for kindly ye Have ever dealt both with the dead and me."
"The path thou treadest shall by me be trod, And where thou lodgest will I also lie;
Thy people shall be mine; thy God my God; And where thou diest, there too will I die, And there be buried. May the Lord on high So deal with me, as I this vow maintain, That nothing else but death shall part us twain."
Thus Ruth exclaimed, and with her onward went; Nor did Naomi more objection make,
When she perceived her mind was fully bent To leave friends, kindred, country, for her sake, And with the people of the Lord to take Her part for worse or better. So Ruth came To Bethlehem with that dejected dame.
'Twas barley-harvest; and the gladsome youth Of either sex were busy through the plain, Reaping and gleaning in the fields: and Ruth Did of the old Naomi leave obtain
To be of them, to glean the scattered grain. 'Twas Boaz' field that day she gleaned in, (For so it chanced) dead Mahlon's near of kin.
And Boaz came into the field to see
What work they did, and to the reapers said,—
"The Lord be with you :" "And the Lord bless thee," They answered him; and when he turned his head, And saw fair Ruth, his steward he questioned, "Whence came this damsel ?" he made answer clear, "She with Naomi came from Moab here.
She asked to let her glean here, and I let her; And she has gleaned till now from morning-tide." And Boaz said," My daughter! hark! 'tis better You glean not elsewhere, but that you abide Fast by my maidens; them from side to side, And field to field take care to follow still, And where you see them reaping glean at will.
I've charged the young men, and you need not shrink, If haply some of them are standing round; But when you are athirst, go, freely drink." And then she said, low bowing to the ground,— "How in thy sight have I this favour found, Who am a stranger?" Boaz said," Not so; How with Naomi yoù have dealt I know,
And all your conduct since your husband died; How you from parents, country, came away Unto a stranger people, and relied
On Israel's God, under his wings to lay Your safety, and your trust he will repay." "Though I am lowlier than thy lowliest maiden, Yet thou thy handmaid hast with favour laden,
And blessed mine ear with comfortable speech." And at the meal-time Boaz called her nigh, And bade her eat, and unto her did reach
The parched corn. She sat the reapers by, And ate, and was sufficed; and modestly She rose, and to her gleaning went again; } }} = "eaming train
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