nowledge of the traditions of border warfare, as
well as of the tales and ballads pertaining to it. He was also a great
reader of romances in his youth. In 1779 be returned to Edinburgh, and
became a pupil in the high school. Four years later, he entered the
university; but in neither school nor college, was he distinguished for
scholarship. In 1797 he was admitted to the practice of law,--a profession
which he soon forsook for literature. His first poems appeared in 1802.
The "Lay of the Last Minstrel" was published in 1805, "Marmion" in 1808,
and "The Lady of the Lake" in 1810. Several poems of less power followed.
In 1814 "Waverley," his first novel, made its appearance, but the author
was unknown for some time. Numerous other novels followed with great
rapidity, the author reaping a rich harvest both in fame and money. In
1811 he purchased an estate near the Tweed, to which he gave the name of
Abbotsford. In enlarging his estate and building a costly house, he spent
vast sums of money. This, together with the failure of his publishers in
1826, involved him very heavily in debt. But he set to work with almost
superhuman effort to pay his debts by the labors of his pen. In about four
years, he had paid more than $300,000; but the effort was too much for his
strength, and hastened his death.

In person, Scott was tall, and apparently robust, except a slight lameness
with which he was affected from childhood. He was kindly in disposition,
hospitable in manner, fond of outdoor pursuits and of animals, especially
dogs. He wrote with astonishing rapidity, and always in the early morning.
At his death, he left two sons and two daughters. A magnificent monument
to his memory has been erected in the city of his birth. The following
selection is from "The Lady of the Lake."
###

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;
Dream of battlefields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking.
In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of battlefields no more;
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armor's clang, or war steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here
Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come,
At the daybreak from the fallow,
And the bitte