haracters after the fashion of
Shakspeare, but in a manner of his own. This, without being meant, was
the highest praise Scott could well receive. Perhaps the finest
compliment ever paid him, was at the time of the late coronation, I
think. The streets were crowded so densely, that he could not make his
way from Charing Cross down to Rose's, in Abingdon-street, though he
elbowed ever so stoutly. He applied for help to a sergeant of the
Scotch Greys, whose regiment lined the streets. "Countryman," said the
soldier, "I am sorry I cannot help you," and made no exertion. Scott
whispered his name--the blood rushed to the soldier's brow--he raised
his bridle-hand, and exclaimed, "Then, by G-d, sir, you shall go
down--Corporal Gordon, here--see this gentleman safely to
Abingdon-street, come what will!" It is needless to say how well the
order was obeyed.

I have related how I travelled to Edinburgh to see Scott, and how
curiously my wishes were fulfilled; years rolled on, and when he came
to London to be knighted, I was not so undistinguished as to be
unknown to him by name, or to be thought unworthy of his acquaintance.
I was given to understand, from what his own Ailie Gourlay calls a
sure hand, that a call from me was expected, and that I would be well
received. I went to his lodgings, in Piccadilly, with much of the same
palpitation of heart which Boswell experienced when introduced to
Johnson. I was welcomed with both hands, and such kind, and
complimentary words, that confusion and fear alike forsook me. When I
saw him in Edinburgh, he was in the very pith and flush of life--even
in my opinion a thought more fat than bard beseems; when I looked on
him now, thirteen years had not passed over him and left no mark
behind: his hair was growing thin and grey; the stamp of years and
study was on his brow: he told me he had suffered much lately from
ill-health, and that he once doubted of recovery. His eldest son, a
tall, handsome youth--now a major in the army--was with him. From that
time, till he left London, I was frequently in his company. He spoke
of my pursuits and prospects in life with interest and with
feeling--of my little attempts in verse and prose with a knowledge
that he had read them carefully--offered to help me to such
information as I should require, and even mentioned a subject in which
he thought I could appear to advantage. "If you try your hand on a
story," he observed, "I would advise you to prepare a k