DR. JOHN SCOTT.

Companion of Mr. Syme and Dr. Sharpey, and that crew, and friend of Dr. Combe and Sir James Clark, was one of six (all dark haired and eyed) sons of the great store-farmer of Singlie in Ettrick, a man of the old Border breed, strenuous, peremptory, full of fight, who, had he lived 300 years earlier, might have been a Jock o' the Side, a Dick o' the Cow, or a Kinmont Willie. John studied medicine, went to India, came home, studied again at Paris, and was among the first to learn from Laennec the use of the stethoscope, of which he became a master. He married and settled in Edinburgh, and soon gathered a large practice, as all the south country folk went to him as to a wizard. He had no ambition, was very shy, hated to take fees, read incessantly English, French, and German, could bring out fish in the Gala when no one else could, and had an instinct for finding out disease like that of a pointer for game.

His only son, WILLIAM HENRY,-Willie, as we called him,—was a 'marvellous boy,' withered in all the leaves of his spring. I never knew one more gifted, or one more innocent and good. He had got the minimum dose of the virus of original sin, and he gave it no encouragement. I never knew a more sinless lad. He read everything, remembered everything. He told me, with perfect simplicity, he 'didn't know how to forget.' I have often laid traps for him as to this, but never caught him. Of a trivial article in Chambers's Journal, or anywhere else, he gave you right off the number and the page. To please his father he went through victoriously all the medical classes, and took his degree, having an inborn dislike to the study, while all the time he was steadily pursuing his own great line-gathering his Bactrian, Parthian, and Sassanian coins-drawing wide inferences from them and all else. He died of consumption, and had that vivid life and brightness-as his eyes showed-which so often attend that sad malady, in which the body and soul, as if knowing their time here was short-burn as if in oxygen gas-and have 'Hope the charmer' with them to the last-putting into these twenty years the energy, the enjoyment, the mental capital and raptures of a long life. So mature, so large, and so innerly was his knowledge, that after his death, letters of sorrow came from the Continent and