simple knowledge of the facts, what is the hour of the day at Greenwich, and what is the moment of noon at the place of observation the first information is obtained, as we have seen, either from the place of the moon, or from the English chronometer; for, as we have also remarked, that, by the position of the moon, the Greenwich time may be discovered, at any place, just as accurately as if the clock of that place were to strike with such power as to make itself heard throughout the earth. In this way the distance, anywhere from east to west, or vice versa-in other words, the longitude-may be found out; whilst another method is employed for discovering the distance from north to south, or vice versa,being the relative situation called latitude.

The latitude of a given spot in the ocean, or on land-that is to say, its distance north or south from the mid-point between the poles, in short, from the equator-is discovered by a process still more simple. If there were a blazing star fixed in each pole of the heavens, this would be the effect, that whilst an observer at either pole would see the star exactly over his head, an observer under the equator would see the same star in the horizon. But then there is no star exactly in this position; and it is of no consequence that there is not, for the process that we might be enabled to carry on through the medium of such an instrument can be made just as effective by a knowledge of the distance of any star from the pole. Now, the simple course on board for determining the latitude is this, that the moment when either the sun, moon, any of the planets, or, in short, any star whose place in the heavens is well ascertained, comes to the meridian of the ship where the observer is, its altitude is measured by a sextant. But the distance of the bright object from the pole is already determined, and that distance being allowed to correct the altitude, the result is the latitude. These interesting facts, however, must no longer detain us from a highly curious account given, at the close of his work, by Captain Hall, of his intercourse with Sir Walter Scott, in the autumn of 1831.

In the summer of the year just mentioned, the public were struck with alarm by the intelligence that the man whose mind had long supplied the means of moral recreation, which towered above all competition during his era, was nearly sinking under the fatal law of mortality. His medical advisers deemed a change of scene essential to his improvement, and advised him, accordingly, to go abroad. There were many objections urged by Sir Walter, some of them with justice: but the whole seemed capable of being got rid of, could the patient be put on board a ship of war. To bring about so desirable a result, Mr. Robert Cadell, one of Sir Walter's most intimate friends, wrote to Captain Hall a private letter, engaging him to give his advice as to the course of proceeding. The Captain, by some accident, did not receive the letter until late in the day: but the moment after he read it, he

hastened to the Admiralty. Sir James Graham, the first lord, was just dressing for dinner at the time; but, on the instant, when he was told who the messenger and what his errand were, he received the former. He cordially entered into all the feelings of the Captain, and made arrangements which enabled the latter to write the same evening to Sir Walter, stating that the ship Barham, Captain Pigott, would sail shortly for Malta, and that a place in it would be provided for the object of their mutual sympathies. "How the details are to be arranged," said Sir James, with a kindness which does him the greatest credit, "is of no great consequence; leave all that to me; I beg you will write to Sir Walter at once, and say that his passage shall be arranged in the manner most agreeable to his wishes, and that he may set out on his journey south as soon as he can make it convenient to do so, certain that all things shall be got in readiness for him." Such was the language of Sir James Graham on the occasion; and the promises on the part of the government, made by him, were more than realized by the subsequent performance. Sir Walter was, nevertheless, uniformly averse to the scheme of a voyage, even recommended as it was by the munificent offer of his Majesty of a birth in a ship of war. It was well known to his intimate friends, that one of the chief motives of this reluctance was his conscientious anxiety to relieve himself from his creditors; for when his physician Dr. Abercrombie, of Edinburgh, told him to abridge his mental labours, and not to continue writing so constantly as he did, the baronet used to exclaim, "I tell you what it is, doctor, Molly, when she puts the kettle on, might just as well say, 'kettle, kettle, don't boil." Ultimately, however, his opposition gave way, and by easy stages he performed the long journey from Abbotsford to London. Captain Hall immediately waited on Sir Walter, and offered to accompany him to Portsmouth, to assist in making such arrangements as the voyage might require. But the offer was declined, and it was only after he had called in Captain Hall to settle a little difficulty as to whether he should make a present to Captain Pigott after the voyage, that he saw reason for permitting the author to accompany him down. The reception of Sir Walter at Portsmouth, and the emulation which was manifested by persons of every description to pay honour to him, form a memorable example of the estimation in which he stood with the world. The attention of Captain Pigott to the state of the accommodations for Sir Walter and his family on board, can never be forgotten. To the general credit of our heroic navy, the lieutenant governor, Sir John Campbell, and the other authorities of the place, offered to him all the facilities which they could severally command, in order to render his sojourn at Portsmouth as pleasant as possible: whilst the port-admiral, Sir Thos. Foley, placed his yacht and the flag-ship's barge under the orders of Sir Walter. Sir Michael Seymour heard the illustrious patient hint that his daughters would like to see an anchor made, he him

self being too weak to accompany them. The very next day a message was received by the family to say that a large anchor was to be forged, and to know what hour the ladies would name for the process. Some further anecdotes of Sir Walter we shall extract from the volume itself:

Though Sir Walter walked but little, and with some difficulty, he appeared to have no objection to seeing company. The fountain accordingly overflowed all day long. Every mortal that could by any means get an introduction, and some even without, paid their respects: and during the last three days, when his spirits revived, he had something to say to every visitor. He declined seeing no one, and never showed anything but the most cordial good will, even to those who came professedly to see the show. One day an old acquaintance of mine, a seaman of the name of Bailey, the Admiral's messenger, after much humming and hawing, and excuse-making, asked whether it were possible for him to get a sight of Sir Walter Scott, "in order to hear him speak." Nothing I told him was more easy; for when, as usual, he brought the letters from the post office, he had only to send up word to say, that he wished to deliver them in person. Next morning, accordingly, the waiter said to me at the breakfast table, "Bailey, Sir, says that he must deliver Sir Walter's letters to himself, and that you told him so." Sir Walter looked towards me and laughed; but when the honest fellow's wishes were explained, he desired him to be sent up, and, shaking hands with him, said, "I hope you are satisfied now you have heard me speak."

"I sent three men off yesterday, Sir," said Bailey, "to enter for the Barham-all because you are going in her."

"They'll at all events find a good ship and a good captain, that I am very sure of," replied Sir Walter.

"That's something of a compliment certainly," he continued when the door was shut; "but I hold the greatest honour yet which has been paid to my celebrity, was by a fishmonger in London last week, who was applied to by the servant of the house in which I was living for some cod, I believe for dinner; but it being rather late in the day, there was none left. On the servant's mentioning who it was wanted for, the fishmonger said that altered the matter, and that if a bit was to be had in London for love or money, it should be at my disposal. Accordingly, the man himself actually walked up with the fish all the way from Billingsgate to Sussex Place, in the Regent's Park. Now, if that is not substantial literary reputation, I know not what is!"

Sir Walter's health was such that he could take but little exercise. He complained chiefly of weakness in his legs; but he managed generally once a day to walk for about half an hour on the ramparts between the platform and the south-east bastion, that on which the flag-staff is planted. He used generally to rise between six and seven, and then to come to the drawing-room, where he commenced writing his diary in a thick quarto book, bound in calf skin. I took care always to be up and dressed before he left his room, ready to give him my arm, without which assistance he found it difficult at times to get along. I saw him once attempt to walk, without even his stick, from the breakfast table to that on which his writing desk stood; but he made poor work of it, and I heard him say, as he crept

along, with more bitterness of tone than usually entered into his expressions, "It is hard enough (or odd enough) that I should now be just beginning again, at sixty years of age, what I left off, after my severe illness, at ten."

He said to me one morning, pointing to his MS. book, "Do you keep a diary? I suppose, of course, you have kept one all your life?" I mentioned what my practice had been in that respect, and added something about the difficulty of writing anything while engaged with the printer's devils.

Ay! ay! that's true," he ejaculated with a sigh-" too true. For I fear that a great part of my present illness has been brought on by too much working. Let me warn you Captain, it is a very dangerous thing to over-work."

He then began a conversation about his affairs; and upon my accidentally mentioning the name of his publisher, Mr. Robert Cadell, of Edindurgh, he said, with another sigh, "Ah! if I had been in our excellent friend Cadell's hands during all the course of my writing for the public, I should now undoubtedly have been worth a couple of hundred thousand pounds, instead of having to work myself to pieces to get out of debt."

I ventured to remark, that, but for the illness of which he spoke, it was perhaps all the better; for, ever since the period of his difficulties, he had been influenced by a more generous and disinterested motive for exertion than any which a mere wish to make money could supply.

"Perhaps so," he answered; "no writer should ever make money his sole object, or even his chief object. Money-making is not the proper business of a man of letters. Yet, on the other hand, the professed money. making gentlemen (my creditors I mean) must admit, that although I have been working in their line lately, it has been for their benefit, not my own. In fact, as I said before, I think I have overdone the thing, and may have brought on some of this illness by excess of mental exertion. Where it will all end, I know not. I am giving myself a chance, I understand, by making this journey—and one can die any where."

"It occurs to me," I observed, "that people are apt to make too much fuss about the loss of fortune, which is one of the smallest of the great evils of life, and ought to be among the most tolerable."

"Do you call it a small misfortune to be ruined in money matters?" he asked...

'It is not so painful, at all events, as the loss of friends."

"I grant that," he said.

"Ay there you have me," he muttered to himself, in a tone so melancholy, that I wished I had not spoken.

What is the loss of fortune to the loss of peace of mind ?" I continued. "In short," said he playfully, you will make it out that there is no harm in a man's being plunged over head and ears in a debt he cannot remove." "Much depends, I think, on how it was incurred, and what efforts are made to redeem it—at least if the sufferer be a right-minded man." "I hope it does," he said eheerfully and firmly.

In order to give the subject a bend towards something less serious, I ob

served that I thought a whitlow on the tip of an author's finger, on the right hand (which was my case at the moment), was no small misfortune.

"

"Yes," remarked Sir Walter;" for it is certainly anything but an amusement to write with the left hand."

It may be interesting to persons engaged in literary pursuits to mention, that several years before the period of which I am now speaking, when Sir Walter Scott dined with me in Edinburgh, I took an opportunity of asking him how many hours a day he could write for the press with effect?

"I reckon," he answered, "five hours and a half a day as very good work for the mind, when it is engaged in original composition. I can very seldom reach six hours: and I suspect that what is written after five or six hours' hard mental labour is not worth much."

I asked him how he divided these hours?

"I try to get two or three of them before breakfast," he said, "and the remainder as soon after as may be, so as to leave the afternoon free to walk or ride, or read, or be idle."

This conversation, it is material to observe, took place in Edinburgh, before Sir Walter gave up his office as Clerk of Session, and his answers, I suspect, referred chiefly to those holiday portions of the year which he spent at Abbotsford when the court was not sitting. But, from something he said at the time, I was led to infer that he adopted the same limitations on his mental labours even when fixed in Edinburgh by the law courts. The duties of his office being of a light or mechanical nature, which required no great effort of thought, were probably not taken into the calculation.

But after he quitted the Court of Session, and was left completely free, I have reason to believe that his intense and chivalrous anxiety to disentangle himself from debts, which would have driven most other men to despair, led him greatly to exceed the judicious limits he formerly considered necessary, not only to his health, but, according to his own showing, to the good quality of his writings. I have even heard that, latterly, with the same noble spirit, he sometimes actually worked for ten, twelve, and even fourteen hours a day, instead of five or six! And from many expressions he let fall at Portsmouth, I am satisfied that he ascribed the demolition of his health mainly to this cause.-vol iii. pp. 303–311.

Sometimes Sir Walter, forgetting his weakness, in the ardour with which he engaged in some subject of particular preference to his imagination, would rise up and walk so as scarcely to justify the notion that he was labouring under ill health at all. Thus, one morning in particular, he appeared very early in Captain Hall's apartment, and, flourishing his stick, challenged the Captain to a walk on the ramparts. He was in great spirits during the time, and told some of his pleasantest stories with all the force and skill which he was so capable of exercising in his days of rudest health. Among other strange narratives, Sir Walter told his companion that when about two years of age, he was placed under the care of a nursery maid, and, for the purpose of curing his ricketty bones, was taken by her to his grand uncle in the country. My ailments," continued the author of Waverly, "were nearly brought to a speedy conclusion, for my nurse, whose head appears to have been

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