his own efforts. His chief cause of distress was the effects upon his family and dependants; and on leaving 39 Castle Street, he gave vent to his feelings in the words of the Highland emigrant, Ha til sin tulidh, "We return no more.' In the midst of these embarrassments appeared the famous Letters of Malachi Malgrowther against Government interference with the Scottish banking system and notes. In April, the copyright of Woodstock, the work of the previous three calamitous months, sold for £8000, and its reception in May justified the price. On the 15th May, Lady Scott died at Abbotsford, and was buried in Dryburgh. Scott proceeded in October to London and Paris, to prosecute his researches for the Life of Napoleon. In London he received every facility from the Foreign Office, was invited by the King to Windsor, dined with Rogers the poet, Sir Robert Peel, and the Duke of Wellington, who gave him notes of observations on Bonaparte's Russian campaigns. In Paris he was also well received.

On 23d February 1827, he presided at a public dinner in aid of a fund for decayed actors, where Lord Meadowbank proposed his health as "The Author of Waverley"-the Great Unknown. Though the failure of Ballantyne and Constable rendered the secret no longer tenable, yet the interest excited by its first public announcement was very great. About this time, he received a complimentary letter from Goethe; and in June The Life of Napoleon appeared, and had a splendid reception-realising for his trustees £18,000, In July, he received intelligence of the

death of Constable, no doubt accelerated by their common calamities; and in September he was threatened by the French general, Gourgaud, in consequence of reflections upon his honour in The Life of Napoleon. Scott replied, and prepared for his defence. The first series of the Chronicles of the Canongate, consisting of The Highland Widow, The Two Drovers, and The Surgeon's Daughter, appeared early this winter; and in December the first series of Tales of a Grandfather met with an enthusiastic reception. The copyrights of his works were now offered for sale, and were bought for Scott by Cadell, Constable's successor, for £8500. Up to Christmas, his labours for his creditors realised £40,000, and they passed a unanimous vote of thanks to him for his noble exertions.

Early in 1828 appeared three Sermons by the Author of Waverley. They were written for a former literary assistant, a divinity student, who now obtained the author's permission to sell them to meet a pecuniary obligation. A London publisher bought them for £250. The Fair Maid of Perth, published in April, was very popular, and the second series of Tales of a Grandfather appeared at Christmas.

Anne of Geirstein, which appeared in May 1829, was well received. The History of Scotland, vol. i., for Lardner's Cyclopædia, and the third series of Tales of a Grandfather, were out by the end of the year, while the monthly issue of the Novels, with notes and new introductions, reached the eighth volume, with a sale of 35,000 each. On 15th February 1830, Scott had a shock of

"Come thou hither, my little foot-page,

Come hither to my knee;

Though thou art young, and tender of age,

I think thou art true to me.

"Come, tell me all that thou hast seen,

And look thou tell me true! Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been, What did thy lady do?"

"My ladye, each night, sought the lonely light,

That burns on the Wild Watchfold; For, from height to height, the beacons bright

Of the English foemen told.
"The bittern clamour'd from the moss,
The wind blew loud and shrill;
Yet the craggy pathway she did cross,
To the eiry Beacon Hill.

"I watch'd her steps, and silent came
Where she sat her on a stone ;-
No watchman stood by the dreary flame,
It burned all alone.

"The second night I kept her in sight,

Till to the fire she came,

And, by Mary's might! an armed knight Stood by the lonely flame.

"And many a word that warlike lord Did speak to my lady there;

But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast, And I heard not what they were.

"The third night there the sky was fair,

And the mountain blast was still, As again I watch'd the secret pair, On the lonesome beacon hill.

"And I heard her name the midnight hour,

And name this holy eve;

"He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ;

His lady is all alone;

The door she'll undo, to her knight so true,

On the eve of good St John.'

"I cannot come; I must not come; I dare not come to thee;

On the eve of St John I must wander alone :

In thy bower I may not be.' ""Now,

out on thee, faint-hearted knight !

Thou shouldst not say me nay; For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet,

Is worth the whole summer's day. "And I'll chain the bloodhound, and the warder shall not sound

And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair;

So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St John,

I conjure thee, my love, to be there!' "Though the bloodhound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot,

And the warder his bugle should not blow,

Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east,

And my footstep he would know.'

"O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east!

For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en; And there to say mass, till three days do pass,

For the soul of a knight that is slayne.'

"He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd;

Then he laugh'd right scornfully

bower;

Ask no bold baron's leave.

of that knight,

May as well say mass for me:

"At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power,

In thy chamber will I be,

With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,

And no more did I see."

Then changed, I trow, was that bold baron's brow,

From the dark to the blood-red high, "Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen,

For, by Mary, he shall die!"

"His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light;

His plume it was scarlet and blue; On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound,

And his crest was a branch of the yew."

"Thou liest, thou liest, thou little footpage,

Loud dost thou lie to me !

For that knight is [cold, and low laid in the mould,

All under the Eildon-tree."

"Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! For I heard her name his name;

And that lady bright, she called the knight

Sir Richard of Coldinghame."

The bold baron's brow then changed, I

trow,

From high blood-red to pale

"The grave is deep and dark-the corpse is stiff and stark

So I may not trust thy tale.

"Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,

And Eildon slopes to the plain, Full three nights ago by some secret foe, That gay gallant was slain.

The ladye blush'd red, but nothing she said:

Nor added the baron a word : Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair,

And so did her moody lord.

In sleep the ladye mourn'd, and the baron toss'd and turn'd,

And oft to himself he said,'The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep,

It cannot give up the dead!"

It was near the ringing of matin-bell,
The night was wellnigh done,
When a heavy sleep on that baron fell,
On the eve of good St John.

fair,

By the light of a dying flame;

And she was aware of a knight stood there

Sir Richard of Coldinghame!

"Alas! away, away!" she cried,

For the holy Virgin's sake!"

Remains on that board impress'd;
And for evermore that ladye wore
A covering on her wrist.

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,
Ne'er looks upon the sun;
There is a monk in Melrose tower,
He speaketh word to none.

That monk, who speaks to none— That nun was Smaylho'me's ladye gay, The monk the bold baron.

BONNIE DUNDEE.

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke,

"Ere the king's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;

So let each cavalier who loves honour and

me,

Come follow the bonnet o' Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up my

can,

Come saddle your horses, and call up your men ;

Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,

And it's room for the bonnets o' Bonny Dundee !"

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,

The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;

But the Provost, douce man, said, "Just e'en let him be,

The guid toun is well quit of that deil of Dundee."

Come fill up my cup, etc.

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,

Ilk carline was flyting, and shaking her

pow;