CHAMBERS'S POCKET MISCELLANY. ANECDOTES OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. IN his autobiographic sketch, Sir Walter candidly confesses that, when a boy, he made no great figure at the High School of Edinburgh-an admission very consoling to the mammas of 'backward boys' who are fonder of play than the discipline of the class. It has always appeared to us, however, that Scott underrated his abilities as a scholar; for few writers of fiction in the present day could have mustered so good an appearance of classicality in their productions. The truth seems to be, that this great man did not know himself; and certainly neither his parents nor teachers knew the stuff that was in him. The master under whom he was placed at the High School-who of course judged from technical acquirements confirmed the impression that young Walter was 'a remarkably stupid boy,' and his mother with grief acknowledged that all spoke truly on the subject. While such was Mrs Scott's opinion, she saw Walter one morning in the midst of a tremendous thunder-storm standing still in the street, and looking at the sky. She called to him repeatedly, but he remained looking upwards without taking the least notice of her. When he returned into the house, she was very much displeased with him: 'Mother,' he said, 'I could tell you the reason why I stood still, and why I looked at the sky, if you would only give me a pencil.' She gave him one, and in less than five minutes he laid a bit of paper on her lap with these words written on it : 'Loud o'er my head what awful thunders roll, Let hardened sinners thy just judgments fear.' The old lady, said the writer of this anecdote, repeated them to me herself, and the tears were in her eyes: for I really believe, simple as they are, that she valued these lines, being the first effusion of her son's genius, more than any later beauties which have so charmed all the world besides. Of his early school-days, Sir Walter related the following serio- comic anecdote to Mr Rogers :-' There was,' said he, 'a boy in my class at school who stood always at the top, nor could I, with all my efforts, supplant him. Day came after day, and still he kept his place do what I would, till at length I observed that, when a question was asked him, he always fumbled with his fingers at a particular button in the lower part of his waistcoat. To remove it, therefore, became expedient in my eyes; and in an evil moment it was removed with a knife. Great was my anxiety to know the success of my measure, and it succeeded too well. When the boy was again questioned, his fingers sought again for the button, but it was not to be found. In his distress he looked down for it; it was to be seen no more than to be felt. He stood confounded, and I took possession of his place; nor did he ever recover it, or ever, I believe, suspect who was the author of his wrong. Often in after-life has the sight of him smote me as I passed by him; and often have I resolved to make him some reparation; but it ended in good resolutions. Though I never renewed my acquaintance with him, I often saw him, for he filled some inferior office in one of the courts of law at Edinburgh. Poor fellow! I believe he is dead: he took early to drinking.' In his early life, Scott of course indulged in the convivial habits then common among the young men of the bar in Edinburgh; but he had the good sense to see the folly of this kind of indulgence, and shook himself free of it. A remarkable saying of his on this subject is recorded in his biography-Depend upon it, of all vices drinking is the most incompatible with greatness.' Sir Walter, as is well known, was a member of a light dragoon volunteer corps in Edinburgh, in 1797. A characteristic anecdote, connected with this part of his life, may be given. The commander of the corps, as not unusually happened, was rather ignorant of his duty, and required to have a card of the movements constantly in his hand. One unfortunate morning-a very cold onehe forgot to bring this monitor along with him, and was of course desperately nonplussed. He could positively do nothing; the troop stood for twenty minutes quite motionless, while he was vainly endeavouring to find the means of supplying the requisite document. At this moment, while the men were all as cold as their own stirrup-irons, and were more like a set of mutes at a funeral than a band of redoubted volunteers, ready to do battle at whatever odds against the might of Gaul, Sir Walter, came limping up, and said to a few of the other officers, in his grave way: 'I think the corpse is rather long in lifting this morning;' a drollery so fit to the occasion and to their feelings, that the whole burst out in a fit of laughing, which speedily communicated to the whole corps. The recollections of Scott's friends present a charming picture of his ordinary life at his summer retreat of Ashestiel on the Tweed, where he had found it necessary to establish himself on account of his duties as sheriff of Selkirkshire, His household, enlivened by four heal children, and superintended by Mrs Scott, was marked by simple elegance. On Sundays, being far from church, he read prayers and a sermon to his family; then, if the weather was good, he would walk with them, servants and all, to some favourite spot at a convenient distance, and dine with them in the open air. Frequent excursions on horseback, and coursing-matches, varied the tenor of common domestic life. Friends coming to pay visits found him in constant good-humour, and at all times willing to introduce them to the fine scenery and interesting antiquities of the district. In the evenings, his conversation, in which stories and anecdotes formed a large part, was a sure resource against ennui. As a husband and father, he was most kind and indulgent. His children had access to his room at all times; and when they came-unconscious of the nature of his studies -and asked for a story, he would take them on his knee, repeat a tale or a ballad, kiss them, and then set them down again to their sports, never apparently feeling the least annoyance at the interruption. His dogs, of which he always had two or three, were even more privileged, for he kept his window open in nearly all weathers, that they might leap out and in as they pleased. These were the happiest days of Scott's life, when as yet in the enjoyment of full vigour of body and mind, rather acquiring than reposing upon fame, and unembarrassed by possessions and dignities which afterwards made his position false and dangerous. While residing at Ashestiel, one of his favourite walks was along the banks of the Tweed, which is here an exceedingly beautiful river, sccluded in charming pastoral scenery. At the end of this walk is a scat beneath an aged tree, where the poet meditated some of the finest verses in Marmion. At this happy period of his life, Scott occasionally visited London, and allowed himself to go through that kind of exhibition called lionising, to which everything famous or even notorious is liable to be subjected in the metropolis; but he never was in the slightest degree spoilt by such idolatry. He fully shewed that he esti mated it at its real worth, and, after good-naturedly submitting to it, could laugh at its absurdity. It is less pleasant to record a change in his arrangements for study which took place about this time. Finding the day apt to be broken in upon by little duties and by visitors, he adopted the habit of rising and commencing his literary toils at six in the morning, usually finishing them at twelve, after the interruption of breakfast at ten. His biographer, Mr Lockhart, tells us how careful he was to dress neatly before sitting down, but he says nothing of his preparing for the duty before him by taking food. We have come to understand such things better now, and can easily see what fatal effects might arise in a few years from a habit of performing the principal duties of life with an exhausted system. All who had the happiness of knowing Sir Walter personally, acknowledge that a genial magnanimity was a leading feature in his character. There was no petty vengefulness in his composition. This is visible in the following anecdote. It may be recollected that his poem of Rokeby-one of the least successful of his efforts was followed by a burlesque called Jokeby, published by Mr Tegg of Cheapside. Mr Tegg-an extraordinary man in his way, who had raised himself from humble circumstances occasionally visited Scotland, and was desirous of being introduced at Abbotsford. This wish was gratified through the medium of an obliging acquaintance in Galashiels, who introduced him as the author of Jokeby. The more jokes the better,' said Sir Walter, as he bustled about for a chair; and in the whole course of the interview he never made further allusion to the burlesque poem, but after his usual manner, or it may be called policy, conversed generally upon the profession of the individual whom he was addressing. It is on all hands confessed that nothing ever spoiled this great man. Through all his exaltations, both of fortune and reputation, he never lost the original good, easy, kind, and benignant man-never for a moment ceased to |