That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled! Friends of the world! restore your swords to man, 15 Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name! The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre!* 20 Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore, Say, ye *"The Theban Lyre." The poetry of Pindar, a celebrated lyric poet, born in Thebes, 5 Yes, in that generous cause, forever strong, Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay. Yes, there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust, Ordain'd to fire the adoring sons of earth, XVIII. -THE LAST DAYS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. LOCKHART. [The Life of Scott, by his son-in-law, JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART, is one of the most delightful books in the language; in all parts full of interest, which becomes of a melancholy cast towards the close. Lockhart was a man of brilliant literary powers. He wrote " Valerius," "Matthew Wald," " Adam Blair," and "Reginald Dalton," all novels; "Peter's Letters," a series of sketches of Scotch society and of eminent men in Scotland; and a volume of translations from the Spanish ballads. He was also a frequent contributor to the earlier numbers of "Blackwood's Magazine." He was born in Glasgow in 1792, and died at Abbotsford, in 1854. He had been for many years editor of the "Quarterly Review." In consequence of Sir Walter Scott's declining health, he had passed the winter of 1831-2 in Italy; but with very little benefit. In June, 1832, while on his way home, he had an attack of apoplectic paralysis, from which he never rallied. On the 9th of July, he reached Edinburgh, in a state of almost entire insensibility. This extract begins with his removal to his own house at Abbotsford, about forty miles south-east of Edinburgh, on the Tweed. The Gala flows into the Tweed near by.] Ar a very early hour on the morning of Wednesday, the 11th, we again placed him in his carriage, and he lay in the same torpid state during the first two stages on the road to Tweedside. But as we ascended the vale of the 5 Gala, he began to gaze about him, and by degrees it was obvious that he was recognizing the features of that familiar landscape. Presently he murmured a name or two—“Gala Water, surely-Buckholm-Torwoodlee."> As we rounded the hill at Ladhope, and the outlines of the Eildons burst on him, he became greatly excited; and 5 when, turning himself on the couch, his eye caught at length his own towers, at the distance of a mile, he sprang up with a cry of delight. The river being in a flood, we had to go round a few miles by Melrose bridge; and during the time this occu10 pied, his woods and house being within prospect, it required occasionally both Dr. Watson's strength and mine, in addition to Nicholson's,† to keep him in the carriage. After passing the bridge, the road for a couple of miles loses sight of Abbotsford, and he relapsed into his stupor; 15 but on gaining the bank immediately above it, his excitement became ungovernable. 66 Mr. Laidlaw was waiting at the porch, and assisted us in lifting him into the dining-room, where his bed had been prepared. He sat bewildered for a few moments, 20 and then resting his eye on Laidlaw, said, 'Ha, Willie Laidlaw ! O man, how often have I thought of you!" By this time his dogs had assembled about his chair; they began to fawn upon him, and lick his hands, and he alternately sobbed and smiled over them, until sleep op25 pressed him. Dr. Watson, having consulted on all things with Mr. Clarksong and his father, resigned the patient to them, and returned to London. None of them could have any hope, but that of soothing irritation. Recovery was no 30 longer to be thought of. And yet something like a ray of hope did break in upon us, next morning. Sir Walter * Torwoodlee is a country seat near Abbotsford. tower. † Nicholson was Sir Walter Scott's servant. Buckholm is an old Mr. Laidlaw, a worthy and intelligent man, to whom Scott was much attached, was the manager of his estate. § Mr. Clarkson was a surgeon. awoke perfectly conscious where he was, and expressed an ardent wish to be carried out into his garden. We procured a Bath chair from Huntly Burn, and Laidlaw and I wheeled him out before his door, and up and down for 5 some time on the turf, and among the rose-beds, then in full bloom. The grandchildren admired the new vehicle, and would be helping in their way to push it about. He sat in silence, smiling placidly on them, and the dogs, their companions, and now and then admiring the house, 10 the screen of the garden, and the flowers and trees. By 15 and-by he conversed a little, very composedly, with us; said he was happy to be at home; that he felt better than he had ever done since he left it, and would perhaps disappoint the doctors, after all. He then desired to be wheeled through his rooms, and we moved him leisurely for an hour or more up and down the hall and the great library. "I have seen much," he kept saying, "but nothing like my ain house; give me one turn more." He was gentle as an infant, and allowed 20 himself to be put to bed again the moment we told him that we thought he had had enough for one day. Next morning he was still better. After again enjoying the Bath chair for perhaps a couple of hours, he desired to be drawn into the library, and placed by the cen25 tral window, that he might look down upon the Tweed. Here he expressed a wish that I should read to him; and when I asked from what book, he said, "Need you ask? There is but one." I chose the fourteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel; he listened with mild devotion, and said, 30 when I had done, "Well, this is a great comfort; I have followed you distinctly, and I feel as if I were yet to be myself again." In this placid frame he was again put to bed, and had many hours of soft slumber. On Monday he remained in bed, and seemed extremely * Huntly Burn is a cottage on the estate of Abbotsford, then occupied by Bir Adam Ferguson, a friend of Scott's. feeble; but after breakfast on Tuesday, the 17th, he appeared revived somewhat, and was again wheeled about on the turf. Presently he fell asleep in his chair, and after dozing for perhaps half an hour, started awake, and shak5 ing the plaids, we had put about him, from off his shoulders, said, "This is sad idleness. I shall forget what I have been thinking of, if I don't set it down now. Take me into my own room, and fetch the keys of my desk." He repeated this so earnestly that we could not refuse; 10 his daughters went into his study, opened his writingdesk, and laid paper and pens in the usual order, and I then moved him through the hall and into the spot where he had always been accustomed to work. When the chair was placed at the desk, and he found himself in the old 15 position, he smiled and thanked us, and said, "Now give me my pen, and leave me for a little to myself." Sophia✨ put the pen into his hand, and he endeavored to close his fingers upon it, but they refused their office- it dropped on the paper. He sank back among his pillows, silent 20 tears rolling down his cheeks; but composing himself, byand-by, motioned to me to wheel him out of doors again. Laidlaw met us at the porch, and took his turn of the chair. Sir Walter, after a little while, again dropped into slumber. When he was awaking, Laidlaw said to me, 25 Sir Walter has had a little repose." "No, Willie," 30 66 said he, "no repose for Sir Walter but in the grave." The tears again rushed from his eyes. Friends," said he, "don't let me expose myself; get me to bed - that's the only place." With this scene ended our glimpse of daylight. Sir Walter never, I think, left his room afterwards, and hardly his bed, except for an hour or two in the middle of the day; and after another week he was unable even to do this. * Sophia was Mrs. Lockhart, Scott's eldest daughter |