Chapter VIII: Front Matter (8)

"I flatter myself it will not require many protestations
to assure you with what pleasure I would undertake any
book that can give you pleasure; but in the present case
I am hampered by two circumstances: one, that I promised
Gifford a review of this very Kirkton for the
_Quarterly_; the other that I shall certainly be unable
to keep my word with him. I am obliged to take exercise
three or four hours in the forenoon and two after
dinner, to keep off the infernal spasms which since last
winter have attacked me with such violence, as if all
the imps that used to plague poor Caliban were washing,
wringing, and ironing the unshapely but useful bag which
Sir John Sinclair treats with such distinction--my
stomach, in short. Now, as I have much to do of my own,
I fear I can hardly be of use to you in the present
case, which I am very sorry for, as I like the subject,
and would be pleased to give my own opinion respecting
the Jacobitism of the editor, which, like my own, has a
good spice of affectation in it, mingled with some not
unnatural feelings of respect for a cause which, though
indefensible in common sense and ordinary policy, has a
great deal of high-spirited Quixotry about it.

"Can you not borrow from your briefs and criticism a
couple of days to look about you here? I dare not ask
Mrs. Jeffrey till next year, when my hand will be out of
the mortar-tub; and at present my only spare bed was
till of late but accessible by the feudal accommodation
of a drawbridge made of two deals, and still requires
the clue of Ariadne.... I am like one of Miss
Edgeworth's heroines, master of all things in
miniature--a little hill, and a little glen, and a
little horse-pond of a loch, and a little river, I was
going to call it,--the Tweed; but I remember the
minister was mobbed by his parishioners for terming it,
in his statistical report, an inconsiderable stream. So
pray do come and see me, and if I can stead you, or
pleasure you, in the course of the winter, you shall
command me."--Cockburn's _Life of Jeffrey_, vol. i p.
417.]]

It was while struggling with such languor, on one lovely evening of this autumn, that he composed the following beautiful verses. They mark the very spot of their birth,--namely, the then naked height overhanging the northern side of the Cauldshiels Loch, from which Melrose Abbey to the eastward, and the hills of Ettrick and Yarrow to the west, are now visible over a wide range of rich woodland,--all the work of the poet's hand:--

{p.177} "The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill,
In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet;
The westland wind is hush and still--
The lake lies sleeping at my feet.
Yet not the landscape to mine eye
Bears those bright hues that once it bore;
Though evening, with her richest dye,
Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore.

"With listless look along the plain
I see Tweed's silver current glide,
And coldly mark the holy fane
Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride.
The quiet lake, the balmy air,
The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree,--
Are they still such as once they were,
Or is the dreary change in me?

"Alas! the warp'd and broken board,
How can it bear the painter's dye!
The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord,
How to the minstrel's skill reply!
To aching eyes each landscape lowers,
To feverish pulse each gale blows chill;
And Araby's or Eden's bowers
Were barren as this moorland hill."

He again alludes to his illness in a letter to Mr. Morritt:--

TO J. B. S. MORRITT, ESQ., M. P., ROKEBY.

ABBOTSFORD, August 11, 1817.

MY DEAR MORRITT,--I am arrived from a little tour in the
west of Scotland, and had hoped, in compliance with your
kind wish, to have indulged myself with a skip over the
Border as far as Rokeby, about the end of this month. But my
fate denies me this pleasure; for, in consequence of one or
two blunders, during my absence, in executing my new
premises, I perceive the necessity of remaining at the helm
while they are going on. Our masons, though excellent
workmen, are too little accustomed to the gimcracks of their
art, to be trusted with the execution of a _bravura_ plan,
without constant inspection. Besides, the said laborers lay
me under the necessity {p.178} of laboring a little myself;
and I find I can no longer with impunity undertake to make
one week's hard work supply the omissions of a fortnight's
idleness. Like you, I have abridged my
creature-comforts,--as Old Mortality would call
them,--renouncing beer and ale on all ordinary occasions;
also pastry, fruit, etc., and all that tends to acidity.
These are awkward warnings; but _sat est vixisse_. To have
lived respected and regarded by some of the best men in our
age is enough for an individual like me; the rest must be as
God wills, and when He wills.

The poor-laws, into which you have ventured for the love of
the country, form a sad quagmire. They are like John
Bunyan's Slough of Despond, into which, as he observes,
millions of cart-loads of good resolutions have been thrown,
without perceptibly mending the way. From what you say, and
from what I have heard from others, there is a very natural
desire to trust to one or two empirical remedies, such as
general systems of education, and so forth. But a man with a
broken constitution might as well put faith in Spilsbury or
Godbold. It is not the knowledge, but the use which is made
of it, that is productive of real benefit. To say that the
Scottish peasant is less likely than the Englishman to
become an incumbrance on his parish, is saying, in other
words, that this country is less populous,--that there are
fewer villages and towns,--that the agricultural classes,
from the landed proprietor down to the cottager, are
individually more knit and cemented together;--above all,
that the Scotch peasant has harder habits of life, and can
endure from his infancy a worse fare and lodging than your
parish almshouses offer.--There is a terrible evil in
England to which we are strangers,--the number, to wit, of
tippling-houses, where the laborer, as a matter of course,
spends the overplus of his earnings. In Scotland there are
few; and the Justices are commendably inexorable in
rejecting all application for licenses where {p.179} there
appears no public necessity for granting them. A man,
therefore, cannot easily spend much money in liquor, since
he must walk three or four miles to the place of suction and
back again, which infers a sort of _malice prepense_ of
which few are capable; and the habitual opportunity of
indulgence not being at hand, the habits of intemperance,
and of waste connected with it, are not acquired. If
financiers would admit a general limitation of the
ale-houses over England to one fourth of the number, I am
convinced you would find the money spent in that manner
would remain with the peasant, as a source of self-support
and independence.

All this applies chiefly to the country;--in towns, and in
the manufacturing districts, the evil could hardly be
diminished by such regulations. There would, perhaps, be no
means so effectual as that (which will never be listened to)
of taxing the manufacturers according to the number of hands
which they employ on an average, and applying the produce in
maintaining the manufacturing poor. If it should be alleged
that this would injure the manufacturers, I would boldly
reply,--"And why not injure, or rather limit, speculations,
the excessive stretch of which has been productive of so
much damage to the principles of the country, and to the
population, whom it has, in so many respects, degraded and
demoralized?" For a great many years, manufactures, taken in
a general point of view, have not partaken of the character
of a regular profession, in which all who engaged with
honest industry and a sufficient capital might reasonably
expect returns proportional to their advances and labor--but
have, on the contrary, rather resembled a lottery, in which
the great majority of the adventurers are sure to be losers,
although some may draw considerable advantage. Men continued
for a great many years to exert themselves, and to pay
extravagant wages, not in hopes that there could be a
reasonable prospect of an orderly and regular demand for the
goods they wrought {p.180} up, but in order that they might
be the first to take advantage of some casual opening which
might consume their cargo, let others shift as they could.
Hence extravagant wages on some occasions; for these
adventurers who thus played at hit or miss, stood on no
scruples while the chance of success remained open. Hence,
also, the stoppage of work, and the discharge of the
workmen, when the speculators failed of their object. All
this while the country was the sufferer;--for whoever
gained, the result, being upon the whole a loss, fell on the
nation, together with the task of maintaining a poor,
rendered effeminate and vicious by over-wages and
over-living, and necessarily cast loose upon society. I
cannot but think that the necessity of making some fund
beforehand, for the provision of those whom they debauch,
and render only fit for the almshouse, in prosecution of
their own adventures, though it operated as a check on the
increase of manufactures, would be a measure just in itself,
and beneficial to the community. But it would never be
listened to;--the weaver's beam, and the sons of Zeruiah,
would be too many for the proposers.

This is the eleventh of August: Walter, happier than he will
ever be again, perhaps, is preparing for the moors. He has a
better dog than Trout, and rather less active. Mrs. Scott
and all our family send kind love.

Yours ever,

W. S.

Two or three days after this letter was written, Scott first saw Washington Irving, who has recorded his visit in a delightful Essay, which, however, having been penned nearly twenty years afterwards, betrays a good many slips of memory as to names and dates. Mr. Irving says he arrived at Abbotsford on the 27th of August, 1816; but he describes the walls of the new house as already overtopping the old cottage; and this is far from being the only circumstance he mentions which {p.181} proves that he should have written 1817.[72] The picture which my amiable friend has drawn of his reception shows to all who remember the Scott and the Abbotsford of those days, how consistent accuracy as to essentials may be with forgetfulness of trifles.

[Footnote 72: I have before me two letters of Mr.
Irving's to Scott, both written in September, 1817, from
Edinburgh, and referring to his visit (which certainly
was his only one at Abbotsford) as immediately
preceding. There is also in my hands a letter from Scott
to his friend John Richardson, of Fludyer Street, dated
22d September, 1817, in which he says, "When you see Tom
Campbell, tell him, with my best love, that I have to
thank him for making me known to Mr. Washington Irving,
who is one of the best and pleasantest acquaintances I
have made this many a day."]

Scott had received The History of New York by Knickerbocker, shortly after its appearance in 1812, from an accomplished American traveller, Mr. Brevoort; and the admirable humor of this early work had led him to anticipate the brilliant career which its author has since run. Mr. Thomas Campbell, being no stranger to Scott's high estimation of Irving's genius, gave him a letter of introduction, which, halting his chaise on the high-road above Abbotsford, he modestly sent down to the house, "with a card, on which he had written, that he was on his way to the ruins of Melrose, and wished to know whether it would be agreeable to Mr. Scott to receive a visit from him in the course of the morning." Scott's family well remember the delight with which he received this announcement:--he was at breakfast, and sallied forth instantly, dogs and children after him as usual, to greet the guest, and conduct him in person from the highway to the door.

"The noise of my chaise," says Irving, "had disturbed the
quiet of the establishment. Out sallied the warder of the
castle, a black greyhound, and leaping on one of the blocks
of stone, began a furious barking. This alarm brought out
the whole garrison of dogs, all open-mouthed and vociferous.
In a little while, the lord of the castle himself made his
appearance. I knew him at once, by the likenesses that had
been {p.182} published of him. He came limping up the
gravel walk, aiding himself by a stout walking staff, but
moving rapidly and with vigor. By his side jogged along a
large iron-gray staghound, of most grave demeanor, who took
no part in the clamor of the canine rabble, but seemed to
consider himself bound, for the dignity of the house, to
give me a courteous reception.

"Before Scott reached the gate, he called out in a hearty
tone, welcoming me to Abbotsford, and asking news of
Campbell. Arrived at the door of the chaise, he grasped me
warmly by the hand: 'Come, drive down, drive down to the
house,' said he; 'ye're just in time for breakfast, and
afterwards ye shall see all the wonders of the Abbey.'

"I would have excused myself on the plea of having already
made my breakfast. 'Hut, man,' cried he, 'a ride in the
morning in the keen air of the Scotch hills is warrant
enough for a second breakfast.'

"I was accordingly whirled to the portal of the cottage, and
in a few moments found myself seated at the breakfast-table.
There was no one present but the family, which consisted of
Mrs. Scott; her eldest daughter, Sophia, then a fine girl
about seventeen; Miss Anne Scott, two or three years
younger; Walter, a well-grown stripling; and Charles, a
lively boy, eleven or twelve years of age.

"I soon felt myself quite at home, and my heart in a glow,
with the cordial welcome I experienced. I had thought to
make a mere morning visit, but found I was not to be let off
so lightly. 'You must not think our neighborhood is to be
read in a morning like a newspaper,' said Scott; 'it takes
several days of study for an observant traveller, that has a
relish for auld-world trumpery. After breakfast you shall
make your visit to Melrose Abbey; I shall not be able to
accompany you, as I have some household affairs to attend
to; but I will put you in charge of my son Charles, who is
very learned in all things touching the old ruin and the
neighborhood it stands in; and he and my friend Johnnie
Bower will tell you the whole truth about it, with a great
deal more that you are not called upon to believe, unless
you be a true and nothing-doubting antiquary. When you come
back, I'll take you out on a ramble about the neighborhood.
To-morrow we will take a {p.183} look at the Yarrow, and
the next day we will drive over to Dryburgh Abbey, which is
a fine old ruin, well worth your seeing.'--In a word, before
Scott had got through with his plan, I found myself
committed for a visit of several days, and it seemed as if a
little realm of romance was suddenly open before me."

After breakfast, while Scott, no doubt, wrote a chapter of Rob Roy, Mr. Irving, under young Charles's guidance, saw Melrose Abbey, and Johnnie Bower the elder, whose son long since inherited his office as showman of the ruins, and all his enthusiasm about them and their poet. The senior on this occasion was loud in his praises of the affability of Scott. "He'll come here sometimes," said he, "with great folks in his company, and the first I'll know of it is hearing his voice calling out Johnnie!--Johnnie Bower!--and when I go out I'm sure to be greeted with a joke or a pleasant word. He'll stand and crack, an' laugh wi' me just like an auld wife,--and _to think that of a man that has such an awfu' knowledge o' history!_"[73]

[Footnote 73: [From the journal of three English ladies,
travellers in Scotland in the summer of 1817, we get
another glimpse of Johnnie Bower, and a pleasant sketch
of Sophia Scott:--

"In the chancel Miss Scott, a very charming, lively girl
of seventeen, pointed out to us 'The Wizard's Grave,'
and then the black stone in the form of a coffin, to
which the allusion is made in the poem, 'A Scottish
monarch sleeps below,'--said to be the tomb of Alexander
II. 'But I will tell you a secret,' she half whispered;
'only don't you tell Johnnie Bower. There is no Scottish
monarch there at all, nor anybody else, for papa had the
stone taken up, not long ago, and no coffin nor anything
was to be found. And then Johnnie came and begged me not
to tell people so. "For what wull I do, Miss Scott, when
I show the ruins, if I canna point to this bit, and say,
'A Scottish monarch sleeps below'?"' As, however, he had
the pleasure of saying this to us the evening before,
Miss Scott thought we might fairly have her secret....

"We now set out for Dryburgh, about five miles. Mr.
Scott placed his daughter in our carriage, that she
might point out the different places as we passed them.
We could not have had a better director, nor a more
lively, entertaining companion. Every spot was known to
her, and in this fairyland her quick imagination seemed
to delight in all the legendary lore she had heard, and
could so promptly apply.... At the view of some distant
mountains, Miss Scott suddenly exclaimed, 'Look, there
are the Cheviots; are you not glad to see England
again?' We assured her we were, though we should quit
Scotland with so much regret. 'Well,' she said, 'I
should not have liked you if you were not glad to return
home.' Her father had taken her to London the year
before, and she was delighted to get back again, and to
hail the Cheviots on her return. It was plain to see she
was her father's darling, and she talked of him with
enthusiasm. She has a very natural, unaffected
character, with a strong tincture of romantic feeling,
which seemed judiciously kept in check by him, as she
said he did not allow her to read much poetry, nor had
she even read all his own poems, which were never to be
found _in the way_, at their house. She spoke of her
sister and her brothers, with a warmth of affection very
pleasing. On asking what was become of Camp, she shook
her head, and said he was dead. 'You must never come to
Abbotsford when any of the dogs die, for there is a sad
weeping amongst us all.'"--Lang's _Life of Lockhart_,
vol. i. pp. 232-234.]]

{p.184} On his return from the Abbey, Irving found Scott ready for a ramble. I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of extracting some parts of his description of it.

"As we sallied forth, every dog in the establishment turned
out to attend us. There was the old staghound, Maida, that I
have already mentioned, a noble animal, and Hamlet, the
black greyhound, a wild thoughtless youngster, not yet
arrived at the years of discretion; and Finette, a beautiful
setter, with soft, silken hair, long pendent ears, and a
mild eye, the parlor favorite. When in front of the house,
we were joined by a superannuated greyhound, who came from
the kitchen wagging his tail; and was cheered by Scott as an
old friend and comrade. In our walks, he would frequently
pause in conversation, to notice his dogs, and speak to them
as if rational companions; and, indeed, there appears to be
a vast deal of rationality in these faithful attendants on
man, derived from their close intimacy with him. Maida
deported himself with a gravity becoming his age and size,
and seemed to consider himself called upon to preserve a
great degree of dignity and decorum in our society. As he
jogged along a little distance ahead of us, the young dogs
would gambol about him, leap on his neck, worry at his ears,
and endeavor to tease him into a gambol. The old dog would
keep on for a long time with imperturbable solemnity, now
and then seeming to rebuke the wantonness of his young
companions. At length he would make a sudden turn, seize one
of them, and tumble him in the dust, then giving a {p.185}
glance at us, as much as to say, 'You see, gentlemen, I
can't help giving way to this nonsense,' would resume his
gravity, and jog on as before. Scott amused himself with
these peculiarities. 'I make no doubt,' said he, 'when Maida
is alone with these young dogs, he throws gravity aside, and
plays the boy as much as any of them; but he is ashamed to
do so in our company, and seems to say--Ha' done with your
nonsense, youngsters: what will the laird and that other
gentleman think of me if I give way to such foolery?'

"Scott amused himself with the peculiarities of another of
his dogs, a little shamefaced terrier, with large glassy
eyes, one of the most sensitive little bodies to insult and
indignity in the world. 'If ever he whipped him,' he said,
'the little fellow would sneak off and hide himself from the
light of day in a lumber garret, from whence there was no
drawing him forth but by the sound of the chopping-knife, as
if chopping up his victuals, when he would steal forth with
humiliated and downcast look, but would skulk away again if
any one regarded him.'

"While we were discussing the humors and peculiarities of
our canine companions, some object provoked their spleen,
and produced a sharp and petulant barking from the smaller
fry; but it was some time before Maida was sufficiently
roused to ramp forward two or three bounds, and join the
chorus with a deep-mouthed _bow wow_. It was but a transient
outbreak, and he returned instantly, wagging his tail, and
looking up dubiously in his master's face, uncertain whether
he would receive censure or applause. 'Ay, ay, old boy!'
cried Scott, 'you have done wonders; you have shaken the
Eildon hills with your roaring: you may now lay by your
artillery for the rest of the day. Maida,' continued he, 'is
like the great gun at Constantinople; it takes so long to
get it ready, that the smaller guns can fire off a dozen
times first: but when it does go off, it plays the very
devil.'

"These simple anecdotes may serve to show the delightful
play of Scott's humors and feelings in private life. His
domestic animals were his friends. Everything about him
seemed to rejoice in the light of his countenance.

"Our ramble took us on the hills commanding an extensive
prospect. 'Now,' said Scott, 'I have brought you, like the
pilgrim in the Pilgrim's Progress, to the top of the
Delectable {p.186} Mountains, that I may show you all the
goodly regions hereabouts. Yonder is Lammermuir, and
Smailholm; and there you have Galashiels, and Torwoodlee,
and Gala Water; and in that direction you see Teviotdale and
the Braes of Yarrow, and Ettrick stream winding along like a
silver thread, to throw itself into the Tweed.' He went on
thus to call over names celebrated in Scottish song, and
most of which had recently received a romantic interest from
his own pen. In fact, I saw a great part of the Border
country spread out before me, and could trace the scenes of
those poems and romances which had in a manner bewitched the
world.

"I gazed about me for a time with mute surprise, I may
almost say with disappointment. I beheld a mere succession
of gray waving hills, line beyond line, as far as my eye
could reach, monotonous in their aspect, and so destitute of
trees, that one could almost see a stout fly walking along
their profile; and the far-famed Tweed appeared a naked
stream, flowing between bare hills, without a tree or
thicket on its banks; and yet such had been the magic web of
poetry and romance thrown over the whole, that it had a
greater charm for me than the richest scenery I had beheld
in England. I could not help giving utterance to my
thoughts. Scott hummed for a moment to himself, and looked
grave; he had no idea of having his Muse complimented at the
expense of his native hills. 'It may be pertinacity,' said
he at length; 'but to my eye, these gray hills, and all this
wild Border country, have beauties peculiar to themselves. I
like the very nakedness of the land; it has something bold,
and stern, and solitary about it. When I have been for some
time in the rich scenery about Edinburgh, which is like
ornamented garden land, I begin to wish myself back again
among my own honest gray hills; and if I did not see the
heather, at least once a year, _I think I should die!_' The
last words were said with an honest warmth, accompanied by a
thump on the ground with his staff, by way of emphasis, that
showed his heart was in his speech. He vindicated the Tweed,
too, as a beautiful stream in itself; and observed that he
did not dislike it for being bare of trees, probably from
having been much of an angler in his time; and an angler
does not like to have a stream overhung by trees, which
embarrass him in the exercise of his rod and line.

{p.187} "I took occasion to plead, in like manner, the
associations of early life for my disappointment in respect
to the surrounding scenery. I had been so accustomed to see
hills crowned with forests, and streams breaking their way
through a wilderness of trees, that all my ideas of romantic
landscape were apt to be well wooded. 'Ay, and that's the
great charm of your country,' cried Scott. 'You love the
forest as I do the heather; but I would not have you think I
do not feel the glory of a great woodland prospect. There is
nothing I should like more than to be in the midst of one of
your grand wild original forests, with the idea of hundreds
of miles of untrodden forest around me. I once saw at Leith
an immense stick of timber, just landed from America. It
must have been an enormous tree when it stood in its native
soil, at its full height, and with all its branches. I gazed
at it with admiration; it seemed like one of the gigantic
obelisks which are now and then brought from Egypt to shame
the pigmy monuments of Europe; and, in fact, these vast
aboriginal trees, that have sheltered the Indians before the
intrusion of the white men, are the monuments and
antiquities of your country.'

"The conversation here turned upon Campbell's poem of
Gertrude of Wyoming, as illustrative of the poetic materials
furnished by American scenery. Scott cited several passages
of it with great delight. 'What a pity it is,' said he,
'that Campbell does not write more, and oftener, and give
full sweep to his genius! He has wings that would bear him
to the skies; and he does, now and then, spread them
grandly, but folds them up again, and resumes his perch, as
if he was afraid to launch away. What a grand idea is that,'
said he, 'about prophetic boding, or, in common parlance,
second sight--

"Coming events cast their shadows before!"--

The fact is,' added he, 'Campbell is, in a manner, a bugbear
to himself. The brightness of his early success is a
detriment to all his further efforts. _He is afraid of the
shadow that his own fame casts before him._'

"We had not walked much farther, before we saw the two Miss
Scotts advancing along the hillside to meet us. The
morning's studies being over, they had set off to take a
ramble on the hills, and gather heather blossoms with which
to decorate {p.188} their hair for dinner. As they came
bounding lightly like young fawns, and their dresses
fluttering in the pure summer breeze, I was reminded of
Scott's own description of his children, in his introduction
to one of the cantos of Marmion:--

'My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild,
As best befits the mountain child,' etc.

As they approached, the dogs all sprang forward, and
gambolled around them. They joined us with countenances full
of health and glee. Sophia, the eldest, was the most lively
and joyous, having much of her father's varied spirit in
conversation, and seeming to catch excitement from his words
and looks; Anne was of a quieter mood, rather silent, owing,
in some measure, no doubt, to her being some years
younger."[74]

[Footnote 74: ["His daughter Sophia and his son Charles
were those of his family who seemed most to feel and
understand his humors, and to take delight in his
conversation. Mrs. Scott did not always pay the same
attention, and would now and then make a casual remark
which would operate a little like a damper. Thus, one
morning at breakfast, when Dominie Thomson the tutor was
present, Scott was going on with great glee to relate an
anecdote of the laird of Macnab, 'who, poor fellow!'
premised he, 'is dead and gone.' 'Why, Mr. Scott,'
exclaimed the good lady, 'Macnab's not dead, is he?'
'Faith, my dear,' replied Scott, with humorous gravity,
'if he's not dead, they've done him a great
injustice,--for they've buried him.'

"The joke passed harmless and unnoticed by Mrs. Scott,
but hit the poor Dominie just as he had raised a cup of
tea to his lips ... sending half its contents about the
table."--Irving's _Abbotsford_.]]

Having often, many years afterwards, heard Irving speak warmly of William Laidlaw, I must not omit the following passage:--

"One of my pleasantest rambles with Scott about the
neighborhood of Abbotsford was taken in company with Mr.
William Laidlaw, the steward of his estate. This was a
gentleman for whom Scott entertained a particular value. He
had been born to a competency, had been well educated, his
mind was richly stored with varied information, and he was a
man of sterling moral worth. Having been reduced by
misfortune, Scott had got him to take charge of his estate.
He lived at a small farm, on the hillside above Abbotsford,
and was treated {p.189} by Scott as a cherished and
confidential friend, rather than a dependant.

"That day at dinner we had Mr. Laidlaw and his wife, and a
female friend who accompanied them. The latter was a very
intelligent respectable person, about the middle age, and
was treated with particular attention and courtesy by Scott.
Our dinner was a most agreeable one, for the guests were
evidently cherished visitors to the house, and felt that
they were appreciated. When they were gone, Scott spoke of
them in the most cordial manner. 'I wished to show you,'
said he, 'some of our really excellent, plain Scotch people:
not fine gentlemen and ladies, for such you can meet
everywhere, and they are everywhere the same. The character
of a nation is not to be learnt from its fine folks.' He
then went on with a particular eulogium on the lady who had
accompanied the Laidlaws. She was the daughter, he said, of
a poor country clergyman, who had died in debt, and left her
an orphan and destitute. Having had a good plain education,
she immediately set up a child's school, and had soon a
numerous flock under her care, by which she earned a decent
maintenance. That, however, was not her main object. Her
first care was to pay off her father's debts, that no ill
word or ill will might rest upon his memory. This, by dint
of Scotch economy, backed by filial reverence and pride, she
accomplished, though in the effort she subjected herself to
every privation. Not content with this, she in certain
instances refused to take pay for the tuition of the
children of some of her neighbors, who had befriended her
father in his need, and had since fallen into poverty. 'In a
word,' added Scott, 'she's a fine old Scotch girl, and I
delight in her more than in many a fine lady I have known,
and I have known many of the finest.'

"The evening passed away delightfully in a quaint-looking
apartment, half study, half drawing-room. Scott read several
passages from the old Romance of Arthur, with a fine deep
sonorous voice, and a gravity of tone that seemed to suit
the antiquated black-letter volume. It was a rich treat to
hear such a work read by such a person, and in such a place;
and his appearance, as he sat reading, in a large armchair,
with his favorite hound Maida at his feet, and surrounded by
books and reliques and Border trophies, would have formed
{p.190} an admirable and most characteristic picture. When
I retired for the night, I found it almost impossible to
sleep: the idea of being under the roof of Scott; of being
on the Borders on the Tweed; in the very centre of that
region which had, for some time past, been the favorite
scene of romantic fiction; and, above all, the recollections
of the ramble I had taken, the company in which I had taken
it, and the conversation which had passed, all fermented in
my mind, and nearly drove sleep from my pillow.

"On the following morning the sun darted his beams from over
the hills through the low lattice of my window. I rose at an
early hour, and looked out between the branches of eglantine
which overhung the casement. To my surprise, Scott was
already up, and forth, seated on a fragment of stone, and
chatting with the workmen employed in the new building. I
had supposed, after the time he had wasted upon me
yesterday, he would be closely occupied this morning: but he
appeared like a man of leisure, who had nothing to do but
bask in the sunshine, and amuse himself. I soon dressed
myself and joined him. He talked about his proposed plans of
Abbotsford: happy would it have been for him could he have
contented himself with his delightful little vine-covered
cottage, and the simple, yet hearty and hospitable, style in
which he lived at the time of my visit."[75]

[Footnote 75: [That this visit remained a vivid and
delightful memory to the end of Irving's life is shown
in some words spoken not long before his death: "Oh!
Scott was a master spirit--as glorious in his
conversation as in his writings. Jeffrey was delightful,
and had _eloquent runs_ in conversation; but there was a
consciousness of talent with it. Scott had nothing of
that. He spoke from the fulness of his mind, pouring out
an incessant flow of anecdote, story, with dashes of
humor, and then never monopolizing, but always ready to
listen to and appreciate what came from others. I never
felt such a consciousness of happiness as when under his
roof."--_Washington Irving's Life and Letters_, vol. iv.
p. 260.]]

Among other visitors who succeeded the distinguished American that autumn, were Lady Byron, the wife of the poet, and the great artist, Mr., now Sir David Wilkie, who then executed for Captain Ferguson that pleasing little picture, in which Scott and his family are represented as a group of peasants, while the gallant soldier {p.191} himself figures by them in the character of a gamekeeper, or perhaps poacher. Mr. Irving has given, in the little work from which I have quoted so liberally, an amusing account of the delicate scruples of Wilkie about soliciting Scott to devote a morning to the requisite sitting, until, after lingering for several days, he at length became satisfied that, by whatever magic his host might contrive to keep Ballantyne's presses in full play, he had always abundance of leisure for matters less important than Ferguson's destined heirloom. I shall now, however, return to his correspondence; and begin with a letter to Joanna Baillie on Lady Byron's visit.

TO MISS JOANNA BAILLIE, HAMPSTEAD.

ABBOTSFORD, September 26, 1817.

MY DEAR MISS BAILLIE,--A series of little trinketty sort of
business, and occupation, and idleness, have succeeded to
each other so closely, that I have been scarce able, for
some three weeks past, to call my time my own for half an
hour together; but enough of apologies--they are vile
things, and I know you will impute my negligence to anything
rather than forgetting or undervaluing your friendship. You
know, by this time, that we have had a visit from Lady
Byron, delightful both on its own account, and because it
was accompanied with good news and a letter from you. I
regret we could not keep her longer than a day with us,
which was spent on the banks of the Yarrow, and I hope and
believe she was pleased with us, because I am sure she will
be so with everything that is intended to please her:
meantime her visit gave me a most lawyer-like fit of the
bile. I have lived too long to be surprised at any instance
of human caprice, but still it vexes me. Now, one would
suppose Lady Byron, young, beautiful, with birth, and rank,
and fortune, and taste, and high accomplishments, and
admirable good sense, qualified to have made happy one whose
talents are so high as Lord Byron's, and whose marked
{p.192} propensity it is to like those who are qualified to
admire and understand his talents; and yet it has proved
otherwise. I can safely say my heart ached for her all the
time we were together; there was so much patience and decent
resignation to a situation which must have pressed on her
thoughts, that she was to me one of the most interesting
creatures I had seen for a score of years. I am sure I
should not have felt such strong kindness towards her had
she been at the height of her fortune, and in the full
enjoyment of all the brilliant prospects to which she seemed
destined.--You will wish to hear of my complaint. I think,
thank God, that it is leaving me--not suddenly, however, for
I have had some repetitions, but they have become fainter
and fainter, and I have not been disturbed by one for these
three weeks. I trust, by care and attention, my stomach will
return to its usual tone, and I am as careful as I can. I
have taken hard exercise with good effect, and am often six
hours on foot without stopping or sitting down, to which my
plantations and enclosures contribute not a little. I have,
however, given up the gun this season, finding myself unable
to walk up to the dogs; but Walter has taken it in hand, and
promises to be a first-rate shot; he brought us in about
seven or eight brace of birds the evening Lady Byron came to
us, which papa was of course a little proud of. The
blackcocks are getting very plenty on our moor-ground at
Abbotsford, but I associate them so much with your beautiful
poem,[76] that I have not the pleasure I used to have in
knocking them down. I wish I knew how to send you a brace. I
get on with my labors here; my house is about to be roofed
in, and a comical concern it is.

Yours truly,

W. S.

[Footnote 76:
"Good-morrow to thy sable beak,
And glossy plumage dark and sleek,
Thy crimson moon, and azure eye,
Cock of the heath, so wildly shy!" etc.]

{p.193} The next letter refers to the Duke of Buccleuch's preparations for a cattle-show at Bowhill, which was followed by an entertainment on a large scale to his Grace's Selkirkshire neighbors and tenantry, and next day by a fox-hunt, after Dandie Dinmont's fashion, among the rocks of the Yarrow. The Sheriff attended _with his tail on_; and Wilkie, too, went with him. It was there that Sir David first saw Hogg, and the Shepherd's greeting was graceful. He eyed the great painter for a moment in silence, and then stretching out his hand, said: "Thank God for it. I did not know that you were so young a man!"

TO THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, ETC., ETC., ETC., DRUMLANRIG CASTLE.

MY DEAR LORD DUKE,--I am just honored with your Grace's of
the 27th. The posts, which are as cross as pie-crust, have
occasioned some delay. Depend on our attending at Bowhill on
the 20th, and staying over the show. I have written to Adam
Ferguson, who will come with a whoop and a hollo. So will
the Ballantynes--flageolet[77] and all--for the festival,
and they shall be housed at Abbotsford. I have an inimitably
good songster in the person of Terence Magrath, who teaches
my girls. He beats almost all whom I have ever heard attempt
Moore's songs, and I can easily cajole him also out to
Abbotsford for a day or two. In jest or earnest, I never
heard a better singer in a room, though his voice is not
quite full enough for a concert; and for an after-supper
song, he almost equals Irish Johnstone.[78]

[Footnote 77: The _flageolet_ alludes to Mr. Alexander
Ballantyne, the third of the brothers--a fine musician,
and a most amiable and modest man, never connected with
Scott in any business matters, but always much his
favorite in private.]

[Footnote 78: Mr. Magrath has now been long established
in his native city of Dublin. His musical excellence was
by no means the only merit that attached Scott to his
society while he remained in Edinburgh.]

Trade of every kind is recovering, and not a loom idle
{p.194} in Glasgow. The most faithful respects of this
family attend the Ladies and all at Drumlanrig. I ever am
your Grace's truly obliged and grateful

Walter SCOTT.

Given from my Castle of Grawacky,
this second day of the month called
October, One Thousand Eight Hundred
and Seventeen Years.

There is a date nearly as long as the letter.

I hope we shall attack the foxes at Bowhill. I will hazard
Maida.

We have some allusions to this Bowhill party in another letter; the first of several which I shall now insert according to their dates, leaving them, with a few marginal notes, to tell out the story of 1817:--

TO DANIEL TERRY, ESQ., LONDON.

ABBOTSFORD, October 24, 1817.

DEAR TERRY,--Bullock has not gone to Skye, and I am very
glad he has not, for to me who knew the Hebrides well, the
attempt seemed very perilous at this season. I have
considerably enlarged my domains since I wrote to you, by
the purchase of a beautiful farm adjacent. The farmhouse,
which is new and excellent, I have let to Adam Ferguson and
his sisters. We will be within a pleasant walk of each
other, and hope to end our lives, as they began, in each
other's society. There is a beautiful brook, with remnants
of natural wood, which would make Toftfield rival
Abbotsford, but for the majestic Tweed. I am in treaty for a
field or two more; one of which contains the only specimen
of a Peel-house, or defensive residence of a small
proprietor, which remains in this neighborhood. It is an
orchard, in the hamlet of Darnick, to which it gives a most
picturesque effect. Blore admires it very much. We are all
well here, but crowded with company. I have been junketing
{p.195} this week past at Bowhill. Mr. Magrath has been
with us these two or three days, and has seen his ward,
Hamlet, behave most _princelike_ on Newark Hill and
elsewhere. He promises to be a real treasure.[79]
Notwithstanding, Mr. Magrath went to Bowhill with me one
day, where his vocal talents gave great pleasure, and I hope
will procure him the notice and protection of the Buccleuch
family. The Duke says my building engrosses, as a common
centre, the thoughts of Mr. Atkinson and Mr. Bullock, and
wishes he could make them equally anxious in his own behalf.
You may believe this flatters me not a little.

[Footnote 79: This fine greyhound, a gift from Terry,
had been sent to Scotland under the care of Mr. Magrath.
Terry had called the dog _Marmion_, but Scott
rechristened him _Hamlet_, in honor of his "inky coat."]

P. S.--I agree with you that the tower will look rather rich
for the rest of the building; yet you may be assured, that
with diagonal chimneys and notched gables, it will have a
very fine effect, and is in Scotch architecture by no means
incompatible. My house has been like a _cried fair_, and
extreme the inconvenience of having no corner sacred to my
own use, and free from intrusion.

Ever truly yours,

W. S.

TO THE SAME.

ABBOTSFORD, 29th October, 1817.

MY DEAR TERRY,--I enclose a full sketch of the lower story,
with accurate measurements of rooms, casements, doorways,
chimneys, etc., that Mr. Atkinson's good will may not want
means to work upon. I will speak to the subjects of your
letters separately, that I may omit none of them. _1st_, I
cannot possibly surrender the window to the west in the
library,[80] although I subscribe to all you urge about it.
Still it is essential in point of light to my old eyes, and
the single northern {p.196} aspect would not serve me.
Above all, it looks into the yard, and enables me to summon
Tom Purdie without the intervention of a third party.
Indeed, as I can have but a few books about me, it is of the
less consequence. _2dly_, I resign the idea of _coving_ the
library to your better judgment, and I think the Stirling
Heads[81] will be admirably disposed in the glass of the
armory window. I have changed my mind as to having doors on
the book-presses, which is, after all, a great bore. No
person will be admitted into my sanctum, and I can have the
door locked during my absence. _3dly_, I expect Mr. Bullock
here every day, and should be glad to have the drawings for
the dining-room wainscot, as he could explain them to the
artists who are to work them. This (always if quite
convenient) would be the more desirable, as I must leave
this place in a fortnight at farthest,--the more 's the
pity,--and, consequently, the risk of blunders will be
considerably increased. I should like if the panelling of
the wainscot could admit of a press on each side of the
sideboard. I don't mean a formal press with a high door, but
some crypt, or, to speak vulgarly, _cupboard_, to put away
bottles of wine, etc. You know I am my own butler, and such
accommodation is very convenient. We begin roofing
to-morrow. Wilkie admires the whole as a composition, and
that is high authority. I agree that the fountain shall be
out of doors in front of the greenhouse; there may be an
enclosure for it with some ornamented mason work, as in old
gardens, and it will occupy an angle, which I should be
puzzled what to do with, for turf and gravel would be rather
meagre, and flowers not easily kept. I have the old fountain
belonging to the Cross of Edinburgh, which flowed with wine
at the coronation of our kings and on other occasions of
{p.197} public rejoicing. I send a sketch of this venerable
relic, connected as it is with a thousand associations. It
is handsome in its forms and proportions--a freestone basin
about three feet in diameter, and five inches and a half in
depth, very handsomely hollowed. A piece has been broken off
one edge, but as we have the fragment, it can easily be
restored with cement. There are four openings for pipes in
the circumference--each had been covered with a Gothic
masque, now broken off and defaced, but which may be easily
restored. Through these the wine had fallen into a larger
and lower reservoir. I intend this for the centre of my
fountain. I do not believe I should save £100 by retaining
Mrs. Redford, by the time she was raised, altered, and
beautified, for, like the Highlandman's gun, she wants
stock, lock, and barrel, to put her into repair. In the mean
time, "the cabin is convenient." Yours ever,

W. S.

[Footnote 80: Before the second and larger part of the
present house of Abbotsford was built, the small room,
subsequently known as the breakfast parlor, was during
several years Scott's _sanctum_.]

[Footnote 81: This alludes to certain pieces of painted
glass, representing the heads of some of the old Scotch
kings, copied from the carved ceiling of the
presence-chamber in Stirling Castle. There are
engravings of them in a work called _Lacunar
Strevelinense_. Edinb. 4to, 1817.]

TO MR. WILLIAM LAIDLAW, KAESIDE.

EDINBURGH, November 15, 1817.

DEAR WILLIE,--I have no intention to let the Whitehaugh
without your express approbation, and I wish you to act as
my adviser and representative in these matters. I would
hardly have ventured to purchase so much land without the
certainty of your counsel and cooperation.... On the other
side you will find a small order on the banker at
Galashiels, to be renewed half yearly; not by way of
recompensing your friendship "with a load of barren money,"
but merely to ease my conscience in some degree for the time
which I must necessarily withdraw from the labor which is to
maintain your family. Believe me, dear Willie, yours truly,

W. SCOTT.

TO THE SAME.

EDINBURGH, 19th November, 1817.

DEAR WILLIE,--I hope you will not quarrel with my last.
Believe me that, to a sound-judging, and philosophical
{p.198} mind, this same account of Dr. and Cr., which fills
up so much time in the world, is comparatively of very small
value. When you get rich, unless I thrive in the same
proportion, I will request your assistance for less, for
little, or for nothing, as the case may require; but while I
wear my seven-leagued boots to stride in triumph over moss
and muir, it would be very silly in either of us to let a
cheque twice a year of £25 make a difference between us. But
all this we will talk over when we meet. I meditate one day
a _coup-de-maître_, which will make my friend's advice and
exertion essential--indeed worthy of much better
remuneration. When you come, I hope you will bring us
information of all my rural proceedings. Though so lately
come to town, I still remember, at my waking hours, that I
can neither see Tom Purdie nor Adam Paterson,[82] and rise
with the more unwillingness. I was unwell on Monday and
Tuesday, but am quite recovered.

Yours truly,

W. S.

[Footnote 82: Adam Paterson was the intelligent foreman
of the company of masons then employed at Abbotsford.]

TO THOMAS SCOTT, ESQ., PAYMASTER, 70TH REGIMENT, KINGSTON, CANADA.

EDINBURGH, 13th December, 1817.

MY DEAR TOM,--I should be happy to attend to your commission
about a dominie for your boy, but I think there will be much
risk in yoking yourself with one for three or four years.
You know what sort of black cattle these are, and how
difficult it is to discern their real character, though one
may give a guess at their attainments. When they get good
provender in their guts, they are apt to turn out very
different animals from what they were in their original low
condition, and get frisky and troublesome. I have made
several inquiries, however, and request to know what salary
you would think reasonable, and also what acquisitions he
ought to possess. {p.199} There is no combating the
feelings which you express for the society of your son,
otherwise I really think that a Scottish education would be
highly desirable; and should you at any time revert to this
plan, you may rely on my bestowing the same attention upon
him as upon my own boys.