B 3 mt mc^ KioTtsvrnLnMM 'j^^MKKHi-'^- 'T^ita*«*aja-TfiM»Kwmi»/')wn-> ::^"ti:^ ^^^^^^^^^^^V7 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^Hln '> - B^^Tf^^^^^^^^^B^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H ^ i t.f\ p:: ^ > |, II ■* 1 'ffi^W'?'^''-. p= Jolm 3\vett t-grr-V^-^T-aTlteia -;jr ^^,.-d' ±£i V V e. 1^ THE • • • • • • • »•■»•,•• ••• ,« «•••* •• •• ** » • ••••• ••• «« LADY OF THE LAKE. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. EDITED BY EDWIN GINN. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY GIXN, HEATH, & CO. 1885. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, by EDWIN GINN, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. J. S. CusHiNG & Co., Printers, 115 High Street, Boston. PEEFACE. /^N page V, under the heading "Classics for Chil- ^-^ dren," is given the origin and plan of a series of books intended for the young in our public schools. The series will be well printed in large type, on good paper, and firmly bound, and will be furnished at a price so low as to bring within the reach of every pupil in the land these books, which have hitherto been confined to the homes of those in more favored circumstances. Scott's writings seem well fitted for children, as the language is simple and graphic, the thought healthful and invigorating, and the events narrated based so largely on real life as to tend to create an interest in historical studies. This poem, with its beautiful de- scriptions of scenery, its vivid pictures of life, and the charming melody of its rhythm is especially well suited to interest the young. It has been urged against the use of Shakespeare, Scott, and such writers, in the grammar grades, that it will interfere with the course in the high school, where these authors are studied. If only one out of twenty-five ever reaches the high school, and the twenty-four can read these authors to advantage in the lower grades, would it not be wise to remodel the entire course of study in such a way as to secure the greatest good to the greatest number ? Should it seem to some that too many simple words have been defined, it must be borne in mind that the majority of children, nine years of age, attending public 54! 684 11 PREFACE. schools, have read ahiiost nothing, and are not snpplied with dictionaries. We have found it very difficult to define certain words concisely, in language sufficiently simple to be within the comprehension of young children. It has been our aim to give the child, having no other sources of information, such help as would enable him to read this poem intelligentl}^ and we count ourselves especially fortunate in being able to draw so largely from Scott's own writings. In abridging and quoting from Scott and other writers, we have used their own language without change as far as possible, thinking it better to retain the original vigorous expression, at the risk sometimes of its being a little abrupt, than to restate the thought less forcibly in a smoother connection of sentences. We regret that no more space could be allowed for the biography, but Ave trust enough has been given to lead the pupil to read Lockhart's complete biography of Scott. Great as he appears in his works, his real grandeur is shown in his quiet, unassuming life, in his unselfish devotion to the comforts of others, and in his heroic struggle, when crippled with disease, against adverse fortune. It is recommended that pupils read the historical sketch about the Highlands and James V., page xli, before and after reading the poem. It is hoped that others with more leisure and ampler resources may carry on the work. We have availed ourselves, by permission, of Mr. Rolfe's carefully-restored text of the poem. E. (jr. CONTEJSrTS. PAGE. en Introduction : Classics for Childn Life of A^^\LTER Scott Highlanders and Borderers of Scotland Argument Canto I. The Chase . ir. The Island . III. The Gathering IV. The Prophecy V. The Combat . VI. The Gi ard-room Index to Xotes Map .... XV xli 1 3 37 74 108 14-2 178 211 220 CLASSICS FOR CHILDREH". -«o«- THE present volume forms one of a series of standard works, to be edited for the use of children between the ages of nine and fifteen in the Public Schools. It was suggested by seeing the result of setting children of nine and eleven years to reading The Lady of the Lake. They soon became so much interested in it that they began not only to read with greater ease, but voluntarily committed to memory large portions of the poem. This result led to making numerous inquiries of thoughtful men and women, in various walks of life, in regard to their early reading. The evidence thus gained shows that children are capable of enjoying good books at an early age, and the chances of forming in them a taste for good literature are then much better than at a later period. In order that this course of reading might be removed still further from an experimental basis, a list of ques- tions about the works of standard authors was sent to leading men in the various professions, from whom many valuable answers, suggestions, and offers of assist- ance have been received. The kind of matter having been decided on, the next thing to be considered was the editorial work. It seems best, as far as practicable, to publish complete works; but some, like Scott's novels, vi CLASSICS FOR CHILDREN. contain much matter beyond the years of the children for whom the books are designed, besides being too bulky for our purpose. Though it is not an easy task to abridge Scott, we are fortunate in finding a person equal to it, as Miss Yonge's Quentin jDurward shows. It is designed to give such notes at the foot of the page as will enable children to read understandingly without the aid of other books. It may be thought that we have given too many definitions of words readily found ; but these books are designed for chil- dren in the Public Schools, few of whom are supplied with dictionaries. Besides, a pupil having a vague idea of the meaning of a word may not take the trouble to look it up ; but, if a glance at the bottom of the page would give him more definite information, without loss of time or interest, he would be glad to avail himself of it. It may be urged that many pupils of this age will not take any interest in such works. Very likely. For such we would prescribe a liberal amount of committing to memory. It may prove quite as interesting to the children, and as valuable, from an educational point of view, as memorizing the ten thousand bays, capes, rivers, islands, lakes, mountains, inlets, counties, towns, and cities now required. The one-tenth that could be recalled by some law of association, as the relation of rivers to mountain chains, the occupations of the people as modified by climate, etc., has been retained and assimilated, but the other nine-tenths have been gotten rid of as useless lumber. It may have had some bene- ficial influence in exercising the memory, but how much better to have used the same amount of effort in CLASSICS FOR CHILDREN. vii memorizing the choicest pages of the best authors, which would have had a lasting influence in forming correct literary tastes, as well as in storing the mind with healthful sentiments, to be recalled always with delight. It seems to us a sad abuse of time to require children to learn such facts as the date of election, term of service, and the state in which each of the Presidents and Vice-Presidents of the United States was born, and the details of every unimportant battle or skirmish in the Colonial, French, and Indian wars. Let them but spend the same amount of time in reading such works as Irving's " Life of Washington," Scott's " Tales of a Grandfather," and Macaulay's "History of England," and they will obtain not only more valuable informa- tion, but, what is vastly more important^ they will be acquiring a taste for good reading and a love for history which will be of inestimable value to them in after life. Besides, they will learn to use better English from con- stant use of such models than by studying technical grammar and poring over innumerable examples of true and false syntax. The child should have only the best set before him, for otherwise he is more liable to copy the imperfect, or to become confused between the true and the false, than to be guided aright. But to arithmetic we must look for the greatest mis- ai:)propriation of time. In the country school it con- sumes about three-fourths of all the time. It is com- mon to find young men who can solve every one of the thousand puzzles in the bulky arithmetics, but cannot write a common letter without making half a dozen Vlll CLASSICS FOR CHILDREN. mistakes in grammar and spelling. The pupils in the Grammar Schools must spend years over the long and tedious examples in compound fractions, compound numbers, compound proportion, profit and loss, part- nership, alligation, involution, square and cube roots, geometrical progression, permutations, annuities, and what not, though they have not time to read a single play of Shakespeare or a volume of history or other standard literature. Much valuable time is wasted by reversing the true order of studies, and giving so much attention to ex- hibitions, examinations, and methods. The child with a little knowledge and a good mem- ory may make a far better showing than the one who knows a great deal more of the subject. Memory com- mands a premium ; intelligence is at a discount. All real progress must be unconscious, and the in- stant the pupil turns his thoughts to what he is doing and how he is doing it, he not only ceases to learn, but has put the greatest bar to his future progress, by emphasizing his self-consciousness and egotism. As Dr. Stanley Hall truly says, such teaching is like the farmer's tearing up his beans from the earth every day, to observe the manner and progress of growth. The first lesson we would give would be the reverse of all this. We would never for a moment allow any study with any other idea than simply understanding the subject without thought of answering any ques- tions on it. We would try to get the pupil to forget everything, except his lesson, and utterly to lose himself in that. It is not natural for young children to confine their CLASSICS FOR CHILDREN. ix attention very closely or very long to one thing. There is so much to learn, so many novel things, that they must give some time to each. One should not attempt to control too early in life this natural tendency to change ; but, as soon as children begin to use books, they should be taught the value of giving their undivided attentioii to the lesson in hand, at short intervals at first, lengthening the time gradually so as not to tire. We would impress upon them the ivickedness of playing study, giving a listless, partial attention, and allowing their minds frequently to wander to other subjects. This want of concentration of effort is the greatest possible obstacle to advancement in learning, — a fault most common to pupils, and, strange to say, one to which but few teachers give any attention. It is necessary for children to read a great deal, to acquire that facility of expression which will enable them to perform the merely mechanical operation of reading without conscious effort. The mind should be entirely free to concentrate itself on the subject-matter. Now, since it is not natural for them to apply them- selves closely enough and long enough to accom2:)lish this work, we should aid them by supplying an abun- dance of interesting material. It is not, therefore, of so much importance, at this stage of the child's education, that the highest moral truths be presented, as that the matter be of such intense interest as to catch and hold the whole attention of the pupil. The highest moral law he should now know is to learn the command of words, and the most effective use of his faculties. Care should be taken that his English should be simple and forcible, and nothing harmful in ethics should be allowed. X CLASSICS FOR CHILDREN. It is a waste of time to try to teach morals, in his read- ing lesson, to a child who has to spell out his words ; and almost as bad to try to teach geography, grammar, arithmetic, and the other subjects. Words are to him as tools to the mechanic. Until he has learned to use them effectively, he should not be put to serious work, where his attention is distracted from his first duty, — the perfecting himself in his trade, the command of words. If a part of the time now given to spelling out words, in geography, arithmetic, grammar, and stupid reading-lessons, were devoted at first, wholly or mostly, to reading only, our children would not only become much better scholars in these various branches, but read more literature in the Grammar Schools than the college student now gets before graduating; besides, they would acquire a literary taste and a love for good reading, of inestimable value to them in their future life, which will never be so busy but that they will find the time for a few moments' gratification of it. People are ignorant, not so much because of being overworked, as from want of a love for good reading. Give the children a chance, a glimpse into the great storehouses of knowledge in books, wherein they may commune with the greatest minds at their best. After the child has learned to read with ease simple stories from all sources, the course should assume more definite form, including the standard works of fiction, history, biography, natural history, etc., all well graded, keeping constantly in mind these three points : interest, moral power, and style ; selecting those only which em- body these all in the greatest degree. It is of the greatest importance to develop a love for CLASSICS FOR CHILDREN. xi history in early life, as no one can be well read without a fair knowledge of the past. In fact, one must know a people in order to understand their literature. Some of the best thoughts of a writer, depending upon allu- sions to historical persons or events, are entirely lost to the reader not familiar wdth history. Nor is this the only reason of its value. The tracing of great events unfolds the mind. We suffer and enjoy with the struggling mortals of the past, and, as it were, pass through their verj^ experiences, and are able to reap their rewards while w^e avoid their mistakes. One who really loves history will find time to read it, but none for cheap novels. Leading epochs should be selected from the great liistorians, adding such information as may be necessary for a complete understanding of the extracts. The historical novel and biography are espe- cially well calculated to create a love for history, and the whole course should be so graded that biography, natural history, novels, travels, history, and the various departments of literature should be made mutually help- ful and dependent, covering the same periods and illus- trating one another. This work cannot be left to the High School, for we find, on a careful examination of the reports from several of our largest cities, where the schools have attained their greatest perfection, that only one in twenty-five of the whole number of pupils ever reaches that grade. Besides, only a very limited portion of time is now given to this work in our higher institutions of learning, and there is a prospect of less in the near future. The bread-and-butter theory of education, appealing directly to the needs of the great majority of the people, has XU CLASSICS FOE CHILDREN. always exerted a strong influence against the higher training, and of late it has become alarmingly popular in our very strongholds of a liberal education. It may prove a dangerous experiment in education to allow the modei^ to take the place of the ancient languages, which have been for so many centuries the basis of the best training the world has yet known. A single generation may suffice to show our lost ground, but centuries may not afford time to regain it. A knowledge of French and German may enable the American trader to extend his commercial relations and rapidly to gain wealth, or the tourist to spend a much more pleasant trip abroad; but this education only enables him to pass readily from one bustling country to another, where he will still find his fellow-traveller snatching his hasty meal, reading his damp newspaper, and content to become the connecting link between the rail-car and the telegraph-wire. When studjdng Latin and Greek, we are forced out of the present, and are obliged to extend our horizon, and, like the near-sighted at sea, attain a more healthy vision. It has a wonderfully calming influence on young America to spend a few years studying those old heathen languages, whicli after two thousand years furnish the whole civilized world their models of expression in language, art, and law. Though only a small proportion of the Avhole number of pupils now reach the High School, its elevating in- fluence is felt on all the lower grades; and, as fast as the people learn to value education as increasing one's manhood or womanhood by developing the powers of enjoyment and usefulness rather than as a means of gaining wealth, they will make greater exertions to furnish their children the best possible. CLASSICS FOK CHILDIIEN. xiii It is hoped that this attempt to put standard litera- ture into the hands of young children will receive en- couragement, and that a free discussion of the subject may lead to such changes in the course of instruction in the Public Schools as shall give to each study the proportion of time its im[)ortance may fairly claim. Jli. Gr. 1 ' , ' ^ > J ) ) ) ) > > LIFE OF WALTER SCOTT. ABRIDGEJ) FROM HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY. -*o*- W ALTER SCOTT, m}' father, was born in 1729, and educated to the profession of a Writer to the Signet.^ I was born, as I believe, on the 15th August, 1771. I showed every sign of health and strength until I was about eighteen months old. One night, I have been often told, I showed great reluctance to be caught and put to bed ; and after being chased about the room, was apprehended and consigned to my dormitor}' with some difficulty. It was the last time I was to show such personal agilit}'. In the morning, I was discovered to be affected with the fever which often accompanies the cutting of large teeth. It held me three days. On the fourth, when they went to bathe me as usual, they discovered that I had lost the power of my right leg. M}^ grandfather, an excellent anatomist as well as physician, the late worthy Alexander Wood, and many others of the most respectable of the faculty, were consulted. There appeared to be no dislocation or sprain ; blisters and other topical remedies were applied in vain. The advice of my grandfather. Dr. Rutherford, that I should be sent to reside in the countr}', to give the chance of natural exertion, excited by free air and liberty, was first resorted to ; and before I have the recollection of the slightest event, I was, agreeably to this friendly counsel, an inmate in the farm- house of Sandy-Knowe. 1 An Edinburgh solicitor. xvi AUTOBIOGRAPHY. It is here at Sandy-Knowe, in the residence of m}^ paternal ^raadfatber, alreaey mentioned, that I have the first con- sciousness oif existence. My grandmother, in whose youth the old Border depreda- tions were matter of recent tradition, used to tell me man}' a tale of Watt of Harden, Wight Willie of Aikwood, Jamie Telfer of the fair Dodhead, and other heroes — merrymen all of the persuasion and calling of Robin Hood and Little John. Two or three old books which lay in the window-seat were explored for my amusement in the tedious winter-da3S. Automathes^ and Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, were my favorites, although at a later period' an odd volume of Josephus's Wars of the Jews divided my partialit}-. My kind and affectionate aunt, Miss Janet Scott, whose memorv will ever be dear to me, used to read these works to me with admirable patience, until I could repeat long passages by heart. The ballad of Hardyknute I was early master of, to the great annoyance of almost our onh' visitor, the worthy clergyman of the parish, Dr. Duncan, who had not patience to have a sober chat interrupted by my shouting forth this ditty. Methinks I now see his tall, thin, emaciated figure, his legs cased in clasped gambadoes, and his face of a length that would have rivalled the Knight of La Mancha's, and hear him exclaiming, "One may as well speak in the mouth of a cannon as where that child is." I was in m}* fourth year when m}' father was advised that the Bath waters might be of some advantage to my lameness. M}' affectionate aunt, although such a journey promised to a person of her retired habits anything but pleasure or amuse- ment, undertook as readily to accompany me to the wells of Bladud as if she had expected all the delight that ever the prospect of a watering-place held out to its most impatient visitants. My health was b}' this time a good deal confirmed by the country air and the influence of that imperceptible AUTOBIOGRAPHY. xvii and iinfatigiiing exercise to which the good sense of my grandfather had subjected me ; for, when the day was fine, 1 was usually carried out and laid down beside the old shep- herd, among the crags or rocks round which he fed his sheep. The impatience of a child soon inclined me to struggle with my infirmity, and I began by degrees to stand, to walk, and to run. Although the limb affected was much shrunk and contracted, my general health, which was of more importance, was much strengthened by being frequently in the open air ; and, in a word, I, who in a city had probably been condemned to hopeless and helpless decrepitude, was now a healthy, high-spirited, and, my lameness apart, a sturdy child. During my residence at Bath I acquired the rudiments of reading, at a day-school kept by an old dame near our lodg- ings, and I had never a more regular teacher, although I think I did not attend her a quarter of a year. An occasional lesson from my aunt supplied the rest. Afterwards, when grown a big boy, I had a few lessons from Mr. Stalker of Edinburgh, and finally from the Rev. Mr. Cleeve. But I never acquired a just pronunciation, nor could I read with much propriety. The most delightful recollections of Bath are dated after the arrival of my uncle. Captain Robert Scott, who intro- duced me to all the little amusements which suited m^^ age, and, above all, to the theatre. The play was As You Like It; and the witchery of the whole scene is alive in my mind at this moment. I made, I believe, noise more than enouo-h, and remember being so much scandalized at the quarrel between Orlando and his brother, in the first scene, that I screamed out, " A'n't they brothers?" A few weeks' resi- dence at home convinced me, who had till then been an only child in the house of my grandfather, that a quarrel between brothers was a very natural event. After being a year at Bath, I returned first to Edinl)uro-h, XVlll AUTOBIOGRAPHY. and afterwards for a season to Sandy-Knowe ; — and thus the time whiled away till about mj' eighth year, when it was thought sea-bathing might be of service to my lame- ness. For this purpose, still under my aunt's protection, I re- mained some weeks at Prestonpans, — a circumstance not worth mentioning, excepting to record my juvenile intimacy with an old military veteran, Dalgetty by name, who had pitched his tent in that little village, after all his campaigns, subsisting upon an ensign's Ixalf-pay, though called by courtesy a Captain. As this old gentleman, who had been in all the German wars, found very few to listen to his tales of military feats, he formed a sort of alliance with me, and I used invariably to attend him for the pleasure of hearing those communications. Sometimes our conversation turned on the American war, which was then raging. It was about the time of Burgoyne's unfortunate expedition, to which my Captain and I augured different conclusions. Somebody had shown me a map of North America, and, struck with the rugged appearance of the countr}-, and the quantity of lakes, I expressed some doubts on the subject of the Gener- al's arriving safely at the end of his journe}', which were very indignantly refuted by the Captain. The news of the Saratoga disaster, while it gave me a little triumph, rather shook my intimacy with the veteran. Besides this veteran, I found another ally at Prestonpans in the person of George Constable, an old friend of m}^ father's. He was the first person who told me about Falstaff and Hotspur, and other characters in Shakespeare. What idea I annexed to them I know^ not, but I must have annexed some, for I remember quite w^ell being interested in the sub- ject. Indeed, I rather suspect that children derive impulses of a powerful and important kind in hearing things which they cannot entirely comprehend ; and, therefore, that to AUTOBIOGRAPHY. xix write down to childreu's understanding is a mistake : set them on the scent, and let them puzzle it out. From Prestonpans I was transported back to my father's house in George's Square, which continued to be my most established place of residence, until m}- marriage in 1797. I felt the change, from being a single indulged brat to be- coming a member of a large family-, very severely ; for, under the gentle government of my kind grandmother, who was meekness itself, and of ni}- aunt, who, though of an higher temper, was exceedingly attached to me, I had acquired a degree of license which could not be permitted in a large family. I had sense enough, however, to bend m}' temper to my new circumstances ; but, such was the agony which I internally experienced, that I have guarded against nothing more, in the education of my own family, than against their acquiring habits of self-willed caprice and domination. I found much consolation, during this period of mortification, in the partiality of my mother. She joined to a light and happy temper of mind a strong turn to study poetry and works of imagination. My lameness and my solitary habits had made me a tolera- ble reader, and my hours of leisure were usually spent in reading aloud to m}- mother Pope's translation of Homer, which, excepting a few traditionary ballads, and the songs in Allan Ramsay's Evergreen^ was the first poetry which I perused. My mother had good natural taste and great feel- ing : she used to make me pause upon those passages which expressed generous and worthy sentiments, and, if she could not divert me from those which were descriptive of battle and tumult, she contrived at least to divide m}' attention between them. M}' own enthusiasm, however, was chiefly awakened bv the wonderful and the terrible — the common taste of children, but in which I have remained a child even unto this day. I got by heart, not as a task, but almost XX AUTOBIOGRAPHY. without intending it, the passages with which I was most pleased, and used to recite them aloud, both when alone and to others — more willingl}^, however, in ni}- hours of solitude, for I had observed some auditors smile, and I dreaded ridi- cule at that time of life more than I have ever done since. In [1778] I was sent to the second class of the Grammar School, or High School of Edinburgh, then taught b^' Mr. Luke Fraser, a good Latin scholar and a verj' worthy man. Though I had received, with my brothers, in private, lessons of Latin from Mr. James French, now a minister of the Kirk of Scotland, I was nevertheless rather behind the class in which I was placed both in 3'ears and in progress. This was a real disadvantage, and one to which a boy of livel}' temper and talents ought to be as little exposed as one who might be less expected to make up his lee-wa}', as it is called. The situation has the unfortunate effect of reconciling a boy of the former character (which in a posthumous work I may claim for my own) to holding a subordinate station among his class-fellows — to which he would otherwise affix dis- grace. There is also, from the constitution of the High School, a certain danger not sufficientl}' attended to. The bo3's take precedence in their places^ as they are called, according to their merit, and it requires a long w^hile, in general, before even a clever boy, if he falls behind the class, or is put into one for which he is not quite ready, can force his way to the situation which his abilities really entitle him to hold. But, in the meanwhile, he is necessarily led to be the associate and companion of those inferior spirits with whom he is placed ; for the system of precedence, though it does not limit the general intercourse among the bo3's, has nevertheless the effect of throwing them into clubs and coteries, according to the vicinit}' of the seats they hold. A boy of good talents, therefore, placed even for a time among his inferiors, especially if they be also his elders, learns to AUTOBIOGRAPHY. XXI participate in their pursuits and objects of ambition, which are usually very distinct from the acquisition of learning ; and it will be well if he does not also imitate them in that indifference which is contented with bustling over a lesson so as to avoid punishment, without affecting superiority or aiming at reward. It was probably owing to this circmn- stance, that, although at a more advanced period of life I have enjoyed considerable facility in acquiring languages, I did not make any great figure at the High School ; or, at least, any exertions which I made were desultory and little to be depended on. Our class contained some ver}' excellent scholars. As for myself, I glanced like a meteor from one end of the class to the other, and commonly disgusted my kind master as much by negUgence and frivoUty as I occasionally pleased him by flashes of intellect and talent. Among my companions my good-nature and a flow of ready imagination rendered me very popular. Boys are uncommonly just in their feelings, and at least equally generous. My lameness, and the efforts which I made to supply that disadvantage, by making up in address what I wanted in activity, engaged the latter principle in my favor ; and in the winter play -hours, when hard exercise was impossible, my tales used to assemble an admiring audience round Lucky Brown's fireside, and happy was he that could sit next to the inexhaustible narrator. I was also, though often negligent of my own task, always ready to assist my friends ; and hence I had a little pai'ty of staunch partisans and adherents, stout of hand and heart, though somewhat dull of head, — the very tools for raising a hero to eminence. So, on the whole, I made a brighter figure in the yards than in the class. After having been three years under Mr. Fraser, our class was, in the usual routine of the school, turned over to Dr. Adam, the Rector. It was from this respectable man that xxii AUTOBIOGRAPHY. I first learned the value of the knowledge I had hitherto con- sidered only as a burdensome task. It was the fashion to remain two years at his class, where we read Caesar and Liv}^ and Sallust, in prose ; Virgil, Horace, and Terence, in verse. I had by this time mastered, in some degree, the difficulties of the language, and began to be sensible of its beauties. This was reall}' gathering grapes from thistles ; nor shall I soon forget the swelling of my little pride when the Rector pronounced, that though many of my school-fel- lows understood the Latin better, Gualterus Scott was behind few in following and cnjojing the author's meaning. Thus encouraged, I distinguished m3'self by some attempts at poetical versions from Horace and ^Virgil. Dr. Adam used to invite his scholars to such essays, but never made them tasks. I gained some distinction upon these occasions, and the Rector in future took much notice of me ; and his judicious mixture of censure and praise went far to counter- balance my habits of indolence and inattention. I saw I was expected to do well, and I was piqued in honor to vindicate my master's favorable opinion. I climbed, there- fore, to the first form ; and, though I never made a first-rate Latinist, nw school-fellows, and what was of more conse- quence, I mj^self, considered that I had a character for learning to maintain. From Dr. Adam's class I should, according to the usual routine, have proceeded immediateh' to college. But, for- tunately, I was not 3'et to lose, by a total dismission from constraint, the acquaintance with the Latin which I had acquired. My health had become rather delicate from rapid growth, and my father was easily persuaded to allow me to spend half a j^ear at Kelso with my kind aunt, Miss Janet Scott, whose inmate I again became. It was hardly worth mentioning that I had frequently visited her during our short vacations. AUTOBiOGRAriiy. xxiii In the meanwhile my acquaintance witli English literature was gradually extending itself. In the intervals of my school hours I had always perused with avidity such books of histor}' or poetry or voyages and travels as chance pre- sented to me, — not forgetting the usual, or rather ten times the usual, quantity of fairy tales, eastern stories, romances, etc. These studies were totally unregulated and undirected. My tutor thought it almost a sin to open a profane play or poem ; and my mother, besides that she might be in some degree trammelled by the religious scruples which he sug- gested, had no longer the opportunity to hear me read poetry as formerly. I found, however, in her dressing-room (where I slept at one time) some odd volumes of Shakespeare ; nor can I easily forget the rapture with which I sate up in my shirt reading them by the light of a fire in her apartment, until the bustle of the family rising from supper warned me it was time to creep back to my bed, where I was supposed to have been safely deposited since nine o'clock. Chance, however, threw in my way a poetical preceptor. This was no other than the excellent and benevolent Dr. Blacklock, well known at that time as a literary character. I know not how I attracted his attention, and that of some of the 3'oung men who boarded in his family ; but so it was that I became a frequent and favored guest. The kind old man opened to me the stores of his library, and through his recommendation I became intimate with Ossian and Spenser. I was delighted with both, yet I think chiefly with the latter poet. The tawdry repetitions of the Ossianic phraseology disgusted me rather sooner than might have been expected from mj' age. But Spenser I could have read forever. Too 3'oung to trouble myself about the allegory, I considered all the knights and ladies and dragons and giants in their outward and exoteric sense, and God only knows how delighted T was to find m3'self in such societj'. As I had always a xxiv AUTOBIOGRAPHY. wonderful facility in retaining in my memory whatever verses pleased me, the quantity of Spenser's stanzas which I could repeat was really marvellous. But this memory of mine was a very fickle ally, and has through my whole life acted merely upon its own capricious motion, and might have enabled me to adopt old Beattie of Meikledale's answer, when complimented by a certain reverend divine on the strength of the same faculty: "No, sir," answered the old Borderer, "I have no command of my memory. It only retains what hits my fancy ; and probably, sir, if you were to preach to me for two hours, I would not be able when you finished to remember a word you had been saying." My memory was precisely of the same kind : it seldom failed to preserve most tenaciously a favorite passage of poetry, a play-house ditty, or, above all, a Border-raid ballad; but names, dates, and the other technicalities of history escaped me in a most melancholy degree. The philosophy of history, a much more important subject, was also a sealed book at this period of my life ; but I gradually assembled much of what was striking and picturesque in historical narrative ; and when, in riper years, T attended more to the deduction of general principles, I was furnished with a powerful host of examples in illustration of them. I was, in short, like an ignorant gamester, who kept up a good hand until he knew how to play it. I left the High School, therefore, with a great quantity of general information, ill arransjed, indeed, and collected with- out system ; yet deeply impressed upon my mind ; readily assorted by my power of connection and memory, and gilded, if I may be permitted to say so, by a vivid and active im- agination. If my studies were not under any direction at Edinburgh, in the country, it may be well imagined, they were less so. A respectable subscription library, a circulat- ing library of ancient standing, and some private book- AUTOBIOGRAPHY. XXV shelves, were open to ray random perusal, and I waded into the stream like a blind man into a ford, without the power of searching m^' wa}', unless by groping for it. INI}' appetite for books was as ample and indiscriminating as it was inde- fatigable, and I since have had too frequently reason to repent that few ever read so much, and to so little purpose. Among the valuable acquisitions I made about this time, was an acquaintance with Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, But, above all, I then first became acquainted with Bishop Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry. I remember well the spot where I read these volumes for the first time. It was beneath a huge platauus-tree, in the ruins of what had been intended for an old-fashioned arbor in the garden I have mentioned. The summer-day sped onward so fast, that, notwithstanding the sharp appetite of thirteen, I forgot the hour of dinner, was sought for with anxiety, and was still found entranced in my intellectual banquet. To read and to remember was in this instance the same thing, and hence- forth I overwhelmed my school-fellows, and all who would hearken to me, with tragical recitations from the ballads of Bishop Percy. The first time, too, I could scrape a few shillings together, which were not common occurrences with me, I bought unto myself a copy of these beloved volumes ; nor do I believe I ever read a book half so frequently, or with half the enthusiasm. About this period also I became acquainted with the works of Richardson, and those of INIackenzie, with Fielding, Smollet, and some others of our best novelists. To this period also I can trace distinctl}' the awaking of that delightful feeling for the beauties of natural objects which has never since deserted me. The neighborhood of Kelso, the most beautiful, if not the most romantic village in Scotland, is eminently calculated to awaken these ideas. From this time the love of natural beauty, more especially XXVI . AUTOBIOGRAPHY. when combined with ancient ruins, or remains of our fathers' piety or splendor, became with me an insatiable passion, which, if circumstances had permitted, I would willingly have gratified by travelling over half the globe. If, however, it should ever fall to the lot of youth to peruse these pages — let such a reader remember, that it is with the deepest regret that I recollect in my manhood the opportunities of learning which I neglected in m}- ^^outh ; that through every part of my literary career I have felt pinched and hampered by m}^ own ignorance ; and that I would at this moment give half the reputation I have had the good fortune to acquire, if by doing so I could rest the remaining part upon a sound foundation of learning and science. LIFE OF SCOTT. ABRIDGED MAINLY FROM LOCKHART AND HUTTON. AS Scott grew up, entered the classes of the college, and began his legal studies, first as apprentice to his father, and then in the law classes of the University, he became noticeable to all his friends for his gigantic memory and the rich stores of romantic material with which it was loaded. His reading was almost all in the direction of militar}- exploit, or romance and mediaeval legend and the later bor- der songs of his own country. He learned Italian and read Ariosto. Later he learned Spanish and devoured Cervantes, whose '•'■ novelas^'" he said, "first inspired him with the ambition to excel in fiction " ; and all that he read and admired he remembered. It might be supposed that, with these romantic tastes, Scott could scarcely have made much of a lawyer, though the inference would, I believe, be quite mistaken. His father, however, reproached him with being better fitted for a pedlar than a lawyer, — so persistently did he trudge over all the neighboring counties in search of the beauties of nature and the historic associations of battle, siege, or legend. In spite of all tliis love of excitement, Scott became a sound lawyer, and might have been a great one, had not his pride of character, the impatience of his genius, and the stir of his imagination rendered liim indisposed to wait and xxviii LIFE OF SCOTT. slave iu the precise manner which the prepossessions of solicitors appoint. He continued to practise at the bar — nominal!}^ at least— for fourteen years, but the life of literature and the life of the bar hardly ever suit, and in Scott's case they suited the less, that he felt himself likely to l)e a dictator in the one field, and only a postulant in the other. Literature was a far greater gainer by his choice than law could have been a loser. For his capacity for the law he shared with thou- sands of able men, his capacity for literature with few or none. Love and Marriage. One Sunday, about two years before his call to the bar, Scott offered his umbrella to a young lady of much beauty who was coming out of the Greyfriars Church during a shower ; the umbrella was graciously accepted ; and it was not an unprecedented consequence that Scott fell in love with the borrower, who turned out to be Margaret, daughter of Sir John and Lady Jane Stuart Belches, of Ivernay. For near six years after this, Scott indulged the hope of marrying this lady, and it does not seem doubtful that the lady herself was in part responsible for this impression. For some reason this strong attachment was broken off. It may have been on account of some disagreement between the young people themselves, but most likely from a differ- ence in the rank of the parties. It was his first and only deep passion, so far as ever can be known to us, and had a great influence on his after life, both in keeping him free from some of the most dangerous temptations in life during his youth, and in creating in him an interior world of dreams and recollections, on which his imagination was continually fed. The pride which was always so notable a feature in Scott probably sustained him through the keen inward pain which it is very certain from a great many of his own words LIFE OF SCOTT. xxix that he must have suffered in this uprooting of his most pas- sionate hopes. And it was in part probably the same pride which led him to form, within the year, a new tie — his engagement to Mademoiselle Charpentier, or Miss Carpenter, as she was usually called, — the daughter of a French royalist of Lj'ons who had died early in the revolution. She made on the whole a very good wife, only one to be protected b}^ him from every care, and not one to share Scott's deeper anxieties or to participate in his dreams. Border Minstrelsy and Maturer Poems. Ever since his earliest college da3'S Scott had been collecting, in those excursions of his into Liddesdale and elsewhere, materials for a book on The 3Iinstrelsy of the Scottish Border ; and the publication of this work, in January, 1802, was his first great literary success. The whole edition of eight hundred copies was sold within the 3'ear, while the skill and care which Scott had devoted to the historical illus- tration of the ballads, and the force and spirit of his own new ballads, written in imitation of the old, gained him at once a very high literary name. And the name was well deserved. Scott's genius flowered late. It was not until he was already thirtv-one vears of age that he wrote the first canto of his first great romance in verse, The Lay of the Last Minstrel. Jeffrey says of the three poems : " The Lay, if I ma}^ venture to state the creed now established, is, I should say, generally considered as the most natural and original, Marmion as the most power- ful and splendid. The Lady of the Lake as the most interesting, romantic, picturesque, and graceful of his great poems." It is in painting those moods and exploits, in relation to which Scott shares most completely the feelings of ordinary men, but experiences them with far greater strength and purity than ordinary men, that he triumphs as a poet. XXX LIFE OF SCOTT. His romance is like his native scenery, — bold, bare, and rngged, with a swift, deep stream of strong, pure feeling run- ning through it. There is plent}' of color in his pictures, as there is on the Scotch hills when the heather is out. And so too there is plenty of intensity in his romantic situations ; but it is the intensity of simple, natural, unsophisticated, hardy, and manly characters. Partnership with the Ballantyne Brothers. Before proceeding further with Scott's life, it may be well to mention briefly his commercial relations with the Ballan- tyne Brothers, which had such an important bearing on the rest of his life. About the 3^ear 1805, before he had any idea of the gains he might derive from his writings, and while his income from other sources was very limited, he formally, but secretly, entered into the printing business as a partner with his old schoolmate, James Ballantyne. Although Ballantyne kept his accounts in a loose way, he otherwise managed the business fairly well ; and it might have proved a good investment had not Scott soon after, in order to furnish work to the printing-office, engaged in the publishing and book-selling business with John Ballantyne. Great risks attend this business, requiring good financial ability, a large acquaintance with men, sound judgment, and close application ; yet Scott selected a frivolous man of pleasure, with neither character or capacity, as a partner, relying probably on his own judgment for managing the publishing house. For such a task he was wholly unfitted. Because he was fond of antiquarian and historical re- searches, he supposed the people were eager for such read- ing ; and because some of his friends desired to write unsalable books, he could not refuse to publish them; It is not sufficient for a publisher to ascertain that the book LIFE OF SCOTT. xxxi offered is a good one, but he must know whether it is so well adapted to the times and the wants of the community as to command a reasonable sale. Besides the firm's making so many bad investments, John Ballant^-ne was squandering its money in dissipation, so that Scott was kept in constant fear of bankruptcy all through the years 1813 and 1814 ; and it was not until the publication of Waverley, opening up the richest vein in his own genius and popularity, that these alarms were ended. So great was the success of this novel that the leading pub- lishers were very eager to purchase a share in it and subse- quent issues. Constable, of Edinburgh, secured the works, but on condition that he should buy also a large part of the worthless stock of John Ballantyne & Co. This sale enabled Scott to wind up that unfortunate enterprise fairly well, although the printing house of James Ballantyne & Co. still held some of their notes, and Constable, on whom he was depending for money to extend his estate, build his castle, and pay his other expenses, was seriously crippled by the purchase of all this unsalable stock. The Waverley Novels. In the summer of 1814, Scott took up again and completed — almost at a single heat — a fragment of a Jacobite story begun in 1805 and then laid aside. It was published anou}'- mously, and its astonishing success turned back again the scales of Scott's fortunes, already inclining ominously towards a catastrophe. This story was Waverley. Scott's method of composition was always the same ; and, when writing an imaginative work, the rate of progress seems to have been pretty even, depending much more on the absence of disturbing engagements than on any mental irregularity. The morning was always his brightest time ; but morning or evening, in countr}' or in town, well or ill, XXXll LIFE OF SCOTT. writing with his own pen or dictating to an amanuensis in the intervals of screaming-fits due to the torture of cramp in the stomach, Scott spun away at his imaginative web almost as evenl}^ as a silkworm spins at its golden cocoon. In the fourteen most effective years of Scott's literary life, during which he wrote twenty-three novels besides sliorter tales, the best stories appear to have been on the whole the most rapidly written, probably because they took the strong- est hold of the author's imagination. But though, to our larger experience, Scott's achievement, in respect of mere fertility, is by no means the miracle which it once seemed, I do not think one of his successors can com- pare with him for a moment in the ease and truth with which he painted, not merely the life of his own time and country — seldom indeed that of precisely his own time, — but that of days long past, and often too of scenes far distant. The most powerful of all his stories, Old Mortality, was the story of a period more than a century and a quarter before he wrote; and others — which, though inferior to this in force, are nevertheless, when compared with the so-called historical romances of any other English writer, what sunlight is to moonlight, if you can say as much for the latter as to admit even that comparison — go back to the period of the Tudors, that is, two centuries and a half. Quentin Durward runs back farther still, far into the previous century, while Ivmihoe and The Talisman carry us back more than five hundred years. The most striking feature of Scott's romances is that, for the most part, they are pivoted on public rather than mere private interests and passions. With but few exceptions — ( The Antiquary, St. Ronan's Well, and Guy Mannerhuj are the most important) — Scott's novels give us an imaginative view, not of mere individuals, but of individuals as they are affected by the public strifes and social divisions of the age. No man can read Scott without being more of a public man. LIFE OF SCOTT. xxxiii Scott in Adversity. With the 3'ear 1825 came a financial crisis, and Constable began to tremble for his solvency. From the date of his baronetcy (1820) , Sir Walter had launched out into a consider- able increase of expenditure. He got plans on a rather large scale in .1821 for the extension of Abbotsford, which were all carried out. To meet his expenses in this and other ways he received Constable's bills for "four unnamed works of fic- tion," of which he had not written a line. Nor were the obligations he incurred on his own account, or that of his family, the only ones by which he was bur- dened. He was always iacurring expenses, often heavy ex- penses, for other people. Such obligations, however, would have been nothing when compared with Sir Walter's means, had all his bills on Constable been dul}^ honored, and had not the printing firm of Ballantyne and Co. been so deepl}' involved with Constable's house that it necessaril}' became insolvent when he stopped. Taken altogether, I believe that Sir Walter earned during his own lifetime at least £140,000 by his literary work alone, probabl}' more ; while even on his land and building combined he did not appar- ently spend more than half that sum. Thus even his loss of the price of several novels by Con- stable's failure would not seriously have compromised Scott's position, but for his share in the printing-house, which fell with Constable, and the obligations of which amounted to £117,000. As Scott had always forestalled his income, — spending the purchase-mone}' of his poems and novels before they were written, — such a failure as this, at the age of fiftj'-five, when all the freshness of his youth was gone out of him, when he saw his son's prospects blighted as well as his own, and knew perfectly that James Ballantyne, unassisted by xxxiv LIFE OF SCOTT. him, could never hope to pay any fraction of the debt worth mentioning, would have been paralyzing, had he not been a man of iron nerve, and of a pride and courage hardly ever equalled. Domestic calamity, too, was not far off. For two years he had been watching the failure of his wife's health with increasing anxiety, and, as calamities seldom come single, her illness took a most serious form at the very time when the blow fell, and she died within four months of the failure. Nay, Scott was himself unwell at the critical moment, and was taking sedatives which discomposed his brain. And this was Scott's preparation for his failure, and the bold resolve which followed it, — to work for his creditors as he had worked for himself, and to pay off, if possible, the whole £117,000 by his own literary exertions. His estate was conveyed to trustees for the benefit of his creditors till such time as he should pay off Ballantyne and Co.'s debt, which of course in his lifetime he never did. Yet between January, 1826, and January, 1828, he earned for his creditors very nearly £40,000. Woodstock sold for £8228, " a matchless sale," as Sir Walter remarked, " for less than three months' work." Had Sir Walter's health lasted, he would have redeemed his obligations on behalf of Ballant3^ne and Co. within eight or nine years at most from the time of his failure. But what is more remarkable still is that after his health failed he struggled on with little more than half a brain, but a whole will, to work while it was yet day, though the evening was dropping fast. Not only did he row much harder against the stream of fortune than he had ever rowed with it, but, what required still more resolution, he fought on against the growing con- viction that his imagination would not kindle, as it used to do, to its old heat. He struggled on even to the end, and did not consent to LIFE OF SCOTT. XXXV try the experiment of a vo3'age and visit to Italy till his immediate work was done. But the rest came too late. So intense and continuous had been his application to work that even his ver}' robust constitution was so completely exhausted that it was no longer able to repair the ravages of disease. He spent several months abroad, visiting Malta, Naples, Rome, Venice, and other places of interest, without improvement. He intended to visit Goethe, but the death of the great author at this time changed his plans, increasing his desire for an immediate return home. He sank rapidl}', becoming quite unconscious during the latter part of the homeward journey, until his eye caught the towers of Abbotts- ford, when he sprang up with a cr}' of delight. Mr. Laidlaw, a dear friend, was waiting for him, and he met him with a cr}', "Ha! "Willie Laidlaw. O, man, how often I have thought of you ! " His dogs came round his chair, and began to fawn on him and lick his hands, while Sir Walter smiled or sobbed over them. The next morning he was wheeled about his garden, and on the following morning was out in this way for a couple of hours ; within a day or two he fancied that he could write again, but on taking the pen into his hand his fingers could not clasp it, and he sank back with tears rolling down his cheek. Later, when Laidlaw said in his hearing that Sir Walter had had a little repose, he replied, "No, Willie; no repose for Sir Walter but in the grave." As the tears rushed from his e3'es, his old pride revived. " Friends," he said, " don't let me expose myself; get me to bed, — that is the only place." A few days after- wards, awaking conscious and composed, he desired to see his son-in-law. " Lockhart," he said, " I may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, be a good man, — be virtuous, — be religious, — be a good man. Nothing else will give you an}' comfort when you come to lie here." He paused, and Lockhart said, " Shall I send for Sophia and xxxvi LIFE OF SCOTT. Anne? " " No,'* said he, "don't disturb them. Poor souls ! I know they were up all night. God bless you all ! " With this he sank into a very tranquil sleep, and, indeed, he scarcely afterwards gave any sign of consciousness. He died Sept. 21, 1832, sixty-one years and one month old. Well misht Lord Chief Baron Shepherd apply to Scott Cicero's description of some contemporary of his own, who " had borne adversity wiseh', who had not been broken by fortune, and who, amidst the buffets of fate, had maintained his dignity." There was in Sir Walter, I think, at least as much of the Stoic as the Christian. But Stoic or Christian, he was a hero of the old indomitable type. Even the last fragments of his imaginative power were all turned to account by that unconquerable will, amidst the discouragement of friends, and the still more disheartening doubts of his own mind. Like the headland stemming a rough sea, he was gradually worn away, but never crushed. Sir Walter certainly left his "name unstained," unless the serious mistakes natural to a sanguine temperament such as his are to be counted as stains upon his name ; and if they are, where among the sons of men would you find many unstained names as noble as his with such a stain upon it ? He was not only sensitively honorable in motive, but, when he found what evil his sanguine temper had worked, he used his gigantic powers to repair it, and, as a result of these almost superhuman efforts, within fifteen years after Sir Walter's death, the debt was at last, through the value of the copyrights he had left behind him, finally extinguished, and the small estate of Abbotsford left cleared. Sir Walter's effort to found a new house was even less successful than the effort to endow it. The only direct descendant of Sir Walter Scott is now Mary Monica Hope-Scott, who was born on the 2d October, 1852, the grandchild of Mrs. Lockhart, and the great-grand- child of the founder of Abbotsford. LIFE OF SCOTT. XXXvii EXTRACTS FROM LOCKHART'S LIFE OF SCOTT. "I AM drawing near to the close of my career ; I am fast shuffling off the stage. I have been perhaps the most volu- minous author of the da}' ; and it is a comfort to me to think that I have tried to unsettle no man's faith, to coiTupt no man's principle." In the social relations of life, where men are most effec- tually tried, no spot can be detected in him. He was a patient, dutiful, reverent son ; a generous, compassionate, tender husband ; an honest, careful, and most affectionate father. Never was a more virtuous or a happier fireside than his. The* influence of his mightv o'enius shadowed it imperceptiblj' ; his calm good sense, and his angelic sweet- ness of heart and temper, regulated and softened a strict but paternal discipline. His children, as they grew up, under- stood b}' degrees the high privilege of their birth ; but the profoundest sense of his greatness never disturbed their con- fidence in his goodness. Perhaps the most touching evidence of the lasting tender- ness of his earl}' domestic feelings was exhibited to his executors, when the}' opened his repositories in search of his testament, the evening after his burial. On lifting up his desk, we found arranged in careful order a series of little objects, which had obviously been so placed there that his eye might rest on them every morning before he began his tasks. These were the old-fashioned boxes that had gar- nished his mother's toilet, when he, a sickly child, slept in her dressing-room; the silver taper-stand which the young advocate had bought for her with his first five-guinea fee ; a row of small packets inscribed with her hand, and contain- ing the hair of those of her offspring that had died before her ; his father's snuff-box and etui-case ; and more things XXXviii LIFE OF SCOTT. of the like sort, recalling the " old familiar faces." The same feeling was apparent in all the arrangement of his pri- vate apartment. Pictures of his father and mother were the only ones in his dressing-room. The clumsy antique cabi- nets that stood there, things of a ver}' different class from the beautiful and costly productions in the public rooms below, had all belonged to the furniture of George's Square. Even his father's rickety washing-stand, with all its cramped appurtenances, though exceedingly unlike what a man of his very scrupulous habits would have selected in these days, kept its ground. The whole place seemed fitted up like a little chapel of the Lares. Such a son and parent could hardly fail in any of the other social relations. No man was a firmer or more indefati2:able friend. I knew not that he ever lost one ; and a few, with whom, during the energetic middle stage of life, from politi- cal differences or other accidental circumstances, he lived less familiarly, had all gathered round him, and renewed the full warmth of early affection in his later days. There was enough to dignify the connection in their eyes, but nothing to chill it on either side. The imagination that so completely mastered him, when he chose to give her the rein, was kept under most determined control when any of the positive obligations of active life came into question. A high and pure sense of duty presided over whatever he had to do as a citizen and a magistrate ; and, as a landlord, he considered his estate as an extension of his hearth. But his moral, political, and religious character has suf- ficiently impressed itself upon the great body of his writings. He is indeed one of the few great authors of modern Europe who stand acquitted of having written a line that ought to have embittered the bed of death. His works teach the practical lessons of morality and Christianity in the most captivating form — unobtrusively and unaffectedly. LIFE OF SCOTT. XXXIX The race that grew up under the influence of that intellect can hardly be expected to appreciate full}^ their own obliga- tions to it : and yet, if we consider what were the tendencies of the minds and works that, but for his, must have been unrivalled in the power and opportunity to mould young ideas, we may picture to ourselves in some measure the mag- nitude of the debt we owe to a perpetual succession, through thirty years, of publications uuapproached in charm, and all instilling a high and healthy code ; a bracing, invigorating spirit ; a contempt of mean passions, whether vindictive or voluptuous ; humane charity, as distinct from moral laxity as from unsympathizing austerity ; sagacity too deep for cyn- icism, and tenderness never degenerating into sentimentality : animated throughout in thought, opinion, feeling, and style, by one and the same pure energetic principle — a pith and savor of manhood ; appealing to whatever is good and loyal in our natures, and rebuking whatever is low and selfish. I have no doubt that, the more details of his personal his- tory are revealed and studied, the more powerfully will that be found to inculcate the same great lessons with his works. Where else shall we be taught better how prosperity may be extended by beneficence, and adversity confronted by exer- tion? Where can we see the "follies of the wise" more strikingly rebuked, and a character more beautifully purified and exalted in the passage through affliction to death? JAMES v. — THE HIGHLANDERS AND BOR- DERERS OF SCOTLAND. -•o»- [It is hoped that this brief outline, abridged from Scott's " Tales of a Grandfather," may not only enable the reader to gain a better knowl- edge of the poem, but also awaken an interest in this important epoch of Henry the Eighth, and Elizabeth of England, and James V. and Mary Queen of Scots, and her son, James VI., under whom both kingdoms were united.] THERE were two great divisions of the country : namely, the Highlands and the Borders, which were so much wilder and more barbarous than the others, that they might be said to be altogether without law ; and, although they were nominally subjected to the King of Scotland, yet when he desired to execute any justice in either of these great dis- tricts, he could not do so otherwise than by marching there in person, at the head of a strong body of forces, and seizing upon the offenders, and putting them to death with little or no form of trial. Such a rough course of justice, perhaps, made these disorderly countries quiet for a short time, but it rendered them still more averse to the royal government in their hearts, and disposed on the slightest occasion to break out, either into disorders amongst themselves, or into open rebeUion. I must give you some more particular account of these wild and uncivilized districts of Scotland, and of the particular sort of people who were their inhabitants, that you may know what I mean when I speak of Highlanders and Borderers. xlii THE HIGHLANDERS AND BORDERERS The Highlands of Scotland, so called from the rocky and mountainous character of the country, consist of a very large proportion of the northern parts of that kingdom. It was in- to these pathless wildernesses that the Romans drove the ancient inhabitants of Great Britain ; and it was from these that they afterwards sallied to invade and distress that part of Britain which the Romans had conquered, and in some degree civilized. The inhabitants of the Highlands spoke, and still speak, a language totally different from the Lowland Scots. That last language does not greatly differ from Eng- lish, and the inhabitants of both countries easily understand each other, though neither of them comprehend the Gaelic, which is the language of the Highlanders. The dress of these mountaineers was also different from that of the Low- landers. They wore a plaid, or mantle of frieze, or of a striped stuff called tartan, one end of which being wrapt round the waist, formed a short petticoat, which descended to the knee, while the rest was folded round them hke a sort of cloak. They had buskins made of raw hide ; and those who could get a bonnet, had that covering for their heads, though many never wore one during their whole lives, but had only their own shaggy hair tied back by a leathern strap. They went always armed, carrying bows and arrows, large swords, which they wielded with both hands, called clay- mores, poleaxes, and daggers for close fight. For defence, they had a round wooden shield, or target, stuck full of nails ; and their great men had shirts of mail, not unlike to the flannel shirts now worn, only composed of links of iron Instead of threads of worsted ; but the common men were so far from desiring armor, that they sometimes threw their plaids away, and fought in their shirts, which they wore very long and large, after the Irish fashion. This part of the Scottish nation was divided into clans, that is, tribes. The persons composing each of these clans OF SCOTLAND. xliii believed themselves all to be descended, at some distant period, from the same common ancestor, whose name they usually bore. Thus, one tribe was called MacDonald, which signifies the sons of Donald ; another, MacGregor, or the sons of Gregor ; MacNeil, the sons of Neil, and so on. Every one of these tribes had its own separate chief, or commander, whom they supposed to be the immediate repre- sentative of the great father of the tribe from whom they were all descended. To this chief they paid the most un- limited obedience, and willingly followed his commands in peace or war ; not caring altliough, in doing so, they trans- gressed the laws of the King, or went into rebellion against the King himself. Each tribe lived in a valley, or district of the mountains, separated from the others ; and they often made war upon, and fought desperately with, each other. But with Lowlanders they were always at war. They ditfered from them in language, in dress, and in manners ; and they believed that the richer grounds of the low country had for- merly belonged to their ancestors, and therefore they made incursions upon it, and plundered it without mercy. The Lowlanders, on the other hand, equal in courage, and supe- rior in discipline, gave many severe checks to the High- landers ; and thus there was almost constant war or discord between them, though natives of the same country. Some of the most powerful of the Highland chiefs set themselves up as independent sovereigns. Such were the famous Lords of the Isles, called MacDonald, to whom the island, called the Hebrides, lying on the north-west of Scot- land, might be said to belong in property. These petty sovereigns made alliances with the English in their own name. They took the part of Robert the Bruce in the wars, and joined him with their forces. We shall find that, after his time, they gave great disturbance to Scotland. The Lords of Lorn, MacDougals by name, were also extremely xlvi .THE HIGHLANDERS AND BORDERERS unrelenting cruelty, slaughtering the fugitives, executing the prisoners, and laying waste the country, being determined to crush out the last spark of this power that had for so many centuries disturbed the peace of both kingdoms. Fine military roads were built into those inaccessible glens and wild mountains, enabling the government to execute the laws throughout the realm. Severe laws, also, were passed, forbidding the wearing of the plaid, the national costume, and the bearing of arms. These measures were entirely successful in breaking down this patriarchal system ; and, although they seemed unnec- essarily harsh at the time, in the end they proved wise and beneficent. The Highlanders, no longer able to subsist on plundering the Lowlanders, were obliged to turn their atten- tion to some other means of gaining a living. Some emi- grated to America, others enlisted in foreign armies, but the great majority settled down to an agricultural life. Mingling together in peaceful pursuits, the difference between High- lander and Lowlander soon disappeared, and they became one people, prosperous and happy. Jasies V. OF Scotland. — 1513-1542. James V. (James Fitz-James of the poem) was the son of James the Fourth of Scotland, and Margaret, sister of Henry the Eighth of England. His father having lost his life on the battlefield of Flodden, the son became king when but a child of less than two years of age. For a while, his mother managed the affairs of the kingdom as regent ; but, be- coming unpopular, she not only lost the regency, but also the control of her son, who fell into the hands of the powerful family of the Douglases, who, although governing in the name of the young king, nevertheless kept him under such careful OF SCOTLAND. xlvii guard that the restraint became very irksome to him, and he determined to escape from their power. In two attempts by force he was unsuccessful ; but finally, on pretence of going hunting, he escaped from his captivity, and fled into the strong fortress of Stirling Castle, whose governor was friendly to him. Here he assembled around him the nu- merous nobilitv favorable to him, and threatened to declare a traitor any of the name of Douglas who should approach within twelve miles of liis person, or who should attempt to meddle with the administration of government. He retained, ever after, this implacable resentment against the Douglases, not permitting one of the name to settle in Scotland while he lived. James was especially ungenerous to one Archibald Douglas of Kilspindie, the one mentioned in the poem who had been a favorite of the voung; Kino-. He was noted for great strength, manly appearance, and skill in all kinds of exercises. When an old man, becomino- tired of his exile in England, he resolved to try the King's mercy, thinking that, as he had not personally offended James, he might find favor on account of their old intimacy. He therefore threw himself in the King's wav one dav as he returned from huntins^ in the Park at Stirling. Although it was several years since James had seen him, he knew him at a great distance by his firm and stately step. When they met he showed no sign of recognizing his old servant. i)ouglas turned, hoping still to obtain a glance of favorable recollection, and ran along by the King's side ; and, although James trotted his horse hard, and Douglas wore a heavy shirt of mail, yet he reached the castle gate as soon as the King. James passed b}' him, without the slightest sign of recognition, and entered the castle. Douglas, exhausted, sat down at the gate and asked for a cup of wine ; but no domestic dared to oflfer it. The King, however, blamed this discourtesy in his servants, say- ing that, but for his oath, he would have received Archibald xlviii THE HIGHLANDERS AND BORDERERS into his service. Yet he sent his command for him to retire to France, where the old man soon died of a broken heart. Freed from the stern control of the Douglas family, James V. now began to exercise the government in person, and dis- played most of the qualities of a wise and good prince. He was handsome in his person, and resembled his father in the fondness for military exercises, and the spirit of chivalrous honor which James IV. loved to display. He also inherited his father's love of justice, and his desire to estabhsh and enforce wise and equal laws, which should protect the weak against the oppression of the great. It was easy enough to make laws, but to put them in vigorous exercise was of much greater difficulty ; and, in his attempt to accomplish this laud- able purpose, James often incurred the ill-will of the more powerful nobles. He was a well-educated and accomplished man, and, like his ancestor, James I., was a poet and musi- cian. He had, however, his defects. He avoided his father's failing of profusion, having no hoarded treasures to employ on pomp and show ; but he rather fell into the opposite fault, being of a temper too parsimonious ; and, though he loved state and display, he endeavored to gratify that taste as economically as possible, so that he has been censured as rather close and covetous. He was also, though the foibles seem inconsistent, fond of pleasure, and disposed to too much indulgence. It must be added that, when provoked, he was unrelenting even to cruelty ; for which he had some apology, considering the ferocity of the subjects over whom he reio-ned. But, on the whole, James Y. was an amiable man and a good sovereign. His first care was to bring the Borders of Scotland to some deo-ree of order. As before stated, these were inhabited by tribes of men, forming each a different clan, as they were called, and obeying no orders, save those which were given by their chiefs. These chiefs were supposed to represent the OF SCOTLAND. xlix first founder of the name or family. The attachment of the clansmen to the chief was very great ; indeed, the}' paid respect to no one else. In this the Borderers agreed with the Highlanders, as also in tlieii- love of plunder and neglect of the o-eneral laws of the country. But the Border men wore no tartan dress, and served almost always on horseback, whereas the Highlanders acted always on foot. The Bor- derers spoke the Scottish language, and not the Gaelic tongue used by the mountaineers. The situation of these clans on the frontiers exposed them to constant war ; so that they thought of nothing else but of collecting bands of their followers together, and making in- cursions, without much distinction, on the English, on the Lowland (or inland) Scots, or upon each other. They paid little respect either to times of truce or treaties of peace, but exercised their depredations without regard to either, and often occasioned wars betwixt England and Scotland which would not otherwise have taken place. James' first step was to secure the persons of the principal chieftains by whom these disorders were privately encour- aged, and who might have opposed his purposes, and im- prison them in separate fortresses. He then assembled an army, in which warlike purposes were united with those of S3'lvan sport ; for he ordered all the gentlemen, in the wild districts which he intended to visit, to bring in their best dogs, as if his only purpose had been to hunt the deer in those desolate regions. This was intended to prevent the Borderers from taking the alarm, in which case the}' would have retreated into their mountains and fastnesses, from whence it would have been difficult to dis- lodge them. These men had indeed no distinct idea of the offences which they had committed, and consequently no apprehension of the King's displeasure against them. The laws had been 1 THE HIGHLANDERS AND BORDERERS SO long silent in that remote and disorderly country,, that the outrages which were practised by the strong against the weak seemed to the perpetrators the natural course of society, and to present nothing that was worthy of punish- ment. Thus the King suddenl}" approached the castles of tliese great lords and barons, while they were preparing a great entertainment to welcome him, and caused them to be seized and executed. There is reason to censure the extent to which James car- ried his severity, as being to a certain degree impolitic, and beyond doubt cruel and excessive. In the like manner, James proceeded against the Highland chiefs ; and, by executions, forfeitures, and other severe measures, he brought the Northern mountaineers, as he had alread}^ done those of the South, into comparative subjection. Such were the effects of the terror struck by these general executions, that James was said to have made " the rush bush keep the cow " ; that is to say, that, even in this law- less part of the country, men dared no longer make free with property, and cattle might remain on their pastures un- watched. James was also enabled to draw profit from the lands which the crown possessed near the Borders, and is said to have had ten thousand sheep at one time grazing in Ettrick forest, under the keeping of one Andrew Bell, who gave the King as good an account of the flock as if they had been grazing in the bounds of Fife, then the most civilized part of Scotland. James V. had a custom of going about the country dis- guised as a private person, in order that he might hear com- plaints which might not otherwise reach his ears, and, perhaps, that he might enjo}' amusement which he could not have partaken of in his avowed royal character. He was also ver}' fond of hunting, and, when he pursued that amusement in the Highlands, he used to wear the pecu- OF SCOTLAND. li liar dress of that conntr}^, having a long and wide Highland shirt, and a jacket of tartan velvet, with plaid hose, and everything else corresponding. The reign of James V. was not alone distinguished by his personal adventures and pastimes, but is honorablv remem- bered on account of wise laws made for the government of his people, and for restraining the crimes and violence which were frequently practised among them ; especially those of assassination, burning of houses, and driving of cattle, the usual and ready means by which powerful chiefs avenged themselves of their feudal enemies. Had not James become involved in a war with Henry the Eighth of England, he might have been as fortunate a prince as his many good qualities deserved ; but, the war going against him, in despair and desolation he shut himself up in his palace, refusing to Usten to consolation. A burning fever, the consequence of his grief and shame, seized on the unfortunate monarch. When they brought him tidings that his wife had given birth to a daughter, who afterwards be- came the brilliant, but most unfortunate, Mary Queen of Scots, he only replied, "Is it so?" reflecting on the alliance which had placed the Stewart family on the throne ; " then God's will be done. It came with a lass, and it will go with a lass." With these words, presaging the extinction of his house, he made a signal of adieu to his courtiers, spoke httle more, but turned his face to the wall and, w^hen scarcely thirty-one years old, in the very prime of life, he died of the most melancholy of all diseases, a broken heart. ARGUMENT. The scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The time of Action includes Six Days, and the transactions of each Day occupy a Canto. OUTLINE OF CANTO FIRST. In "The Lady of the Lake" the poet describes Highland charac- ter and life as they existed towards the close of the middle ages, by means of a narrative of one of James V.'s adventures. In the first canto, which is entitled "The Chase," he begins with a long- account of a stag hunt in the Highlands of Perthshii-e. As the chase lengthens, the sportsmen one by one drop off, till at last, the king, who is the foremost horseman, is found alone, and his horse, worn out with fatigue, stumbles and falls dead. The lone hunts- man pursues his way through a rocky ravine, till, ascending a craggy height, he sees, by the light of the setting sun. Loch Katrhie stretched beneath him in all its beauty. After gazing in admii-a- tion upon the beautiful scene, he winds his horn in the hope of being heard by some of his companions, and to his surprise a little skiff guided by a young lady shoots out from the shadow of a tree, and approaches the shore. The lady, thinking it was her father's horn she heard, draws back in fear at the sight of a stranger, but, after receiving his explanation, they row across the lake to her island home. There, her father being absent, young Ellen, as the lady is named, and the mistress of the mansion entertain the hunts- man with true highland hospitality. He discloses his name and rank as " The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James," and tries in every way, but in vain, to learn the names of his hosts. At length he retires to rest ; but his sleep is disturbed by dreams so strange and fearful that he rises from his couch, and walks out into the moonlight to shake off the dread visions of the night. After quieting his disturbed mind, he returns to his bed, says a prayer, and sleeps till awakened in the morning by the crowing of the heath-cock. With this the first canto ends. — Stevens & Morris. IV I -'^31- THE LADY OF THE LAKE. THE CHASE. Haep of the North ! that mouldering long hast hung On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring, And down the fitful breeze th}^ numbers flung, Till envious ivy did around thee cling, Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — 5 O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ? 'Mid rustling leaves and fountains mui-muring, Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ? Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, lO Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, 1. Harp of the North ! An invocation to ancient Scottish minstrelsy. The barp was formerly the national musical instrument. 2. Witch-elm. The broad-leaved elm. Twigs cut from it were used as riding whips for good luck; also for divining rods. — Saint Fillan. A Scotch abbot of the seventh century. 3. Numbers. Lines or verses of poetry. G. Minstrel. The minstrels, as the wandering singers and musicians of the middle ages were called, were always welcomed wherever they went. They sang songs recounting the valiant deeds of their entertainers and their ancestors. S. & M. 10. Caledon. For Caledonia, the ancient name of Scotland. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i. When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, , : -Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud. At each according pause was heard aloud Thine ardent symphony sublime and high ! 15 Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bowed ; For still the burden of thy minstrelsy Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's match- less eye. O, wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 20 O, wake once more ! though scarce my skill command Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, And all unworthy of thy nobler strain. Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway, 25 The wizard note has not been touched in vain. Then silent be no more I Enchantress, wake again ! I. The stag at eve had drunk his fill, Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, 14. According pause. In music, that which suitably fills the intervals. 15. Ardent symphony. Stirring music with which the minstrel filled up the pauses of his lay. S. & M. 16. Crested. Plumed. — 17. Minstrelsy. Song. 18. Knighthood. In the middle ages a knight was a person admitted to a certain military rank, as a reward for brave and gallant deeds. Knights took certain oaths, among which, perhaps, the most important was that they would succor the oppressed, especially ladies, whenever they had the opportunity. S. & M. 20. Maze. Perplexing way. — 26. Wizard. Enchanting. 29. Monan. A Scotch martyr of the fourth century. CANTO 1. THE CHASE. 5 And deep his midnight lair had made 30 In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; But when the sun his beacon red '-^M/'>^- Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay Resounded up the rocky way, 35 And faint, from farther distance borne, Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. II. As Chief, who hears his warder call, " To arms ! the foemen storm the wall," The antlered monarch of the waste 40 Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But ere his fleet career he took. The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; Like crested leader proud and high Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky ; 45 A moment gazed adown the dale, A moment snuffed the tainted gale, A moment listened to the cry. That thickened as the chase drew nigh ; 30. Lair. Bed of a wild beast. 31. Glenartney. A valley through which a small stream called the Artney flows. 32. Beacon. A signal-fire on a hill or mountain. The use of the word here is very effective, comparing the early rays of the sun on the mountain top to a fire kindled for an alarm. f 33. Benvoirlich. A mountain north of Glenartney. Ben means monn- tain. (See map.) — 38. Warder. Keeper or guard. 45. Beamed frontlet. The forehead of a stag, with full-grown antlers or horns. 47. Tainted gale. The wind, laden with the scent or odor of the hunter, which the deer perceives at a great distance. 6 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i. Then, as the headmost foes appeared, so With one brave bound the copse he cleared, And, stretching forward free and far. Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. in. Yelled on the view the opening pack ; Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back ; 55 To many a mingled sound at once The awakened mountain gave response. A hundred dogs hsijed deep and strong, Clattered a hundred steeds along. Their peal the merry horns rung out, 60 A hundred voices joined the shout ; With hark and whoop and wild halloo, No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. Far from the tumult fled the roe. Close in her covert cowered the doe, 65 The falcon, from her cairn on high. Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 51. Copse. Bushes, or wood of small growth. 53. TJam-Var. Ua-var, as the name Is pronounced, or more properly Uaighmor, is a mountain to the north-east of the village of Callender in Menteith, deriving its name, which signifies the great den or cavern, from a sort of retreat among the rocks on the south side, said, by tradition, to have been the abode of a giant. In latter times it was the refuge of robbers and banditti, who have been only extirpated within these forty or fifty years. Strictly speaking, this stronghold is not a cave, as the name would imply, but a sort of small enclosure or recess, surrounded with large rocks, and open above head. Scott. 54. Opening pack. A hunting term, alluding to the hounds barking at sight of the game. — 64. Hoe. A small species of deer. 66. Falcon [/cm' A;' n]. A hawk. — Cairn. A heap of stones. 67. Hout. Tumultuous crowd. CANTO I. THE CHASE. Till far beyond her piercing ken The hurricane had swept the glen. Faint, and more faint, its failing din 70 Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn, And silence settled, wide and still, On the lone wood and mighty hill. IV. Less loud the sounds of sylvan war Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var, 75 And roused the cavern where, 'tis told, A criant made his den of old ; For ere that steep ascent was won. High in his pathway hung the sun, And many a gallant, stayed perforce, 80 Was fain to breathe his faltering horse, And of the trackers of the deer. Scarce half the lessening pack was near; So shrewdly on the mountain-side Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 85 V. The noble stag was pausing now Upon the mountain's southern brow, Where broad extended, far beneath, The varied realms of fair Menteith. With anxious eye he wandered o'er 90 Mountain and meadow, moss and moor, (58. Ken. Sight.— 69. Hurricane. The chase, like a violent wind, had svvepttheglen. — 71. Linn. Cataract ; pool. 74. Sylvan war. Woodland war against the stag, i.e., hunting. 81. Fain. Glad. — «4. Shrewdly. Severely. 89. Menteith. A district watered by the Teith. 8 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i. And pondered refuge from liis toil, By far Lo chard or Aberfoyle. But nearer was the copsewood gray. That waved and wept on Loch Achray, 95 And mingled with the pine-trees blue On the bold cliffs of Benvenue. Fresh vigor with the hope returned, With flying foot the heath he spurned. Held westward with unwearied race, lOO And left behind the panting chase. VI. 'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er, As swept the hunt through Cambusmore ; What reins were tightened in despair, When rose Benledi's ridge in air ; 105 Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath. Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith, — For twice that day, from shore to shore. The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 93. Lochard. A small lake near the village of Aberfoyle. 95. Loch Achray. "The Lake of the Level Field." A small lake at the foot of Benvenue. — 97. Benvenue. "Center Mountain," being mid- way between Ben Lomond and Ben Ledi. (See map.) 99. Heath. A low shrub very abundant on the hills and mountains of Scotland. Its foliage gives to the landscape a very soft olive tinge; its blossoms, a purplish hue. 103. Cambusmore. An estate near Callander. 105. Benledi. A mountain near Callander. The name signifies "Mountain of God." 106. Bochastle's heath. A flat plain between the east end of Loch Vennachar and Callander. Taylor. 107. The flooded Teith. The Teith, receiving the waters of Lochs Lubnaig, Voil, Vennachar, Achray, and Katrine, was liable to overflow its banks in rainy seasons. CANTO I. THE CHASE. ' 9 Few were the stragglers, following far, no That reached the lake of Veiinachar; And when the Brigg of Turk was won, The headmost horseman rode alone. VII. ^Alone, but with unbated zeal, \^ That horseman plied the scourge and steel ; ii5 For, jaded now, and spent with toil. Embossed with foam, and dark with soil. While every gasp with sobs he drew. The laboring stag strained full in view. Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, 120 Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed, Fast on his flying traces came, And all but won that desperate game ; For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch, Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds st'anch ; 125 Nor nearer might the dogs attain. Nor farther might the quarry strain. Thus up the margin of the lake, Between the precipice and brake, O'er stock and rock their race they take. ibo 111. Vennachar. "Lake of the Fair Valley," one of the three lakes arouud which the scenery of the poem lies. — 112. Brigg of Turk. An old stone bridge over the Turk, a small stream in Glentiulas valley. 115. Scourge and steel. Whip and spur. —117. Embossed. Hunted until the foam from the mouth covered the stag like raised figures in orna- mental work. — 120. Saint Hubert. The hounds which are called St. Hu- bert's are found of various colors, but are commonly all black. The abbots of St. Hubert have always kept some of this race of hounds in remembrance of their patron saint, who was a hunter. — 125. Vindictive. Revengeful. — Stanch hound. Reliable in the pursuit of game. 127. Quarry. The hunted animal. —12i). Brake. Coarse ferns; bushes. 130. Stock. Log or stump. :'C> ^ 10 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i. VIII. The Hunter marked that mountam high, The lone lake's western boundary, And deemed the stag must turn to bay, Where that huge rampart barred the way ; Already glorying in the prize, 135 Measured his antlers with his eyes ; For the death-wound and death-halloo Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew : — But thundering as he came prepared, With ready arm and weapon bared, ^ 140 The wily quarry shunned the shock. And turned him from the opposing rock ; ^^^^-^^lien, dashing down a darksome gleii, Cyrnrfiod n Soon lost to hound and Hunter's l^eji, . ^ |# In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook rUUVuMXj 145 His solitary refuge took. 133. Turn to bay. The turning of the stag to face and fight his pursuers when no longer able to escape them. — 134. Rampart. Beuvenue. 137. For the death wound, etc. When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter had the perilous task of going in upon, and killing or dis- abling the desperate animal. At certain times of the year this was held particularly dangerous, a wound received from a stag's horn being then deemed poisonous, and more dangerous than one from the tusks of a boar. Scott. — Death-halloo. The shout when the huntsman had given the death stroke to the stag. —138. Whinyard. A sword or hanger. 145. Trosachs. The name Trosachs, or "bristled territory," is gen- erally applied to the whole country about Loch Katrine, but, strictly speak- ing, belongs only to the region between Lochs Katrine and Achray. A fine turnpike, shaded by overhanging trees and abrupt mountain cliffs, winds through this beautiful wild valley. It is the more enjoyable because it is so rare in Scotland to see anything like a native forest. The trees are mostly set out when very small and so thickly and irregularly as to resem- ble a natural growth. They are cultivated not so much for the timber as a shelter for game. The mountains of Scotland for the most part are treeless. With the exception of a few of the highest peaks which are barren, they CANTO I. thp: chase. 11 There, while close coiiched the thicket shed Cold dews and wild flowers on his head. He heard the baffled dogs in vain Rave through the hollow pass amain, 150 Chiding the rocks that yelled again. IX. Close on the hounds the Hunter came, To cheer them on the vanished game ; But, stumbling hi the rugged dell. The gallant horse exhausted fell. 155 The impatient rider strove in vain To rouse him with the sj)ur and rein. For the good steed, his labors o'er, Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more ; Then, touched with pity and remorse, i<)0 He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse. '' I little thought, Avhen first thy rein I slacked upon the banks of Seine, That Highland eagle e'er should feed On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! Kis Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day. That costs thy life, my gallant gray ! " are covered to the very tops with heather and grass kept greeu by the fre- quent rains. Not only are these beautiful mountains with the thousands of white sheep moving to and fro over their sides pleasant to look upon, but they form a great source of wealth to the peoj^le as is well known by the quantity and excellence of the Scotcli woollens. 147. Couched. Concealed. — 150. Amain. Vigorously. 151. Chiding, etc. The constant barking echoed back by the rocks. 1G3. Seine. A river in France. IGG. Woe worth the chase. Woe bo to the chase. Worth used in the sense of he, imperative. 12 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i, X. Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds. Back limped, with slow and crippled pace, 170 The sulky leaders of the chase ; Close to their master's side they pressed, With drooping tail and humbled crest; But still the dingle's hollow throat Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 175 The owlets started from their dream. The eagles answered with their scream, Round and around the sounds were cast. Till echo seemed an answering blast ; And on the Hunter hied his way, . 180 To join some comrades of the day, Yet often paused, so strange the road. So wondrous were the scenes it shoAved. XI. j^he Avestern waves of ebb^n^' day I Rolled o'er the glen their level way ; 185 I Each purple peak, each flinty spire, \Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, AVhere twined the })ath in shadow hid, 190 Round many a rocky pyramid. Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-spliutered pinnacle ; 174. Dingle. A small valley between hills. — 180. Hied. Hastened. 185. Level way. Horizontal rays from the setting sun. 193. Pinnacle. A lofty summit. CANTO I. THE CHASE. 13 Round many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, ii>"> Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. The rocky summits, split and rent, Formed turret, dome, or battlement. Or seemed fantastically set 2m With cupola or minaret. Wild crests as pagod ever decked, Or mosque of Eastern architect. Nor were these earth-born castles bare, Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; 205 For, from their shivered brows displayed. Far o'er the unfathomable glade, All twinkling with the dewdrops sheen, The brier-rose fell in streamers green. And creeping shrubs of thousand dyes 210 Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs. XII. _ Boon nature scattered, free and wild. Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. Here eglantine embalmed the air, Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; 215 194. Insulated. Standing by itself like au island. — 195. Native bul- warks. Natural fortifications or defences. — 196. Tower. Tower of liabel. Genesis xi. 1-9.— 199. Turret. A small tower forming a part of a building. — Battlement. A wall round the top of a castle, with openings to look through and annoy the enemy. —201. Minaret. A high, slender turret on a Mohammedan Mosque from which the people are called to prayers. — 202. Pagod. Pagoda, a heathen temple. — 20n. Mosque. A Mohammedan temple of worship. — 204. Earth-born castles. ^Mountains. 207. Glade. An opening through a wood.— 208. Sheen. Shining. 214. Eglantine. A species of wild rose; sweet-brier. ;[4 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i. The primrose pale and violet flower Found in each cleft a narrow bower ;. Foxglove and nightshade, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride. Grouped their dark hues with every stain 220 The weather-beaten crags retain. With boughs that quaked at every breath. Gray birch and aspen wept beneath ; Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 225 And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, His boughs athwart the narrowed sky. Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, 230 Where glistening streamers waved and danced, The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's delicious blue ; So wondrous wild, the whole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream. 235 XIII. Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep A narrow inlet, still and deep, Affording scarce such breadth of brim As served the wild duck's brood to swim. Lost for a space, through thickets veering, But broader when again appearing, Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face Could on the dark-blue mirror trace ; 240 223. Aspen. Called also the trembling poplar, because of the quivering of the leaves in the slightest breeze. — 240. Veering. Turning or winding. CANTO I. THE CHASE. 15 And farther as the Hunter strayed, Still broader sweep its channels made. 245 The shaggy mounds no longer stood, Emerging from entangled wood, But, wave-encircled, seemed to float. Like castle girdled with its moat ; Yet broader floods extending still 250 Divide them from their parent hill. Till each, retiring, claims to be An islet in an inland sea. XIV. And now, to issue from the glen, No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 255 Unless he climb with footing nice A far-projecting precipice. The broom's tough roots his ladder made, The hazel saplings lent their aid ; And thus an airy point he won, 260 Where, gleaming with the setting sun, One burnished sheet of living gold, Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled, 249. Moat. A ditch round a castle for defence. 250. Unless lie climb, etc. Until the present road was made through the romantic pass which I have presumptuously attempted to describe in the preceding stanzas, there was no mode of issuing out of the defile called the Trosachs, excepting by a sort of ladder, composed of the branches and roots of trees. Scott. —258. Broom. A large, bushy shrub liaving tough, leafless stems and flowers of a deep golden yellow. Brooms were so called because they were originally made from it. S. »& M. 2(53. Loch Katrine. The scene of the poem is one of the most beautiful of the Scottish lakes, situated in Perthshire. It is about eight miles long and two miles wide, serpentine in shape, and surrounded by high mountains and deep ravines. A small steamer plies on the lake. Near its outlet is situated Ellen's Isle in the wild region of the Trosachs. It is supposed to have derived its name from " Catterins or Ketterins, a wild baud of robbers. who orowled about its shores to the terror of all wayfarers." 16 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i. In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, 2«5 And islands that, enipnrpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light, And mountains that like giants stand To sentinel enchanted land. High on the south, huge Benvenue 270 Down to the lake in masses threw Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled. The fragments of an earlier world ; A wildering forest feathered o'er His ruined sides and summit hoar, 275 While on the north, through middle air, Ben-an heaved hioh his forehead bare. XV. From the steep promontory gazed The stranger, raptured and amazed, And, " What a scene were here," he cried, " For princely pomp or churchman's pride ! On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; In that soft vale, a lady's bower ; On yonder meadow far away The turrets of a cloister gray ; 285 How blithely might the bugle-horn Chide on the lake the lingering morn ! How sweet at eve the lover's lute Chime when the groves were still and mute ! 280 269. Sentinel. To guard. —274. Wildering. Bewildering. 277. Ben-an. "Little Mountain," lying north of the Trosachs. 285. Cloister. A place of retirement from the world for religious duties ; a convent. A cloister for women is called a nunnery; for men, a monastery. CANTO I. THE CHASE. IT And when the midnight moon should lave 290 Her forehead in the silver wave, How solemn on the ear would come The holy matins' distant hum, While the deep peal's commanding tone Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 20r. A sainted hermit from his cell, To drop a bead with every knell ! And bugle, lute, and bell, and all, Should each bewildered stranger call To friendly feast and lighted hall. 300 XVI. ^ '' Blithe were it then to wander here I But now — beshrew yon nimble deer ! — Like that same hermit's, thin and spare. The copse must give my evening fare ; Some mossy bank my couch must be, 305 Some rustling oak my canopy. Yet pass we that ; the war and chase Give little choice of resting-place ; — A summer night in greenwood spent Were but to-morrow's merriment : 3io But hosts may in these wilds abound. Such as are better missed than found ; To meet with Highland plunderers here Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — 290. Lave. Bathe.— 293. Matins. Early morning prayers in Catholic churches.— 297. Bead. Formerly meant a prayer, and hence came to be applied to the small perforated balls used in keeping an account of the num- ber of prayers recited. — ".02. Beshrew. " May ill betide " ; a slight curse. 313. Highland plunderers. The class who inhabited the romantic regions in the neighborhood of Loch Katrine, were, even until a late period, much addicted to predatory excursions upon their Lowland neighbors. Scott. 18 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i. I am alone ; — 1113^ bugle-strain 315 May call some straggler of the train ; Or, fall the worst that may betide, Ere now this falchion has been tried." XVII. But scarce again his horn he wound, When lo ! forth starting at the sound, S20 From underneath an aged oak That slanted from the islet rock, A damsel guider of its way, A little skiff shot to the bay. That round the promontor}^ steep S25 Led its deep line in graceful swee[), Eddying, in almost viewless Avave, The weeping willow twig to lave. And kiss, with whispering sound and slriw. The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 3:30 The boat had touched this silver strand Just as the Hunter left his stand, And stood concealed amid the brake. To view this Lady of the Lake. The maiden paused, as if again 335 She thought to catch the distant strain. With head upraised, and look intent, And eye and ear attentive bent, And locks flung back, and lips apart, Like monument of Grecian art, 340 Li listening mood, she seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand. 318. Falchion [fawl'chioi]. A broadsword with slightly curved point. 340. Monument of Grecian art. A statue. — 342. Naiad [iV«'?/ad]. A water-nymph or goddess presiding over rivers and springs. CANTO I. THE CHASE. 1^ XVIII. And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, Of finer form or lovelier face ! •^•"^ What tliough the sun, with ardent frown, Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, — The sportive toil, which, short and light. Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, Served too in hastier swell to show '^^ Short glimpses of a breast of snow : What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had trained her pace, — A foot more light, a step more true. Ne'er from the heath-llower dashed the dew : "^^^ E'en the slight harebell raised its head. Elastic from her airy tread : What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue, — Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear. The listener held his breath to hear ! 3()0 XIX. A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid; Her satin snood, her silken plaid, Her golden brooch, such birth betrayed. ;M4. Graces. Beautiful females represented by ancient writers as attendants of Venus. — 353. Measured mood. Studied behavior. 363. Snood. A head-band worn by Scottish maidens. —Plaid. Pro- nounced vhiycd by the Scotch. It consisted of about a dozen yards of woollen cloth, checked with threads of various bright colors. It was wrapped around the middle of the body, fastened with a belt, and ex- tended down to the knee. It was much worn as an over-garment by the Highlanders of both sexes, and each clan was distinguished by its own peculiar plaid or tartan. —304. Brooch \J)rucl{\ . Breastpin. '20 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i. And seldom was a snood amid 365 Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, Whose glossy black to shame might bring The plumage of the raven's wing ; And seldom o'er a breast so fair Mantled a j^laid with modest care, 370 And never brooch the folds combined Above a heart more good and kind. Her kindness and her worth to spy,"' You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; Not Katrine in her mirror blue 375 Gives back the shaggy banks more true. Than every free-born glance confessed The guileless movements of her breast ; Whether joy danced in her dark eye, Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, 380 Or filial love was glowing there, Or meek devotion poured a prayer. Or tale of injury called forth The indignant spirit of the North. One only passion unrevealed 385 With maiden pride the maid concealed, Yet not less purely felt the flame ; — O, need I tell that passion's name ? XX. Impatient of the silent horn, Now on the gale her voice was borne : — 390 " Father ! " she cried ; the rocks around Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 368. Eaven, A bird like the crow. 381. Filial love. The love of son or daughter for a parent. CANTO I. THE CHASE. 21 Awhile she paused, no answer came ; — '^Malcohn, was thine the blast?" the name Less resolutely uttered fell, 395 The echoes could not catch the swell. '' A stranger I," the Huntsman said, Advancing from the hazel shade. The maid, alarmed, with hasty oar Pushed her light shallop from the shore, 400 And when a space was gained between. Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; — So forth the startled swan would swing, So turn to prune his ruffled wing. Then safe, though fluttered and amazed, 405 She paused, and on the stranger gazed. Not his the form, nor his the eye. That youthful maidens wont to fly. XXI. On his bold visage middle age Had slightly pressed its signet sage,, 4io Yet had not quenched the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth; Forward and frolic glee was there. The will to do, the soul to dare. The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 4io Of hasty love or headlong ire. His limbs were cast in manly mould For hardy sports or contest bold ; And though in peaceful garb arrayed, And weaponless except his blade, 420 4(>i. Prune. To trim and arrauge the feathers with the bill. — 408. "V^nt. Are accustomed. — 410. Signet sage. Seal of wisdom ; impression of gravity. 22 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. canto i. His stately mien as well implied A high-born heart, a martial pride, As if a baron's crest he wore. And sheathed in armor trode the shore. Slighting the pett}^ need he showed, 425 He told of his benighted road ; His ready speech flowed fair and free. In phrase of gentlest courtesy. Yet seemed that tone and gesture bland Less used to sue than to command. 430 XXII. Awhile the maid the stranger ej^ed, And, reassured, at length replied. That Highland halls were open still To wildered wanderers of the hill. " Nor think you unexpected come 435 To yon lone isle, our desert home ; Before the heath had lost the dew, This morn, a couch was pulled for you ; On yonder mountain's purple head Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled, 440 And our broad nets have swept the mere. To furnish forth your evening cheer." — " Now, by the rood, my lovely maid. Your courtesy has erred," he said ; " No right have I to claim, misplaced, 445 Tlie welcome of expected guest. 425. Slighting the need. Treating lightly his lack of food and shelter. 42G. Benighted. Overtakenby night. — 440. Ptarmigan. White grouse. -Heath-cock. Black grouse. —441. Mere. Lake. 443. By the rood. By the cross. A phrase formerly used in swearing. CANTO I. THE CHASE. 23 A wanderer, here by fortune tost, My way, my friends, my courser lost, I ne'er before, believe me, fair. Have ever drawn your mountain air, 450 Till on this lake's romantic strand I found a fay in fairy land ! " — XXllT. "I well believe,"' the maid replied. As her light skiff approached the side, — " I well believe, that ne'er before 4r)o Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore ; But yet, as far as yesternight. Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, — A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent Was on the visioned future bent. 4W He saw your steed, a dappled gray, Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; Painted exact your form and mien. Your hunting-suit of Lincoln green. That tasselled horn so gayly gilt, 4ti5 That falchion's crooked blade and hilt. That cap with heron plumage trim, 452. Fay. An imaginary spirit : a fairy. 460. On tlie visioned future bent. If force of evidence could authorize us to believe facts inconsistent with the general laws of nature, enough might be produced in favor of the existence of the Second-sight. "The second-sight is a singular faculty of seeing an otherwise invisible object without any previous means used by the i)ers<)n that used it for that end : the vision makes such a lively impression upon the seers, that they neither see nor think of anything else, except the vision, as long as it continues; and then they appear pensive or jovial, according to the object that was represented to them." Scott. — 4()3. Mien. INIanner. — 404. Lincoln green. The color of cloth formerly made in Lincoln and worn by the Lowland huntsmen. — 4