er (which was long after my time), passed away with other
heats of the period, and the Doctor continued his labors till about a
year since, when he was struck with palsy while teaching his class. He
survived a few days, but becoming delirious before his dissolution,
conceived he was still in school, and after some expressions of
applause or censure, he said, "But it grows dark--the boys may
dismiss,"--and instantly expired.[30]

[Footnote 30: [On December 27, 1809, a few days after Dr.
Adam's death, Scott writes to Mrs. Thomas Scott: "Poor old
Dr. Adam died last week after a very short illness, which
first affected him in school. He was light-headed, and
continued to speak as in the class until the very last, when,
having been silent for many hours, he said, 'That Horace was
very well said; _you_ did not do it so well;' then added
faintly, 'But it grows dark, very dark, the boys may
dismiss,' and with these striking words he
expired."--_Familiar Letters_, vol. i. p. 154.]]

From Dr. Adam's class I should, according to the usual routine, have
proceeded immediately to college. But, fortunately, I was not yet to
lose, by a total dismission from constraint, the acquaintance with the
Latin which I had acquired. My health had become rather delicate from
rapid growth, and my father was easily persuaded to allow me to spend
half a year at Kelso with my kind aunt, Miss Janet Scott, whose inmate
I again became. It was hardly worth mentioning that I had frequently
visited her during our short vacations.

At this time she resided in a small house, situated very pleasantly in
a large garden, to the eastward of the churchyard of Kelso, which
extended down to the Tweed. It was then my father's property, from
whom it was afterwards purchased by my uncle. My grandmother was now
dead, and my aunt's only companion, besides an old maid-servant, was
my cousin, Miss Barbara Scott, now Mrs. Meik. My time was here left
entirely to my own disposal, excepting for about four hours in the
day, when I was expected to attend the Grammar School of the {p.029}
village. The teacher at that time was Mr. Lancelot Whale, an excellent
classical scholar, a humorist, and a worthy man. He had a supreme
antipathy to the puns which his very uncommon name frequently gave
rise to; insomuch, that he made his son spell the word _Wale_, which
only occasioned the young man be