We are now prepared to read Wordsworths' two exquisite poems, "Yarrow Unvisited," and "Yarrow Visited," the splendid flowering, so to speak, of this poetical growth.

This is beautiful, but the following is more so. Indeed it is the very perfection of descriptive poetry.

CHAPTER XX.

Proceeding westward from St. Mary's Lake about half a mile, we come to the hill of Merecleughhead, where King James the Fifth entered the district to inflict summary vengeance upon the outlaws who frequented the Ettrick Forest in the days of old, a circumstance which gave rise to many of the old Scottish ballads. At the centre of the parish lie the hamlet and church-yard of Ettrick, on the stream of that name. Entering the burying-ground we behold the recently erected tomb of Thomas Boston, author of the well known work called "The Fourfold State," one of the best and holiest men that ever "hallowed" the "bushy dells" of Ettrick. With apostolic fervor did he preach the Gospel among these hills and vales, and his work, for more than three generations, has instructed the Scottish peasantry in the high doctrines of the Christian faith. His memory will ever be fragrant among the churches of Scotland. Not far from the burying-ground a house is pointed out in which the celebrated "Ettrick Shepherd" was born. Passing to the east end of the lake we see before us Altrieve Cottage, "bosomed low mid tufted trees," and nearly encircled by the "sweet burnie," in whose limpid waters the green foliage is mirrored. Here the poet lived, in the latter period of his life, and here also he died. The scenes around, moor, mountain and glen, lake, river and ruin, are hallowed by the genius of the "shepherd bard," who, to quote his own words,

James Hogg, born in 1772, was descended from a family of shepherds, and spent his boyhood and youth herding his flocks among the hills. Far from the bustle of the world, in the deep solitudes of nature, his young and vigorous imagination became familiar with all wild and beautiful sights, all sweet and solemn sounds. Alone with nature during the day, he spent his evening hours in listening to ancient ballads and legends, of which his mother was a great reciter. This fed his imagination, and supplied it with an infinite variety of strange and beautiful imagery. To this fact he has himself thus strikingly referred.

Another circumstance in the early life of Hogg tended to nurse his fancy. He had, in all, something like six months' schooling, and having entered the service of Mr. Laidlaw, another great lover of legends, songs and stories of the olden time, he subscribed to a circulating library at Peebles, whose diversified contents he devoured within a short time. He read poetry, romances and tales with avidity, and stored his mind with traditionary ballads, songs and stories. This circumstance will account for his wayward, changeable life, as well as for the wildness and strength of his imagination. In the field of reality he was nothing, in that of fancy everything.

He is said to have been a remarkably fine-looking young man, having a florid complexion, and a profusion of light brown hair, which he wore, coiled up, beneath his "blithe blue bonnet." An attack of illness induced by over-exertion, on a hot summer's day, so completely altered his appearance, that his friends scarcely recognized him as the same person. Of a jovial and merry disposition, he was a great favorite in all companies, and at times partook too freely of "the mountain dew."

Being introduced by the son of his employer to Sir Walter Scott, the Ettrick Shepherd assisted him in the collection of old ballads for the "Border Minstrelsy." He soon began to try his own hand in imitation of these traditionary poems, and published a volume of ballads, which attracted some attention, but never became very popular. Having embarked in sheep farming, and attempted one or two speculations in which he failed utterly, he resolved to repair to the city of Edinburgh, and support himself by his pen. "The Forest Minstrel," a collection of songs, was his first publication here; his second, "The Spy," a light periodical, which enjoyed a brief and precarious existence. It was not till the publication, in 1813, of his principal poetical production, "The Queen's Wake," that his reputation as a poet was firmly established. The plan was so simple and striking, and the execution so vigorous and delightful, that it "took" at once, and became universally popular. The old "Wake" or festival in Scotland was ordinarily celebrated with various kinds of diversions, among which music and song held the principal place. The "Queen's Wake" consists of a collection of tales and ballads supposed to be sung by different bards to the young Queen of Scotland,—

The various productions of the minstrels are strung together by a thread of light and graceful narrative. The "Wake" lasts three successive nights, and a richly ornamented harp is the victor's reward. Rizzio is among the number of the competitors; but Gardyne, a native bard, obtains the prize. The plan supplies the Ettrick Shepherd with an opportunity of displaying the extreme facility with which he could adapt himself to all kinds of style, a facility so great that he subsequently published, under the title of "The Mirror of the Poets," a collection of poems ascribed by him to Byron, Campbell, Scott, Southey, Crabbe, Wordsworth and others, in which the deception is so admirable, that multitudes actually supposed them genuine productions. Conscious of his strength, he breaks forth in the "Queen's Wake," in the following exulting strains.

Scott had advised him to abandon poetry, as "a bootless task," a circumstance to which he thus refers:

Scott, it is said, was grieved at this reference to his friendly counsel, given at a time when he knew not the powers of Hogg. This, however, illustrates a fact often occurring in the history of genius, which often struggles hard to develop itself, alone conscious of its native powers. When Sheridan first spoke in the house of commons he made an utter failure. But instead of being discouraged, he remarked with energy, "I know that it is in me, and I must have it out!" Campbell offered his "Pleasures of Hope" to nearly all the book publishers in Scotland, who refused it. Not one of them could be prevailed upon even to risk paper and ink upon the chance of its success; and at last, it was only with considerable reluctance that Mundell & Son, printers to the University, undertook its publication, with the liberal condition that the author should be allowed fifty copies at the trade price, and in the event of its reaching a second edition, a thing hardly anticipated, that he should receive the immense sum of fifty dollars!

The Ettrick Shepherd continued for a number of years to publish sketches, stories, and so forth, in prose and verse. He describes well, and in his prose compositions often breaks out into flashes of keen broad humor, but he is not particularly successful in the construction of plots, or in the arrangement of incidents. He is most at home in the regions of pure fancy. The moment he sets foot in fairyland he becomes inspired, and pours out "in delightful profusion" his beautiful imaginings. Inferior to Burns in depth of passion, in keen perception of the beautiful, and in the description of actual scenes, he is perhaps superior to him in the wild delicacy of his inventions and in the rich coloring of his imaginative pictures. Burns was the poet of nature, and went far beyond his Scottish contemporaries and successors, in strength of conception, beauty of imagery, intensity of feeling, and melody of verse. But Hogg excelled in imaginative musing, and became, by natural right, the acknowledged "bard of fairyland." His legend of "Bonny Kilmeny" has been universally admired.

The close of "The Queen's Wake" is graceful and touching.

Hogg was unfortunate in all business transactions. But the Duchess of Buccleugh made him a present of some seventy acres of moorland, on which he built a pretty cottage. Here he lived during the latter years of his life, engaged in literary labors, which he relieved by angling and field sports, for which he had quite a passion. When he could no longer fish and hunt, he avowed his belief that his death was near. He was seized with a dropsical complaint in the autumn of 1835, and died, after some days of insensibility, "with as little pain as he ever fell asleep in his gray plaid upon the hillside." With many imperfections, he possessed a leal Scottish heart, and has left behind him memorials of genius, which posterity will not "let die."

But we have arrived at the ancient town of Selkirk, on the Ettrick, famous for its 'sutors' or shoemakers, from time immemorial burgesses of the town, and distinguished for their loyalty. In the market-square are a public well, ornamented with the arms of the city, and a handsome monument erected by the county, in 1839, in memory of Sir Walter Scott, who was sheriff of the county from 1800 to 1832. On one of its sides are the following lines from one of his poems:

In the immediate neighborhood of Selkirk is Philiphaugh, the celebrated battle-field, where General Leslie, fighting for freedom and the Covenant, routed the fierce Montrose, who cut his way through the enemy and fled for his life. This defeat destroyed the fruit of Montrose's six splendid victories, and ruined the royal cause in Scotland.

CHAPTER XXI.

Leaving the Ettrick, we proceed once more in the direction of the Tweed, which we soon reach. How sweetly the river winds through this wooded region—quick and even impetuous in its flow, but so translucent that the white pebbles at the bottom are distinctly visible. What a picture of peaceful enjoyment is presented by that shepherd boy, leaning against the rock, and basking himself in the sun, while his sheep are nibbling the short grass on the edge of the water. But yonder is Abbotsford, with its castellated walls and pointed gables, shooting up from a sylvan declivity on the banks of the river, which almost encircles the place with a graceful sweep, and contrasts beautifully with the deep-green foliage of the straggling clumps of trees. But every traveller in Scotland visits Abbotsford, and therefore we say nothing about its singular construction, its curious ornaments, its ancient relics, its broad-swords and battle-axes, its coats armorial, oak carvings and blazoned windows, its old portraits and fine library. We will not describe the door taken from the old Tolbooth in Edinburgh, nor the pulpit from which Ralph Erskine preached; nay more, we shall not even moralize on "the broad-skirted blue coat, with metal buttons, the plaid trowsers, heavy shoes, broad-brimmed hat and stout walking stick," the last worn by "the Great Magician of the north," when he took to his bed in his last illness. We will pass, however, into his study, a room about twenty-five feet square, containing a small writing table in the centre, on which Sir Walter was accustomed to write, and a plain arm-chair, covered with black leather, on which he sat. A subdued light enters from a single window, and a few books lie on the shelves, used chiefly for reference. By the permission of the good lady who has charge of the house, we are permitted to seat ourselves, and linger here for an hour, calling up the memory of the most wonderful genius that Scotland has ever produced.

The father of Sir Walter Scott was a writer to the Signet in Edinburgh, an excellent and highly respectable man. His mother, Anne Rutherford, a noble and gentle-hearted woman, was the daughter of a physician, in extensive practice, and Professor of Medicine in the University of Edinburgh. By both parents he was remotely connected with some ancient and respectable Scottish families, a circumstance to which he frequently referred with satisfaction. He was born on the 15th of August, in the year 1771. In consequence of lameness and a delicate state of health, produced by a fall, he was sent, in early life to Sandyknowe, a romantic situation near Kelso, and placed under the care of his grandfather. Here he fortified his constitution by long rambles on foot and on horseback among the picturesque scenery and old ruins of the neighborhood. Smallholm, a ruined tower, and the scene of Scott's ballad, "The Eve of St. John's," was close to the farm, and beside it were the Eildon Hills, the ruins of Ercildoune, the residence, in ancient times, of Thomas the Rhymer, Dryburgh Abbey, the "silver Tweed," with its storied banks, and other localities renowned in song and story. It was here also that he delighted in supplying his memory with the tales of his nurse, and some old grandames, deeply versed in the traditions of the country. All these left indelible impressions on his young imagination, and nursed the latent germ of poetry and romance, so late, but so beautiful in its flowering. Subsequently he resided with another relation at Kelso. Here, under the shadow of a great platanus or oriental palm tree, in an old garden, he devoured "Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry," and permitted his fancy to wander at will amid the scenes of Border romance. This explains, in some degree, the peculiar characteristics of his first poems, and that fine strain of romantic feeling which runs through his tales. Speaking of this matter, he says himself: "In early youth I had been an eager student of ballad poetry, and the tree is still in my recollection beneath which I lay and first entered upon the enchanting perusal of 'Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry,' although it has long perished in the general blight which affected the whole race of oriental platanus, to which it belonged. The taste of another person had strongly encouraged my own researches into this species of legendary lore. But I had never dreamed of an attempt to imitate what gave me so much pleasure. Excepting the usual tribute to a mistress's eyebrow, which is the language of passion rather than poetry, I had not for ten years indulged the wish to couple so much as love and dove, when finding Lewis in possession of so much reputation, and conceiving that, if I fell behind him in poetical powers, I considerably exceeded him in general information, I suddenly took it into my head to attempt the style by which he had raised himself to fame." He refers to the same thing in the following lines: