The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1909-02-03
YOUNG WALTER SCOTT.
How the Boy Of the canongate Told
Stories to His Comrades.


The business office of writer to
the signet, as a Scotch lawyer is call
ed, is not an especially cheerful place
at any time, and the interior OF such
room looked particularly cheerless on
a late winter afternoon in Edinburgh
In 1876. A boy of fifteen sat on
high stool at an old oak desk and
watched the snow falling in the street.
Occasionally he could see people pass
Ing the windows men and women
wrapped to their ears in plaid shawls
for the wind whistled down the street
SO loudly that the boy could hear 1t,
and the cold was bitter. The boy
looked through the window until he
almost felt the chill himself, and then
to keep warm, held his head in his
hand and fastened mis- eyes on the
big heavy leaved book in front Of him
which bore the unappealing title Err
skine's Institutes" The type was
fine, and the young student had to
read each line a dozen times before
he could understand it. Sometimes his
he would doze few moments, only to
wake with start to look quickly over
at another desk near the fire where
his father sat steadily writing, and
then to table in the corner where q
very old man was always sorting pap
ers.
The winter light grew dim, so dim
that the boy could no longer see to
read. He closed the book with bang.
Father"
Eyes, Walter, lad?" The lawyer
looked up from his writing and smiled
at the figure on the high stool.
I'D best be going home; there's no
more light here to see by"
"A good reason, Walter. Wrap
yourself up warm, for the night Is
cold"
Young Walter slid down from his
seat and stretched his arms and legs
to cure the stiffness in them. He was
sturdy, well built iad, with tousled
yellow hair, frank eyes with twinkle
in them, and mouth that was large
and betokened humor. When he
walked he limped, but he held him
self SO straight that when he was still
no one would have noticed the deform-
| ity.
Five minutes later the boy was
plowing his way through the narrow
streets of the Canongate, the old
town part of Edinburgh that had as
ancient history of street brawls as
the Paris kennels. Nobody who could
help 1t was abroad, and Walter was
glad when he reached the door Of his
fathers house in George square and
could find shelter from the cutting
simple, soon over, and then came the
time to sit before the blazing logs
on the great open hearth and tell stor-
les. The older people were busy at
cards in another room, and Walter,
with group of boys of his own age
who lived in the neighborhood and
liked to be with the lame lad. had the
fireside to themselves In front Of the
fire young Walter was no longer the
sleepy student of Erskines ''Insti-
tutes"; his eyes shone as he told story
after story of the Scotch border, half
of them founded on old ballads or
legends he knew by heart and half the
product of his own eager imagination.
Whole poems, filed with battles and
hunts and knightly adventures he
could recite from memory, and his
eye for the color and trappings of
history was so keen that the boys
could see the very scenes before them.
They sat in circle about him, listen
ing eagerly to story after story, for
getting everything but the boys
words, and showing lneir fondness
and admiration for the romancer in
each glance. Walter was minstrel
and prophet and historian to the boys
of the Canongate by the winter fire, as
he was to be later to the whole nation
of Englishmen.-From Rupert Sargent
Hollands Historic Boyhoods" in St
Nicholas.
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