The Visionary. -- The Peel of Darnick. -- Scott's Saturday
Excursions to Abbotsford. -- A Sunday there in February. --
Constable. -- John Ballantyne. -- Thomas Purdie, Etc. -- Prince
Gustavus Vasa. -- Proclamation of King George IV. -- Publication
of the Monastery.
1820
In the course of December, 1819 and January, 1820, Scott drew up three
essays, under the title of The Visionary, upon certain popular
doctrines or delusions, the spread of which at this time filled with
alarm, not only Tories like him, but many persons who had been
distinguished through life for their adherence to political
liberalism. These papers appeared successively in James Ballantyne's
Edinburgh Weekly Journal, and their parentage being obvious, they
excited much attention in Scotland. Scott collected them into a
pamphlet, which had also a large circulation; and I remember his
showing very particular satisfaction when he observed a mason reading
it to his comrades, as they sat at their dinner, by a new house on
Leith Walk. During January, however, his thoughts continued to be
chiefly occupied with the details of the proposed corps of Foresters;
of which, I believe it was at last settled, as far as depended on the
other gentlemen concerned in it, that he should be the Major. He wrote
and spoke on this subject with undiminished zeal, until the whole fell
to the ground in consequence of the Government's ultimately declining
to take on itself any part of the expense; a refusal which must have
been fatal to any such project when the Duke of Buccleuch was a minor.
He felt the disappointment keenly; but, in the mean time, the hearty
alacrity with which his neighbors of all classes gave in their
adhesion had afforded him much pleasure, and, as regarded his own
immediate dependents, served to rivet the bonds of affection and
confidence, which were to the end maintained between him and them.
Darnick had been especially ardent in the cause, and he thenceforth
considered its volunteers as persons whose individual fortunes closely
concerned him. I could fill many a page with the letters which he
wrote at subsequent periods, with the view of promoting the success of
these spirited young fellows in their various departments of industry:
they were proud of their patron, as may be supposed, and he was highly
gratified, as well as amused, when he learned that--while the rest of
the world were talking of "The Great Unknown"--his usual _sobriquet_
among these villagers was "The Duke of Darnick." Already his
possessions almost encircled this picturesque and thriving hamlet; and
there were few things on which he had more strongly fixed his fancy
than acquiring a sort of symbol of seigniory there, by becoming the
purchaser of a certain then ruinous tower that predominated, with a
few coeval trees, over the farmhouses and cottages of his _ducal_
vassals. A letter, previously quoted, contains an allusion to this
Peelhouse of Darnick; which is moreover exactly described in the novel
which he had now in hand--The Monastery. The interest Scott seemed to
take in the Peel awakened, however, the pride of its hereditary
proprietor: and when that worthy person, who had made some money by
trade in Edinburgh, resolved on fitting it up for the evening retreat
of his own life, _his Grace of Darnick_ was too happy to waive his
pretensions.
This was a winter of uncommon severity in Scotland; and the snow lay
so deep and so long as to interrupt very seriously all Scott's
country operations. I find, in his letters to Laidlaw, various
paragraphs expressing the concern he took in the hardships which his
poor neighbors must be suffering. Thus, on the 19th of January, he
says:--
DEAR WILLIE,--I write by the post that you may receive the
enclosed, or rather subjoined, cheque for L60, in perfect safety.
This dreadful morning will probably stop Mercer.[76] It makes me
shiver in the midst of superfluous comforts to think of the
distress of others. L10 of the L60 I wish you to distribute among
our poorer neighbors, so as may best aid them. I mean not only
the actually indigent, but those who are, in our phrase, _ill
aff._ I am sure Dr. Scott[77] will assist you with his advice in
this labor of love. I think part of the wood-money,[78] too,
should be given among the Abbotstown folks if the storm keeps
them off work, as is like. Yours truly,
WALTER SCOTT.
Deep, deep snow lying here. How do the goodwife and bairns? The
little bodies will be half-buried in snow-drift.
[Footnote 76: The weekly Darnick carrier.]
[Footnote 77: Dr. Scott of Darnlee.--See _ante_, vol. v. p. 277. This
very amiable, modest, and intelligent friend of Sir Walter Scott's
died in 1837.]
[Footnote 78: Some money expected from the sale of larches.]
And again, on the 25th, he writes thus:--
DEAR WILLIE,--I have yours with the news of the inundation,
which, it seems, has done no damage. I hope _Mai_ will be taken
care of. He should have a bed in the kitchen, and always be
called indoors after it is dark, for all the kind are savage at
night. Please cause Swanston to knock him up a box, and fill it
with straw from time to time. I enclose a cheque for L50 to pay
accounts, etc. Do not let the poor bodies want for a L5, or even
a L10, more or less;--
"We'll get a blessing wi' the lave,
And never miss 't."[79]
Yours,
W. S.
[Footnote 79: Burns--_Lines to a Mouse._]
In the course of this month, through the kindness of Mr. Croker, Scott
received from the late Earl Bathurst, then Colonial Secretary of
State, the offer of an appointment in the civil service of the East
India Company for his second son: and this seemed at the time too good
a thing not to be gratefully accepted; though the apparently
increasing prosperity of his fortunes induced him, a few years
afterwards, to indulge his parental feelings by throwing it up. He
thus alludes to this matter in a letter to his good old friend at
Jedburgh:--
TO ROBERT SHORTREED, ESQ., SHERIFF-SUBSTITUTE OF ROXBURGHSHIRE,
JEDBURGH.
EDINBURGH, 19th January, 1820.
MY DEAR SIR,--I heartily congratulate you on getting the
appointment for your son William in a manner so very pleasant to
your feelings, and which is, like all Whytbank does, considerate,
friendly, and generous.[80] I am not aware that I have any
friends at Calcutta, but if you think letters to Sir John Malcolm
and Lieut.-Colonel Russell would serve my young friend, he shall
have my best commendations to them.
It is very odd that almost the same thing has happened to me; for
about a week ago I was surprised by a letter, saying that an
unknown friend (who since proves to be Lord Bathurst, whom I
never saw or spoke with) would give my second son a Writer's
situation for India. Charles is two years too young for this
appointment; but I do not think I am at liberty to decline an
offer so advantageous, if it can be so arranged that, by
exchange or otherwise, it can be kept open for him. Ever yours
faithfully,
WALTER SCOTT.
[Footnote 80: "An India appointment, with the name blank, which the
late Mr. Pringle of Whytbank sent unsolicited, believing it might be
found useful to a family where there were seven sons to provide
for."--_Note by Mr. A. Shortreed._]
[Illustration: SOPHIA SCOTT (MRS. J. G. LOCKHART)
_After the painting by William Nicholson_]
About the middle of February--it having been ere that time arranged
that I should marry his eldest daughter[81] in the course of the
spring--I accompanied him and part of his family on one of those
flying visits to Abbotsford, with which he often indulged himself on a
Saturday during term. Upon such occasions Scott appeared at the usual
hour in Court, but wearing, instead of the official suit of black, his
country morning dress--green jacket and so forth--under the clerk's
gown; a license of which many gentlemen of the long robe had been
accustomed to avail themselves in the days of his youth--it being then
considered as the authentic badge that they were lairds as well as
lawyers--but which, to use the dialect of the place, had fallen into
_desuetude_ before I knew the Parliament House. He was, I think, one
of the two or three, or at most the half dozen, who still adhered to
this privilege of their order; and it has now, in all likelihood,
become quite obsolete, like the ancient custom, a part of the same
system, for all Scotch barristers to appear without gowns or wigs, and
in colored clothes, when upon circuit. At noon, when the Court broke
up, Peter Mathieson was sure to be in attendance in the Parliament
Close, and five minutes after, the gown had been tossed off, and
Scott, rubbing his hands for glee, was under weigh for Tweedside. On
this occasion, he was, of course, in mourning; but I have thought it
worth while to preserve the circumstance of his usual Saturday's
costume. As we proceeded, he talked without reserve of the novel of
The Monastery, of which he had the first volume with him; and
mentioned, what he had probably forgotten when he wrote the
Introduction of 1830, that a good deal of that volume had been
composed before he concluded Ivanhoe. "It was a relief," he said, "to
interlay the scenery most familiar to me with the strange world for
which I had to draw so much on imagination."
[Footnote 81: [Of Miss Scott, not long before her marriage, Mr. George
Ticknor writes:--
"Sophia Scott is a remarkable girl, with great simplicity and
naturalness of manners, full of enthusiasm, with tact in everything, a
lover of old ballads, a Jacobite, and, in short, in all respects, such
a daughter as Scott ought to have and ought to be proud of. And he is
proud of her, as I saw again and again when he could not conceal it.
"One evening, after dinner, he told her to take her harp and play five
or six ballads he mentioned to her, as a specimen of the different
ages of Scottish music. I hardly ever heard anything of the kind that
moved me so much. And yet, I imagine, many sing better; but I never
saw such an air and manner, such spirit and feeling, such decision and
power.... I was so much excited that I turned round to Mr. Scott and
said to him, probably with great emphasis, 'I never heard anything so
fine;' and he, seeing how involuntarily I had said it, caught me by
the hand, and replied, very earnestly, 'Everybody says so, sir,' but
added in an instant, blushing a little, 'but I must not be too vain of
her.'
"I was struck, too, with another little trait in her character and
his, that exhibited itself the same evening. Lady Hume asked her to
play _Rob Roy_, an old ballad. A good many persons were present, and
she felt a little embarrassed by the recollection of how much her
father's name had been mentioned in connection with this strange
Highlander's; but, as upon all occasions, she took the most direct
means to settle her difficulties; ... she ran across the room to her
father, and, blushing pretty deeply, whispered to him. 'Yes, my dear,'
he said, loud enough to be heard, 'play it, to be sure, if you are
asked, and _Waverley_ and the _Antiquary_, too, if there be any such
ballads.' ... She is as perfectly right-minded as I ever saw one so
young, and, indeed, perhaps right-mindedness is the prevailing feature
in her character."--_Life of George Ticknor_, vol. i. pp. 281, 283.]]
Next morning there appeared at breakfast John Ballantyne, who had at
this time a shooting or hunting box a few miles off, in the vale of
the Leader, and with him Mr. Constable, his guest; and it being a fine
clear day, as soon as Scott had read the Church service and one of
Jeremy Taylor's sermons, we all sallied out, before noon, on a
perambulation of his upland territories; Maida and the rest of the
favorites accompanying our march. At starting we were joined by the
constant henchman, Tom Purdie--and I may save myself the trouble of
any attempt to describe his appearance, for his master has given us
an inimitably true one in introducing a certain personage of his
Redgauntlet: "He was, perhaps, sixty years old; yet his brow was not
much furrowed, and his jet black hair was only grizzled, not whitened,
by the advance of age. All his motions spoke strength unabated; and,
though rather undersized, he had very broad shoulders, was
square-made, thin-flanked, and apparently combined in his frame
muscular strength and activity; the last somewhat impaired, perhaps,
by years, but the first remaining in full vigor. A hard and harsh
countenance; eyes far sunk under projecting eyebrows, which were
grizzled like his hair: a wide mouth, furnished from ear to ear with a
range of unimpaired teeth of uncommon whiteness, and a size and
breadth which might have become the jaws of an ogre, completed this
delightful portrait." Equip this figure in Scott's cast-off green
jacket, white hat and drab trousers; and imagine that years of kind
treatment, comfort, and the honest consequence of a confidential
_grieve_, had softened away much of the hardness and harshness
originally impressed on the visage by anxious penury and the sinister
habits of a _black-fisher_,--and the Tom Purdie of 1820 stands before
us.
We were all delighted to see how completely Scott had recovered his
bodily vigor, and none more so than Constable, who, as he puffed and
panted after him up one ravine and down another, often stopped to wipe
his forehead, and remarked that "it was not every author who should
lead him such a dance." But Purdie's face shone with rapture as he
observed how severely the swag-bellied bookseller's activity was
tasked. Scott exclaiming exultingly, though perhaps for the tenth
time, "This will be a glorious spring for our trees, Tom!"--"You may
say that, Shirra," quoth Tom,--and then lingering a moment for
Constable--"My certy," he added, scratching his head, "and I think it
will be a grand season for _our buiks_ too." But indeed Tom always
talked of _our buiks_ as if they had been as regular products of the
soil as _our aits_ and _our birks_.[82] Having threaded, first the
Haxelcleugh, and then the Rhymer's Glen, we arrived at Huntly Burn,
where the hospitality of the kind _Weird-Sisters_, as Scott called the
Miss Fergusons, reanimated our exhausted Bibliopoles, and gave them
courage to extend their walk a little further down the same famous
brook. Here there was a small cottage in a very sequestered situation,
by making some little additions to which Scott thought it might be
converted into a suitable summer residence for his daughter and future
son-in-law. The details of that plan were soon settled--it was agreed
on all hands that a sweeter scene of seclusion could not be fancied.
He repeated some verses of Rogers's Wish, which paint the spot:--
"Mine be a cot beside the hill--
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near:" etc.
[Footnote 82: [Mr. Skene, in his _Reminiscences_, says of Tom
Purdie:--
"He used to talk of Sir Walter's publications as our books, and said
that the reading of them was the greatest comfort to him, for whenever
he was off his sleep, which sometimes happened, he had only to take
one of the novels, and before he read two pages it was sure to set him
asleep. Tom, with the usual shrewdness common to his countrymen in
that class of life, joined a quaintness and drollery in his notions
and mode of expressing himself that was very amusing; he was familiar,
but at the same time perfectly respectful, although he was sometimes
tempted to deal sharp cuts, particularly at Sir Adam Ferguson, whom he
seemed to take a pleasure in assailing. When Sir Walter obtained the
honor of knighthood for Sir Adam, upon the plea of his being Custodier
of the Regalia of Scotland, Tom was very indignant, because, he said,
'It would take some of the shine out of us,' meaning Sir Walter.... He
was remarkably fastidious in his care of the Library, and it was
exceedingly amusing to see a clodhopper (for he was always in the garb
of a ploughman) moving about in the splendid apartment, scrutinizing
the state of the books, putting derangement to rights, remonstrating
when he observed anything that indicated carelessness."--See
_Journal_, vol. ii. p. 318, note.]]
But when he came to the stanza,--
"And Lucy at her wheel shall sing,
In russet-gown and apron blue,"
he departed from the text, adding,--
"But if Bluestockings here you bring,
The Great Unknown won't dine with you."
Johnny Ballantyne, a projector to the core, was particularly zealous
about this embryo establishment. Foreseeing that he should have had
walking enough ere he reached Huntly Burn, his dapper little Newmarket
groom had been ordered to fetch Old Mortality thither, and now,
mounted on his fine hunter, he capered about us, looking pallid and
emaciated as a ghost, but as gay and cheerful as ever, and would fain
have been permitted to ride over hedge and ditch to mark out the
proper line of the future avenue. Scott admonished him that the
country-people, if they saw him at such work, would take the whole
party for heathens; and clapping spurs to his horse, he left us. "The
deil's in the body," quoth Tom Purdie; "he'll be ower every _yett_
atween this and Turn-again, though it be the Lord's day. I wadna
wonder if he were to be _ceeted_ before the Session." "Be sure, Tam,"
cries Constable, "that ye egg on the Dominie to blaw up his father--I
wouldna grudge a hundred miles o' gait to see the ne'er-do-weel on the
stool, and neither, I'll be sworn, would the Sheriff."--"Na, na,"
quoth the Sheriff; "we'll let sleeping dogs be, Tam."
As we walked homeward, Scott, being a little fatigued, laid his left
hand on Tom's shoulder, and leaned heavily for support, chatting to
his "Sunday pony," as he called the affectionate fellow, just as
freely as with the rest of the party, and Tom put in his word shrewdly
and manfully, and grinned and grunted whenever the joke chanced to be
within his apprehension. It was easy to see that his heart swelled
within him from the moment that the Sheriff got his collar in his
gripe.
There arose a little dispute between them about what tree or trees
ought to be cut down in a hedge-row that we passed, and Scott seemed
somewhat ruffled with finding that some previous hints of his on that
head had not been attended to. When we got into motion again, his
hand was on Constable's shoulder--and Tom dropped a pace or two to the
rear, until we approached a gate, when he jumped forward and opened
it. "Give us a pinch of your snuff, Tom," quoth the Sheriff. Tom's
mull was produced, and the hand resumed its position. I was much
diverted with Tom's behavior when we at length reached Abbotsford.
There were some garden chairs on the green in front of the cottage
porch. Scott sat down on one of them to enjoy the view of his new
tower as it gleamed in the sunset, and Constable and I did the like.
Mr. Purdie remained lounging near us for a few minutes, and then asked
the Sheriff "to speak a word." They withdrew together into the
garden--and Scott presently rejoined us with a particularly comical
expression of face. As soon as Tom was out of sight, he said--"Will ye
guess what he has been saying, now?--Well, this is a great
satisfaction! Tom assures me that he has thought the matter over, and
_will take my advice_ about the thinning of that clump behind Captain
Ferguson's."[83]
[Footnote 83: I am obliged to my friend Mr. Scott of Gala for
reminding me of the following trait of Tom Purdie. The first time Mr.
John Richardson of Fludyer Street came to Abbotsford, Tom (who took
him for a Southron) was sent to attend upon him while he tried for a
_fish_ (_i. e._, a salmon) in the neighborhood of Melrose Bridge. As
they walked thither, Tom boasted grandly of the size of the fish he
had himself caught there, evidently giving the stranger no credit for
much skill in the Waltonian craft. By and by, however, Richardson, who
is an admirable angler, hooked a vigorous fellow, and after a
beautiful exhibition of the art, landed him in safety. "A fine _fish_,
Tom."--"Oo, aye, Sir," quoth Tom, "it's a bonny grilse." "A _grilse_,
Tom!" says Mr. R., "it's as heavy a _salmon_ as the heaviest you were
telling me about." Tom showed his teeth in a smile of bitter
incredulity; but while they were still debating, Lord Somerville's
fisherman came up with scales in his basket, and Richardson insisted
on having his victim weighed. The result was triumphant for the
captor. "Weel," says Tom, letting the salmon drop on the turf, "weel,
ye _are_ a meikle fish, mon--and a meikle _fule_, too" (he added in a
lower key), "to let yoursell be kilt by an Englander."--(1839.)
[Mr. Richardson's own account of this incident can be found in the
memorial sketch of him in the _North British Review_ for November,
1864. The scene was not Abbotsford, but Ashestiel, in September,
1810.]]
I must not forget that, whoever might be at Abbotsford, Tom always
appeared at his master's elbow on Sunday, when dinner was over, and
drank long life to the Laird and the Lady and all the good company, in
a quaigh of whiskey, or a tumbler of wine, according to his fancy. I
believe Scott has somewhere expressed in print his satisfaction that,
among all the changes of our manners, the ancient freedom of personal
intercourse may still be indulged between a master and an
_out-of-doors_ servant; but in truth he kept by the old fashion even
with domestic servants, to an extent which I have hardly seen
practised by any other gentleman. He conversed with his coachman if he
sat by him, as he often did on the box--with his footman, if he
happened to be in the rumble; and when there was any very young lad in
the household, he held it a point of duty to see that his employments
were so arranged as to leave time for advancing his education, made
him bring his copy-book once a week to the library, and examined him
as to all that he was doing. Indeed he did not confine this humanity
to his own people. Any steady servant of a friend of his was soon
considered as a sort of friend too, and was sure to have a kind little
colloquy to himself at coming and going. With all this, Scott was a
very rigid enforcer of discipline--contrived to make it thoroughly
understood by all about him, that they must do their part by him as he
did his by them; and the result was happy. I never knew any man so
well served as he was--so carefully, so respectfully, and so silently;
and I cannot help doubting if, in any department of human operations,
real kindness ever compromised real dignity.
In a letter, already quoted, there occurs some mention of the Prince
Gustavus Vasa, who was spending this winter in Edinburgh, and his
Royal Highness's accomplished attendant, the Baron Polier. I met them
frequently in Castle Street, and remember as especially interesting
the first evening that they dined there. The only portrait in Scott's
Edinburgh dining-room was one of Charles XII. of Sweden, and he was
struck, as indeed every one must have been, with the remarkable
resemblance which the exiled Prince's air and features presented to
the hero of his race. Young Gustavus, on his part, hung with keen and
melancholy enthusiasm on Scott's anecdotes of the expedition of
Charles Edward Stewart.--The Prince, accompanied by Scott and myself,
witnessed the ceremonial of the proclamation of King George IV. on the
2d of February at the Cross of Edinburgh, from a window over Mr.
Constable's shop in the High Street; and on that occasion, also, the
air of sadness that mixed in his features with eager curiosity was
very affecting. Scott explained all the details to him, not without
many lamentations over the barbarity of the Auld Reekie bailies, who
had removed the beautiful Gothic Cross itself, for the sake of
widening the thoroughfare. The weather was fine, the sun shone bright;
and the antique tabards of the heralds, the trumpet notes of _God save
the King_, and the hearty cheerings of the immense uncovered multitude
that filled the noble old street, produced altogether a scene of great
splendor and solemnity. The Royal Exile surveyed it with a flushed
cheek and a watery eye, and Scott, observing his emotion, withdrew
with me to another window, whispering: "Poor lad! poor lad! God help
him." Later in the season, the Prince spent a few days at Abbotsford;
but I have said enough to explain some allusions in the next letter to
Lord Montagu, in which Scott also adverts to several public events of
January and February, 1820,--the assassination of the Duke of Berri,
the death of King George III., the general election which followed the
royal demise, and its more unhappy consequence, the reagitation of the
old disagreement between George IV. and his wife, who, as soon as she
learned his accession to the throne, announced her resolution of
returning from the Continent (where she had been leading for some
years a wandering life), and asserting her rights as Queen. The Tory
gentleman, in whose canvass of the Selkirk boroughs Scott was now
earnestly concerned, was his worthy friend, Mr. Henry Monteith of
Carstairs, who ultimately carried the election.
TO THE LORD MONTAGU, ETC., DITTON PARK.
EDINBURGH, 22d February, 1820.
MY DEAR LORD,--I have nothing to say, except that Selkirk has
declared decidedly for Monteith, and that his calling and
election seem to be sure. Roxburghshire is right and tight.
Harden will not stir for Berwickshire. In short, within my sphere
of observation, there is nothing which need make you regret your
personal absence; and I hope my dear young namesake and chief
will not find his influence abated while he is unable to head it
himself. It is but little I can do, but it shall always be done
with a good will--and merits no thanks, for I owe much more to
his father's memory than ever I can pay a tittle of. I often
think what he would have said or wished, and, within my limited
sphere, _that_ will always be a rule to me while I have the means
of advancing in any respect the interest of his son;--certainly,
if anything could increase this desire, it would be the banner
being at present in your Lordship's hand. I can do little but
look out ahead, but that is always something. When I look back on
the house of Buccleuch, as I once knew it, it is a sad
retrospect. But we must look forward, and hope for the young
blossom of so goodly a tree. I think your Lordship judged quite
right in carrying Walter in his place to the funeral.[84] He will
long remember it, and may survive many occasions of the same
kind, to all human appearance.--Here is a horrid business of the
Duke de Berri. It was first told me yesterday by Count Itterburg
(_i. e._, Prince Gustavus of Sweden, son of the ex-King), who
comes to see me very often. No fairy tale could match the
extravagance of such a tale being told to a private Scotch
gentleman by such a narrator, his own grandfather having perished
in the same manner. But our age has been one of complete
revolution, baffling all argument and expectation. As to the King
and Queen, or, to use the abbreviation of an old Jacobite of my
acquaintance, who, not loving to hear them so called at full
length, and yet desirous to have the newspapers read to him,
commanded these words always to be pronounced as the letters K.
and Q.--I say then, as to the K. and the Q., I venture to think,
that whichever strikes the first blow will lose the battle. The
sound, well-judging, and well-principled body of the people will
be much shocked at the stirring such a hateful and disgraceful
question. If the K. urges it unprovoked, the public feeling will
put him in the wrong; if he lets her alone, her own imprudence,
and that of her hot-headed adviser Harry Brougham, will push on
the discussion; and, take a fool's word for it, as Sancho says,
the country will never bear her coming back, foul with the
various kinds of infamy she has been stained with, to force
herself into the throne. On the whole, it is a discussion most
devoutly to be deprecated by those who wish well to the Royal
family.
Now for a very different subject. I have a report that there is
found on the farm of Melsington, in a bog, the limb of a bronze
figure, full size, with a spur on the heel. This has been
reported to Mr. Riddell, as Commissioner, and to me as Antiquary
in chief, on the estate. I wish your Lordship would permit it to
be sent provisionally to Abbotsford, and also allow me, if it
shall seem really curious, to make search for the rest of the
statue. Clarkson[85] has sent me a curious account of it; and
that a Roman statue (for such it seems) of that size should be
found in so wild a place, has something very irritating to the
curiosity. I do not of course desire to have anything more than
the opportunity of examining the relique. It may be the
foundation of a set of bronzes, if stout Lord Walter should turn
to _virtu_.
Always, my dear Lord, most truly yours,
WALTER SCOTT.
[Footnote 84: The funeral of George III. at Windsor: the young Duke of
Buccleuch was at this time at Eton.]
[Footnote 85: Ebenezer Clarkson, Esq., a surgeon of distinguished
skill at Selkirk, and through life a trusty friend and crony of the
Sheriff's.]
The novel of The Monastery was published by Messrs. Longman and
Company in the beginning of March. It appeared, not in the post 8vo
form of Ivanhoe, but in three volumes 12mo, like the earlier works of
the series. In fact, a few sheets of The Monastery had been printed
before Scott agreed to let Ivanhoe have "By the Author of Waverley" on
its title-page; and the different shapes of the two books belonged to
the abortive scheme of passing off "Mr. Laurence Templeton" as a
hitherto unheard-of candidate for literary success.