Chapter 11

CHAPTER LVIThe National Monument—Still incomplete—The Salisbury Crags—Danger of their Destruction—The Path impassable—Construction of the Radical Road—National Distress—Trials for Sedition—Anecdote of John Clerk—The City Guard.As a landmark of modern Edinburgh, the National Monument must now be noticed. Its twelve massy columns of white Craigleith stone are familiar to all who have spent an hour in the city. The idea of it dates from 1816, for it was intended to commemorate Scotland's share in the triumphs of the great war. During the following years it was often discussed. The original proposal was to erect a lofty pillar. Then, as we learn from Lord Cockburn, 'there were some who thought that the prevailing effervescence of military patriotism created a good opportunity for improving the public taste by the erection of a great architectural model. The Temple of Minerva, placed on the Calton Hill, struck their imaginations, and though they had no expectation of being able to realise the magnificent conception, they resolved, by beginning, to bring it within the vision of a distant practicability. What, if any, age would finish it, they could not tell; but having got a site, a statute, and about £20,000, they had the honour of commencing it.' The hour of its completion has not arrived yet. Nearly a century has elapsed since George IV. laid the foundation stone in 1822. Perhaps on the occurrence of the centenary the project may once more lay hold of the public imagination. At least the 'distant practicability' remains. Imposing and sublime possibility! Perhaps, in an era of colossal fortunes, some INDIVIDUAL may anticipate the city—engrossed with its Usher Hall and water-fleas—and capture the national glory to crown with immortality his own proud name.One noble feature of our scenery was completed about this time by the walk round the Salisbury Crags. When Henry Cockburn as a boy of nine scrambled, as he tells us, for the first time to the top of that romantic cliff, the path at its base was not six feet wide, while at places there was no path at all. Between that time and the year 1816 certain persons quarried the rock to such an extent that what was formerly a narrow footpath became, in many places, one hundred feet wide. This impudent theft of public property would shortly have destroyed the whole face of the rock. Fortunately the depredators were stopped in time, and Edinburgh preserved at once a remarkable piece of geological 'testimony,' and one of its finest natural features. Cockburn records that Henry Brougham, 'who as a boy had often clambered among these glorious rocks,' then, in the capacity of Lord Chancellor, pronounced the judgment which finally saved a remnant of the Crags. The old path is mentioned by Scott in theHeart of Midlothian(Chap. VIII.) as having been his favourite evening and morning resort, when engaged with a favourite author or new subject of study. And he added to his enthusiastic description of the view from the Salisbury Crags a brief and mildly expressed reproach. 'It is, I am informed, now (1818) become totally impassable; a circumstance which, if true, reflects little credit on the taste of the Good Town or its leaders.' In a note, added in a later addition, he says, 'A beautiful and solid pathway has, within a few years, been formed around these romantic rocks; and the author has the pleasure to think that the passage in the text gave rise to the undertaking.' This was indeed the case; but, strange to say, the path thus due to Sir Walter Scott got the name of theRadical Road. In 1820, it appears, the 'unemployed' question was flagrant. The men, stimulated by Radicals, were becoming dangerous, when Scott's happy suggestion solved the problem by providing them with a substantial piece of work. The discontent was allayed, and the road was constructed by these vigorous Radicals. The name of theSalisbury Cragscommemorates the English invasion of 1336. King Edward III.'s forces were commanded by the famous Earl of Salisbury, who encamped on the Crags, and thus gave the spot its foreign name.[1][1] James Grant, however, gives a Gaelic derivation of the name.The distress which followed as a natural consequence of the prolonged strain of the war, was in those years very severe. Outbreaks of seditious talk were common in England, and led to many serious disturbances. In Scotland they were fewer, because the law still made transportation the penalty for this offence. There were, however, some prosecutions for sedition, and in connection with the first of these, in 1817, Cockburn, who was, with Jeffrey, counsel for one of the defendants, tells a characteristic anecdote of John Clerk, who was counsel for another of the accused, along with James Campbell of Craigie. 'Campbell called on Clerk on the morning of the trial. He found him dressing, and in a frenzy at the anticipated iniquities of the judges; against whom, collectively and individually, there was much slow dogged vituperation throughout the process of shaving. He had on a rather dingy-looking nightshirt: but a nice pure shirt was airing before the fire. When the toilet reached the point at which it was necessary to decide upon the shirt, instead of at once taking up the clean one, he stopped and grumphed, and looked at the one and then at the other, always turning with aversion from the dirty one; and then he approached the other resolutely, as if his mind was made up; but at last he turned away from it, saying fiercely, "No, I'll be d—d if I put on a clean sarkfor them." Accordingly he insulted their Lordships by going to Court with the foul one. Not like Falkland.'About the end of the year 1817 Edinburgh streets finally lost the most picturesque of their official figures. The City Guard, a body first enrolled in 1696, now retired from view, their functions being better fulfilled by the new police, and Robert Fergusson's well-known lines became superfluous:'Gude folk, as ye come frae the fair,Bide yont frae this black squad;There's nae sic savages elsewhereAllowed to wear cockad.'Scott gives a capital description of them in theHeart of Midlothian(Chap. III.), where he says, 'The venerable corps may now be considered as totally extinct.' From Cockburn we learn that one of these stern-looking but half-dotard warriors used to sit as guard with the prisoners at the bar of the Court of Justiciary. 'They sat so immovably, and looked so severe, with their rugged weather-beaten visages, and hard muscular trunks, that they were no unfit emblems of the janitors of the region to which those they guarded were so often consigned. The disappearance of these picturesque old fellows was a great loss.' He wished they had been perpetuated, if only as curiosities. They were probably the last of our soldiers who carried as their special weapon the old genuine Lochaber axe, which Lord Cockburn styles 'a delightful implement.' Fergusson, who saw its virtues in a more practical way, speaks of the 'deadly paiks,' or blows, freely dealt by the hot-tempered veterans.'Gie not her bairns sic deadly paiks,Nor be sae rude,Wi' firelock or Lochaber axe,As spill their bluid.'Their last march (as mentioned in Scott's note) to do duty at Hallow-fair, had something affecting in it. Their drums and fifes had been wont on better days to play, on this joyous occasion, the lively tune ofJockey to the Fair; but on this final occasion the afflicted veterans moved slowly to the dirge ofThe last time I came ower the muir. They were always greatly disliked by the commons of Edinburgh, who never spoke of them by any better name than the loathsome appellation 'the Toon Rottens' (Rats).CHAPTER LVIIScott and the Ballantynes—James in the Canongate—Ceremonies at the 'Waverley' Dinners—Reading of Scenes from the New Volume—John at Trinity—His 'Bower of Bliss'—Anecdote by C. Mathews.At this distance of time it is difficult either to understand or to condone the wilful delusion in which Scott persisted to regard the two reckless adventurers, James and John Ballantyne. They were lowborn and vulgar: his deep-seated aristocratic feelings should have kept them at a distance. They were utterly devoid of business capacity: his natural shrewdness ought to have seen through them. They were neglectful of duty: his own tireless devotion to work ought to have made him despise them. But they were friends of his boyhood, and he loved them. James was a shrewd critic and an excellent amanuensis, and Scott trusted his judgment and enjoyed his services. John was a humorist, his social clowning was inimitable, and in these capacities he was emphatically a man after Scott's own heart. Both of them knew Scott down to the minutest foible of his simple honest nature. They knew exactly what it was in themselves which pleased him. All they had to do was to be themselves—just as he conceived them. And this was what they did, each in his own way, regardless of expense and consequences. Thus they maintained a hold over their illustrious dupe, which no studied system of flattery could have equalled in the case of the weakest and most foolish of patrons. These two penniless and ruined adventurers lived lives of splendour and luxury, and neither they nor Scott seemed to realise or remember that every penny which supported them had come or would have to come from Scott's estate. The house of James, the elder brother, was not far from his printing works, No. 10 St. John Street, Canongate, which had not long ceased to be the most fashionable street in Edinburgh. Here, in the first house on the west side, was the meeting-place of the ever-memorable Freemason Lodge, the Canongate Kilwinning, whose 'poet-laureate' was no less a genius than Scotland's second glory, Robert Burns. Here, in the town house of the Telfers of Scotstoun, overlooking the Canongate, resided the greatest of Scottish novelists after Scott himself, Tobias Smollett, on his last visit to the capital. No. 13 was the house of Lord Monboddo, and at No. 15 lived the famous Professor Gregory, already mentioned. The Kelso adventurer lived here in grand style, a mighty city magnate, highly decorous and respectable. It was his rôle, and his playing of it was admirable, because it was simply his nature and bent: that he was at any moment entirely ignorant of his real insolvency, or entirely unconscious of the horror that he was accumulating for the most unselfish of friends, one may be excused for doubting. Every one has heard of James Ballantyne's famous dinners—a not uninteresting part of the story of the Waverley Novels. He assembled all his own particular literary friends, and Scott was among the company. It was James's delight to mention the author ofWaverleyalways in mystic tones as 'the Great Unknown,' and the whole affair must have been intensely amusing to the real author, who sat and took part in the proceedings with smiles of good humour. After what the host himself justly called agorgeousdinner, and after toasting the company, the King, and Mr. Walter Scott, the ladies who might be present retired, and the great 'business' of the little comedy began. Lockhart, as an eyewitness, quaintly describes the scene: 'Then James rose once more, every vein on his brow distended, his eyes solemnly fixed upon vacancy, to propose, not as before in his stentorian key, but "with bated breath," in the sort of whisper by which a stage conspirator thrills the gallery—"Gentlemen, a bumper to the immortal Author ofWaverley!"—The uproar of cheering, in which Scott made a fashion of joining, was succeeded by deep silence, and then Ballantyne proceeded—"In his Lord Burleigh look, serene and serious,A something of imposing and mysterious"—to lament the obscurity in which his illustrious but too modest correspondent still chose to conceal himself from the plaudits of the world—to thank the company for the manner in which thenominis umbrahad been received, and to assure them that the Author ofWaverleywould, when informed of the circumstance, feel highly delighted—"the proudest hour of his life," etc. etc. The cool demure fun of Scott's features during all this mummery was perfect; and Erskine's attempt at a gaynonchalancewas still more ludicrously meritorious.' Upon this Ballantyne would announce the name of the coming novel, a bumper would be drained to its success, and that was all. The night 'drove on wi' sangs and clatter,' till the senior and graver members, including Scott, had withdrawn. 'Then,' says Lockhart, 'the scene was changed. The claret and olives made way for broiled bones and a mighty bowl of punch; and when a few glasses of the hot beverage had restored his powers, James openedore rotundaon the merits of the forthcoming romance. "One chapter—one chapter only,"—was the cry. After "Nay, by 'r Lady, nay," and a few more coy shifts, the proof-sheets were at length produced, and James, with many a prefatory hem, read aloud what he considered as the most striking dialogue they contained.' Lockhart was one of the fortunate company who listened to James, in these circumstances, reading, from theHeart of Midlothian, the interview of Jeanie Deans with the Queen in Richmond Park. James's declamation, though marked, of course, by some of his 'pompous tricks,' seems to have been really effective. The sitting ended with the 'Death of Marmion,' delivered in imitation of the great Braham. Later on, James removed his household gods to the New Town, No. 3 Heriot Row. The younger brother, John, was much more original in his ways and doings, and equally reckless of consequences and expense. He had a little villa in the French style at Trinity, on the shore of the Firth. The gardens alone of the ex-needleman must have cost a pretty penny, being laid out with great art so as to seem of considerable extent, 'with many a shady tuft, trellised alley, and mysterious alcove, interspersed among their bright parterres.' His house, as became an auctioneer of curiosities, was crowded with objects ofvertu, numberless costly mirrors, and pictures of a certain class, mostly, in fact, theatrical portraits, especially of actresses, which were afterwards bought by Charles Mathews for his gallery at Highgate. The house was furnished like a suburban 'Bower of Bliss' in London or Paris, and had a private wing which his wife was most effectively debarred from entering. If Bluebeard, the clumsy villain, had only enjoyed the services of this clever, resourceful voluptuary, he would have been able to shun the society of his successive 'cleaving michiefs' without having recourse to tragic methods. Johnnie, in fact, could have taught Milton a trick of 'defensive armour,' within which not even a wife could penetrate. This was his ingenious plan: he made every door of entrance into the sacred wing just so narrow as to render it absolutely impossible for Mrs. Ballantyne to squeeze her body through. One can fancy the arrangement giving rise to awkward difficulties, but its efficiency for the main purpose was admirable. It was worthy of a Duc de Richelieu rather than an ex-tailor. Johnnie's festive parties at Trinity were the great social attraction of Edinburgh to the theatrical people of his day. Mathews, Braham, Kean, and Kemble were all frequent guests when acting in Edinburgh. In Mathews'Memoirsthere is an anecdote of John Ballantyne which is of interest in itself, while happily illustrative of the character ofWee Johnny. Ballantyne, Constable, and Terry were dining with the Mathews family, when John, who had a certain indiscreet vivacity when the wine began to affect him, was talking to Mathews about some books, and concluded by saying, 'I shall soon send youScott's new novel.' The effect may be imagined, especially on Constable. 'He,' says Mrs. Mathews, 'looked daggers—and Terry used some—for with a stern brow and a correcting tone, he cried outJohn!adding with a growl, like one reproving a mischievous dog,—"Ah, what are you about?" which made us droop our eyes for the indiscreet tatler; while wee Johnny looked like an impersonation offear—startled at the "sound himself had made." Not another word was said: but our little good-natured friend's lapse was sacred with us, and the secret was never divulged while it was important to preserve it.'CHAPTER LVIIIAnecdotes of Constable—'The Czar'—Plans theMagnum Opus—Anecdote of Longmans and Co.—Constable's House and Equipage—John Ballantyne's Habits—Horses and Dogs—Anecdote by Scott of his Liberality—Scott's Sorrow at his Death.At John Ballantyne's house in Trinity, his great co-adjutor Constable was often to be seen. There Lockhart first met him. Struck by the majestic appearance of the publisher, he made a remark to Scott on Constable's 'gentlemanlike' (publishers were only 'booksellers' in those days) 'and distinguished appearance.' 'Ay,' replied Scott, 'Constable is indeed a grand-looking chield. He puts me in mind of Fielding's apology for Lady Booby—to wit, that Joseph Andrews had an air which, to those who had not seen many noblemen, would give an idea of nobility.' He is said to have been a large feeder and deep drinker: of a violent temper, but 'easily overawed by people of consequence.' He was, on the whole, not one of Scott's favourites—a circumstance, however, which was more owing to the great man's blind partiality for the Ballantynes, with whom Constable necessarily came into frequent contact. Scott, however, praises Constable as 'generous and far from bad-hearted.' Among his brothers of 'the trade' Constable was nicknamed 'the Czar,'and also 'the Crafty.' Scott declared that Constable was 'the prince of book-sellers.' He considered that the Crafty knew more of the business of a bookseller in planning and executing popular works than any man of his time. His imperious style was natural to the man, and his unaided rise to eminence in his important calling largely justified his pride. His share in the blame for the disaster of 1826 was at the time exaggerated, unfortunately also in the mind of Scott himself. It was the Ballantyne co-partnery that led to the unfortunate bill transactions, and the great pity was that both Constable and Scott took these tragic jokers on their own fictitious valuation. Constable I believe to have been truly a great man and in all respects a gentleman: as different in mental qualities as he was in physical dignity from the bounding brothers of Kelso. Who can fail to admit the genius of the man whoforesawthe value of the Waverley Novels, and who provided Scott with the greatest consolation of his last sad years—themagnum opusof the collected edition, and thus enabled him to carry out his romantic resolve to pay the so-calleddebtsto the full? John Ballantyne told Lockhart a good story of Constable's fondness for bestowing nicknames. 'One day a partner of the house of Longman was dining with him in the country, to settle an important piece of business, about which there occurred a good deal of difficulty. "What fine swans you have in your pond there!" said the Londoner, by way of parenthesis.—"Swans!" cried Constable; "they are only geese, man. There are just five of them, if you please to observe, and their names are Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown." This skit cost the Crafty a good bargain.' Lockhart soon became a frequent visitor at Constable's country seat of Craigcrook Castle (afterwards tenanted by Francis Jeffrey), and says that he did the honours of the ancient home of noble Grahams with all the ease that might have been looked for had he been the long-descended owner of the place. He greatly admired Constable's 'manly and vigorous' conversation, full of old Scotch anecdotes, which he told with a spirit and humour only second to his great author's. 'His very equipage,' Lockhart adds, 'kept up the series of contrasts between him and the two Ballantynes. Constable went back and forward between the town and Polton in a deep-hung and capacious green barouche, without any pretence at heraldic blazonry, drawn by a pair of sleek, black, long-tailed horses, and conducted by a grave old coachman in plain blue livery. The Printer of the Canongate drove himself and his wife about the streets and suburbs in a snug machine, which did not overburthen one powerful and steady cob:—while the gay Auctioneer, whenever he left the saddle for the box, mounted a bright blue dogcart, and rattled down the Newhaven Road with two high-mettled steeds prancing tandem before him.' Johnnie, indeed, kept up a good stable, hunted the fox at times, and had the pleasant whim of naming his numerous steeds after various characters in Scott's works. His daily mount was a milk-white hunter, y-clept Old Mortality, and he was always attended by a leash or two of greyhounds, which he named Die Vernon, Jenny Dennison, and so on. At business he appeared in sporting half-dress,—'a light-grey frock, with emblems of the chase on its silver buttons, white cord breeches, and jockey-boots in Meltonian order.' Scott was a constant frequenter of his auction rooms in Hanover Street, at the door of which his favourite Maida was to be seen waiting his arrival from the Court, couched among Johnnie's greyhounds. Such was the frivolous, but astute, underminer, who succeeded to the end in maintaining a fatal hold on the great genius, and finally left him to toil as a slave, often at a loss for money for mere current expenses, during the last years of what might have been one of the happiest of lives. It is a melancholy fact, and perhaps, after all, his own favourite saying fits it best—that often the wisest of men keep, as it were, the average stock of folly only in reserve, to beallexpended on some one flagrant absurdity. One can at least understand Scott's affection for John Ballantyne, when one thinks of such an incident as this, related by Scott himself: 'A poor divinity student was attending his sale one day, and Johnnie remarked to him that he looked as if he were in bad health. The young man assented with a sigh. "Come," said Ballantyne, "I think I ken the secret of a sort of draft that would relieve you—particularly," he added, handing him a cheque for £$ or £10—"particularly, my dear, if taken upon an empty stomach."John Ballantyne died at Edinburgh in the summer of 1821. Scott and Lockhart attended his funeral in the Canongate churchyard. 'As we stood together' (the latter relates), 'while they were smoothing the turf over John's remains, the heavens, which had been dark and slaty, cleared suddenly, and the midsummer sun shone forth in his strength. Scott, ever awake to the "skiey influences," cast his eye along the overhanging line of the Calton Hill, with its gleaming walls and towers, and then turning to the grave again, "I feel," he whispered in my ear, "as if there would be less sunshine for me from this day forth."'John Ballantyne was thus taken away from the evil to come, but James lived till 1833. Archibald Constable died on the 21st of July 1827. His proud spirit could not survive the tremendous downfall of his splendid fortunes. All his great undertakings, except theMiscellany, had passed from his control. He was reduced to 'an obscure closet of a shop,' and found himself without either capital or credit to start a new career. Of all with whom Scott had to do in the business of life, he is the only man in whose case Scott's natural generosity did not at once overcome every shadow of well or ill founded resentment or grudge.CHAPTER LIXThe Baronetcy—Reasons for accepting—Marriage of Sophia Scott to John Gibson Lockhart—Charles Scott and Archdeacon Williams—Improvements in Edinburgh—The 'Water Caddies'—Drama ofRob Roy—The Burns Dinner—Henry Mackenzie.It was in the end of the year 1818 that Scott received, through Lord Sidmouth, intimation of the Prince Regent's desire to confer on him a baronetcy. When informed of it privately, a few months before this, by Chief-Commissioner Adam, he had hesitated about accepting such an honour, feeling that it might dangerously affect the style of living and the ideas and aspirations of a contented family. However, the sudden death of Charles Charpentier altered all this. He left, as was believed, a large fortune, and had settled the reversion on his sister's family. The inheritance in the end came to nothing, but the expectation removed Scott's doubts as to accepting the title. His eldest son having by this time settled to enter the Army, it was obvious that the title would be of real advantage to him in his profession. We have fortunately Scott's views expressed in the frankest manner in a letter to Morritt, and they certainly require no comment. 'It would be easy,' he says, 'saying a parcel of fine things about my contempt of rank, and so forth; but although I would not have gone a step out of my way to have asked, or bought, or begged, or borrowed a distinction, which to me personally will rather be inconvenient than otherwise, yet coming as it does directly from the source of feudal honours, and as an honour, I am really gratified with it;—especially as it is intimated that it is His Royal Highness's pleasure to heat the oven for me expressly, without waiting till he has some newbatchof Baronets ready in dough.... After all, if one must speak for themselves, I have my quarters and emblazonments, free of all stain but Border theft and High Treason, which I hope are gentlemanlike crimes; and I hope Sir Walter Scott will not sound worse than Sir Humphry Davy, though my merits are as much under his, in point of utility, as can well be imagined. But a name is something, and mine is the better of the two.' It was not till March 1820 that he was able to go to London, having been prevented by illness at one time, and on a second proposed occasion by family afflictions. When he did go to London, his admirer was King George the Fourth. To him, at all events, the event was an honour and a credit, for it proceeded entirely from himself. His greeting to the new Baronet was, 'I shall always reflect with pleasure on Sir Walter Scott's having been the first creation of my reign.' Shortly after this the two English Universities offered him the honorary degree of D.C.L. He was never able to avail himself of either offer.On the 29th of April in this year, his daughter Sophia was married to John Gibson Lockhart. The son-in-law mentions that Sir Walter hastened his return from London—he had been sitting to Lawrence at the King's request—in order to get the marriage over before the unlucky month of May. Lockhart says too little of his own affairs, but he mentions that the wedding took place,more Scotico, in the evening, and that Sir Walter, adhering on all such occasions to ancient modes of observance with the same punctiliousness which he mentions as distinguishing his worthy father, gave a jolly supper afterwards to all the friends and connections of the young couple.Towards the end of the year the second son, Charles, also left the family circle. He went to Lampeter to be under the celebrated scholar John Williams, afterwards Archdeacon of Cardigan. Mr. Williams, who became Rector of the Edinburgh Academy in 1824, was much appreciated by Scott, not only for his erudition, but as being 'always pleasant company.' At another time he calls him 'a heaven-born teacher.'We may mention here another item in the constant process of modernising the city. About this time a strong feeling was growing, and even obtaining vent in public, against the sway of the Town Council. The position of Edinburgh, 'always thirsty and unwashed,' was then, by Lord Cockburn's account, in reference to water positively frightful. The wretched shallow tank on the north side of the Pentlands, the only source of supply, was often and for long periods empty. But the Town Council would do nothing. A private company was therefore formed, and the supply began to be regular. Then water-pipes were put into private houses, and the ancient fraternity of water-carriers found their occupation gone. 'In a very few years,' says Cockburn, 'there was not one extant. They were a very curious tribe, consisting of both men and women, but the former were perhaps the more numerous. Their days were passed in climbing up lofty stairs to the "flats." The little casks of water, when filled from the street wells, were slung upon their backs, suspended by a leather strap, which was held in front by the hand. They acquired a stopping attitude, by which they were easily recognised even when off duty. They were all rather old, and seemed little; but this last might be owing to their stooping. The men very generally had old red jackets, probably the remnants of the Highland Watch, or of the City Guard; and the women were always covered with thick duffle greatcoats, and wore black hats like the men. Every house had its favourite "Water Caddie." The fee (I believe) was a penny per barrel. In spite of their splashy lives and public-well discussions, they were rather civil, and very cracky creatures. What fretted them most was being obstructed in going up a stair; and their occasionally tottering legs testified that they had no bigotry against qualifying the water with a little whisky. They never plied between Saturday night and Monday morning; that is, their employers had bad hot water all Sunday. These bodies were such favourites, that the extinction of their trade was urged seriously as a reason against water being allowed to get into our houses in its own way.'In February 1819 a dramatised version ofRob Roywas played in the Edinburgh Theatre. The Bailie was played by the famous actor Charles Mackay, who, being a native of Glasgow, was able to do full justice to the dialect and all the little amusing peculiarities of the character. Scott is said to have been greatly interested in this representation of his story, and Lockhart says 'it was extremely diverting to watch the play of his features during Mackay's admirable realisation of his conception.' On his benefit night 'the Bailie' received an epistle of kind congratulation from no less a personage than Jedediah Cleishbotham. It is worth mentioning that, though his fellow-citizens greeted him on entering his box with 'some mark of general respect and admiration,' there was never anything said or done to embarrass him as hinting at his authorship of the play.WhileRob Roywas enjoying its successful run, a party of two or three hundred Edinburgh gentlemen met, on February 22nd, at what has since become the national cult—a Burns dinner. This function was distinguished by a short speech from the veteran 'Man of Feeling,' who had welcomed Burns and praised his genius more than thirty years before. Scott's feeling towards Burns was one of constantly increasing admiration. 'Long life to thy fame' (he says in hisJournal) 'and peace to thy soul, Rob Burns! When I want to express a sentiment which I feel strongly, I find the phrase in Shakespeare—or thee.' For Henry Mackenzie he had a strong regard. The old man surprised him by unfolding literary schemes in his old age. He loved to unbosom himself to Scott, and called him his 'literary confessor,' and 'I am sure' (said the patient victim) 'I am glad to return the kindnesses which he showed me long since in George Square.' Scott's description of the veteran in 1825 is as follows: 'No man is less known from his writings. We would suppose a retired, modest, somewhat affected man, with a white handkerchief and a sigh ready for every sentiment. No such thing: H. M. is alert as a contracting tailor's needle in every sort of business—a politician and a sportsman—shoots and fishes in a sort even to this day—and is the life of the company with anecdote and fun. Sometimes, his daughter tells me, he is in low spirits at home, but really I never see anything of it in society.In January 1831 Scott got the news of Henry Mackenzie's death. By this time Scott was contemplating the near approach of his own end, but he can still spare a regret for the old man, 'gayest of the gay, though most sensitive of the sentimental,' who had so long filled a niche in Scottish literature.CHAPTER LXThe Commercial Disaster—Ruin of Ballantyne (Scott) and Constable—Scott's Feeling—Universal Sympathy—Offer of Help—Brave Reply—Cheerful Spirit—Constable—The Agreement—Removal from Castle Street—Death of Lady Scott—The Visit to Paris.James Ballantyne on his deathbed declared that all the appearances of his prosperity were merely shadows. But Scott up to the end of 1825 had no idea of the magnitude of the crisis that had been so long preparing. On the 18th of December in that year he penned in hisJournalthat melancholy summary of his career: 'What a life mine has been! Half-educated, almost wholly neglected or left to myself; stuffing my head with most nonsensical trash, and undervalued by most of my companions for a time; getting forward, and held a bold and clever fellow, contrary to the opinion of all who thought me a mere dreamer; broken-hearted for two years; my heart handsomely pieced again—but the crack will remain till my dying day. Rich and poor four or five times; once on the verge of ruin, yet opened a new source of wealth almost overflowing. Now to be broken in my pitch of pride.... Nobody in the end can lose a penny by me—that is one comfort.' Following entries prove that Ballantyne professed confidence. Even on 14th January, when Scott had received 'an odd mysterious letter' from Constable, hinting calamity, James had no doubts! On Tuesday the 17th the blow fell. Ballantyne came in the morning to say that he had arranged to stop. His own account of the interview is: 'It was between eight and nine in the morning that I made the final communication. No doubt he was greatly stunned—but, upon the whole, he bore it with wonderful fortitude. He asked—"Well, what is the actual step we must first take? I suppose we must do something?" I reminded him that two or three thousand pounds were due that day, so that we had only to do what we must do—refuse payment—to bring the disclosure sufficiently before the world. He took leave of me with these striking words—"Well, James, depend upon that, I will never forsake you."'In theJournalof that day—'I felt rather sneaking as I came home from the Parliament House—felt as if I were liablemonstrari digitoin no very pleasant way. But this must be bornecum caeteris.' On which Lord Cockburn remarks: 'very natural for him to feel so; but it was the feeling of nobody else.'From Cockburn's pages we can realise the astounding effect of the news of Scott's implication in the disaster upon his friends and fellow-citizens. The 'black Tuesday' became a recollection of sadness and pain to all who personally knew him. The destruction of half the city could not have caused greater astonishment and sorrow. His professional brethren now for the first time learned that Scott had 'dabbled in trade.' 'How humbled,' says Cockburn, 'we felt when we saw him—the pride of us all—dashed from his lofty and honourable station, and all the fruits of his well-worked talents gone. He had not then even a political enemy. There was not one of those whom his thoughtlessness had so sorely provoked, who would not have given every spare farthing he possessed to retrieve Sir Walter. Well do I remember his first appearance after this calamity was divulged, when he walked into Court one day in January 1826. There was no affectation, and no reality, offacing it; no look of indifference or defiance; but the manly and modest air of a gentleman conscious of some folly, but of perfect rectitude, and of most heroic and honourable resolutions. It was on that very day, I believe, that he said a very fine thing. Some of his friends offered him, or rather proposed to offer him, enough of money, as was supposed, to enable him to arrange with his creditors. He paused for a moment; and then, recollecting his powers, said proudly—"No! this right hand shall work it all off." His friend William Clerk supped with him one night after his ruin was declared. They discussed the whole affair openly and playfully; till at last they laughed over their noggins at the change, and Sir Walter observed that he felt something like Lambert and the other Regicides, who, Pepys says, when he saw them going to be hanged and quartered, were as cheerful and comfortable as any gentlemen could be in that situation.'This probably refers to the evening, mentioned in Scott'sJournal, when his daughter was very greatly surprised by the loud hilarity of Clerk and his host. 'But do people suppose,' adds Scott, 'that he was less sorry for his poor sister,[1] or I for my lost fortune?' He declares that pride was his strongest passion—a passion which never hinged upon world's gear, which was always with him—light come, light go![1] Miss Elizabeth Clerk's sudden death had also occurred on the 17th of January.Constable had stood like a hero in the breach to the last moment. His last device, a good one if he could have by magic imparted his own knowledge, foresight, and sublime faith to a board of directors, was to take Lockhart (in the capacity of a confidential friend of the author ofWaverley) with him to the Bank of England, and to apply for a loan of from £100,000 to £200,000 on the security of the copyrights. These, it must be remembered, were theEncyclopedia Britannica, half of theEdinburgh Review, nearly all Scott's poetry, the Waverley Novels, and theLife of Napoleon, on which Scott was at the time working. Lockhart refused to interfere without direct instructions from Sir Walter. Poor Constable, he says, became livid with rage.The claims against Scott were found in the end to amount to £130,000. All the world knows the course Scott elected to take; how he at once put his affairs in the hands of trustees, and became, by his own offer, the vassal of his creditors for life, toiling henceforward to pay their claims, not to enrich himself. From his side it was a noble sacrifice, as noble as any ever offered on the altar of honour. If the debts had been real, if he had actually had in possession the sum and used it, no other course would have been possiblesalvo honore. But commercial debts, the largely fictitious product of stamps and paper, should have been paid commercially. Such a course, he himself said, he might have advised a client to take, and it would have saved him much sorrow, pain, and trouble, without harming any man. However, he preferred it otherwise, and received the news of the acceptance of his offer as if it had been a mighty favour. He wrote in hisJournal: 'This is handsome and confidential, and must warm my best efforts to get them out of the scrape.'The agreement was finally, not of course without harassment and difficulty, passed. He was left in possession of Abbotsford, his official salary was left him to support his family, everything else was sold for behoof of the creditors, and all his future literary gains were assigned to them in advance. On March 15th he left his house in Castle Street, and on that night he wrote in hisJournal: 'I never reckoned upon a change in this particular so long as I held an office in the Court of Session. In all my former changes of residence it was from good to better—this is retrograding. I leave this house for sale, and I cease to be an Edinburgh citizen, in the sense of being a proprietor, which my father and I have been for sixty years at least. So farewell, poor 39, and may you never harbour worse people than those who now leave you.'Very soon after the departure from Castle Street a second calamity, probably hastened by the former, overtook the family. Lady Scott died at Abbotsford on the 14th of May. Scott, who was engaged in his Court duties at Edinburgh, and staying now in Mrs. Brown's lodgings, North St. David Street, reached Abbotsford late in the evening of the 15th. His weakly daughter Anne, worn out with attendance, was hysterical when he arrived. The entries in hisJournalare sadly touching: 'When I contrast what this place now is with what it has been not long since, I think my heart will break. Lonely, aged, deprived of my family—all but poor Anne; an impoverished, an embarrassed man, deprived of the sharer of my thoughts, who could always talk down my sense of the calamitous apprehensions which break the heart that must bear them alone.'The funeral took place on the 22nd at Dryburgh. Scott mentions very kindly the Rev. E. B. Ramsay, who performed the funeral service. This gentleman afterwards became famous, when Dean of Edinburgh, by his well-known bookLights and Shadows of Scottish Life.And now Scott found the task he had imposed upon himself bracing him against despondency. He returned to Edinburgh and his old 'task,' thankful that it was of a graver nature (theLife of Napoleon), and determined to fight on 'for the sake of the children and of my own character.'A visit to London and Paris was necessitated in October by his work on Napoleon. The change did him good, and Lockhart mentions that his behaviour under misfortunes so terrible had gained for him 'a deep and respectful sympathy, which was brought home to him in a way not to be mistaken.' This expedition for information had cost him £200—a matter for serious consideration in his changed circumstances.CHAPTER LXIHouse in Walker Street—Ill-health—Extraordinary Labours—Article on Hoffman—Kindness to Literary People—Murray's Party—Theatrical Fund Dinner—Life of Napoleon—Payment of £28,000 to Creditors—The Lockharts at Portobello—Grandfather's Tales—Domestic Happiness—Visit of Adolphus.On resuming his duties in Edinburgh at the end of November (1826), Scott went to reside in a furnished house in Walker Street, which he had taken for the winter. In hisJournal, 27th November, he says: 'Walter came and supped with us, which diverted some heavy thoughts. It is impossible not to compare this return to Edinburgh with others in more happy times. But we should rather recollect under what distress of mind I took up my lodgings in Mrs. Brown's last summer, and then the balance weighs deeply on the favourable side. This house is comfortable and convenient.' It was for the sake of his daughter's company that he had taken this house. The winter, however, proved a weary time. His incessant toil at hisNapoleonwas hampered by continual ill-health—successive attacks of rheumatism, which might well have excused him from work of any kind. But his watchword was, 'I am now at my oar, and I must row hard.' To crown all his troubles, the weather was exceptionally cold and trying. He could not but think often of the days when rain and cold and long night journeys did him no harm, and he was painfully conscious of a speedy break-up of the hard-wrought machine. Bad nights were the rule, and he was sometimes sick with mere pain. Sometimes he notes his work, proof-sheets and the like, as 'finished mechanically.' 'All well,' he ends up on 21st December, 'if the machine would but keep in order, but "The spinning-wheel is auld and stiff." I shall never see the threescore and ten, and shall be summed up at a discount. No help for it, and no matter either.' Yet, even in these circumstances, he wrote more than his task. One of these minor pieces was an article on Hoffman for theForeign Quarterly, a review edited by R. P. Gillies. It was done purely as a kindness to Gillies, giving, as Lockhart says, a poor brother author £100 at the expense of considerable time and drudgery to himself. He had done the same in numberless instances, often for persons whose only claim on him was that of the common vocation. At this time he naturally went but little into society, but his enjoyment of good company could still be keen. On spending an evening with John A. Murray, he says: 'When I am out with a party of my Opposition friends, the day is often merrier than when with our own set. Is it because they are cleverer? Jeffrey and Harry Cockburn are, to be sure, very extraordinary men; yet it is not owing to that entirely. I believe both parties meet with the feeling of something like novelty—we have not worn out our jests in daily contact.'On the 23rd of February 1827 he presided at the famous Theatrical Fund Dinner, at which he publicly admitted his authorship of the Waverley Novels. All he says of the incident is, 'Meadowbank taxed me with the novels, and to end that farce at once I pleaded guilty, so that splore is ended.' Of course, as a matter of fact, the secret had been an open one from the day of the first meeting of Ballantyne's creditors. When Scott was thinking of himself as liablemonstrari digitoas the partner of an insolvent firm, every one else was thinking of him as the now-revealed 'author ofWaverley.' 'Scott ruined,' Earl Dudley exclaimed on hearing the news, 'the author ofWaverleyruined! Good God! let every man to whom he has given months of delight give him a sixpence, and he will rise to-morrow morning richer than Rothschild!' That was probably what was in the mind of every man who gazed on Scott's calm, honest face in the first days of trouble.On the 7th of June he finishedNapoleon, which had grown on his hands, much beyond the original estimate, to nine closely-printed volumes. The work produced £18,000 for his creditors, so that in eighteen months he had actually diminished his obligations by £28,000.One of the most touching episodes of Scott's life was his loving anxiety for his invalid grandson, the child of Lockhart and Sophia. Knowing the fearful strain that Sir Walter was now keeping up in working double tides for his bondholding masters, Lockhart and his wife did what they could to induce him to moderate his zeal. 'But nothing,' says Lockhart, 'was so useful as the presence of his invalid grandson. The poor child was at this time so far restored as to be able to sit on his pony again; and Sir Walter, who had conceived, the very day he finishedNapoleon, the notion of putting together a series ofTales on the History of Scotland, somewhat in the manner of Mr. Croker's on that of England, rode daily among the woods with his "Hugh Littlejohn," and told the story, and ascertained that it suited the comprehension of boyhood, before he reduced it to writing.' During the rest of this year he wrote new matter which filled five to six volumes in the uniform edition of his works, but this Lockhart thinks was light and easy compared with 'the perilous drudgery' of the preceding eighteen months.Ill-health and the perpetual consciousness of his bondage had marvellously little effect as yet on the quality of his work. To friends who visited him casually he seems to have rarely alluded to any of his troubles. Adolphus, however, mentions that once, when speaking of hisLife of Napoleon, he said in a quiet but touching tone, 'I could have done it better, if I had written at more leisure, and with a mind more at ease.' Adolphus was deeply impressed by the sight of his quiet cheerfulness among his family and their young friends. He has preserved one of Scott's remarks on the subject of happiness which is both characteristic and, considering the time, strikingly suggestive. Scott having said something about an accident which had spoiled the promised pleasure of a visit to his daughter in London, then observed, 'I have had as much happiness in my time as most men, and I must not complain now.' Adolphus replied that, whatever had been his share of happiness, no one could have laboured better for it. Scott's answer was, 'I consider the capacity to labour as part of the happiness I have enjoyed.' In mentioning Adolphus (who had written a book on the authorship of the Waverley Novels) and his visit, Scott wrote in hisJournal, 'He is a modest as well as an able man, and I am obliged to him for the delicacy with which he treated a matter in which I was personally so much concerned.'

CHAPTER LVI

The National Monument—Still incomplete—The Salisbury Crags—Danger of their Destruction—The Path impassable—Construction of the Radical Road—National Distress—Trials for Sedition—Anecdote of John Clerk—The City Guard.

As a landmark of modern Edinburgh, the National Monument must now be noticed. Its twelve massy columns of white Craigleith stone are familiar to all who have spent an hour in the city. The idea of it dates from 1816, for it was intended to commemorate Scotland's share in the triumphs of the great war. During the following years it was often discussed. The original proposal was to erect a lofty pillar. Then, as we learn from Lord Cockburn, 'there were some who thought that the prevailing effervescence of military patriotism created a good opportunity for improving the public taste by the erection of a great architectural model. The Temple of Minerva, placed on the Calton Hill, struck their imaginations, and though they had no expectation of being able to realise the magnificent conception, they resolved, by beginning, to bring it within the vision of a distant practicability. What, if any, age would finish it, they could not tell; but having got a site, a statute, and about £20,000, they had the honour of commencing it.' The hour of its completion has not arrived yet. Nearly a century has elapsed since George IV. laid the foundation stone in 1822. Perhaps on the occurrence of the centenary the project may once more lay hold of the public imagination. At least the 'distant practicability' remains. Imposing and sublime possibility! Perhaps, in an era of colossal fortunes, some INDIVIDUAL may anticipate the city—engrossed with its Usher Hall and water-fleas—and capture the national glory to crown with immortality his own proud name.

One noble feature of our scenery was completed about this time by the walk round the Salisbury Crags. When Henry Cockburn as a boy of nine scrambled, as he tells us, for the first time to the top of that romantic cliff, the path at its base was not six feet wide, while at places there was no path at all. Between that time and the year 1816 certain persons quarried the rock to such an extent that what was formerly a narrow footpath became, in many places, one hundred feet wide. This impudent theft of public property would shortly have destroyed the whole face of the rock. Fortunately the depredators were stopped in time, and Edinburgh preserved at once a remarkable piece of geological 'testimony,' and one of its finest natural features. Cockburn records that Henry Brougham, 'who as a boy had often clambered among these glorious rocks,' then, in the capacity of Lord Chancellor, pronounced the judgment which finally saved a remnant of the Crags. The old path is mentioned by Scott in theHeart of Midlothian(Chap. VIII.) as having been his favourite evening and morning resort, when engaged with a favourite author or new subject of study. And he added to his enthusiastic description of the view from the Salisbury Crags a brief and mildly expressed reproach. 'It is, I am informed, now (1818) become totally impassable; a circumstance which, if true, reflects little credit on the taste of the Good Town or its leaders.' In a note, added in a later addition, he says, 'A beautiful and solid pathway has, within a few years, been formed around these romantic rocks; and the author has the pleasure to think that the passage in the text gave rise to the undertaking.' This was indeed the case; but, strange to say, the path thus due to Sir Walter Scott got the name of theRadical Road. In 1820, it appears, the 'unemployed' question was flagrant. The men, stimulated by Radicals, were becoming dangerous, when Scott's happy suggestion solved the problem by providing them with a substantial piece of work. The discontent was allayed, and the road was constructed by these vigorous Radicals. The name of theSalisbury Cragscommemorates the English invasion of 1336. King Edward III.'s forces were commanded by the famous Earl of Salisbury, who encamped on the Crags, and thus gave the spot its foreign name.[1]

[1] James Grant, however, gives a Gaelic derivation of the name.

The distress which followed as a natural consequence of the prolonged strain of the war, was in those years very severe. Outbreaks of seditious talk were common in England, and led to many serious disturbances. In Scotland they were fewer, because the law still made transportation the penalty for this offence. There were, however, some prosecutions for sedition, and in connection with the first of these, in 1817, Cockburn, who was, with Jeffrey, counsel for one of the defendants, tells a characteristic anecdote of John Clerk, who was counsel for another of the accused, along with James Campbell of Craigie. 'Campbell called on Clerk on the morning of the trial. He found him dressing, and in a frenzy at the anticipated iniquities of the judges; against whom, collectively and individually, there was much slow dogged vituperation throughout the process of shaving. He had on a rather dingy-looking nightshirt: but a nice pure shirt was airing before the fire. When the toilet reached the point at which it was necessary to decide upon the shirt, instead of at once taking up the clean one, he stopped and grumphed, and looked at the one and then at the other, always turning with aversion from the dirty one; and then he approached the other resolutely, as if his mind was made up; but at last he turned away from it, saying fiercely, "No, I'll be d—d if I put on a clean sarkfor them." Accordingly he insulted their Lordships by going to Court with the foul one. Not like Falkland.'

About the end of the year 1817 Edinburgh streets finally lost the most picturesque of their official figures. The City Guard, a body first enrolled in 1696, now retired from view, their functions being better fulfilled by the new police, and Robert Fergusson's well-known lines became superfluous:

'Gude folk, as ye come frae the fair,Bide yont frae this black squad;There's nae sic savages elsewhereAllowed to wear cockad.'

'Gude folk, as ye come frae the fair,Bide yont frae this black squad;There's nae sic savages elsewhereAllowed to wear cockad.'

'Gude folk, as ye come frae the fair,

Bide yont frae this black squad;

Bide yont frae this black squad;

There's nae sic savages elsewhere

Allowed to wear cockad.'

Allowed to wear cockad.'

Scott gives a capital description of them in theHeart of Midlothian(Chap. III.), where he says, 'The venerable corps may now be considered as totally extinct.' From Cockburn we learn that one of these stern-looking but half-dotard warriors used to sit as guard with the prisoners at the bar of the Court of Justiciary. 'They sat so immovably, and looked so severe, with their rugged weather-beaten visages, and hard muscular trunks, that they were no unfit emblems of the janitors of the region to which those they guarded were so often consigned. The disappearance of these picturesque old fellows was a great loss.' He wished they had been perpetuated, if only as curiosities. They were probably the last of our soldiers who carried as their special weapon the old genuine Lochaber axe, which Lord Cockburn styles 'a delightful implement.' Fergusson, who saw its virtues in a more practical way, speaks of the 'deadly paiks,' or blows, freely dealt by the hot-tempered veterans.

'Gie not her bairns sic deadly paiks,Nor be sae rude,Wi' firelock or Lochaber axe,As spill their bluid.'

'Gie not her bairns sic deadly paiks,Nor be sae rude,Wi' firelock or Lochaber axe,As spill their bluid.'

'Gie not her bairns sic deadly paiks,

Nor be sae rude,

Nor be sae rude,

Wi' firelock or Lochaber axe,

As spill their bluid.'

As spill their bluid.'

Their last march (as mentioned in Scott's note) to do duty at Hallow-fair, had something affecting in it. Their drums and fifes had been wont on better days to play, on this joyous occasion, the lively tune ofJockey to the Fair; but on this final occasion the afflicted veterans moved slowly to the dirge ofThe last time I came ower the muir. They were always greatly disliked by the commons of Edinburgh, who never spoke of them by any better name than the loathsome appellation 'the Toon Rottens' (Rats).

CHAPTER LVII

Scott and the Ballantynes—James in the Canongate—Ceremonies at the 'Waverley' Dinners—Reading of Scenes from the New Volume—John at Trinity—His 'Bower of Bliss'—Anecdote by C. Mathews.

At this distance of time it is difficult either to understand or to condone the wilful delusion in which Scott persisted to regard the two reckless adventurers, James and John Ballantyne. They were lowborn and vulgar: his deep-seated aristocratic feelings should have kept them at a distance. They were utterly devoid of business capacity: his natural shrewdness ought to have seen through them. They were neglectful of duty: his own tireless devotion to work ought to have made him despise them. But they were friends of his boyhood, and he loved them. James was a shrewd critic and an excellent amanuensis, and Scott trusted his judgment and enjoyed his services. John was a humorist, his social clowning was inimitable, and in these capacities he was emphatically a man after Scott's own heart. Both of them knew Scott down to the minutest foible of his simple honest nature. They knew exactly what it was in themselves which pleased him. All they had to do was to be themselves—just as he conceived them. And this was what they did, each in his own way, regardless of expense and consequences. Thus they maintained a hold over their illustrious dupe, which no studied system of flattery could have equalled in the case of the weakest and most foolish of patrons. These two penniless and ruined adventurers lived lives of splendour and luxury, and neither they nor Scott seemed to realise or remember that every penny which supported them had come or would have to come from Scott's estate. The house of James, the elder brother, was not far from his printing works, No. 10 St. John Street, Canongate, which had not long ceased to be the most fashionable street in Edinburgh. Here, in the first house on the west side, was the meeting-place of the ever-memorable Freemason Lodge, the Canongate Kilwinning, whose 'poet-laureate' was no less a genius than Scotland's second glory, Robert Burns. Here, in the town house of the Telfers of Scotstoun, overlooking the Canongate, resided the greatest of Scottish novelists after Scott himself, Tobias Smollett, on his last visit to the capital. No. 13 was the house of Lord Monboddo, and at No. 15 lived the famous Professor Gregory, already mentioned. The Kelso adventurer lived here in grand style, a mighty city magnate, highly decorous and respectable. It was his rôle, and his playing of it was admirable, because it was simply his nature and bent: that he was at any moment entirely ignorant of his real insolvency, or entirely unconscious of the horror that he was accumulating for the most unselfish of friends, one may be excused for doubting. Every one has heard of James Ballantyne's famous dinners—a not uninteresting part of the story of the Waverley Novels. He assembled all his own particular literary friends, and Scott was among the company. It was James's delight to mention the author ofWaverleyalways in mystic tones as 'the Great Unknown,' and the whole affair must have been intensely amusing to the real author, who sat and took part in the proceedings with smiles of good humour. After what the host himself justly called agorgeousdinner, and after toasting the company, the King, and Mr. Walter Scott, the ladies who might be present retired, and the great 'business' of the little comedy began. Lockhart, as an eyewitness, quaintly describes the scene: 'Then James rose once more, every vein on his brow distended, his eyes solemnly fixed upon vacancy, to propose, not as before in his stentorian key, but "with bated breath," in the sort of whisper by which a stage conspirator thrills the gallery—"Gentlemen, a bumper to the immortal Author ofWaverley!"—The uproar of cheering, in which Scott made a fashion of joining, was succeeded by deep silence, and then Ballantyne proceeded—

"In his Lord Burleigh look, serene and serious,A something of imposing and mysterious"—

"In his Lord Burleigh look, serene and serious,A something of imposing and mysterious"—

"In his Lord Burleigh look, serene and serious,

A something of imposing and mysterious"—

to lament the obscurity in which his illustrious but too modest correspondent still chose to conceal himself from the plaudits of the world—to thank the company for the manner in which thenominis umbrahad been received, and to assure them that the Author ofWaverleywould, when informed of the circumstance, feel highly delighted—"the proudest hour of his life," etc. etc. The cool demure fun of Scott's features during all this mummery was perfect; and Erskine's attempt at a gaynonchalancewas still more ludicrously meritorious.' Upon this Ballantyne would announce the name of the coming novel, a bumper would be drained to its success, and that was all. The night 'drove on wi' sangs and clatter,' till the senior and graver members, including Scott, had withdrawn. 'Then,' says Lockhart, 'the scene was changed. The claret and olives made way for broiled bones and a mighty bowl of punch; and when a few glasses of the hot beverage had restored his powers, James openedore rotundaon the merits of the forthcoming romance. "One chapter—one chapter only,"—was the cry. After "Nay, by 'r Lady, nay," and a few more coy shifts, the proof-sheets were at length produced, and James, with many a prefatory hem, read aloud what he considered as the most striking dialogue they contained.' Lockhart was one of the fortunate company who listened to James, in these circumstances, reading, from theHeart of Midlothian, the interview of Jeanie Deans with the Queen in Richmond Park. James's declamation, though marked, of course, by some of his 'pompous tricks,' seems to have been really effective. The sitting ended with the 'Death of Marmion,' delivered in imitation of the great Braham. Later on, James removed his household gods to the New Town, No. 3 Heriot Row. The younger brother, John, was much more original in his ways and doings, and equally reckless of consequences and expense. He had a little villa in the French style at Trinity, on the shore of the Firth. The gardens alone of the ex-needleman must have cost a pretty penny, being laid out with great art so as to seem of considerable extent, 'with many a shady tuft, trellised alley, and mysterious alcove, interspersed among their bright parterres.' His house, as became an auctioneer of curiosities, was crowded with objects ofvertu, numberless costly mirrors, and pictures of a certain class, mostly, in fact, theatrical portraits, especially of actresses, which were afterwards bought by Charles Mathews for his gallery at Highgate. The house was furnished like a suburban 'Bower of Bliss' in London or Paris, and had a private wing which his wife was most effectively debarred from entering. If Bluebeard, the clumsy villain, had only enjoyed the services of this clever, resourceful voluptuary, he would have been able to shun the society of his successive 'cleaving michiefs' without having recourse to tragic methods. Johnnie, in fact, could have taught Milton a trick of 'defensive armour,' within which not even a wife could penetrate. This was his ingenious plan: he made every door of entrance into the sacred wing just so narrow as to render it absolutely impossible for Mrs. Ballantyne to squeeze her body through. One can fancy the arrangement giving rise to awkward difficulties, but its efficiency for the main purpose was admirable. It was worthy of a Duc de Richelieu rather than an ex-tailor. Johnnie's festive parties at Trinity were the great social attraction of Edinburgh to the theatrical people of his day. Mathews, Braham, Kean, and Kemble were all frequent guests when acting in Edinburgh. In Mathews'Memoirsthere is an anecdote of John Ballantyne which is of interest in itself, while happily illustrative of the character ofWee Johnny. Ballantyne, Constable, and Terry were dining with the Mathews family, when John, who had a certain indiscreet vivacity when the wine began to affect him, was talking to Mathews about some books, and concluded by saying, 'I shall soon send youScott's new novel.' The effect may be imagined, especially on Constable. 'He,' says Mrs. Mathews, 'looked daggers—and Terry used some—for with a stern brow and a correcting tone, he cried outJohn!adding with a growl, like one reproving a mischievous dog,—"Ah, what are you about?" which made us droop our eyes for the indiscreet tatler; while wee Johnny looked like an impersonation offear—startled at the "sound himself had made." Not another word was said: but our little good-natured friend's lapse was sacred with us, and the secret was never divulged while it was important to preserve it.'

CHAPTER LVIII

Anecdotes of Constable—'The Czar'—Plans theMagnum Opus—Anecdote of Longmans and Co.—Constable's House and Equipage—John Ballantyne's Habits—Horses and Dogs—Anecdote by Scott of his Liberality—Scott's Sorrow at his Death.

At John Ballantyne's house in Trinity, his great co-adjutor Constable was often to be seen. There Lockhart first met him. Struck by the majestic appearance of the publisher, he made a remark to Scott on Constable's 'gentlemanlike' (publishers were only 'booksellers' in those days) 'and distinguished appearance.' 'Ay,' replied Scott, 'Constable is indeed a grand-looking chield. He puts me in mind of Fielding's apology for Lady Booby—to wit, that Joseph Andrews had an air which, to those who had not seen many noblemen, would give an idea of nobility.' He is said to have been a large feeder and deep drinker: of a violent temper, but 'easily overawed by people of consequence.' He was, on the whole, not one of Scott's favourites—a circumstance, however, which was more owing to the great man's blind partiality for the Ballantynes, with whom Constable necessarily came into frequent contact. Scott, however, praises Constable as 'generous and far from bad-hearted.' Among his brothers of 'the trade' Constable was nicknamed 'the Czar,'and also 'the Crafty.' Scott declared that Constable was 'the prince of book-sellers.' He considered that the Crafty knew more of the business of a bookseller in planning and executing popular works than any man of his time. His imperious style was natural to the man, and his unaided rise to eminence in his important calling largely justified his pride. His share in the blame for the disaster of 1826 was at the time exaggerated, unfortunately also in the mind of Scott himself. It was the Ballantyne co-partnery that led to the unfortunate bill transactions, and the great pity was that both Constable and Scott took these tragic jokers on their own fictitious valuation. Constable I believe to have been truly a great man and in all respects a gentleman: as different in mental qualities as he was in physical dignity from the bounding brothers of Kelso. Who can fail to admit the genius of the man whoforesawthe value of the Waverley Novels, and who provided Scott with the greatest consolation of his last sad years—themagnum opusof the collected edition, and thus enabled him to carry out his romantic resolve to pay the so-calleddebtsto the full? John Ballantyne told Lockhart a good story of Constable's fondness for bestowing nicknames. 'One day a partner of the house of Longman was dining with him in the country, to settle an important piece of business, about which there occurred a good deal of difficulty. "What fine swans you have in your pond there!" said the Londoner, by way of parenthesis.—"Swans!" cried Constable; "they are only geese, man. There are just five of them, if you please to observe, and their names are Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown." This skit cost the Crafty a good bargain.' Lockhart soon became a frequent visitor at Constable's country seat of Craigcrook Castle (afterwards tenanted by Francis Jeffrey), and says that he did the honours of the ancient home of noble Grahams with all the ease that might have been looked for had he been the long-descended owner of the place. He greatly admired Constable's 'manly and vigorous' conversation, full of old Scotch anecdotes, which he told with a spirit and humour only second to his great author's. 'His very equipage,' Lockhart adds, 'kept up the series of contrasts between him and the two Ballantynes. Constable went back and forward between the town and Polton in a deep-hung and capacious green barouche, without any pretence at heraldic blazonry, drawn by a pair of sleek, black, long-tailed horses, and conducted by a grave old coachman in plain blue livery. The Printer of the Canongate drove himself and his wife about the streets and suburbs in a snug machine, which did not overburthen one powerful and steady cob:—while the gay Auctioneer, whenever he left the saddle for the box, mounted a bright blue dogcart, and rattled down the Newhaven Road with two high-mettled steeds prancing tandem before him.' Johnnie, indeed, kept up a good stable, hunted the fox at times, and had the pleasant whim of naming his numerous steeds after various characters in Scott's works. His daily mount was a milk-white hunter, y-clept Old Mortality, and he was always attended by a leash or two of greyhounds, which he named Die Vernon, Jenny Dennison, and so on. At business he appeared in sporting half-dress,—'a light-grey frock, with emblems of the chase on its silver buttons, white cord breeches, and jockey-boots in Meltonian order.' Scott was a constant frequenter of his auction rooms in Hanover Street, at the door of which his favourite Maida was to be seen waiting his arrival from the Court, couched among Johnnie's greyhounds. Such was the frivolous, but astute, underminer, who succeeded to the end in maintaining a fatal hold on the great genius, and finally left him to toil as a slave, often at a loss for money for mere current expenses, during the last years of what might have been one of the happiest of lives. It is a melancholy fact, and perhaps, after all, his own favourite saying fits it best—that often the wisest of men keep, as it were, the average stock of folly only in reserve, to beallexpended on some one flagrant absurdity. One can at least understand Scott's affection for John Ballantyne, when one thinks of such an incident as this, related by Scott himself: 'A poor divinity student was attending his sale one day, and Johnnie remarked to him that he looked as if he were in bad health. The young man assented with a sigh. "Come," said Ballantyne, "I think I ken the secret of a sort of draft that would relieve you—particularly," he added, handing him a cheque for £$ or £10—"particularly, my dear, if taken upon an empty stomach."

John Ballantyne died at Edinburgh in the summer of 1821. Scott and Lockhart attended his funeral in the Canongate churchyard. 'As we stood together' (the latter relates), 'while they were smoothing the turf over John's remains, the heavens, which had been dark and slaty, cleared suddenly, and the midsummer sun shone forth in his strength. Scott, ever awake to the "skiey influences," cast his eye along the overhanging line of the Calton Hill, with its gleaming walls and towers, and then turning to the grave again, "I feel," he whispered in my ear, "as if there would be less sunshine for me from this day forth."'

John Ballantyne was thus taken away from the evil to come, but James lived till 1833. Archibald Constable died on the 21st of July 1827. His proud spirit could not survive the tremendous downfall of his splendid fortunes. All his great undertakings, except theMiscellany, had passed from his control. He was reduced to 'an obscure closet of a shop,' and found himself without either capital or credit to start a new career. Of all with whom Scott had to do in the business of life, he is the only man in whose case Scott's natural generosity did not at once overcome every shadow of well or ill founded resentment or grudge.

CHAPTER LIX

The Baronetcy—Reasons for accepting—Marriage of Sophia Scott to John Gibson Lockhart—Charles Scott and Archdeacon Williams—Improvements in Edinburgh—The 'Water Caddies'—Drama ofRob Roy—The Burns Dinner—Henry Mackenzie.

It was in the end of the year 1818 that Scott received, through Lord Sidmouth, intimation of the Prince Regent's desire to confer on him a baronetcy. When informed of it privately, a few months before this, by Chief-Commissioner Adam, he had hesitated about accepting such an honour, feeling that it might dangerously affect the style of living and the ideas and aspirations of a contented family. However, the sudden death of Charles Charpentier altered all this. He left, as was believed, a large fortune, and had settled the reversion on his sister's family. The inheritance in the end came to nothing, but the expectation removed Scott's doubts as to accepting the title. His eldest son having by this time settled to enter the Army, it was obvious that the title would be of real advantage to him in his profession. We have fortunately Scott's views expressed in the frankest manner in a letter to Morritt, and they certainly require no comment. 'It would be easy,' he says, 'saying a parcel of fine things about my contempt of rank, and so forth; but although I would not have gone a step out of my way to have asked, or bought, or begged, or borrowed a distinction, which to me personally will rather be inconvenient than otherwise, yet coming as it does directly from the source of feudal honours, and as an honour, I am really gratified with it;—especially as it is intimated that it is His Royal Highness's pleasure to heat the oven for me expressly, without waiting till he has some newbatchof Baronets ready in dough.... After all, if one must speak for themselves, I have my quarters and emblazonments, free of all stain but Border theft and High Treason, which I hope are gentlemanlike crimes; and I hope Sir Walter Scott will not sound worse than Sir Humphry Davy, though my merits are as much under his, in point of utility, as can well be imagined. But a name is something, and mine is the better of the two.' It was not till March 1820 that he was able to go to London, having been prevented by illness at one time, and on a second proposed occasion by family afflictions. When he did go to London, his admirer was King George the Fourth. To him, at all events, the event was an honour and a credit, for it proceeded entirely from himself. His greeting to the new Baronet was, 'I shall always reflect with pleasure on Sir Walter Scott's having been the first creation of my reign.' Shortly after this the two English Universities offered him the honorary degree of D.C.L. He was never able to avail himself of either offer.

On the 29th of April in this year, his daughter Sophia was married to John Gibson Lockhart. The son-in-law mentions that Sir Walter hastened his return from London—he had been sitting to Lawrence at the King's request—in order to get the marriage over before the unlucky month of May. Lockhart says too little of his own affairs, but he mentions that the wedding took place,more Scotico, in the evening, and that Sir Walter, adhering on all such occasions to ancient modes of observance with the same punctiliousness which he mentions as distinguishing his worthy father, gave a jolly supper afterwards to all the friends and connections of the young couple.

Towards the end of the year the second son, Charles, also left the family circle. He went to Lampeter to be under the celebrated scholar John Williams, afterwards Archdeacon of Cardigan. Mr. Williams, who became Rector of the Edinburgh Academy in 1824, was much appreciated by Scott, not only for his erudition, but as being 'always pleasant company.' At another time he calls him 'a heaven-born teacher.'

We may mention here another item in the constant process of modernising the city. About this time a strong feeling was growing, and even obtaining vent in public, against the sway of the Town Council. The position of Edinburgh, 'always thirsty and unwashed,' was then, by Lord Cockburn's account, in reference to water positively frightful. The wretched shallow tank on the north side of the Pentlands, the only source of supply, was often and for long periods empty. But the Town Council would do nothing. A private company was therefore formed, and the supply began to be regular. Then water-pipes were put into private houses, and the ancient fraternity of water-carriers found their occupation gone. 'In a very few years,' says Cockburn, 'there was not one extant. They were a very curious tribe, consisting of both men and women, but the former were perhaps the more numerous. Their days were passed in climbing up lofty stairs to the "flats." The little casks of water, when filled from the street wells, were slung upon their backs, suspended by a leather strap, which was held in front by the hand. They acquired a stopping attitude, by which they were easily recognised even when off duty. They were all rather old, and seemed little; but this last might be owing to their stooping. The men very generally had old red jackets, probably the remnants of the Highland Watch, or of the City Guard; and the women were always covered with thick duffle greatcoats, and wore black hats like the men. Every house had its favourite "Water Caddie." The fee (I believe) was a penny per barrel. In spite of their splashy lives and public-well discussions, they were rather civil, and very cracky creatures. What fretted them most was being obstructed in going up a stair; and their occasionally tottering legs testified that they had no bigotry against qualifying the water with a little whisky. They never plied between Saturday night and Monday morning; that is, their employers had bad hot water all Sunday. These bodies were such favourites, that the extinction of their trade was urged seriously as a reason against water being allowed to get into our houses in its own way.'

In February 1819 a dramatised version ofRob Roywas played in the Edinburgh Theatre. The Bailie was played by the famous actor Charles Mackay, who, being a native of Glasgow, was able to do full justice to the dialect and all the little amusing peculiarities of the character. Scott is said to have been greatly interested in this representation of his story, and Lockhart says 'it was extremely diverting to watch the play of his features during Mackay's admirable realisation of his conception.' On his benefit night 'the Bailie' received an epistle of kind congratulation from no less a personage than Jedediah Cleishbotham. It is worth mentioning that, though his fellow-citizens greeted him on entering his box with 'some mark of general respect and admiration,' there was never anything said or done to embarrass him as hinting at his authorship of the play.

WhileRob Roywas enjoying its successful run, a party of two or three hundred Edinburgh gentlemen met, on February 22nd, at what has since become the national cult—a Burns dinner. This function was distinguished by a short speech from the veteran 'Man of Feeling,' who had welcomed Burns and praised his genius more than thirty years before. Scott's feeling towards Burns was one of constantly increasing admiration. 'Long life to thy fame' (he says in hisJournal) 'and peace to thy soul, Rob Burns! When I want to express a sentiment which I feel strongly, I find the phrase in Shakespeare—or thee.' For Henry Mackenzie he had a strong regard. The old man surprised him by unfolding literary schemes in his old age. He loved to unbosom himself to Scott, and called him his 'literary confessor,' and 'I am sure' (said the patient victim) 'I am glad to return the kindnesses which he showed me long since in George Square.' Scott's description of the veteran in 1825 is as follows: 'No man is less known from his writings. We would suppose a retired, modest, somewhat affected man, with a white handkerchief and a sigh ready for every sentiment. No such thing: H. M. is alert as a contracting tailor's needle in every sort of business—a politician and a sportsman—shoots and fishes in a sort even to this day—and is the life of the company with anecdote and fun. Sometimes, his daughter tells me, he is in low spirits at home, but really I never see anything of it in society.

In January 1831 Scott got the news of Henry Mackenzie's death. By this time Scott was contemplating the near approach of his own end, but he can still spare a regret for the old man, 'gayest of the gay, though most sensitive of the sentimental,' who had so long filled a niche in Scottish literature.

CHAPTER LX

The Commercial Disaster—Ruin of Ballantyne (Scott) and Constable—Scott's Feeling—Universal Sympathy—Offer of Help—Brave Reply—Cheerful Spirit—Constable—The Agreement—Removal from Castle Street—Death of Lady Scott—The Visit to Paris.

James Ballantyne on his deathbed declared that all the appearances of his prosperity were merely shadows. But Scott up to the end of 1825 had no idea of the magnitude of the crisis that had been so long preparing. On the 18th of December in that year he penned in hisJournalthat melancholy summary of his career: 'What a life mine has been! Half-educated, almost wholly neglected or left to myself; stuffing my head with most nonsensical trash, and undervalued by most of my companions for a time; getting forward, and held a bold and clever fellow, contrary to the opinion of all who thought me a mere dreamer; broken-hearted for two years; my heart handsomely pieced again—but the crack will remain till my dying day. Rich and poor four or five times; once on the verge of ruin, yet opened a new source of wealth almost overflowing. Now to be broken in my pitch of pride.... Nobody in the end can lose a penny by me—that is one comfort.' Following entries prove that Ballantyne professed confidence. Even on 14th January, when Scott had received 'an odd mysterious letter' from Constable, hinting calamity, James had no doubts! On Tuesday the 17th the blow fell. Ballantyne came in the morning to say that he had arranged to stop. His own account of the interview is: 'It was between eight and nine in the morning that I made the final communication. No doubt he was greatly stunned—but, upon the whole, he bore it with wonderful fortitude. He asked—"Well, what is the actual step we must first take? I suppose we must do something?" I reminded him that two or three thousand pounds were due that day, so that we had only to do what we must do—refuse payment—to bring the disclosure sufficiently before the world. He took leave of me with these striking words—"Well, James, depend upon that, I will never forsake you."'

In theJournalof that day—'I felt rather sneaking as I came home from the Parliament House—felt as if I were liablemonstrari digitoin no very pleasant way. But this must be bornecum caeteris.' On which Lord Cockburn remarks: 'very natural for him to feel so; but it was the feeling of nobody else.'

From Cockburn's pages we can realise the astounding effect of the news of Scott's implication in the disaster upon his friends and fellow-citizens. The 'black Tuesday' became a recollection of sadness and pain to all who personally knew him. The destruction of half the city could not have caused greater astonishment and sorrow. His professional brethren now for the first time learned that Scott had 'dabbled in trade.' 'How humbled,' says Cockburn, 'we felt when we saw him—the pride of us all—dashed from his lofty and honourable station, and all the fruits of his well-worked talents gone. He had not then even a political enemy. There was not one of those whom his thoughtlessness had so sorely provoked, who would not have given every spare farthing he possessed to retrieve Sir Walter. Well do I remember his first appearance after this calamity was divulged, when he walked into Court one day in January 1826. There was no affectation, and no reality, offacing it; no look of indifference or defiance; but the manly and modest air of a gentleman conscious of some folly, but of perfect rectitude, and of most heroic and honourable resolutions. It was on that very day, I believe, that he said a very fine thing. Some of his friends offered him, or rather proposed to offer him, enough of money, as was supposed, to enable him to arrange with his creditors. He paused for a moment; and then, recollecting his powers, said proudly—"No! this right hand shall work it all off." His friend William Clerk supped with him one night after his ruin was declared. They discussed the whole affair openly and playfully; till at last they laughed over their noggins at the change, and Sir Walter observed that he felt something like Lambert and the other Regicides, who, Pepys says, when he saw them going to be hanged and quartered, were as cheerful and comfortable as any gentlemen could be in that situation.'

This probably refers to the evening, mentioned in Scott'sJournal, when his daughter was very greatly surprised by the loud hilarity of Clerk and his host. 'But do people suppose,' adds Scott, 'that he was less sorry for his poor sister,[1] or I for my lost fortune?' He declares that pride was his strongest passion—a passion which never hinged upon world's gear, which was always with him—light come, light go!

[1] Miss Elizabeth Clerk's sudden death had also occurred on the 17th of January.

Constable had stood like a hero in the breach to the last moment. His last device, a good one if he could have by magic imparted his own knowledge, foresight, and sublime faith to a board of directors, was to take Lockhart (in the capacity of a confidential friend of the author ofWaverley) with him to the Bank of England, and to apply for a loan of from £100,000 to £200,000 on the security of the copyrights. These, it must be remembered, were theEncyclopedia Britannica, half of theEdinburgh Review, nearly all Scott's poetry, the Waverley Novels, and theLife of Napoleon, on which Scott was at the time working. Lockhart refused to interfere without direct instructions from Sir Walter. Poor Constable, he says, became livid with rage.

The claims against Scott were found in the end to amount to £130,000. All the world knows the course Scott elected to take; how he at once put his affairs in the hands of trustees, and became, by his own offer, the vassal of his creditors for life, toiling henceforward to pay their claims, not to enrich himself. From his side it was a noble sacrifice, as noble as any ever offered on the altar of honour. If the debts had been real, if he had actually had in possession the sum and used it, no other course would have been possiblesalvo honore. But commercial debts, the largely fictitious product of stamps and paper, should have been paid commercially. Such a course, he himself said, he might have advised a client to take, and it would have saved him much sorrow, pain, and trouble, without harming any man. However, he preferred it otherwise, and received the news of the acceptance of his offer as if it had been a mighty favour. He wrote in hisJournal: 'This is handsome and confidential, and must warm my best efforts to get them out of the scrape.'

The agreement was finally, not of course without harassment and difficulty, passed. He was left in possession of Abbotsford, his official salary was left him to support his family, everything else was sold for behoof of the creditors, and all his future literary gains were assigned to them in advance. On March 15th he left his house in Castle Street, and on that night he wrote in hisJournal: 'I never reckoned upon a change in this particular so long as I held an office in the Court of Session. In all my former changes of residence it was from good to better—this is retrograding. I leave this house for sale, and I cease to be an Edinburgh citizen, in the sense of being a proprietor, which my father and I have been for sixty years at least. So farewell, poor 39, and may you never harbour worse people than those who now leave you.'

Very soon after the departure from Castle Street a second calamity, probably hastened by the former, overtook the family. Lady Scott died at Abbotsford on the 14th of May. Scott, who was engaged in his Court duties at Edinburgh, and staying now in Mrs. Brown's lodgings, North St. David Street, reached Abbotsford late in the evening of the 15th. His weakly daughter Anne, worn out with attendance, was hysterical when he arrived. The entries in hisJournalare sadly touching: 'When I contrast what this place now is with what it has been not long since, I think my heart will break. Lonely, aged, deprived of my family—all but poor Anne; an impoverished, an embarrassed man, deprived of the sharer of my thoughts, who could always talk down my sense of the calamitous apprehensions which break the heart that must bear them alone.'

The funeral took place on the 22nd at Dryburgh. Scott mentions very kindly the Rev. E. B. Ramsay, who performed the funeral service. This gentleman afterwards became famous, when Dean of Edinburgh, by his well-known bookLights and Shadows of Scottish Life.

And now Scott found the task he had imposed upon himself bracing him against despondency. He returned to Edinburgh and his old 'task,' thankful that it was of a graver nature (theLife of Napoleon), and determined to fight on 'for the sake of the children and of my own character.'

A visit to London and Paris was necessitated in October by his work on Napoleon. The change did him good, and Lockhart mentions that his behaviour under misfortunes so terrible had gained for him 'a deep and respectful sympathy, which was brought home to him in a way not to be mistaken.' This expedition for information had cost him £200—a matter for serious consideration in his changed circumstances.

CHAPTER LXI

House in Walker Street—Ill-health—Extraordinary Labours—Article on Hoffman—Kindness to Literary People—Murray's Party—Theatrical Fund Dinner—Life of Napoleon—Payment of £28,000 to Creditors—The Lockharts at Portobello—Grandfather's Tales—Domestic Happiness—Visit of Adolphus.

On resuming his duties in Edinburgh at the end of November (1826), Scott went to reside in a furnished house in Walker Street, which he had taken for the winter. In hisJournal, 27th November, he says: 'Walter came and supped with us, which diverted some heavy thoughts. It is impossible not to compare this return to Edinburgh with others in more happy times. But we should rather recollect under what distress of mind I took up my lodgings in Mrs. Brown's last summer, and then the balance weighs deeply on the favourable side. This house is comfortable and convenient.' It was for the sake of his daughter's company that he had taken this house. The winter, however, proved a weary time. His incessant toil at hisNapoleonwas hampered by continual ill-health—successive attacks of rheumatism, which might well have excused him from work of any kind. But his watchword was, 'I am now at my oar, and I must row hard.' To crown all his troubles, the weather was exceptionally cold and trying. He could not but think often of the days when rain and cold and long night journeys did him no harm, and he was painfully conscious of a speedy break-up of the hard-wrought machine. Bad nights were the rule, and he was sometimes sick with mere pain. Sometimes he notes his work, proof-sheets and the like, as 'finished mechanically.' 'All well,' he ends up on 21st December, 'if the machine would but keep in order, but "The spinning-wheel is auld and stiff." I shall never see the threescore and ten, and shall be summed up at a discount. No help for it, and no matter either.' Yet, even in these circumstances, he wrote more than his task. One of these minor pieces was an article on Hoffman for theForeign Quarterly, a review edited by R. P. Gillies. It was done purely as a kindness to Gillies, giving, as Lockhart says, a poor brother author £100 at the expense of considerable time and drudgery to himself. He had done the same in numberless instances, often for persons whose only claim on him was that of the common vocation. At this time he naturally went but little into society, but his enjoyment of good company could still be keen. On spending an evening with John A. Murray, he says: 'When I am out with a party of my Opposition friends, the day is often merrier than when with our own set. Is it because they are cleverer? Jeffrey and Harry Cockburn are, to be sure, very extraordinary men; yet it is not owing to that entirely. I believe both parties meet with the feeling of something like novelty—we have not worn out our jests in daily contact.'

On the 23rd of February 1827 he presided at the famous Theatrical Fund Dinner, at which he publicly admitted his authorship of the Waverley Novels. All he says of the incident is, 'Meadowbank taxed me with the novels, and to end that farce at once I pleaded guilty, so that splore is ended.' Of course, as a matter of fact, the secret had been an open one from the day of the first meeting of Ballantyne's creditors. When Scott was thinking of himself as liablemonstrari digitoas the partner of an insolvent firm, every one else was thinking of him as the now-revealed 'author ofWaverley.' 'Scott ruined,' Earl Dudley exclaimed on hearing the news, 'the author ofWaverleyruined! Good God! let every man to whom he has given months of delight give him a sixpence, and he will rise to-morrow morning richer than Rothschild!' That was probably what was in the mind of every man who gazed on Scott's calm, honest face in the first days of trouble.

On the 7th of June he finishedNapoleon, which had grown on his hands, much beyond the original estimate, to nine closely-printed volumes. The work produced £18,000 for his creditors, so that in eighteen months he had actually diminished his obligations by £28,000.

One of the most touching episodes of Scott's life was his loving anxiety for his invalid grandson, the child of Lockhart and Sophia. Knowing the fearful strain that Sir Walter was now keeping up in working double tides for his bondholding masters, Lockhart and his wife did what they could to induce him to moderate his zeal. 'But nothing,' says Lockhart, 'was so useful as the presence of his invalid grandson. The poor child was at this time so far restored as to be able to sit on his pony again; and Sir Walter, who had conceived, the very day he finishedNapoleon, the notion of putting together a series ofTales on the History of Scotland, somewhat in the manner of Mr. Croker's on that of England, rode daily among the woods with his "Hugh Littlejohn," and told the story, and ascertained that it suited the comprehension of boyhood, before he reduced it to writing.' During the rest of this year he wrote new matter which filled five to six volumes in the uniform edition of his works, but this Lockhart thinks was light and easy compared with 'the perilous drudgery' of the preceding eighteen months.

Ill-health and the perpetual consciousness of his bondage had marvellously little effect as yet on the quality of his work. To friends who visited him casually he seems to have rarely alluded to any of his troubles. Adolphus, however, mentions that once, when speaking of hisLife of Napoleon, he said in a quiet but touching tone, 'I could have done it better, if I had written at more leisure, and with a mind more at ease.' Adolphus was deeply impressed by the sight of his quiet cheerfulness among his family and their young friends. He has preserved one of Scott's remarks on the subject of happiness which is both characteristic and, considering the time, strikingly suggestive. Scott having said something about an accident which had spoiled the promised pleasure of a visit to his daughter in London, then observed, 'I have had as much happiness in my time as most men, and I must not complain now.' Adolphus replied that, whatever had been his share of happiness, no one could have laboured better for it. Scott's answer was, 'I consider the capacity to labour as part of the happiness I have enjoyed.' In mentioning Adolphus (who had written a book on the authorship of the Waverley Novels) and his visit, Scott wrote in hisJournal, 'He is a modest as well as an able man, and I am obliged to him for the delicacy with which he treated a matter in which I was personally so much concerned.'

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