poems of Dean Swift. But his literary ambition was slight. It was as a conversationist that he excelled, and he gave to society talents that might have won for him a lasting fame as a man of letters.

THE NOVEMBER FOG OF LONDON.

First, at the dawn of lingering day,
It rises of an ashy gray;
Then deepening with a sordid stain
Of yellow, like a lion's mane.
Vapor importunate and dense,
It wars at once with every sense.
The ears escape not. All around
Returns a dull unwonted sound.
Loath to stand still, afraid to stir,
The chilled and puzzled passenger,
Oft blundering from the pavement, fails
To feel his way along the rails;
Or at the crossings, in the roll
Of every carriage dreads the pole.

Scarce an eclipse, with pall so dun,
Blots from the face of heaven the sun.
But soon a thicker, darker cloak
Wraps all the town, behold! in smoke,
Which steam-compelling trade disgorges
From all her furnaces and forges
In pitchy clouds;-too dense to rise,
It drops rejected from the skies;
Till struggling day, extinguished quite,
At noon gives place to candle-light.
O Chemistry, attractive maid!
Descend in pity to our aid:
Come with thy all-pervading gases,
Thy crucibles, retorts, and glasses,
Thy fearful energies and wonders,

Thy dazzling lights and mimic thunders:
Let Carbon in thy train be seen,
Dark Azote and fair Oxygen,—
And Wollaston and Davy guide
The car that bears thee, at thy side.

If any power can, anyhow,
Abate these nuisances, 'tis thou;
And see, to aid thee in the blow,
The bill of Michael Angelo;

Oh join-success a thing of course is-
Thy heavenly to his mortal forces;
Make all our chimneys chew the cud
Like hungry cows, as chimneys should!
And since 'tis only smoke we draw
Within our lungs at common law,
Into their thirsty tubes be sent
Fresh air, by act of Parliament!

Sir Walter Scott.

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Walter Scott (1771-1832), a younger son of a Writer to the Signet, was born in Edinburgh, on the 15th of August, 1771. Some of his earliest years were, on account of a malady that caused lameness, passed on the farm of his paternal grandfather in Roxburghshire. Here he acquired his taste for border legends and stories of chivalry. In 1779 he entered the High School of Edinburgh, and in 1783 the University. In neither did he display much ability; his Latin was little, and his Greek less. Before his sixteenth year he had run through a vast circle of miscellaneous reading, including many works of fiction.

In 1786 Scott was apprenticed to his father, and in 1792 was admitted to the Bar; but of his legal profession he says, in the language of Slender to Anne Page, "There was little love between us at first, and it pleased God to decrease it on better acquaintance." His first serious efforts in composition were some translations of German ballads. In 1797 he married Miss Carpenter, a lady of some beauty, and with a small fortune. In 1799 he became Sheriff of Selkirkshire, and in 1806 one of the principal clerks of the Court of Session. He now resolved to make literature the basis of his fortunes. In 1802 appeared his "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border;" in 1804 he edited the metrical romance of "Sir Tristrem." In 1805 appeared the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," which was enthusiastically received, and added largely to his growing fame. This poem was followed in 1808 by Marmion;" in 1809, by the "Lady of the Lake;" in 1811, by "Don Roderick;" in 1813, by "Rokeby ;" and in 1814, by the "Lord of the Isles."

Seeing that his poetical star was now beginning to pale before the rising fame of Byron, Scott prudently retired from the field where he was no longer without a rival, and commenced his series of "Waverley Novels," so memorable in literature. For fifteen years he kept the authorship of them a secret, and was referred to as the "Illustrious Unknown." In 1814 "Waverley" appeared. Within four years it was followed by "Guy Mannering," ," "The Antiquary," "Old Mortality," "Rob Roy," and "The Heart of Mid-Lothian." From 1814 to 1826, during the publication of these novels, Scott was at the summit of his fame and worldly success. In 1820 he was created a baronet. Meanwhile he had purchased an estate at a price much above its value, and built his house at Abbotsford, "a romance in stone and lime," and thither the family removed in 1812. The house had cost him, with the garden, £20,000.

But Scott's wealth was wholly illusory. He had been paid for his works chiefly in notes, which proved valueless. His connection with the publishing firm of Ballantyne & Co. had entangled him in the responsibilities of an ill-conducted business; and the disastrous year 1826 involved him in the ruin of his latter publishers, Constable & Co. The poet's liabilities from his relations with these two houses amounted to more than £120,000. Nothing could be more admirable than the attitude in which his adversity exhibited him. He sat down, at the age of fifty-five, with the heroic determination of laboring to pay off his debts and redeem his fair fame. "Wood

stock" alone, the labor of three months, cleared to his creditors £8000. But the busy brain and the big, manly form did not suffice. Before he could reach the longedfor goal, he sank in the struggle; a paralytic attack arrested his work. A journey to Italy did not restore his shattered constitution. Returning in haste, that he might be under the shade of his own trees, he expired September 21st, 1832, after fourteen days of prostration and insensibility, with occasional flashes of consciousness.

One of the most pathetic incidents of the last two months of his life was the failure of his attempt to write. On the 17th of July, awaking from sleep, he called for his writing materials. When the chair, in which he lay propped up with pillows, was moved into his study and placed before the desk, his daughter put a pen into his hand; but there was no power in the fingers to close on the too familiar instrument. It dropped upon the paper, and the helpless old man sank back to weep in silence.

"The great strength of Scott," says Dr. Carruthers, "undoubtedly lay in the prolific richness of his fancy, in his fine healthy moral feeling, and in the abundant stores of his remarkable memory, that could create, collect, and arrange such a multitude of scenes and adventures; that could find materials for stirring and romantic poetry in the most minute and barren antiquarian details; and that could reanimate the past, and paint the present, in scenery and manners, with a vividness and energy unknown since the period of Homer."

LOCHINVAR.

LADY HERON'S SONG, FROM "MARMION."

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west;
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapon had none;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake and he stopped not for stone;

He swam the Esk River where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) "O, come ye in peace here or come ye in war, Or to dauce at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied: Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;

The train from out the castle drew,
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :—
"Though something I might 'plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I stayed,-
Part we in friendship from your land;
And, noble earl, receive my hand."
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :-
"My manors, halls, and bowers shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone;
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

And first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate:
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
E'en in thy pitch of pride,-
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near
(Nay, never look upon your lord,

And lay your hands upon your sword),—

I tell thee, thou'rt defied!

And if thon saidst I am not peer

To any lord in Scotland here,

Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!”

On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age:

Fierce he broke forth: "And darest thou, then,
To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!—
Up drawbridge, grooms--what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."

Lord Marmion turned-well was his need-
And dashed the rowels in his steed;
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous gate behind him rung:

To pass there was such scanty room, The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim:
And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts and turns with clenchéd hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

ALLEN-A-DALE.

SONG FROM "ROKEBY."

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Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning,
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning,
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning,
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning.
Come, read me my riddle! come, hearken my tale!
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale.

The Baron of Ravensworth prauces in pride,
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side.
The mere for his net, and the land for his game,
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame;
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale,
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale!

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight,

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright;

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word; And the best of our nobles his bonnet will veil, Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale.

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come;

The mother, she asked of his household and home: "Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the

hill,

My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter still; 'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so

pale,

And with all its bright spangles!" said Allen-a-Dale.

The father was steel, and the mother was stone;
They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone;
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry!
He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye,
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,
And the youth it was told by, was Allen-a-Dale!