often chose to call himself, an antiquary; he felt the
appeal of all that was old and curious. But he was much more than that.
The typical antiquary has his mind so thoroughly devoted to the past
that the present seems remote to him. The sheer intellectual capacity of
such a man as Scott might be enough to save him from such a limitation,
for he could give to the past as much attention as an ordinary man could
muster, and still have interest for contemporary affairs; but his
capacity was not all that saved Scott. He viewed the past always as
filled with living men, whose chief occupation was to think and feel
rather than to provide towers and armor for the delectation of future
antiquaries.[7] A sympathetic student of his work has said, "There is
... throughout the poetry of this author, even when he leads us to the
remotest wildernesses and the most desolate monuments of antiquity, a
constant reference to the feelings of man in his social condition."[8]
The past, to the author of _Kenilworth_, was only the far end of the
present, and he believed that the most useful result of the study of
history is a comprehension of the real quality of one's own period and a
wisdom in the conduct of present day affairs.[9]

The favorite pursuits of Scott's youth indicate that his characteristic
taste showed itself early; indeed it is said that he retained his boyish
traits more completely than most people do. We can trace much of his
love of the past to the family traditions which made the adventurous
life of his ancestors vividly real to him. The annals of the Scotts were
his earliest study, and he developed such an affection for his
freebooting grandsires that in his manhood he confessed to an
unconquerable liking for the robbers and captains of banditti of his
romances, characters who could not be prevented from usurping the place
of the heroes. "I was always a willing listener to tales of broil and
battle and hubbub of every kind," he wrote in later life, "and now I
look back upon it, I think what a godsend I must have been while a boy
to the old Trojans of 1745, nay 1715, who used to frequent my father's
house, and who knew as little as I did for what market I was laying up
the raw materials of their oft-told tales."[10] What attracted him in
his boyhood, and what continued to attract him, was the picturesque
incident, the color of the past, the mere look of its varied activity.
The philosophy of history was gradually revealed t