Front matter (continued 3)

The seniors of the Bar about this time were, on the Government or Tory side, Robert Blair, Charles Hope, and Robert Dundas. Of Blair it has been said by Cockburn that he was a species of man not very common in Scotland: he might have said in any country, if his own description is correct. 'He had a fine manly countenance, a gentleman-like, portly figure, a slow dignified gait, and a general air of thought and power. Too solid for ingenuity, and too plain for fancy, soundness of understanding was his peculiar intellectual quality. Within his range nobody doubted, or could doubt, Blair's wisdom. Nor did it ever occur to any one to doubt his probity. He was all honesty. The sudden opening of the whole secrets of his heart would not have disclosed a single speck of dishonour. And all his affections, personal and domestic, were excellent and steady.'

If not indolent, Blair seems to have been strongly averse to letting himself be bothered with mean details or drudgery. He maintained, as few can do, a noble independence of small and mean interests. But with his great love of rest, repose, and ease he combined a fiery and excitable disposition. The combination is said to be rare. It is always noble.

Blair is a splendid example of this truth. He was absolutely indifferent to preferment. Lord Melville says that George III. used to speak of him as 'the man who would not go up.' Literally as well as morally he kept his own way. There was a line, it is said, in the Outer House, which was kept clear for him whenever he was present. Even his official superiors, and the judges themselves, stood in awe of him. He was, by preference and practice, a silent man. He was one who could play a long game with a dozen people, and yet not speak. In politics he was a loyal party man, but as void of malignity as he was free from self-seeking. He was one of the few who 'have greatness thrust upon them,' having been made Lord President of the Court of Session a few years before his death. His memory is still revered as that of the greatest of Scottish judges. His character and the marvellous clearness of his judicial 'opinions' made him the pride of Edinburgh during his all too short reign, which closed in 1811. His death was very sudden, and affected the whole population like the unexpected loss of a dear personal friend. Lord Cockburn has described the scene: 'It overwhelmed us all. Party made no division about Blair. All pleasure and all business were suspended. I saw Hermand that night. He despised Blair's abstinence from the pollution of small politics. He did not know that he could love a man who neither cared for claret nor for whist; but, at near seventy years of age, he was crying like a child. Next day the Court was silent, and adjourned. The Faculty of Advocates, hastily called together, resolved to attend him to his grave. Henry Erskine tried to say something, and because he could only try it, it was as good a speech as he ever made.' From his grave in Greyfriars Churchyard to the edge of the Castlehill, the vast concourse of spectators stood silent and uncovered when the sod was laid.

CHAPTER XXIII

Seniors (continued)—Charles Hope—His Voice—Tribute by Cockburn—Robert Dundas, Nephew of Henry, Lord Melville—His Manner and Moderation—Anecdote of Lords Blair and Melville—Lord Melville's Son—Scott's Project of Emigration.

Charles Hope may be considered one of the very best representatives of his profession. He had an extensive practice as an advocate, and afterwards filled successively, with great distinction, the offices of Lord Advocate, Lord Justice-Clerk, and Lord President. But his great forte was public speaking. For this his qualifications were great: a tall figure, commanding presence, natural manner, great command of language, and a magnificent voice, which Cockburn describes as 'surpassed by that of the great Mrs. Siddons alone, which, drawn direct from heaven and worthy to be heard there, was the noblest that ever struck the human ear.'

Few men, surely, have ever received or deserved such an encomium from a political opponent as Cockburn has left us of Lord President Hope:—'It is a pleasure to me to think of him. He was my first—I might almost say my only, professional patron, and used to take me with him on his circuits; and in spite of my obstinate and active Whiggery has been kind to me through life. When his son, who was Solicitor-General in 1830, lost that office by the elevation of the Reform Ministry, and I succeeded him, his father shook me warmly by the hand, and said, "Well, Harry, I wish you joy. Since my son was to lose it, I am glad that your father's son has got it." It was always so with him. Less enlightened than confident in his public opinions, his feelings towards his adversaries, even when ardently denouncing their principles, were liberalised by the native humanity and fairness of his dispositions.'

Perhaps the most interesting public character in Scotland at the beginning of the nineteenth century was Robert Dundas of Arniston. He was the son of a Lord President Dundas, whose father had also occupied that high position. His uncle was Henry Dundas, Lord Melville, the famous friend of Pitt. The uncle, it is supposed, greatly influenced the policy of the nephew, whose power in Scotland was for a time almost unlimited. At all events, in a position almost certain to provoke jealousy and enmity on all hands, he was able to maintain a character for moderation and fairness even in the cases of political prosecution which his office of Lord Advocate required him to conduct. In those troublous times the powers given to the Lord Advocate were extravagant and arbitrary. Dundas seems to have been a man of moderate abilities and ordinary acquirements, but Cockburn's lively picture sufficiently explains his remarkable success in his trying and difficult duties. 'He had two qualifications which suited his position, and made him not only the best Lord Advocate that his party could have supplied, but really a most excellent one. These consisted in his manner, and in his moderation. He was a little, alert, handsome, gentleman-like man, with a countenance and air beaming with sprightliness and gaiety, and dignified by considerable fire; altogether inexpressibly pleasing. It was impossible not to like the owner of that look. No one could contemplate his animated and elegant briskness, or his lively benignity, without feeling that these were the reflections of an ardent and amiable heart. His want of intellectual depth and force seemed to make people like him the better. And his manner was worthy of his appearance. It was kind, polite, and gay; and if the fire did happen to break out, it was but a passing flash, and left nothing painful after it was gone.'

Dundas had his town residence at No. 57 George Square. His uncle, Lord Melville, had come here on the 26th of May 1811, with the intention of attending the funeral of Lord Blair next day. He retired to rest apparently in his usual health, but was found next morning dead in bed. Thus, strange to say, the two friends, who had both been alive and active a week before, were lying dead with but a wall between them, for Blair's house was No. 56, next door to that of Dundas. A strange incident is related by Lord Cockburn, which he says he was inclined to regard as true: viz., that a letter written by Lord Melville was found on his table, or in a writing-case after his death, in which he drew a moving picture of his feelings at the funeral of Lord Blair. Little had he imagined that he himself would be dead before that funeral took place. The letter was addressed to a member of the government, with a view to obtain some public provision for Blair's family. 'Such things,' adds Lord Cockburn, 'are always awkward when detected; especially when done by a skilful politician. Nevertheless an honest and a true man might do this. It is easy to anticipate one's feelings at a friend's burial; and putting the description into the form of having returned from it is mere rhetoric.'

Scott enjoyed the personal friendship of Viscount Melville, and still more of the younger members of the Dundas family. Robert Dundas was Lord Advocate at the time of Scott's appointment to the sheriffship of Selkirk. Another Robert Dundas, Lord Melville's son, had been one of Scott's admirers in the story-telling days of the High School, and their intimacy continued later on. In fact Arniston and Melville supplied Walter Scott with quite a troop of warm friends. An anecdote which connects Lord Melville and Scott may be given here, though it belongs to the end of the next decade (1810). Great changes had at that time been proposed in the Scottish law and judicature. They did not commend themselves to Scott's judgment. In fact, he wrote a remarkable essay in the Edinburgh Annual Register against the rash attempt at a general innovation. He was at the same time uneasy in regard to the affairs of his Ballantyne publishing business, and fretting a little at the drudgery of his clerkship, which as yet yielded him no income. It was a crisis very like that in the life of Burns when he proposed to emigrate to Jamaica. Scott indeed seriously entertained the idea of going to India, as is clear from his letter to his brother Thomas in November 1810. 'I have no objection to tell you in confidence, that, were Dundas to go out Governor-General to India, and were he willing to take me with him in a good situation, I would not hesitate to pitch the Court of Session and the booksellers to the Devil, and try my fortune in another climate. But this is strictly entre nous.' Dundas, it seems, had on several occasions been spoken of as likely to be appointed Governor-General of India, and he had hinted at taking Scott with him. Fortunately the opportunity never occurred, the genius was not driven into exile, and the Court of Session and the booksellers obtained a temporary reprieve.

CHAPTER XXIV

Henry Erskine—His Ability and Wit—Tributes to his Character—Dismissal as Dean of Faculty—John Clerk—Reputation at the Bar—His Private Tastes—Art and Literature—Odd Habits—Anecdotes of Clerk and his Father.

The Hon. Henry Erskine, the acknowledged leader of the Scottish Bar, and one of the ablest and wittiest of men, was a son of the fifth Earl of Buchan, who died in 1767, and was succeeded in the title by his eldest son David. A younger brother of Henry's was equally illustrious at the English Bar as the undaunted defender first of Captain Baillie, who was indicted for libel at the instigation of Lord Sandwich in 1778: next in 1792 of Tom Paine, 'victorious needleman,' indicted for publishing the Rights of Man: and then in 1794 of Hardy, Horne Tooke, and Thelwall, accused of high treason. This was Thomas Erskine, who became Lord Chancellor of England and was raised to the peerage as Baron Erskine of Restormel in 1806. All the brothers were strongly attached to the Whig party. Under the coalition government of North and Fox in 1783 Henry Erskine was for a short time Lord Advocate, an office which he held again in 1806. His fame was spread throughout Scotland as the constant and disinterested defender of the helpless in distress.

'And all the oppress'd who wanted strength

Had his at their command.'

Like his brother, he was absolutely fearless in the exposure of wrong, and his name became the terror of every high-handed 'petty tyrant' in the land. It is said that a poor man in a remote part of the country, who was threatened with the law by his landlord for the purpose of compelling him to submit to some injustice, at once turned upon him with bold indignation and said, 'Ye dinna ken what ye're sayin', maister; there's no a man in a' Scotland need want a friend or fear an enemy sae lang as Harry Erskine is to the fore.' In his Life of Jeffrey Lord Cockburn says of Erskine: 'His name can no sooner be mentioned than it suggests ideas of wit, with which, in many memories, the recollection of him is chiefly associated. A tall and rather slender figure, a face sparkling with vivacity, a clear sweet voice, and a general suffusion of elegance, gave him a striking and pleasing appearance.... He was the only one of the marked Edinburgh Whigs who was not received coldly in the private society of their opponents. Nothing was so sour as not to be sweetened by the glance, the voice, the gaiety, the beauty, of Henry Erskine.' Scott speaks of him in the same affectionate strain—'Henry Erskine was the best-natured man I ever knew: thoroughly a gentleman, and with but one fault—he could not say No. His wit was of the very kindest, best-humoured, and gayest sort that ever cheered society.' It is a matter for deep regret that the public career of so rare and eminent a man should have been dependent upon the ups and downs of politics. Even the post of Dean of the Faculty of Advocates, to which he had been elected for eight years in succession, was taken from him in 1796. He had presided at a public meeting to protest against the war with France. Such a defiance could not at such a time be overlooked, and the more powerful party employed their large majority to displace him. But even this was done without malevolence: the motion for dismissal—moved by Charles Hope—in no way disturbed the personal friendship between the two men.

John Clerk, raised to the Bench as Lord Eldin in his old age, was a worthy compeer of Erskine in his steadfast adherence to Whiggery at the cost of professional advancement. He was Solicitor-General in 1806, when Erskine was Lord Advocate. His fame was, therefore, won while he was at the Bar, of which, after his friend's retirement, he became the acknowledged leader. But his powerful sarcasm and his great gift of humour, combined with his remarkable appearance and popular principles, laid hold of the imagination of men and gained him quite a national reputation. It is of him that Cockburn says that the conditions of his private and his professional life almost amounted to the possession of two natures.

'A contracted limb, which made him pitch when he walked, and only admitted of his standing erect when he poised it in the air, added to the peculiarity of a figure with which so many other ideas of oddity were connected. Blue eyes, very bushy eyebrows, coarse grizzly hair, always in disorder, and firm, projecting features, made his face and head not unlike that of a thorough-bred shaggy terrier. It was a countenance of great thought and great decision.'

He was fond of literature, and his love of the fine arts grew to be a passion. He had great knowledge of painting, drew and etched cleverly, and occasionally modelled. His consulting-room was an extraordinary scene: 'Walls covered with books and pictures, of both of which he had a large collection; the floor encumbered by little ill-placed tables, each with a piece of old china on it; strange boxes, bits of sculpture, curious screens and chairs, cats and dogs (his special favourites), and all manner of trash, dead and living, and all in confusion;—John himself sitting in the midst of this museum,—in a red worsted nightcap, his crippled limb resting horizontally on a tripod stool,—and many pairs of spectacles and antique snuffboxes on a small table at his right hand; and there he sits,—perhaps dreaming awake,—probably descanting on some of his crotchets, and certainly abusing his friends the judges,—when recalled to the business in hand; but generally giving acute and vigorous advice.'

The peculiarities which made him a 'character' in the court are analysed at some length by Lord Cockburn. One was a habit of discussing, enforcing, and lauding his own virtues, quite without vanity or ostentation, but with quiet assurance, as if it were something he had no concern in. In the end he became fiercely resentful of opposition and suspicious of all who contradicted him. But what most of all made Clerk unique was his extraordinary zeal for his client. The public hugely enjoyed his passionate displays, when he defied and insulted not only his opponent in the case, but even the judges themselves when he found them adverse. Of course in this respect he was a privileged person: his fiery onslaughts being regarded as part of the show, and invariably relieved by some quaint bit of humour.

When he heard a lady on the street behind him point him out as the lame lawyer, he wheeled round and said, 'Nay, nay, madam, lame man if ye like, but not a lame lawyer, as the Fifteen (i.e. the Judges) know to their cost.' This ready retort happily illustrates all his peculiarities.

His father, John Clerk of Eldin, was the author of a celebrated work on Naval Tactics. In his old age he is reported to have said of himself and his son: 'I remember the time when people, seeing John limping on the street, used to ask, "what lame lad that was?" and the answer would be, "that's the son of Clerk of Eldin." But now, when I myself am passing, I hear them saying, "what auld, grey-headed man is that?" And the answer is, "that's the father o' John Clerk."'

CHAPTER XXV

Scott's Border 'Raids'—Shortreed—Scott's Circuit Work—Jedburgh Anecdotes—Edinburgh Days—Fortune's—The Theatre Royal—Oyster Parties—Social Functions—General Reading.

For many years after his first donning of the gown, Scott made use of every holiday for those 'raids' into Liddesdale and rambles through various parts of Scotland which long caused his father anxiety and vexation. It was not given to the old man, eager to see his son immersed in what he considered far more important pursuits, to foresee the marvellous results of these erratic tours. There were some, however, who could, and one of these was Robert Shortreed, Sheriff-Substitute of Roxburghshire, who was his guide and companion in all his Border raids. His remark will serve very well to sum up our reference to these expeditions, which are 'outwith' the limits of his Edinburgh life. 'He was makin' himsell a' the time,' was Shortreed's emphatic comment; 'but he didna ken maybe what he was aboot till years had passed. At first he thought o' little, I daresay, but the queerness and the fun.'

Of his circuit work one or two anecdotes will suffice. He made his first appearance as counsel in a criminal case at the Jedburgh assizes, where he successfully defended a veteran poacher. When the verdict was pronounced, Scott whispered to his client, 'You're a lucky scoundrel.' 'I'm just o' your mind,' quoth the desperado, 'and I'll send ye a maukin (a hare) the morn, man.' Shortly after he defended a certain notorious housebreaker, who, however, in spite of counsel's strenuous efforts, was found guilty. The man, knowing that he could not escape, the evidence of his guilt being clear, yet felt grateful, in his way, to the young lawyer who had stood by him manfully and seen fair play. He requested the advocate to visit him in his cell, and Scott complied. When they were alone together in the condemned cell, the poor outcast said, 'I am very sorry, sir, that I have no fee to offer you—so let me beg your acceptance of two bits of advice which may be useful, perhaps, when you come to have a house of your own. I am done with practice, you see, and here is my legacy. Never keep a large watch-dog out of doors—we can always silence them cheaply—indeed if it be a dog, 'tis easier than whistling—but tie a little tight yelping terrier within; and secondly, put no trust in nice, clever, gimcrack locks—the only thing that bothers us is a huge old heavy one, no matter how simple the construction,—and the ruder and rustier the key, so much the better for the housekeeper.' Lockhart heard Scott tell the story some thirty years after at a Judge's dinner at Jedburgh, and he summed it up with a rhyme—'Ay, ay, my Lord,' (addressing Lord Meadowbank)—

'Yelping terrier, rusty key,

Was Walter Scott's best Jeddart fee.'

If his life in Edinburgh was not quite as enjoyable as the summer wanderings or the spring and autumn circuits, it certainly had its compensations. There was a good deal, no doubt, of what he describes in Redgauntlet as 'sweeping the boards of the Parliament House with the skirts of his gown.' But then there was the consolation of the merry men of the Mountain, with mirth and youthful jollity, to which he could always contribute more than his share. There was plenty of claret-drinking at Bayle's, Fortune's, Walker's, the favourite resorts of the Bar. Claret was still the only drink, in spite of the growing enmity to France. It is a curious fact, however, that this feeling caused the Edinburgh Town Council in 1798 to pass a resolution that claret should not be drunk either at the King's Birthday orgy or any other civic feast. This 'self-denying ordinance' was not observed. In spite of conviviality and amusements a young man's expenses in Edinburgh in those days did not require to be great, when a good dinner at Fortune's would cost half-a-crown, and a bottle of claret a shilling. Fifty years before, in the days when a man brought his own fork and knife, and glass if he wanted one for his own separate use, one dined at an 'ordinary' in Edinburgh for fourpence, which even included all the small beer that was called for till the cloth was removed. Scott was a frequent visitor at the old Theatre Royal—'his dressing-table with old play-bills, etc.' This building stood in Shakespeare Square, a site now occupied by the General Post Office. It was eventually purchased by Mr. Henry Siddons, and there, under his management, the admirers of the drama 'had the satisfaction to witness the exertion of the unparalleled talents of Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Jordan, Mr. Braham, Mr. John Kemble, and others.' Oyster-parties were now very fashionable. They were quite decorous affairs, though not over-formal, and were attended and enjoyed by ladies as well as gentlemen.

One of these oyster-parties is described from a stranger's point of view by Topham in his Letters from Edinburgh: 'The shrine of festivity is nothing more than an oyster-cellar, and its votaries the first people in Edinburgh.... I was ushered into a large and brilliant company of both sexes, most of whom I had the honour of being acquainted with. The table was covered with dishes full of oysters, and pots of porter. By and by the table was cleared, and glass introduced. The ladies were now asked whether they would choose brandy or rum punch. I thought this question an odd one, but I was soon informed that no wine was sold here. The ladies, who always love what is best, fixed upon brandy punch, and a large bowl was immediately introduced. The conversation now became general and lively. A thousand things were hazarded and met with applause, to which the oddity of the scene gave propriety and which could have been produced in no other place.... In this little assembly there was more real happiness and mirth than in all the ceremonies and splendid meetings at Soho. When the company were tired of conversation, they began to dance reels, their favourite dance, which they perform with great agility and perseverance. One of the gentlemen, however, fell down in the most active part of it, and lamed himself. The dance was at an end. The ladies retired, and with them went all the mirth.'

Such scenes as these, along with attendance at 'assemblies,' concerts, and the general round of social engagements, filled up, without great fear of dulness, the leisure part of Scott's existence when in town. His duties were but light, and so was his income.[1] There is ample proof too that he found time to continue his literary studies, and kept himself, as the phrase is, 'abreast of current literature.' 'On his desk the new novel most in repute lay snugly intrenched beneath Stair's Institutes, or an open volume of Decisions.'

[1] The particulars given by Lockhart are: first year's practice, £24, 3s.; second year's, £57, 15s.; third, £84, 4s.; fourth, £90; and in his fifth year, that is from November 1796 to July 1797, he made £144, 10s.; of which £50 were fees from his father's chamber.

CHAPTER XXVI

The Edinburgh Environment—Talk of French Revolution—The 'Jacobins'—The Volunteers—Irish Row in the Theatre—Mrs. Barbauld's Visit—Taylor's Lenore—Scott's Version—Anecdote of the Skull—End of Love Affair—Reference in Peveril of the Peak.

To understand the environment of Scott about 1794, it is necessary to remember that people's minds and conversation were almost wholly occupied with the French Revolution. It affected every one, and met one everywhere. Of real sympathy with the French Republic there never was much anywhere in Britain. In Edinburgh, as in several other towns, there were a few persons who affected an admiration for the Republic and for everything French. These were called Jacobins, but they soon disappeared from public view. The name, however, continued to be used as a political nickname, and was applied freely to all who showed sympathy with the idea of reform. There was a belief, more or less vague, among the Tories and the wealthier class generally, that the working men were hostile to the Constitution. Altogether the feelings of loyal men, young and old, were strongly excited. In spring of 1794 Scott wrote to friends in Roxburghshire exulting in the 'good spirit' shown by the upper classes in Edinburgh. He was much excited over the enrolment of a regiment of volunteers, in which his brother Thomas was a grenadier, and from which he himself was excluded by his lameness. We can imagine him chafing in soul to be 'a mere spectator of the drills.' It was more than his hot, impulsive nature could endure. At last the happy inspiration came to him to propose the formation of a corps of volunteer light horse. The idea was popular, but some time was required to get it carried out.

Meantime an incident happened which vividly illustrates the highly-charged atmosphere of the time and Scott's romantic excess of loyalty. Some Irish medical students had set themselves to annoy the loyal people in the theatre by calling for seditious tunes and howling down the National Anthem. This foolish conduct was, of course, strongly resented by the audience, and especially by the young Tory lawyers. It was determined to give the Irishmen a lesson, and put a stop to the scandal. 'Scott' (says Lockhart) 'was conspicuous among the juvenile advocates and solicitors who on this grand night assembled in front of the pit, armed with stout cudgels, and determined to have God save the King not only played without interruption but sung in full chorus by both company and audience. The Irishmen were ready at the first note of the anthem. They rose, clapped on their hats, and brandished their shillelaghs; a stern battle ensued, and after many heads had been cracked, the lawyers at length found themselves in possession of the field.' From a letter of Scott's written a few days after, it appears that five of the loyal youths had been bound over to keep the peace, and that he personally had knocked down three of the Democrats. His friends said he had 'signalised himself splendidly in this desperate fray.' On the occasion of the riots which took place in the course of this troubled year he was active among the special constables sworn in to guard the town.

In the autumn of 1795 Mrs. Barbauld was on a visit to Edinburgh. One evening this distinguished writer read to a party in the house of Dugald Stewart an unpublished poem by William Taylor, a translation of Burger's ballad of Lenore. Scott was not one of the company. He seems to have been away on one of his usual tours, but on his return in the course of a few weeks, a friend gave him, as best he could, an account of the performance. Scott was deeply interested, and never rested till he had procured a copy of the original German. After reading the poem, he told his friend, Miss Cranstoun, that he was going to write a translation of it himself. He was greatly excited over the matter, and finished his task at one sitting the same night. In the morning, before breakfast, he took his production to Miss Cranstoun, who was not only delighted but astonished. Lockhart quotes from one of her letters, 'Upon my word, Walter Scott is going to turn out a poet—something of a cross, I think, between Burns and Gray.' Sir Alexander Wood, to whom also he showed the poem the same day, retained a vivid recollection of the high-strung enthusiasm to which he had worked himself up by dwelling on the wild, unearthly imagery of the ballad. He tells how Scott must needs provide himself with symbols, a skull and cross-bones, which they procured from Dr. John Bell, and which Scott set up as trophies on the top of his little book-case. When Wood visited him, after many years of absence from this country, he saw them again similarly placed in his dressing-room at Abbotsford.

Miss Cranstoun, afterwards Countess of Purgstall, told Captain Basil Hall on her deathbed that she and William Erskine got a few copies of the Lenore printed. She was doing her best for Scott in his courtship of Miss Stuart, and thought the verses might work in his favour. She sent a copy, 'richly bound and blazoned,' to Scott, who was in the country at a house where Miss Stuart was also a visitor. This was really Scott's first publication. The verses were much admired by his friends, but this was all. His pursuit of Miss Stuart presently came to an end, on the announcement of her engagement to Forbes. A most interesting glimpse into the real inwardness of this affair is afforded in Peveril of the Peak, written twenty-six years after. The poet thus soberly moralises, non sine desiderio:—'The period at which love is formed for the first time, and felt most strongly, is seldom that at which there is much prospect of its being brought to a happy issue. The state of artificial society opposes many complicated obstructions to early marriages; and the chance is very great that such obstacles prove insurmountable. In fine, there are few men who do not look back in secret to some period of their youth, at which a sincere and early affection was repulsed, or betrayed, or became abortive from opposing circumstances. It is these little passages of secret history which leave a tinge of romance in every bosom, scarce permitting us, even in the most busy or the most advanced period of life, to listen with total indifference to a tale of true love.'

CHAPTER XXVII

Friendship with Skene of Rubislaw—Skene's Account of the Edinburgh Light Horse—'Earl Walter'—Marriage of Walter Scott and Charlotte Carpenter—The Edinburgh Home—Edinburgh Friends—The Cottage at Lasswade.

Scott's German studies brought him at this time one of the most valued friendships of his life. Mr. Skene of Rubislaw, having resided several years in Saxony, and having a similar fondness for the fresh and natural literature of Germany, entered into Scott's ideas with zest, and assisted him in his struggles with the language. The two soon drew together, and became intimate friends. Skene wrote afterwards with pride of this friendship, which during nearly forty years 'never sustained even a casual chill,' and he testified, like all others who knew him, that 'never in the whole progress of his varied life, could I perceive the slightest shade of variance from that simplicity of character with which he impressed me on the first hour of our meeting.' Skene was one of those who joined heartily in promoting the volunteer cavalry movement, and of this affair he has given some interesting particulars. 'The London Light Horse had set the example, but in truth it was to Scott's ardour that this force in the North owed its origin. Unable, by reason of his lameness, to serve amongst his friends on foot, he had nothing for it but to rouse the spirit of the moss-trooper with which he readily inspired all who possessed the means of substituting the sabre for the musket.' In February 1797 a meeting was held, and an offer was sent to the Government which was at once accepted. The organisation of the corps was then begun. The Major-Commandant was Maitland of Rankeillor. Skene was a cornet: Scott was quartermaster. 'The part of quartermaster was purposely selected for him, that he might be spared the rough usage of the ranks; but, notwithstanding his infirmity, he had a remarkably firm seat on horseback, and in all situations a fearless one: no fatigue ever seemed too much for him, and his zeal and animation served to sustain the enthusiasm of the whole corps, while his ready mot à rire kept up, in all, a degree of good-humour and relish for the service, without which the toil and privations of long daily drills would not easily have been submitted to by such a body of gentlemen. At every interval of exercise, the order sit at ease was the signal for the quartermaster to lead the squadron to merriment; every eye was intuitively turned on "Earl Walter," as he was familiarly called by his associates of that date, and his ready joke seldom failed to raise the ready laugh.... His habitual humour was the great charm, and at the daily mess that reigned supreme.' The gallant squadron continued its daily drills all the spring and summer of 1797, and even spent some weeks under canvas at Musselburgh. Most of the troopers being professional men, they had their drill at five in the morning,—an act of heroic self-denial which speaks volumes for the spirit evoked by 'haughty Gaul's' threats of invasion. By the end of the year England had established her supremacy on sea, all fear of an invasion was dissipated, and the volunteers' occupation for the time was gone.[1]

[1] See, in connection with the volunteer episode, Scott's 'War Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light Dragoons,' written in 1802: also Introduction to Canto v. of Marmion.

On the 24th of December of this year Scott was married in St. Mary's Church, Carlisle, to Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, whom he had met for the first time when on a tour during that autumn among the English Lakes. She was the daughter of Jean Charpentier, a French royalist, who had died about the beginning of the Revolution. The widow and her daughter took refuge in England, where Charpentier had, in his first alarm at the outbreak of the revolution, invested a sum of £4000. In a letter to his mother Scott speaks of his wife's fortune as then £500 a year, but precarious as to the amount, being partly dependent on her brother, who held a high office in Madras. With this added to his own earnings, he says, 'I have little doubt we will be enabled to hold the rank in society which my family and situation entitle me to fill.' Their married life in Edinburgh began in a lodging in George Street, from which they removed, as soon as it was ready for their reception, to a house in South Castle Street. Mrs. Scott, who was lively and fond of society, soon found herself the centre of a most interesting social life. Indeed 'those humble days' were perhaps the happiest of all. 'Mrs. Scott's arrival' (says Lockhart) 'was welcomed with unmingled delight by the brothers of the Mountain. The officers of the Light Horse, too, established a club among themselves, supping once a week at each other's houses in rotation. The lady thus found two somewhat different, but both highly agreeable circles ready to receive her with cordial kindness; and the evening hours passed in a round of innocent gaiety, all the arrangements being conducted in a simple and inexpensive fashion, suitable to young people whose days were mostly laborious, and very few of their purses heavy. Scott and Erskine had always been fond of the theatre; the pretty bride was passionately so—and I doubt if they ever spent a week in Edinburgh without indulging themselves in this amusement. But regular dinners and crowded assemblies were in those years quite unthought of.'

In the summer of 1798 began the series of summer sojourns at Lasswade, on the Esk, which brought to Scott important additions to his list of friends. Among his neighbours in this romantic district, which had been his favourite haunt in boyish rambles, were Henry Mackenzie, the 'Man of Feeling,' the Clerks of Pennycuick, and Lord Woodhouselee, with all of whom he was already familiar. But it was at Lasswade that he first 'formed intimacies, even more important in their results, with the noble families of Melville and Buccleuch, both of whom have castles in the same valley.'

'Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,

And Roslin's rocky glen;

Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,

And classic Hawthornden?'

It is of the Esk that he says in the same poem, The Grey Brother,

'Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet

Rolls to the eastern main.'

An interesting notice appeared recently in a local paper regarding Scott and his family's connection with St. George's Episcopal Church in York Place, Edinburgh. He seems to have become a member of what he (in the person of Paulus Pleydell) calls 'the suffering and Episcopal Church of Scotland—the shadow of a shade now' after his marriage had set him free from the customs of George Square. The Scott family pew in St. George's was No. 81, afterwards No. 85, and the article states that this fact is attested on a brass plate fixed on the pew, as well as by a written statement contained in a closed glass case hung inside the church porch. It was the incumbent of St. George's that officiated at the marriage of Sophia Scott to John Gibson Lockhart. The worshippers in the quaint old church to this day, it is said, take great pride in the memory of the most illustrious member of their historic flock.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The Mercantile Class in Edinburgh—The Town Council—Political Corruption—Petty Tyranny—The Town Clerk—James Laing, Head of the Police—His Methods with Disturbers of the Peace—Anecdotes of Laing and Dugald Stewart.

At the end of the eighteenth century there was no social intercourse between the aristocratic, which was, generally speaking, the educated, class and the mercantile portion of the community. Wealth had not yet become a passport into 'society.' Birth and ancestry, on the contrary, were so, however poor the possessor of an old name might be. The professions, especially that of law, were still mainly recruited from noble or gentle families. As yet also, no traders in Edinburgh had made great fortunes or could afford social display. As individuals, therefore, business people were of no account. Politically, having no votes they had no direct power, and in all public matters their general attitude was one of complete subserviency to their betters. This, of course, was looked upon by both classes as the natural state of things, and explains the humble place occupied by the shopkeeping characters in the Waverley Novels. Lord Cockburn, speaking of the city government, records that everything of that kind was managed by the town council: light, water, education, trade, the Port of Leith, the streets, the poor, the police. He describes the Council Chamber as a low, dark, blackguard-looking room, entering from a covered passage, on the site of the present Signet Library. The chamber was a low-roofed room, very dark and very dirty, with some small dens off it for clerks. 'Within this Pandemonium sat the town council, omnipotent, corrupt, impenetrable. Nothing was beyond its grasp; no variety of opinion disturbed its unanimity, for the pleasure of Dundas was the sole rule for every one of them. Silent, powerful, submissive, mysterious, and irresponsible, they might have been sitting in Venice.' Speaking of Scottish town councils in general, our authority uses even stronger language. 'Many of the small ones were in the lowest possible condition of public and private morality. In general, they were sinks of political and municipal iniquity, steeped in the baseness which they propagated, and types and causes of the corruption that surrounded them.' This is just the picture that one would draw, if inclined to be censorious and not yielding to any sense of humour, from the very interesting series of facts recorded in John Galt's book, The Provost. Depend upon it, there was a good deal of human nature even in an 'unreformed' town council. Of their corrupt subservience to the powers in place there can be no doubt, but they had at least as much of the great quality of efficiency as their reformed successors. Such as they were, they were generally the best men of the best class in each community, and few men of the same type could now be got to enter the popularly elected body. And what would we not give now for the old peace and quietness? The silence would indeed be cheaply bought at the price of the mystery and irresponsibility. Conscience is the only guarantee against corruption, which may flourish like a green bay-tree under popular election. In 1799, it seems, Mr. Smith, a councillor of Edinburgh, electrified the city by a pamphlet in which he showed that the burgh was bankrupt. What subjects would Mr. Smith not have found for his financial genius if he had lived in 1899? What pamphlets might Mr. Smith have printed on 'the Edinburgh Cable Tramways and their cost,' or on 'the Usher Hall Sinking Fund.' Verily, life in a city might be tolerable but for our town councils.

The old town council had a very simple method of getting their work done. They just left everything to the town clerk and the manager of police. This seems to be the modern method, minus the vulgar talk and reports in the newspapers. The town-clerk was Mr. John Gray. Would he were here to-day: a man who could hold his tongue and do jobs quietly! Peace to the ashes of the good Gray: a judicious man, with a belly, white hair, and decorous black clothes; famous for drinking punch; a respectable and useful officer, devoted to his superiors, and chock-full of municipal wisdom. The manager of police was James Laing, about whom we have anecdotes which endear him to the heart of every lover of quiet. James was a hater of noise at untimely hours. He may have been prevented from writing his reminiscences by the rowdy din and uproar which seems to have been then, as it is now, at all hours of the night (constant up to midnight, in the small hours sporadic) as remarkable a feature of residential Edinburgh as its deadly east wind. Fortunately, James had the power, now defunct and obsolete, of making the police operate. One evening the usual demoniac orgy of noise was proceeding, driving peaceful citizens to profanity and despair. The whole devil's tattoo was caused by a mere handful of tipsy hooligans—six or eight baker lads, it seems, of respectable though humble parentage. James set the police in motion, the lads were promptly arrested, and next morning, when the master baker growled 'Ubi est ille apprentice?' echo answered promptly, 'Non est inventus.' A lawyer, however, who took an interest in the family of one of them, went that morning, greatly daring, to James Laing to inquire, when he was told he need give himself no trouble; 'they are all beyond Inchkeith by this time.' With a promptness of device only equalled by his firmness of purpose, this benefactor of suffering humanity had sent the disciples of Din to exert their demoniac disturbances on the high seas! They had, in fact, been shipped on board a tender in Leith Roads, which James knew was to sail that very morning. After this, one is not astonished to learn that the great Laing was a philosopher and entertained an immense reverence for Dugald Stewart. Stewart used to tell an anecdote which proves that Laing, besides discovering the best means of preserving quiet in the streets, had also solved the problem of finding healthy employment for the police in their 'hours of idleness.' The Professor was walking very early one morning in the Meadows, when he saw a band of men within the enclosure busily engaged apparently in turning up the turf. Upon going up to them, he found his friend Laing commanding the operations, who explained that in these short light nights there was nothing going on with the blackguards, 'and so, ye see, Mr. Professor, I've just brought oot the constables to try our hands at the moudieworts.' They were catching moles.

CHAPTER XXIX

Public Condition of Edinburgh in 1800—Ostracism of Dugald Stewart—The Whigs—Their Struggle for Power—The Infirmary Incident—Dr. Gregory—His Pamphlets—Characteristics—Family Connection with Rob Roy.

Youthful friendship and their simple, kindly way of life counteracted the effects of political feeling as concerned Scott and his Whig friends. Under his humble roof the happiness of the little household was never apparently marred by the intrusion of the soul-poisoning virus of party spite. Had the conditions been reversed, had his political friends been out of power, the difference would not have been great—to him or his. His saving gift of humour would always have prevented him from exaggerating the miseries of the losing side into horrors and persecution. Occupied intellectually with the fascinating vistas of romantic literature and blessed with the sympathy of a charming, brave-hearted wife, and too diffident of his merits to resent the slow advent of professional success, he could never have been chilled and narrowed into a political prig wailing over the injustice of the times. For all that, it was a bad time for many of his professional compeers. From their (that is, the Whig) point of view, the public condition in 1800, and for the preceding ten years, was at once painful and humiliating. Their very political creed subjected them to the suspicion of disloyalty. Their cry of Reform was ill-timed, for who will trouble with repairs to his house when his next-door neighbour's house is being plundered and set on fire? Distrust begot dislike, and dislike grew to detestation. 'The frightful thing,' says one who lived through it, 'was the personal bitterness. The decent appearance of mutual toleration, which often produces the virtue itself, was despised, and extermination seemed a duty. This was bad enough in the capital; but far more dreadful in small places, which were more helplessly exposed to persecution. If Dugald Stewart was for several years not cordially received in the city he adorned, what must have been the position of an ordinary man who held Liberal opinions in the country or in a small town, open to all the contumely and obstruction that local insolence could practise, and unsupported probably by any associate cherishing kindred thoughts? Such persons existed everywhere; but they were always below the salt.' One may admire the pertinacity of such men, the forerunners of Reform, while regretting the bitterness of feeling engendered on both sides. The great mistake of the Tory party lay in blindly confounding these theoretical politicians with the great mass of the people. In snubbing their opponents they insulted the people, and created a store of hatred against themselves which a century has not exhausted. To this day the 'practical' Liberal politician knows that a hundred clever speeches will have less effect in a Scottish constituency than simply getting his opponent well saddled with the epithet of 'Tory.' The 'regeneration' for which the Whigs of 1800 waited, and which their successors of 1832 thought they had accomplished, turned out to be the institution of a plutocracy. The twentieth century will perhaps experiment in pure democracy, now that the manual workers have begun to feel the power which they owe to the tireless efforts of the Whigs.

That public opinion was not altogether powerless even in 1800, is proved by the 'Infirmary' incident. At that time a wellnigh incredible arrangement prevailed in the hospital. Dr. Sangrado held sway for one month, and then Dr. Cuchillo got his turn. The members of the Colleges of Physicians and of Surgeons were the medical officers, and they attended the hospital by a monthly rotation, so that the treatment of the patients was liable to be totally altered every thirty days. A proposal was now made to put an end to the absurdity. The change was advocated by Dr. James Gregory, the celebrated professor, who was then the acknowledged head of his profession in Scotland. He wrote a pamphlet, strongly worded and personal, as was his nature, but convincing. In spite of the opposition of the colleges and the majority of the doctors, Gregory prevailed. The public was unanimous, the managers were convinced, and a resolution was passed that there should henceforth be permanent medical officers.

Dr. Gregory was a great fighter. He came of a remarkable family, the Gregories of Aberdeen, originally an offshoot of the MacGregor clan, and proprietors of Kinardie in Banffshire. His great-grandfather was James Gregory, inventor of the 'Gregorian' reflecting telescope. His grandfather and his father were both distinguished medical professors. It was his father Dr. John Gregory, who counted kin with Rob Roy and entertained the bold outlaw more than once at Aberdeen. On one occasion MacGregor proposed to carry James, then a boy of eight or nine, to the Highlands and 'make a man of him.' The story is told in the Introduction to Rob Roy of 1829. Scott there describes James Gregory as 'rather of an irritable and pertinacious disposition'; and says that his friends were wont to remark, when he showed symptoms of temper, 'Ah! this comes of not having been educated by Rob Roy.' Lord Cockburn calls Gregory 'a curious and excellent man, a great physician, a great lecturer, a great Latin scholar, and a great talker; vigorous and generous; large of stature, and with a strikingly powerful countenance. The popularity due to these qualities was increased by his professional controversies, and the diverting publications by which he used to maintain and enliven them. The controversies were rather too numerous; but they were never for any selfish end, and he was never entirely wrong. Still, a disposition towards personal attack was his besetting sin.'

CHAPTER XXX

Strongest 'Impressions' from the Waverley Novels—Special Charm of Death of the old Lawyer in Chrystal Croftangry's Recollections—Death of Walter Scott the Elder—The 'very scene' described—Scott appointed Sheriff—Independence from Court Work.

A boy of ten in a quiet country parish forty years ago took a pride in being able to say—'I have read all Shakespeare, all Byron, all the Waverley Novels,' and so on. The pursuit of this hobby was not entirely fortunate. It tended to omnivorous rather than critical reading—to the pursuit of enjoyment in reading rather than anything else. It had, however, its obvious advantages, and gained him at the University some first prizes, and a certain kindly consideration among his fellows as one whose literary opinions were founded on first-hand knowledge. His experience confirms a well-known opinion of Sir Walter Scott's that children prefer, and on the whole understand quite sufficiently, if they are encouraged to read it, the same literature which fascinates their fathers. 'I am persuaded both children and the lower class of readers hate books which are written down to their capacity, and love those that are composed more for their elders and betters. The grand and interesting consists in ideas not in words.'[1] At all events our 'impressionist' testifies that, having read all the Waverley Novels in the summer of his tenth year, he now recalls forty years after, from that first reading, chiefly one general impression and three special souvenirs which lived with him and have haunted his imagination ever since. The general impression is an intense interest in History (chiefly, of course, Scottish History) and Antiquities, imbibed from the charming Introductions and Notes to the Novels. These were read again and again, and always laid aside with a vivid sense of regret that the Notes were so short. The special recollections are of Henry Bertram returning to Ellangowan and recalling the old ballad of 'the bonnie woods o' Warroch Head': of Count Robert of Paris in the dungeon: and, above all, of the death of Chrystal Croftangry's friend in the 'Chronicles of the Canongate.' He still considers Bertram's return the finest touch of romance since Homer pictured the old hound recognising his long-lost master, Ulysses, in the beggar man. Count Robert scarcely affects the man so strongly as he did the boy. But Chrystal Croftangry has still the old charm—a charm trebled by the associations which a knowledge of Scott's life attaches to these inimitable chapters. Lockhart has revealed that 'in the portraiture of Mrs. Murray Keith, under the name of Mrs. Bethune Baliol, he has mixed up various features of his own beloved mother, and in the latter a good deal was taken from nobody but himself.' The pathetic picture of the death of Chrystal's old friend and legal counsellor, drawn with such vigour and intense realism, is without doubt the death-scene of the old 'writer,' Walter Scott, the original of that 'one true friend, who knew the laws of his country well, and, tracing them up to the spirit of equity and justice in which they originate, had repeatedly prevented, by his benevolent and manly exertions, the triumphs of selfish cunning over simplicity and folly.'

[1] Diary, June 5, 1827.

The worthy and good old man died in 1799. He had suffered a succession of paralytic attacks, under which mind as well as body had been laid quite prostrate. From the lips of a near relation of the family Lockhart gives the following touching statement made to himself on the publication of the first 'Chronicles of the Canongate'—'I had been out of Scotland for some time, and did not know of my good friend's illness, until I reached Edinburgh, a few months before his death. I saw the very scene that is here painted[2] of the elder Croftangry's sickroom—not a feature different—poor Anne Scott, the gentlest of creatures, was treated by the fretful patient exactly like this niece.' And the biographer adds—'I have lived to see the curtain rise and fall once more on a like scene.'

[2] 'Chronicles of the Canongate,' chap. I. Note that the house is in Brown's Square, where old Fairford dwelt.

The old man's business was continued by his son Thomas, and the property he left, though less than had been expected, was sufficient to make ample provision for his widow, and a not inconsiderable addition to the resources of those among whom the remainder was divided.

On the 16th December 1799, Walter Scott was made Sheriff-Depute of Selkirkshire, with a salary of £300. Probably, had Scott been an avowed Whig, he would never have been offered the post, but beyond the mere fact that he was not a Whig, politics had no part in the appointment. Personal friendship no doubt aided his other claims. The strongest efforts were made on his behalf by both Robert and William Dundas, nephews of Henry Dundas (Lord Melville), in whose hands was the general control of all Crown patronage. The same was done by his (Henry Dundas's) son Robert, and Lord Dalkeith and Lord Montague, sons of the Duke of Buccleuch—all ardent volunteers. The result was that the Duke and Dundas, both of whom knew and liked Scott, though neither was at all 'addicted to literature,' had no choice. Neither imagined that in appointing the young advocate to be a sheriff-depute, he was making his best bid for immortality. This very innocent 'job' was most happily timed. It crowned the modest fortune of the young poet's little household. The duties were light, and though the income was small, it was sufficient to make him independent of the precarious prospects of a profession for which he had never acquired any real liking. He spoke of it himself in the words of Slender about Anne Page—'There was no great love between us at the beginning; and it pleased Heaven to decrease it on further acquaintance.' The end of the century, therefore, saw Scott placed by fortune in the position which was his own ideal—free to devote his best energies to literature, without depending on its results for his own and his family's daily bread.

CHAPTER XXXI

Scott settled in Edinburgh—Defacement of City—Wrytte's House—Gillespie the Snuff-seller—Erskine's Joke—The Woods of Bellevue—Scott's ideal rus in urbe.

Scott's public career in literature practically began with the new century. His new duties did not require a change of dwelling-place. Edinburgh continued to be his home, and the centre of his deepest personal interests. The defacement of the city was proceeding merrily, and we cannot doubt that Scott was one of the few who disapproved. An anonymous writer in the Scots Magazine for July 1800 refers to the neglect of the Chapel Royal at Holyrood and the destruction of the Nunnery at Sciennes, and protests against the demolition of the old building Wrytte's House, which had just been begun. It consisted of a keep presiding over a group of inferior buildings, most of it as old as the middle of the fourteenth century, and all delightfully picturesque. The writer gives some details which are worth quoting: 'This magnificent building is adorned with a profusion of sculptured figures, especially above the windows. Above the main door, in beautiful workmanship, are blazoned the arms of Great Britain, with the inscription, J. 6. M. B. F. E. H. R. etc., ... there is a rough but curious piece of sculpture, reminding Nobility of her origin;—Adam digging the ground and Eve twirling the distaff, with the old rhyme beneath:

When Adam delv'd and Eva span,

Quhar war a' the gentiles than?'

Other figures represented the Virtues and the Five Senses. There was a head in bas relief of Julius Cæsar. This, says the writer, is going to be preserved because it has been thought to bear some resemblance to the visage of the celebrated tobacconist whose pious bequest has eventually produced so woful a revolution!

The execrable Vandals who did it were the Trustees of Gillespie's Hospital.

'Duke Luke did this:

God's ban be his!'

But lest we should be tempted to imprecate upon these long-departed Dogberries the curses thundered by Dr. Slop upon the head of poor Obadiah, listen now to Lord Cockburn: 'If I recollect right, this was the first of the public charities of this century by which Edinburgh has been blessed, or cursed. The founder was a snuff-seller, who brought up an excellent young man as his heir, and then left death to disclose that, for the vanity of being remembered by a thing called after himself, he had all the while had a deed executed by which this, his nearest, relation was disinherited.'

One of Henry Erskine's jokes was at the expense of this double-minded old snuff-seller. He suggested for Gillespie's carriage panels the motto, 'Quid rides,' and beneath it:

'Wha wad hae thocht it,

That noses wad hae bocht it?'

After briefly describing the old castle, Cockburn goes on: 'Nothing could be more striking when seen against the evening sky. Many a feudal gathering did that tower see on the Borough Moor; and many a time did the inventor of logarithms, whose castle of Merchiston was near, enter it. Yet it was brutishly obliterated, without one public murmur.... The idiot public looked on in silence. How severely has Edinburgh suffered by similar proceedings, adventured upon by barbarians, knowing the apathetic nature, in these matters, of the people they have had to deal with. All our beauty might have been preserved, without the extinction of innumerable antiquities, conferring interest and dignity. But reverence for mere antiquity, and even for modern beauty on their own account, is scarcely a Scotch passion.'

Another case. In the Scots Magazine for May appeared, among the odd scraps of news, this paragraph—'The elegant villa of Bellevue, the property of the late Mrs. General Scott, in the neighbourhood of this city, has been purchased by the Town Council; the terms, we understand, are a feu-duty of £1050 per annum, with the privilege of buying it up, within seven years, for £20,200. The pleasure ground is to be laid out for building conformable to a plan.'

The grounds of Bellevue were practically the whole space between the east end of Queen Street and Canonmills, now fully covered with streets and houses. The site of the villa was about the centre of the Drummond Place enclosure, and on it was erected a custom-house which the old guide-book calls 'another splendid appendage to this flourishing city, which is now so rapidly enlarging its dimensions.' Such was the idea of the unspeakable Philistines who destroyed this unmatched scene of beauty, and transformed it into a commonplace urban corner. The desecration does seem, however, to have been lamented, if not more actively resented. Lord Cockburn speaks of people 'shuddering when they heard the axes busy in the woods of Bellevue, and furious when they saw the bare ground. But the axes, as usual, triumphed.' The old woodcut, stiff and hard in its lines, showing the three-storied barracks of Queen Street, commanding a free view west, north, and east, upon an open sylvan scene, is enough to make one weep; and pathetic, too, in the same way is Cockburn's story: 'No part of the home scenery of Edinburgh was more beautiful than Bellevue.... The whole place waved with wood, and was diversified by undulations of surface, and adorned by seats and bowers and summer-houses. Queen Street, from which there was then an open prospect over the Firth to the north-western mountains, was the favourite Mall. Nothing certainly, within a town, could be more delightful than the sea of the Bellevue foliage, gilded by the evening sun, or the tumult of blackbirds and thrushes sending their notes into all the adjoining houses in the blue of a summer morning. We clung long to the hope that, though the city might in time surround them, Bellevue at the east, and Drumsheugh (Lord Moray's place) at the west, end of Queen Street, might be spared.... But the mere beauty of the town was no more thought of at that time by anybody than electric telegraphs and railways; and perpendicular trees, with leaves and branches, never find favour in the sight of any Scotch mason. Indeed in Scotland almost every one seems to be a "foe to the Dryads of the borough groves." It is partly owing to our climate, which rarely needs shade; but more to hereditary bad taste. So that at last the whole spot was made as dull and bare as if the designer of the New Town himself had presided over the operation.'

There are many allusions in the works of Scott to 'the rage of indiscriminate destruction which has removed or ruined so many monuments of antiquity.' With special reference to Edinburgh, showing how little the barbarous 'improvements' of the new commercial generation were to his mind, Chrystal Croftangry, coming back to his native city after long absence, decides to choose his dwelling-place not in George Square—nor in Charlotte Square—nor in the old New Town—nor in the new New Town—but in the Canongate—'Perhaps expecting to find some little old-fashioned house, having somewhat of the rus in urbe, which he was ambitious of enjoying.'

CHAPTER XXXII

Richard Heber in Edinburgh—Friendship with Scott—'Discovers' John Leyden—Leyden's Education—His Appearance, Oddities—Love of Country—His Help in Border Minstrelsy—Anecdote told by Scott—Leyden a Man of Genius.

Scenes sung by him who sings no more!

His bright and brief career is o'er,

And mute his tuneful strains;

Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore,

That loved the light of song to pour;

A distant and a deadly shore

Has LEYDEN'S cold remains!'

Richard Heber, king of bibliomaniacs, being in Edinburgh in the winter of 1799-1800, was warmly welcomed by the cultured society of the city, and finding in Scott a kindred spirit, was soon drawn 'into habits of close alliance' with the young antiquary whom he found at that time so absorbed in a congenial task. Scott was busy in research for his edition of the Border ballads, and Heber was delighted to enter into his plans, assisting him with advice and with free access to the vast stores of rare books which he had already collected. Their pleasant friendship is celebrated in that delicious Christmas piece which introduces the sixth canto of Marmion:—

'How just that, at this time of glee,

My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee!

For many a merry hour we 've known,

And heard the chimes of midnight's tone.

Cease, then, my friend! a moment cease,

And leave these classic tomes in peace!

Of Roman and of Grecian lore,

Sure mortal brain can hold no more.

Heber used to prowl about among the old book-shops, wherever he might come upon MSS. or books that might be of use for the Minstrelsy. One day he was searching in the small shop kept by a young bookseller named Archibald Constable, when his attention was attracted 'by the countenance and gestures of another daily visitant, who came not to purchase, evidently, but to pore over the more recondite articles—often balanced for hours on a ladder with a folio in his hand like Dominie Sampson.' Some casual talk led Heber to the discovery that his odd-looking acquaintance was 'a master of legend and traditions—an enthusiastic collector and skilful expounder of these very Border ballads.' He introduced the young man to Scott, who soon learned that this was the 'J.L.' whose verses in the Edinburgh Magazine had often much excited his curiosity, as showing that their author was a native of the Scottish Borders. Thus commenced the friendship between Scott and Leyden, two poets who were at least equal in that intense love of Scotland which is expressed with natural charm in the verses of both.

John Leyden, then twenty-five years of age, was a man who rivalled, in his extraordinary powers of acquiring knowledge, the almost fabulous records of the Admirable Crichton and Pico di Mirandola. The son of a shepherd, he was born at Denholm, a village of Roxburghshire, in 1775. After learning what he could at a small country school and getting some help in Latin from a neighbouring minister, the boy set to work to educate himself, making even then a special study of old Scottish works, such as the rhyming chronicles of Wallace and Bruce, Sir David Lyndsay's poems, and the ballads of Teviotdale. When he came to Edinburgh University in 1790, it is said he astonished all by his odd manners and speech, and confounded his teachers 'by the portentous mass of his acquisitions in almost every department of learning.' 'He was'—this is Cockburn's description—'a wild-looking, thin, Roxburghshire man, with sandy hair, a screech voice, and staring eyes—exactly as he came from his native village of Denholm; and not one of these not very attractive personal qualities would he have exchanged for all the graces of Apollo. By the time I knew him he had made himself one of our social shows, and could and did say whatever he chose. His delight lay in arguments ... always conducted on his part in a high shrill voice, with great intensity, and an utter unconsciousness of the amazement, or even the aversion, of strangers. His daily extravagances, especially mixed up, as they always were, with exhibitions of his own ambition and confidence, made him be much laughed at even by his friends. Notwithstanding these ridiculous or offensive habits, he had considerable talent and great excellences. There is no walk in life, depending on ability, where Leyden could not have shone. Unwearying industry was sustained and inspired by burning enthusiasm. Whatever he did, his whole soul was in it. His heart was warm and true. No distance, or interest, or novelty could make him forget an absent friend or his poor relations. His physical energy was as vigorous as his mental; so that it would not be easy to say whether he would have engaged with a new-found eastern manuscript, or in battle, with the more cordial alacrity. His love of Scotland was delightful. It breathes through all his writings and all his proceedings, and imparts to his poetry its most attractive charm. The affection borne him by many distinguished friends, and their deep sorrow for his early extinction, is the best evidence of his talent and worth. Indeed, his premature death was deplored by all who delight to observe the elevation of merit, by its own force and through personal defects, from obscurity to fame. He died in Batavia at the age of thirty-six. Had he been spared, he would have been a star in the East of the first magnitude.'

Leyden's work on the Border Minstrelsy deserves more than casual notice, and was most warmly and amply acknowledged by Scott. The Dissertation on Fairies, which introduces the second volume, 'although arranged and digested by the editor, abounds with instances of such curious reading as Leyden only had read, and was originally compiled by him.' Leyden was equally enthusiastic in collecting the ballads, and was determined from the first to make the collection a big thing—to turn out three or four volumes at least. 'In this labour,' says Scott, 'he was equally interested by friendship for the editor, and by his own patriotic zeal for the honour of the Scottish borders; and both may be judged of from the following circumstance. An interesting fragment had been obtained of an ancient historical ballad; but the remainder, to the great disturbance of the editor and his coadjutor, was not to be recovered. Two days afterwards, while the editor was sitting with some company after dinner, a sound was heard at a distance like that of the whistling of a tempest through the torn rigging of the vessel which scuds before it. The sounds increased as they approached more near; and Leyden (to the great astonishment of such of the guests as did not know him) burst into the room, chanting the desiderated ballad with the most enthusiastic gesture, and all the energy of what he used to call the saw-tones of his voice. It turned out that he had walked between forty and fifty miles and back again, for the sole purpose of visiting an old person who possessed this precious remnant of antiquity.'

Only men of the warm-blooded species could thoroughly appreciate John Leyden. His absurdities had nothing akin to foolishness. They were the inevitable accompaniments of genius operating, Alexander-like, towards what appeared impossible.

CHAPTER XXXIII

The 'Young Men of Edinburgh'—Their Whiggery—Anecdote of Jeffrey and Bell—James Grahame, Author of The Sabbath—Sydney Smith—His Liking for Scotland—Whig Dread of Wit—Lord Webb Seymour—Horner's Analysis of him—Friendship with Playfair—His Anecdote of Horner.

The name of Leyden suggests the remarkable 'concentration of conspicuous young men' of which Lord Cockburn speaks so often with pride. They were mostly Whigs, drawn together by political sympathy and speculative tastes. Most of them attained the high distinction to which their talents well entitled them to aspire, and several of them achieved high literary fame. Jeffrey, Cockburn, and Brougham were at the centre of this group, which also for a time included Leyden, Sydney Smith, Thomas Campbell, Francis Horner, and John Allen. Scott, as we know, was on terms of warm intimacy with some of these, but he was not one of their society, though he used to say he seemed never to enjoy an evening so much as when spent among his Whig friends. To the same set belonged George Joseph Bell, author of the Commentaries on the Law of Bankruptcy, and afterwards Professor of Law in Edinburgh University. From the Life of Jeffrey it is evident that Bell's influence on the future Reviewer was great and invaluable. The sight of Bell's tireless assiduity at his great work made Jeffrey exclaim—'Since I have seen you engaged in that great work of yours, and witnessed the confinement and perspiration it has occasioned you, I have oftener considered you as an object of envy and reproachful comparison than ever before.... I have wished myself hanged for a puppy.' He was constantly exhorting Jeffrey to exertion, and really inspired him with the hope and confidence that led to success.

Another estimable Whig ('but with him Whig principles meant only the general principles of liberty') was James Grahame, best known from his poem The Sabbath. Professor Wilson greatly esteemed Grahame, and wrote an elegy to his memory, which Cockburn says owes its charm to its expressing the gentle kindness and simple piety of his departed friend. 'His delight was in religion and poetry, and he was perfectly contented with his humble curacy. With the softest of human hearts, his indignation knew no bounds when it was roused by what he held to be oppression, especially of animals or the poor, both of whom he took under his special protection. He and a beggar seemed always to be old friends.'

A happy accident brought the Rev. Sydney Smith to Edinburgh. He had abandoned the dreary solitude of Nether Avon, where he was 'the first and purest pauper of the hamlet,' in order to accompany, as bear-leader, the son of Squire Beach to the University of Weimar in 1797, but the disturbed state of affairs at that time in Germany made their plans impracticable. So, as Smith put it, they were driven 'by stress of politics' into Edinburgh. Here he found a very congenial society, and soon became a leader among the younger Whigs. It was part of his humour to gird at Scotland as the garret of the world, or the knuckle-end of England, and at Scotsmen for requiring a surgical operation to appreciate a joke, but there was no part of Britain where his wit and jokes were more appreciated, and his daughter, Lady Holland, testifies to his strong liking for both the country and the people. It is said that he and his companions gained for Edinburgh the title of the Modern Athens.

Unfortunately Cockburn's reference to Sydney Smith is very brief. He only says—'Smith's reputation here then was the same as it has been throughout his life, that of a wise wit. Was there ever more sense combined with more hilarious jocularity? But he has been lost by being placed within the pale of holy orders. He has done his duty there decently well, and is an admirable preacher. But he ought to have been in some freer sphere; especially since wit and independence do not make bishops.' One feels tempted to add 'under a Whig Government.' It is only justice to the memory of the wittiest of men to say that 'decently well' as applied to his parochial work is faint praise.' It was from beginning to end of his career brilliantly conducted, and it was only 'the timidity of the Whigs' that prevented his being made a bishop. The Tory minister, Lord Lyndhurst, in 1829 promoted him to a prebendal stall at Bristol. It was only stupid people who doubted Smith's orthodoxy, and the doubt originated solely in the popularity of his jokes.

Another Englishman, who was one of the distinguished company and who lived in Edinburgh from 1797 to his death in 1819, was Lord Webb Seymour, brother of the Duke of Somerset. His purpose in retiring to Edinburgh was to devote himself wholly to the study of science and philosophy, a purpose which he carried out without swerving for a moment. Such a man could not fail to be universally respected and beloved. It can be seen from Horner's Memoirs how excellent was the effect which the truly philosophic views and practice of this rare man had upon the minds and characters of his friends. Horner in his Journal analyses his friend's character very acutely: 'He possesses several of the most essential constituents to the character of a true philosopher—an ardent passion for knowledge and improvement, with apparently as few preconceived prejudices as most people can have. A habit of study intense almost to plodding—a mild, timid, reserved disposition.... He can subject himself to general rules, which perhaps he carries too far in matters of diet, etc. His knowledge of character quite astonishes me at times—his proficiency in the science of physiognomy.' Horner must have been charmed to meet so much of himself in the personality of another. Seymour, being such a man, disapproved of Horner's entry into political life. His friendship with Playfair, the great mathematician and geologist, was famous. Geology was the favourite pursuit of both, and they were continually together in scientific walks and excursions. Cockburn says: 'They used to be called man and wife. Before I got acquainted with them, I used to envy their walks in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, and their scientific excursions to the recesses of the Highland glens, and to the summits of the Highland mountains. Two men more amiable, more philosophical and more agreeable there could not be.'

Francis Horner, the youngest of the band, became prominent at an early age for his strong and very independent views on politics. Sydney Smith was 'cautioned against him' by some excellent and feeble people to whom he had brought letters of introduction. This led to their friendship. It was of Horner that Smith said: 'The commandments were written on his face. I have often told him there was not a crime he might not commit with impunity, as no judge or jury who saw him could give the smallest degree of credit to anything that was said against him.' The following anecdote related by Smith is a happy illustration of the character of Horner and of his friend who tells it: 'He loved truth so much, that he never could bear any jesting upon important subjects. I remember one evening the late Lord Dudley and myself pretended to justify the conduct of the government in stealing the Danish fleet; we carried on the argument with some wickedness against our graver friend; he could not stand it, but bolted indignantly out of the room; we flung up the sash, and, with loud peals of laughter, professed ourselves decided Scandinavians; we offered him not only the ships, but all the shot, powder, cordage, and even the biscuit, if he would come back; but nothing could turn him; he went home, and it took us a fortnight of serious behaviour before we were forgiven.'

CHAPTER XXXIV

M. G. Lewis—Seeks out Scott—The Monk—Translation by Scott of Goetz—Anecdote of Lewis—James Ballantyne—Prints Apology for Tales of Terror—William Laidlaw—James Hogg—Character and Talents.

Scott's connection with M. G. Lewis, author of The Monk, was brought about through William Erskine's having shown him Scott's translations from the German. Lewis was eager to get Scott enlisted as a contributor to his projected Tales of Wonder. He came to Edinburgh in the autumn of 1798, and Scott long afterwards told Allan Cunningham that he had never felt such elation as when the 'Monk' invited him to dine with him for the first time at his hotel. Lewis indeed was the literary lion of the time. Charles Fox had crossed the floor of the House of Commons to congratulate him on his book. The London literary world was for the time classified into the adherents and the detractors of The Monk. Scott and he now met frequently, and it should not be forgotten, in justice to the small man, that the great one, roused by the ringing lines of 'Alonzo the Brave' and such resounding ware, was by him first set upon trying his hand at original verse, 'for' (Scott adds) 'I had passed the early part of my life with a set of clever, rattling, drinking fellows, whose thoughts and talents lay wholly out of the region of poetry.' Lewis was very small in person, and looked always like a schoolboy. Moreover, for all his cleverness, he was a decided bore in society; but all the same he was, as Scott always maintained, a good and generous man, who did good by stealth. Soon after this, he took the trouble to arrange for Scott the publication of his translation of Goethe's Goetz von Berlichingen, bargaining with Bell the publisher for twenty-five guineas for the copyright, and another twenty-five guineas in case of a second edition, which, however, was not called for till long after the copyright had expired. The Goetz came out in February 1799. Lewis also did his best to get another half-translated, half-original dramatic piece of Scott's, The House of Aspen, produced on the stage, but without success. Scott has an anecdote of Lewis in his Journal which is rather amusing:—'I remember a picture of him being handed about at Dalkeith House. It was a miniature, I think by Saunders, who had contrived to muffle Lewis's person in a cloak, and placed some poignard or dark lanthorn appurtenance (I think) in his hand, so as to give the picture the cast of a bravo. It passed from hand to hand into that of Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, who, hearing the general voice affirm that it was very like, said aloud, "That like Matt Lewis? Why, that picture's like a Man!" Imagine the effect! Lewis was at his elbow.'

Towards the end of the year 1799 occurred an incident, trifling enough in itself, which was destined by the sport of Fate to bring disaster and sorrow upon the life of Scott. He had paid a short visit to Rosebank, his uncle's house at Kelso, and was preparing to return to Edinburgh for the winter, when an old acquaintance, James Ballantyne, the eldest son of a Kelso shopkeeper, called to see him. James, having failed to establish himself as a solicitor, was now the printer and editor of a weekly newspaper in Kelso. The writing of a short legal article by Scott for the Kelso Mail led to Ballantyne's printing twelve copies of a few of Scott's ballads under the title of Apology for Tales of Terror—1799. Very soon after this Scott appears to have been planning that fatal scheme of partnership which brought Ballantyne to town and all his woe.

In Edinburgh Scott still continued his attendance at the Bar. But all the time he could spare beyond this and his sheriff's duties, was devoted during the years 1800 and 1801 to his labours on the Minstrelsy. In fact, he combined to some extent his double aims, and the sheriff's visits to Ettrick Forest often resulted in large additions to the ballad-editor's stores. In one of these excursions he was hospitably entertained at the farm of Blackhouse, on the Douglas burn. There he found another zealous assistant in ballad-hunting, William Laidlaw, the son of his kindly host. Of this ever-memorable and most faithful friend of Scott, Lockhart says: 'He was then a very young man, but the extent of his acquirements was already as noticeable as the vigour and originality of his mind: and their correspondence, where "Sir" passes at a few bounds, through "Dear Sir" and "Dear Mr. Laidlaw," to "Dear Willie," shows how speedily this new acquaintance had warmed into a very tender affection. Laidlaw's zeal about the ballads was repaid by Scott's anxious endeavours to get him removed from a sphere for which, he writes, "it is no flattery to say that you are much too good." It was then, and always continued to be, his opinion, that his friend was particularly qualified for entering with advantage on the study of the medical profession; but such designs, if Laidlaw himself ever took them up seriously, were not ultimately persevered in; and I question whether any worldly success could, after all, have overbalanced the retrospect of an honourable life spent happily in the open air of nature, amidst scenes the most captivating to the eye of genius, and in the intimate confidence of, perhaps, the greatest of contemporary minds.'

James Hogg, the 'Ettrick Shepherd,' was at this time working in a neighbouring valley. Laidlaw told Scott of the humble shepherd who was so fond of the local songs and ballads, and whose aged mother was celebrated in the Ettrick dales for having by heart several notable ballads in a perfect form. 'The personal history of James Hogg' (says Lockhart) 'must have interested Scott even more than any acquisition of that sort which he owed to this acquaintance with, perhaps, the most remarkable man that ever wore the maud of a shepherd. Under the garb, aspect, and bearing of a rude peasant—and rude enough he was in most of these things, even after no inconsiderable experience of society—Scott found a brother poet, a true son of nature and genius, hardly conscious of his powers. He had taught himself to write by copying the letters of a printed book as he lay watching his flock on the hillside, and had probably reached the utmost pitch of his ambition, when he first found that his artless rhymes could touch the heart of the ewe-milker who partook the shelter of his mantle during the passing storm. As yet his naturally kind and simple character had not been exposed to any of the dangerous flatteries of the world; his heart was pure, his enthusiasm buoyant as that of a happy child; and well as Scott knew that reflection, sagacity, wit and wisdom, were scattered abundantly among the humblest rangers of these pastoral solitudes, there was here a depth and a brightness that filled him with wonder, combined with a quaintness of humour, and a thousand little touches of absurdity, which afforded him more entertainment, as I have often heard him say, than the best comedy that ever set the pit in a roar.'

Hogg, it should be mentioned, had been in the service of Mr. Laidlaw at Blackhouse from 1790 to 1799, and during that time had been treated with great sympathy and kindness. He enjoyed the run of all the books in the house, and was prompted and encouraged with his rhymes. Hogg was born in 1772, being thus a year younger than Scott.

CHAPTER XXXV

Failure of Lewis's Tales—Scott's Border Minstrelsy—Ballantyne's Printing—His Conceit—Removal of Chief Baron from Queensberry House—His odd Benevolence—Anecdote of Charles Hope—The Schoolmasters Act.

The long-deferred Tales of Wonder at length appeared in 1801. For various reasons the book was a failure. A vigorous parody held up the author's style and person to ridicule. On the whole, however, Scott's share in the unlucky venture did him no harm. His contributions, he says, were dismissed without much censure, and in some cases received praise from the critics. 'Like Lord Home at the battle of Flodden, I did so far well, that I was able to stand and save myself.'

The episode seems to have made him all the more eager to come forward on his own account with the Minstrelsy. Volumes I. and II. were published in January 1802 by Cadell and Davies, of the Strand. The edition was specially remarkable as being the first work printed by James Ballantyne from his press at Kelso. 'When the book came out, the imprint, Kelso, was read with wonder by amateurs of typography, who had never heard of such a place, and were astonished at the example of handsome printing which so obscure a town had produced.' (See 'Essay on Imitations of the Ancient Ballad.') We know from Lockhart that the editor's most sanguine expectations were exceeded by its success. The edition was exhausted in the course of the year, and Scott received £78, 10s., being half the net profits of the venture. Longman, it seems, came in person to Edinburgh, to make 'a very liberal offer' for the copyright, including the third volume, which was accepted. There is a letter to Scott from James Ballantyne, who had been in London, 'cultivating acquaintance with publishers,' in which he says, 'I shall ever think the printing the Scottish Minstrelsy one of the most fortunate circumstances of my life. I have gained, not lost by it, in a pecuniary light; and the prospects it has been the means of opening to me, may advantageously influence my future destiny. I can never be sufficiently grateful for the interest you unceasingly take in my welfare. One thing is clear—that Kelso cannot be my abiding place for aye.'

Soaring ambition of the 'stickit solicitor,' and melancholy blindness of the great man who took the conceited 'cratur' on his own valuation! But the ill-omened 'Bulmer of Kelso' had not yet descended on the Canongate, when an event happened which may be regarded as summing up and crowning the transformation of old Edinburgh. It was a sort of postscript to the change which the last generation had seen effected with such startling and tragic rapidity. This was the removal (in 1801) of the family of Lord Chief Baron Sir James Montgomery from their famous residence, Queensberry House in the Canongate. Queensberry House was acquired by the first Duke of Queensberry from Lord Halton, afterwards Earl of Lauderdale. The Duke is said to have practically rebuilt it and made it, both inside and out, one of the finest mansions in the country. To-day there is nothing suggestive of former grandeur about the building, except its size and the massive wall which fronts it. The name 'Queensberry House' is painted on the gate and is also on a brass plate at the bell-handle. The building looks like a modern barrack, the windows having been pointed and freshened up for the visit of King Edward: very proper treatment for a 'House of Refuge,' if not for Queensberry House. In this mansion, 'Kitty, beautiful and young,' the wife of Charles, third Duke, used to lead the aristocratic society of Edinburgh in the days of the first and second Georges. She was the friend of Prior, who celebrated her as 'the Female Phaeton,' and half a century later Horace Walpole added two lines to the poem:—

'To many a Kitty Love his car will for a day engage,

But Prior's Kitty, ever fair, obtained it for an age.'

Under 'Old Q.' the mansion in the Canongate was dismantled. Sir James Montgomery resided in it till 1801, when he resigned his seat as Chief Baron, and retired to the country. 'I believe' (says Cockburn) 'he was the last gentleman who resided in that historical mansion, which, though now one of the asylums of destitution, was once the brilliant abode of rank and fashion and political intrigue. I wish the Canongate could be refreshed again by the habitual sight of the Lord Chief Baron's family and company, and the gorgeous carriage, and the tall and well-dressed figure, in the old style, of his Lordship himself. He was much in our house, my father being one of his Puisnes. Though a remarkably kind landlord, he thought it his duty to proceed sometimes with apparent severity against poachers, smugglers, and other rural corrupters; but as it generally ended in his paying the fine himself, in order to save the family, his benevolence was supposed to do more harm than his justice did good. He died in 1803.'

On the occasion of Montgomery's retirement Robert Dundas was appointed Lord Chief Baron, and Charles Hope became Lord Advocate. His short career was signalised by a somewhat rash and high-handed proceeding against Morison, a Banffshire farmer, who had dismissed a ploughman for absenting himself without leave in order to attend a volunteer drill. The matter led to a motion of censure in the House of Commons, which was not carried, but considerable odium was stirred. Hope in his defence had spoken of the Lord Advocate as vested with the whole powers of the state, both military and civil. An English newspaper reported Hope's return to Scotland in this satirical paragraph:—'Arrived at Edinburgh, the Lord High Chancellor of Scotland, the Lord Justice-General, the Lord Privy Seal, the Privy Council, and the Lord Advocate, all in one post-chaise, containing only a single person.'

Lord Cockburn has very properly defended the memory of Hope from all imputation of injustice. This act, he says, was entirely owing to a hot temperament not cooled by a sound head. 'In spite of all his talent and all his worth, had he continued in the very delicate position of Lord Advocate, his infirmity might have again brought him into some similar trouble. It was fortunate therefore that the gods, envying mortals the longer possession of Eskgrove, took him to themselves; and Hope reigned in his stead. He was made Lord Justice-Clerk in December 1804.'

It was Hope that carried through the Schoolmasters Act of 1803, by which the heritors were compelled to build houses for the schoolmasters. The Act prescribed that the houses (!) need not contain more than two rooms including the kitchen. The provision was considered shabby even in those days, but it was all that could be got out of Parliament then. Hope told Lord Cockburn that he had considerable difficulty in getting even the two rooms, and that a great majority of the lairds and Scottish members were indignant at being obliged to 'erect palaces for dominies.'

CHAPTER XXXVI

Anecdotes of R. P. Gillies—His Picture of Scott—'Border Press' at Abbeyhill—Britain armed for Defence—Scenes in Edinburgh—'Captain' Cockburn.

The eccentric R. P. Gillies seems to have made Scott's acquaintance about this time. This gentleman, of whom Scott, with his usual tenderness to the unfortunate, says 'a more friendly, generous creature never lived,' seems to have been in sore distress about 1825-26. He is frequently mentioned in Scott's Journal, sending numerous 'precatory letters' while Scott's own troubles were at the worst. Both Lockhart and Scott made efforts to assist him. Gillies about the year 1851 brought out his Memoirs of a Literary Veteran, in which he says that Scott was 'not only among the earliest but most persevering of my friends—persevering in spite of my waywardness.' One of R. P. G.'s whims, being a rather clever calligraphist, was to imitate some other person's handwriting, and he used to continue for months writing in imitation of some one or other of his friends. A fresh idea, however, had struck him at the time he was engaged on certain translations from the German which Lockhart had got Constable to undertake to publish for him. He wrote the whole with a brush upon large cartridge paper, and when it was finished, two stout porters were required to carry the huge bales to the publisher's office. The result was, as might have been expected, that Constable drew back from so tremendous an undertaking. It is amusing to find that the monstrous MS. was welcomed by another Edinburgh publisher, who paid £100 for it and issued the book under the title of The Magic Ring.

We are indebted to the same R. P. G. for some interesting remarks on Scott's appearance in 1802: 'At this early period, Scott was more like the portrait by Saxon, engraved for the Lady of the Lake, than any subsequent picture. He retained in features and form an impress of that elasticity and youthful vivacity, which he used to complain wore off after he was forty, and by his own account was exchanged for the plodding heaviness of an operose student. He had now, indeed, somewhat of a boyish gaiety of look, and in person was tall, slim, and extremely active.'