" A Very Great Man "

Walter Scott, Born August 15, 1771 JOHNSON wrote on the tomb of Goldsmith, " Let not his frailties be remembered ; he was a very great man."

Let us likewise on this signal day, August the fifteenth, set on one side the criticism—much of it sour and peevish, if not actually unjust in tone—which of late has been lavishly showered on Walter Scott, and allow ourselves the rare pleasure of now praising a famous man.

If ever the gods who preside over mortal destinies planned to refine a human soul by adversity—to try the gold of its nature by fire—then surely in this ninth child of a Scots lawyer they found apt material for their testing skill.

Most people are more or less aware how in the end he emerged triumphant, how all the blasts of fate failed to break his proud spirit, and how, in the final catastrophe of his career, the true grandeur of his life was revealed.

Walter Scott's versatility, his genius for story-telling, his titanic industry and stoic endurance are everywhere recognized. But there is one basic quality, one supreme characteristic which misses too often the attention it deserves. And this remarkable feature may be summed up in that simple, everyday phrase, kindness of heart.

From the day when as a child of five he flew like a wild cat at the throat of a relative who wrung the neck of a starling in his presence, to the last year of his life, when " moved in an uncommon degree " he indignantly rebuked a group of carriers for maltreating a horse, we have abundant evidence of this outstanding trait. At school he was notorious for assisting the tasks of his friends at the expense of his (Ova, and for whiling away

their winter playliouis by the ungrudging telling of stories round Lucky Brown's fireside. Later, at the age of twenty-five, a day or two after he had received the death-blow to his own most romantic attachment, he writes to Erskine generously associating himself with the marriage of his friend's sister : " I did not fail to drink on Monday an additional bumper to the happiness of a pair in whom I am so warmly interested, and ranged the Whole country for an Edinburgh paper that I might have the pleasure of seeing their union announced in dud form. A thousand compliments of congratulation to our friends . . . we will all be busy ourselves in winter to look out for a fellow-mind for you . . . Ever, dear Willy, ever thine, Walter Scott."

At this period, too, despite his private agony of mind, and despite the lameness which rendered him ineligible for the Army, he was the life and soul of the Edinburgh volunteer cavalry, and, indeed, Lord Cockburn says that it was largely Scott's gay humour and animation which sustained the enthusiasm of the corps.

Of professional jealousy he had apparently never a trace. Byron, Wordsworth, Crabbe, Southey, Hogg,' Moore and Campbell—rival poets in a sense all these might be, yet the letters of each indicate the truest rever- ence and affection for Scott.

In refusing the laureateship he strongly urged the claims of Southey, and in writing to the latter says, " I am not such an ass as not to know you are my better in poetry."

" Byron beat me," he once remarked, yet Byron states in a letter, " I owe to you far more than the usual obliga-' tion for the courtesies of literature and common friend- ship " ; and he inscribes a copy of his works to Scott thus, " To the monarch of Parnassus from one of his subjects."

As for Hogg, it is well known that the benefactions,' financial and otherwise, which he received from Scott, were unending. If the " Shirra " could not help openly he must needs do it surreptitiously, as for instance when he secretly employed a " caddie " to follow Crabbe lest harm befall his friend when wandering through Edinburgh's disreputable haunts.

Apart from his poet friends, few of Scott's more ragged brethren, who in that day climbed the painful steeps of Parnassus, appealed to 'him in vain. We are told that on the MS. of one American he paid in in postage alone, and that on another occasion, being unable to give a needy minister money, he wrote for him two sermons, the copyright of which brought the recipient £250.

To the vast tribe of bores and blockheads of every sort and condition who throughout his life—often shamelessly —solicited his time and attention, his courtesy was amazing. Sometimes, before the crash, as many as sixteen uninvited parties would arrive at Abbotsford in one day, literally to take the house and its inmates by storm. Yet Scott's sunny temper was rarely ruffled: Though often in mid-sentence, this man_ of, gigantic tasks would placidly lay down his pen, and with the air_ of being the idlestfellow in the world, proceed to welcome his guests. With his warm graciousness of manner he quickly put each at ease, and it is well known that most people shone their brightest in his presenee: " To hear him converse is like swallowing large draughts of champagne without being intoxicated," comments Mrs. Hughes ; and Washington IiVing says, " Everything about him scented to rejoice in the light of his countenance. . . . I never felt such a consciousness of .happineSs as when under his roof." From his dependents also the laird gets much true homage. " Sir Walter speaks to every man as if he were a blood relation," says one and when any servant was eagaged-by the " Shirra," he sent a-fieiir 6.iissqo

all his relatives urging them to come and share his great good fortune. At the time of the deluge Peter Mathieson, his coachman, at once doffed his livery and turned ploughman rather than seek service elsewhere. The music-master at Abbotsford offered Sir Walter his entire savings, and Dalgleish the butler refused utterly with tears to be dismissed.

" Do you know, sir, if this is the street where he is lying?" was the wistful question addressed to Allan Cunningham by an anxious group of workmen when, near the end, the great magician lay deaf to the world in a London hotel. " As if," observes the recorder, " there was but one deathbed in all London ! "

And it was not only among men, women, and children that Scott found troops of friends. Among all sentient creatures he numbered them. To the crowd of dogs who lovingly followed him wherever he went, (" his tail," Lady Scott termed it), lie always talked as if to men.

" Poor things ! " he exclaims in his Journal, in that bitter cry of 1825, " I must get my dogs kind masters.

I feel their feet on my knees—I hear them whining and seeking me everywhere." Injunctions regarding them fill his last letters from abroad, and when, sick unto death, with even his " magic wand " broken, he came home, the dogs, surrounding his chair and caressing and licking his face and hands, gave him the sweetest welcome of all. But even cats, pigs, donkeys, and hens were not immune from his attraction. Whenever he appeared outside it was the sign for general animation and joy, and at times the adoration of a certain black pig, and of a sentimental hen, became a source of embar- rassment to the laird and of diversion-to his guests. In later years, a gigantic cat, Rinse by name, joined the tribe _who scoured the woods in his wake, and when indoors he watched over his master from the top of the gallery steps. It was the custom of this all but human being to clout the head of each dog contemptuously as lie passed in and out, and on those rare occasions when Scott was alone, to mount guard majestically by his footstool.

One is tempted to embellish an insignificant garland with yet more proofs of the universal and unfailing sympathy of this great man. But these may be gathered at will from Lockhart, who with such exquisite skill portrays Scott's daily life. Moreover, not only the immortal Memoir, but also the products of Sir Walter's imagination, offer further rich testimony to :

"That best portion of a good man's life. His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love."

It is that shining quality which crowns with glory Walter Scott's greatest gift to humanityhis own life.

W. E. Ccxx.