every other fire; and the anonymous publication of the Bridal of Triermain," and "Harold the Dauntless," by wakening no feeling correspondent to his former renown, convinced Scott that he had sung too long. And now he penetrated that rich mine in prose fiction which seemed but the continuation of his poetical vein, and whose treasures astonished the world. For nearly fifteen years he continued anonymously in rapid succession the series of his novels, and the "Author of Waverley" became a profound speculation, the subject of three-volumed works. The secret, however, was faithfully kept; and, though universally suspected, the poet held his incognito till commercial misfortune forced its withdrawal. Besides his poetry and novels, his other literary labors are miraculous in amount. They consist of reviews, histories, biographies, annotated editions of great writers, &c.

The following beautiful allusion to an interview with Scott is from an oration by the Hon. Edward Everett :-"I have made my pilgrimage to Melrose Abbey, in company with that modern magician, who, mightier than the magician of old that sleeps beneath the marble floor of its chancel, has hung the garlands of immortal poesy jupon its shattered arches, and made its moss-clad ruins a shrine, to be visited by the votary of the muse from the remotest corners of the earth, to the end of time. Yes, sir, musing as I did, in my youth, over the sepulchre of the wizard, once pointed out by the bloody stain of the cross and the image of the archangel:-standing within that consecrated enclosure, under the friendly guidance of him whose genius has made it holy ground; while every nerve within me thrilled with excitement, my fancy kindled with the inspiration of the spot. I seemed to behold, not the vision so magnificently described by the minstrel,—the light, which, as the tomb was opened,

broke forth so gloriously,

Streamed upward to the chancel roof,
And through the galleries far aloof:

but I could fancy that I beheld, with sensible perception, the brighter light, which had broken forth from the master mind; which had streamed from his illumined page all-gloriously upward, above the pinnacles of worldly grandeur, till it mingled its equal beams with that of the brightest constellations in the intellectual firmament of England."

THE shades of eve come slowly down,
The woods are wrapt in deeper brown,
The owl awakens from her dell,
The fox is heard upon the fell;
Enough remains of glimmering light
To guide the wanderer's steps aright,

Yet not enough from far to show

His figure to the watchful foe.
With cautious step, and ear awake,

He climbs the crag and threads the brake;
And not the summer solstice, there,
Temper'd the midnight mountain air,
But every breeze, that swept the wold,
Benumb'd his drenched limbs with cold.

In dread, in danger, and alone,

Famish'd and chill'd, through ways unknown,
Tangled and steep, he journey'd on;
Till, as a rock's huge point he turn'd,
A watch-fire close before him burn'd.

Beside its embers red and clear,

Bask'd, in his plaid, a mountaineer;

And up he sprung with sword in hand,"Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!"— "A stranger."-"What dost thou require?"— "Rest and a guide, and food and fire. My life's beset, my path is lost,

The gale has chill'd my limbs with frost." "Art thou a friend to Roderick ?"-" No.”—

"Thou darest not call thyself a foe?"

"I dare! to him and all the band

He brings to aid his murderous hand."

"Bold words!-but, though the beast of game

The privilege of chase may claim,

Though space and law the stag we lend,
Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend,
Whoever reck'd, where, how, or when,
The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain?
Thus treacherous scouts,-yet sure they lie,
Who say thou camest a secret spy!"-
"They do, by Heaven!-Come Roderick Dhu,
And of his clan the boldest two,
And let me but till morning rest,

I write the falsehood on their crest."
"If by the blaze I mark aright,

Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight.""Then by these tokens mayst thou know Each proud oppressor's mortal foe.""Enough, enough; sit down and share A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare."

He gave him of his Highland cheer,
The harden'd flesh of mountain deer;
Dry fuel on the fire he laid,

And bade the Saxon share his plaid.
He tended him like welcome guest,

Then thus his further speech address'd

Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu,

A clansman born, a kinsman true;
Each word against his honor spoke,
Demands of me avenging stroke;

Yet more,-upon my fate, 'tis said,
A mighty augury is laid.

It rests with me to wind my horn,-
Thou art with numbers overborne ;

It rests with me, here, brand to brand,
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand:
But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause,
Will I depart from honor's laws;

To assail a wearied man were shame,
And stranger is a holy name;
Guidance and rest, and food and fire,
In vain he never must require.
Then rest thee here till dawn of day;

Myself will guide thee on the way,

O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward,

Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard,

As far as Coilantogle's ford;

From thence thy warrant is thy sword."

"I take thy courtesy, by Heaven,

As freely as 'tis nobly given!"-
"Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby."
With that he shook the gather'd heath,
And spread his plaid upon the wreath;
And the brave foemen, side by side,
Lay peaceful down like brothers tried,
And slept until the dawning beam
Purpled the mountain and the stream.