writer, was an invaluable preparative for the greater vocation of his late years. It had placed him in close relations with the past; it had kindled, instructed and trained his romantic imagination; it had stored his memory with countless interesting details which were pregnant with suggestions for his fictitious prose narratives and, in various ways, greatly enriched their

texture.

Nor is it possible to forget the insight into the spirit and temper of special historical periods acquired by him in the course of other literary undertakings. Among the more important works issued under his editorship were the Civil War Memoirs of Sir Henry Slingsby and captain Hodgson (1806); the Works of Dryden, with life and elaborate notes, 18 vols. (1808); the Military Memoirs (1672—1713) of George Carleton (1808); Sir Robert Cary's Memoirs (1808); Somers's Collection of Tracts, 13 vols. (1809); The Life, Letters and State Papers of Sir Ralph Sadler, 3 vols. (1809); The Secret History of James I, 2 vols. (1811); the Works of Jonathan Swift with life and notes, 19 vols. (1814); Memorie of the Somervilles (1814); and various other works in later years.

In purely historical writings, Scott's imaginative genius found itself somewhat cramped. His Tales of a Grandfather (1827—9) only faintly mirror his gift of story-telling. As for his voluminous Life of Napoleon (1827), considering the circumstances in which it was written and the rapidity with which it was achieved, it is a remarkable tour de force; but it cannot claim to be, in almost any respect, a satisfactory biography. On the other hand, his Border Antiquities of England and Scotland (1817) exhibits some of his most characteristic qualities. In compiling it, he gained a very minute mastery of the characteristics of ancient architecture and of the scenic features of a region teeming with ancient martial exploits and exciting adventures. Scott had a very keen eye for the picturesque features of ancient buildings and of their situation and surroundings. While still in his father's office, one of his chief recreations consisted of long country excursions on foot or on horseback, the principal object of which, he says, was 'the pleasure of seeing romantic scenery, or what afforded me at least equal pleasure, the places which had been distinguished by remarkable historical events'; and, though he modestly states that, while none delighted more than he in the general effect of picturesque scenery, he was unable with the eye of a painter to dissect the various parts of the scene, and, from

some defects of eye or hand, was unable to train himself to make sketches of those places which interested him; yet,

'show me,' he says, 'an old castle or a field of battle, and I was at home at once, filled it with its combatants in their proper costume and overwhelmed my hearers with the enthusiasm of my description.'

He here touches on one of the cardinal idiosyncrasies of his imaginative productions. Their inspiration is derived partly from their scenes, and their fascination is greatly aided by his exceptional mastery of scenic arrangement. While possessing a minute knowledge of the exteriors and interiors of old keeps and castles, of ancient domestic habits and customs, of the modes of ancient combat, of antique military apparel and weapons and of the observances and pageantry of chivalry, he had, also, to obtain a particular setting, a definite environment, for his incidents before his imaginative genius could be adequately kindled; and an outstanding feature of his novels is the elaborate attention bestowed on what may be termed the theatre of his events. If, as he affirms, his sense of the picturesque in scenery was greatly inferior to his sense of the picturesque in action, he was yet, as he states, able, by very careful study and by 'adoption of a sort of technical memory,' regarding the scenes he visited, to utilise their general and leading features with all the effectiveness he desired. But, much more than this may be affirmed. 'Wood, water, wilderness itself,' had, he says, 'an unsurpassable charm' for him; and this charm he completely succeeds in communicating to his readers. His vivid portrayal of the external surroundings immensely enhances the effect of his narrative art; it greatly heightens its interest, and powerfully assists him in conveying a full sense of reality to the incidents he depicts.

As an instance of his employment of a graphically minute description of surroundings to rouse and impress the reader's imagination, reference may be made to the masterly picture of the wildly desolate characteristics of the waste of Cumberland, through which Brown, in Guy Mannering, journeyed to find Dandie Dinmont engaged in a life and death struggle with the highway thieves. He also shows a special partiality for night scenes. There is, for example, the Glasgow midnight in Rob Roy, the attack on the Tolbooth in The Heart of Midlothian, the moonlight night in the beautiful highland valley, where Francis Osbaldistone, journeying to a supper and bed at Aberfoil, is overtaken by two horsemen, one of whom proves to be Diana

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Vernon, and, later, is suddenly hailed by a touch on the shoulder from his mysterious friend, the escaped desperado Rob Roy, with the remark 'a braw nicht Maister Osbaldistone, we have met at the mirk hour before now'; the adventure of the Black Knight, who, shortly after twilight in the forest had almost deepened into darkness, chanced on the rude hut of that strange hermit the buxom friar Tuck; and the night of the snowstorm, in which Brown, after leaving the chaise, finds his way through the steep glen to the ruinous hut in which he discovers Meg Merrilies keeping lonely watch over the dying smuggler. But, indeed, generally, an outstanding feature of his romances is the almost magical art with which he conjures up the varied atmosphere and scenery of his events and incidents. Outward nature was the constant companion of his thoughts and feelings; he was familiar with its varied aspects; and, in his references to them in his romances, he shows an unerring instinct for what is appropriate for his purpose.

Again, while employing an immense multiplicity of scenic effects, he is peculiarly lavish in his introduction of personages. His narrative, thus, has an immense sweep and compass. It is not sufficient that his tale should relate the fortunes of hero and heroine. They mainly assist in reviving a particular period of the past, or the chief features of a great historic drama, or the characteristics of certain ecclesiastical or political episodes. The journey, for example, and adventures of Waverley are merely a kind of pretext for a glimpse behind the scenes of the '45; Guy Mannering and Redgauntlet deal more particularly with the lawless aspects of southern Scotland shortly anterior to Scott's own time, interspersed with amusing pictures of the characteristic features of old legal Edinburgh; Old Mortality mirrors the Scotland of the covenanting persecution; and The Fortunes of Nigel calls up the eccentric James VI and I, but, more particularly, the seamy side of his court and the ruffianly features of the London of his time. How instructively he contrives to give a national interest to his tale is especially seen in the case of The Heart of Midlothian. It is founded on the actual case of a young woman who made a journey to London on her sister's behalf, just as Jeanie Deans did, but, with this, he interweaves the striking story of the Porteous mob and the midnight attack on the Edinburgh Tolbooth, paints vivid pictures of old burgher Edinburgh, of old rustic Scottish life, of the stern Cameronians, of the old-world Scottish

laird and his domestic affairs and of various Edinburgh reprobates, sets before us the ancient perils of the Great North road, introduces us to queen Caroline and the great duke of Argyll and his potent representatives, and describes the sovereign sway of the duke's factor, the great Knockdunder, in the west Highlands.

In his creation of personages, Scott displays a fecundity resembling that of nature herself, a fecundity derived from his comprehensive acquaintanceship with all sorts and conditions of men. Like Burns, he at once placed himself on easy terms with everyone he met. His early raids into Liddesdale, for example, gave him a better insight into the characteristics of the border shepherds and farmers than most strangers could obtain, for the simple reason that he at once became intimate with them. The verdict of one of them, at first disposed to stand in awe of the Edinburgh advocate, was, so soon as Scott had spoken to him, 'he's just a chield like ourselves I think'; and this was the impression he produced in whatever circle he moved. He met everyone on terms of their common human nature; he mingled with his workmen without conveying any sense of patronage, he and they were at home with each other. On animals, he seemed to exercise, unconsciously, a mesmeric influence, founded on their instinctive trust in his goodwill; and a similar glamour, derived from his deep geniality, at once secured him the confidence and regard of nearly every person he met.

'I believe,' says Lockhart, 'Scott has somewhere expressed in print his satisfaction that, during all the changes of our manners, the ancient freedom of personal intercourse may still be indulged in between a master and an out-of-door's servant, but in truth he kept up the old fashion even with his domestic servants to an extent which I have hardly seen practised by any other gentleman. He conversed with his coachman if he sat by him, as he often did, on the box, with his footman if he happened to be in the rumble.... Any steady servant of a friend of his was soon considered as a sort of friend too, and was sure to have a kind little colloquy to himself at coming and going.'

Referring to the bashful reluctance of Nigel to mix in the conversation of those with whom he was not familiar, Scott remarks:

It is a fault only to be cured by experience and knowledge of the world which soon teaches every sensible and acute person the important lesson that amusement, and, what is of more consequence, that information and increase of knowledge are to be derived from the conversation of every individual whatsoever with whom he is thrown into a natural train of communication. For ourselves we can assure the reader-and perhaps if we have been able to

afford him amusement it is owing in a great degree to this cause-that we never found ourselves in company with the stupidest of all possible companions in a post-chaise, or with the most arrant cumber-corner that ever occupied a place in the mail-coach, without finding that in the course of our conversation with him we had some idea suggested to us, either grave or gay, or some information communicated in the course of our journey, which we should have regretted not to have learned, and which we should be sorry to have immediately forgotten.'

Scott's curiosity as to idiosyncrasies, though kindly and well bred, was minute and insatiable; and it may further be noted that, for his study of certain types of human nature, he had peculiar opportunities from his post of observation as clerk to the court of session. Moreover, he was happily dowered with the power to combine strenuous literary and other labours with an almost constant round of social distractions. His mental gifts were splendidly reinforced by exceptional physical vigour, and, more particularly, by a nervous system so strongly strung that, for many years, it was not seriously disquieted by incessant studious application combined with an almost constant round of conviviality. To almost the last, it enabled him to perform prodigies of literary labour, even after it had begun to show serious signs of breaking up. Though it must be granted that the infesting of his border home by a constant influx of 'tourists, wonder hunters and all that fatal species,' was, even from monetary considerations-considerations the importance of which were, in the end, to be calamitously revealed far from an unmixed blessing, it had certain compensations. If he occasionally found it needful-from the behests of literary composition-to escape from it, the social racket, on the whole, gave him more pleasure than boredom. Lockhart describes the society at Abbotsford as 'a brilliant and ever varying' one; and Scott, evidently, enjoyed its diversity; and, while responding to its brilliances, took quiet note of its follies and vanities. Though the 'daily reception of new comers' entailed more or less 'worry and exhaustion of spirit upon all the family,' he was himself, we are told, proof against this. The immense geniality of Scott, which qualified him for so comprehensive an appreciation of human nature, especially manifests itself in his method of representing character. His standpoint is quite the antipodes of that of Swift or Balzac. Mentally and morally, he was thoroughly healthy and happy ; there was no taint of morbidity or bitterness in his disposition; and, if aspiring, he was so without any tincture of jealousy or envy. Though possessing potent satiric gifts, he but rarely has