genius, as well as to the many amiable and excellent qualities that adorned his character as a man. If nature had endowed him with a vigorous intellect and a singular vivacity of imagination, she had been no less bountiful to him in those gentler gifts which do not always accompany the possession of great abilities or high literary reputation. Many might be captivated with his talents, and admire the truly Scottish productions of his muse; but it was only those who knew him-who had listened to his conversation, or mixed in his society, that could appreciate the kindliness of his disposition, and the genuine benevolence of his heart. It was in the domestic circle, and by the light of his own hospitable fire-side, that the finer and more fascinating qualities of his mind were seen to the greatest advantage. With the higher range of his faculties there mixed a homely frankness and confiding simplicity that won attachment and esteem, even more than his poetical genius or his literary fame. By the latter endowments only he was known to the world, and will be remembered by posterity: but the former and more enduring qualities will be embalmed in the recollections of those who enjoyed his acquaintance or shared in his friendships and affections. His numerous works will remain an honourable demonstration of his rare talents and unwearied industry; but no monument, except the living memory, can perpetuate the virtues and ornaments of his private life.]

REMINISCENCES

OF

SOME OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES.

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

ONE fine day in the summer of 1801, as I was busily engaged working in the field at Ettrick House, Wat Shiel came over to me and said, that "I boud gang away down to the Ramseycleugh as fast as my feet could carry me, for there war some gentlemen there wha wantit to speak to me."

“Wha can be at the Ramseycleuch that want me, Wat?"

"I coudna say, for it wasna me that they spak to i' the byganging. But I'm thinking it's the Shirra an' some o' his gang."

I was rejoiced to hear this, for I had seen the first volumes of the " Minstrelsy of the Border," and had copied a number of old ballads from my mother's recital, and sent them to the editor preparatory for a third volume. I accordingly went towards home to put on my Sunday clothes, but before reaching it I met with THE SHIRRA and Mr William Laidlaw coming to visit me. They alighted and remained in

our cottage for a space better than an hour, and my mother chanted the ballad of Old Maitlan' to them, with which Mr Scott was highly delighted. I had sent him a copy, (not a very perfect one, as I found afterwards, from the singing of another Laidlaw,) but I thought Mr Scott had some dread of a part being forged, that had been the cause of his journey into the wilds of Ettrick. When he heard my mother sing it he was quite satisfied, and I remember he asked her if she thought it had ever been printed; and her answer was, 66 Oo, na, na, sir, it was never printed i' the world, for my brothers an' me learned it frae auld Andrew Moor, an' he learned it, an' mony mae, frae auld Baby Mettlin, that was house-keeper to the first laird o' Tushilaw."

"Then that must be a very auld story, indeed, Margaret," said he.

"Ay, it is that! It is an auld story! But mair nor that, except George Warton and James Steward, there was never ane o' my sangs prentit till ye prentit them yoursell, an' ye hae spoilt them a'thegither. They war made for singing, an' no for reading; and they're nouther right spelled nor right setten down.' “Heh-heh-heh! Take ye that, Mr Scott," said

Laidlaw.

Mr Scott answered by a hearty laugh, and the recital of a verse, but I have forgot what it was, and my mother gave him a rap on the knee with her open hand, and said “It is true enough, for a' that.”

We were all to dine at Ramseycleugh with the Messrs. Brydon; but Mr Scott and Mr Laidlaw went

i

away to look at something before dinner, and I was to follow. On going into the stable-yard at Ramseycleugh, I met with Mr Scott's liveryman, a far greater original than his master, at whom I asked if the Shirra was come?

“Are ye

“O, ay, lad, the Shirra's come," said he. the chiel that maks the auld ballads and sings them?” "I said I fancied I was he that he meant, though I had never made ony very auld ballads."

“Ay, then, lad, gae your ways in an' speir for the Shirra. They'll let ye see where he is. He'll be very glad to see you."

During the sociality of the evening, the discourse ran very much on the different breeds of sheep, that curse of the community of Ettrick Forest. The original black-faced forest breed being always called the short sheep, and the Cheviot breed the long sheep, the disputes at that period ran very high about the practicable profits of each. Mr Scott, who had come into that remote district to preserve what fragments remained of its legendary lore, was rather bored with the everlasting question of the long and the short sheep. So at length, putting on his most serious calculating face, he turned to Mr Walter Brydon and said, “I am rather at a loss regarding the merits of this very important question. How long must a sheep actually measure to come under the denomination of a long sheep?"

Mr Brydon, who, in the simplicity of his heart, neither perceived the quiz nor the reproof, fell to answer with great sincerity,-"It's the woo, sir-it's the

woo that makes the difference. The lang sheep hae the short woo, and the short sheep hae the lang thing; and these are just kind o' names we gie them like." Mr Scott could not preserve his grave face of strict calculation; it went gradually awry, and a hearty guffaw followed. When I saw the very same words repeated near the beginning of the Black Dwarf, how could I be mistaken of the author? It is true, Johnnie Ballantyne persuaded me into a nominal belief of the contrary for several years following, but I could never get the better of that and several similar coincidences.

The next day we went off, five in number, to visit the wilds of Rankleburn, to see if on the farms of Buccleugh there were any relics of the Castles of Buccleugh or Mount-Comyn, the ancient and original possession of the Scotts. We found no remains of either tower or fortalice, save an old chapel and church-yard, and a mill and mill-dam, where corn never grew, but where, as old Satchells very appropriately says,

Had heather-bells been corn of the best,

The Buccleugh mill would have had a noble grist.

It must have been used for grinding the chief's black mails, which, it is known, were all paid to him in kind. Many of these still continue to be paid in the same way; and if report say true, he would be the better of a mill and kiln on some part of his land at this day, as well as a sterling conscientious miller to receive and render.

Besides having been mentioned by Satchells, there