Publication of the Abbot. -- The Blair-Adam Club. -- Kelso,
Walton Hall, Etc. -- Ballantyne's Novelists' Library. --
Acquittal of Queen Caroline. -- Service of the Duke of Buccleuch.
-- Scott Elected President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. --
The Celtic Society. -- Letters to Lord Montagu, Cornet Scott,
Charles Scott, Allan Cunningham, Etc. -- Kenilworth Published.
1820-1821
In the September of 1820, Longman, in conjunction with Constable,
published The Abbot--the continuation, to a certain extent, of The
Monastery, of which I barely mentioned the appearance under the
preceding March. I had nothing of any consequence to add to the
information which the subsequent Introduction affords us respecting
the composition and fate of the former of these novels. It was
considered as a failure--the first of the series on which any such
sentence was pronounced;--nor have I much to allege in favor of the
White Lady of Avenel, generally criticised as the primary blot--or of
Sir Piercie Shafton, who was loudly, though not quite so generally,
condemned. In either case, considered separately, he seems to have
erred from dwelling (in the German taste) on materials that might have
done very well for a rapid sketch. The phantom, with whom we have
leisure to become familiar, is sure to fail--even the witch of Endor
is contented with a momentary appearance and five syllables of the
shade she evokes. And we may say the same of any grotesque absurdity
in human manners. Scott might have considered with advantage how
lightly and briefly Shakespeare introduces _his_ Euphuism--though
actually the prevalent humor of the hour when he was writing. But
perhaps these errors might have attracted little notice had the
novelist been successful in finding some reconciling medium capable of
giving consistence and harmony to his naturally incongruous materials.
"These," said one of his ablest critics, "are joined--but they refuse
to blend. Nothing can be more poetical in conception, and sometimes in
language, than the fiction of the White Maid of Avenel; but when this
ethereal personage, who rides on the cloud which 'for Araby is
bound'--who is
'Something between heaven and hell,
Something that neither stood nor fell,'
whose existence is linked by an awful and mysterious destiny to the
fortunes of a decaying family; when such a being as this descends to
clownish pranks, and promotes a frivolous jest about a tailor's
bodkin, the course of our sympathies is rudely arrested, and we feel
as if the author had put upon us the old-fashioned pleasantry of
selling a bargain."[103]
[Footnote 103: Adolphus's _Letters to Heber_, p. 13.]
The beautiful natural scenery, and the sterling Scotch characters and
manners introduced in The Monastery are, however, sufficient to redeem
even these mistakes; and, indeed, I am inclined to believe that it
will ultimately occupy a securer place than some romances enjoying
hitherto a far higher reputation, in which he makes no use of Scottish
materials.
Sir Walter himself thought well of The Abbot when he had finished it.
When he sent me a complete copy I found on a slip of paper at the
beginning of volume first, these two lines from Tom Crib's Memorial to
Congress:--
"Up he rose in a funk, lapped a toothful of brandy,
And _to it_ again!--any odds upon Sandy!"--
and whatever ground he had been supposed to lose in The Monastery,
part at least of it was regained by this tale, and especially by its
most graceful and pathetic portraiture of Mary Stuart. "The Castle of
Lochleven," says the Chief-Commissioner Adam, "is seen at every turn
from the northern side of Blair-Adam. This castle, renowned and
attractive above all the others in my neighborhood, became an object
of much increased attention, and a theme of constant conversation,
after the author of Waverley had, by his inimitable power of
delineating character--by his creative poetic fancy in representing
scenes of varied interest--and by the splendor of his romantic
descriptions, infused a more diversified and a deeper tone of feeling
into the history of Queen Mary's captivity and escape."
I have introduced this quotation from a little book privately printed
for the amiable Judge's own family and familiar friends, because Sir
Walter owned to myself at the time, that the idea of The Abbot had
arisen in his mind during a visit to Blair-Adam. In the pages of the
tale itself, indeed, the beautiful localities of that estate are
distinctly mentioned, with an allusion to the virtues and manners that
adorn its mansion, such as must have been intended to satisfy the
possessor (if he could have had any doubts on the subject) as to the
authorship of those novels.
The Right Honorable William Adam (who must pardon my mentioning him
here as the only man I ever knew that rivalled Sir Walter Scott in
uniform graciousness of _bonhomie_ and gentleness of humor)[104] was
appointed, in 1815, to the Presidency of the Court for Jury Trial in
Civil Cases, then instituted in Scotland, and he thenceforth spent a
great part of his time at his paternal seat in Kinross-shire. Here,
about midsummer, 1816, he received a visit from his near relation
William Clerk, Adam Ferguson, his hereditary friend and especial
favorite, and their lifelong intimate, Scott. They remained with him
for two or three days, in the course of which they were all so much
delighted with their host, and he with them, that it was resolved to
reassemble the party, with a few additions, at the same season of
every following year. This was the origin of the Blair-Adam Club, the
regular members of which were in number nine; namely, the four already
named--the Chief-Commissioner's son, Admiral Sir Charles Adam--his
son-in-law, the late Mr. Anstruther Thomson of Charleton, in
Fifeshire--Mr. Thomas Thomson, the Deputy-Register of Scotland--his
brother, the Rev. John Thomson, minister of Duddingston, who, though a
most diligent and affectionate parish priest, has found leisure to
make himself one of the first masters of the British School of
Landscape Painting--and the Right Hon. Sir Samuel Shepherd, who, after
filling with high distinction the office of Attorney-General in
England, became Chief Baron of the Court of Exchequer in Scotland,
shortly after the third anniversary of this brotherhood, into which he
was immediately welcomed with unanimous cordiality. They usually
contrived to meet on a Friday; spent the Saturday in a ride to some
scene of historical interest within an easy distance; enjoyed a quiet
Sunday at home--"duly attending divine worship at the Kirk of Cleish
(not Cleishbotham)"--gave Monday morning to another antiquarian
excursion, and returned to Edinburgh in time for the Courts of
Tuesday. From 1816 to 1831 inclusive, Sir Walter was a constant
attendant at these meetings. He visited in this way Castle Campbell,
Magus Moor, Falkland, Dunfermline, St. Andrews, and many other scenes
of ancient celebrity: to one of those trips we must ascribe his
dramatic sketch of Macduff's Cross--and to that of the dog-days of
1819, we owe the weightier obligation of The Abbot.
[Footnote 104: See _ante_, vol. v. p. 34.]
I expect an easy forgiveness for introducing from the _liber
rarissimus_ of Blair-Adam the page that belongs to that particular
meeting--which, though less numerous than usual, is recorded as having
been "most pleasing and delightful." "There were," writes the
President, "only five of us; the Chief Baron, Sir Walter, Mr. Clerk,
Charles Adam, and myself. The weather was sultry, almost beyond
bearing. We did not stir beyond the bounds of the pleasure-ground,
indeed not far from the vicinity of the house; wandering from one
shady place to another, lolling upon the grass, or sitting upon
prostrate trees not yet carried away by the purchaser. Our
conversation was constant, though tranquil; and what might be expected
from Mr. Clerk, who is a superior converser, and whose mind is stored
with knowledge; and from Sir Walter Scott, who has let the public know
what his powers are. Our talk was of all sorts (except of _beeves_).
Besides a display of their historic knowledge, at once extensive and
correct, they touched frequently on the pleasing reminiscences of
their early days. Shepherd and I could not go back to those periods;
but we could trace our own intimacy and constant friendship for more
than forty years back, when in 1783 we began our professional pursuits
on the Circuit. So that if Scott could describe, with inconceivable
humor, their doings at Mr. Murray's of Simprim, when emerging from
boyhood; when he, and Murray, and Clerk, and Adam Ferguson, acted
plays in the schoolroom (Simprim making the dominie bear his
part)--when Ferguson was prompter, orchestra, and audience--and as
Scott said, representing the whole pit, kicked up an 'O. P.' row by
anticipation; and many other such recollections--Shepherd and I could
tell of our Circuit fooleries, as old Fielding (the son of the great
novelist) called them--of the Circuit songs which Will Fielding made
and sung,--and of the grave Sir William Grant (then a briefless
barrister), ycleped by Fielding the Chevalier Grant, bearing his part
in those fooleries, enjoying all our pranks with great zest, and who
talked of them with delight to his dying day. When the conversation
took a graver tone, and turned upon literary subjects, the Chief-Baron
took a great share in it; for notwithstanding his infirmity of
deafness, he is a most pleasing and agreeable converser, and readily
picks up what is passing; and having a classical mind and classical
information, gives a pleasing, gentlemanly, and well-informed tone to
general conversation.--Before I bring these recollections of our
social and cheerful doings to a close, let me observe, that there was
a characteristic feature attending them, which it would be injustice
to the individuals who composed our parties not to mention. The whole
set of us were addicted to take a full share of conversation, and to
discuss every subject that occurred with sufficient keenness. The
topics were multifarious, and the opinions of course various; but
during the whole time of our intercourse, for so many years, four days
at a time, and always together, except when we were asleep, there
never was the least tendency, on any occasion, to any unruly debate,
nor to anything that deviated from the pure delight of social
intercourse."
The Chief-Commissioner adds the following particulars in his
appendix:--
"Our return from Blair-Adam (after the first meeting of the Club)
was very early on a Tuesday morning, that we might reach the
Courts by nine o'clock. An occurrence took place near the Hawes'
Inn, which left little doubt upon my mind that Sir Walter Scott
was the author of Waverley, of Guy Mannering, and of The
Antiquary, his only novels then published. The morning was
prodigiously fine, and the sea as smooth as glass. Sir Walter and
I were standing on the beach, enjoying the prospect; the other
gentlemen were not come from the boat. The porpoises were rising
in great numbers, when Sir Walter said to me, 'Look at them, how
they are showing themselves; what fine fellows they are! I have
the greatest respect for them: I would as soon kill a man as a
phoca.' I could not conceive that the same idea could occur to
two men respecting this animal, and set down that it could only
be Sir Walter Scott who made the phoca have the better of the
battle with the Antiquary's nephew, Captain M'Intyre.[105]
"Soon after, another occurrence quite confirmed me as to the
authorship of the novels. On that visit to Blair-Adam, in course
of conversation, I mentioned an anecdote about Wilkie, the author
of The Epigoniad, who was but a formal poet, but whose
conversation was most amusing, and full of fancy. Having heard
much of him in my family, where he had been very intimate, I
went, when quite a lad, to St. Andrews, where he was a Professor,
for the purpose of visiting him. I had scarcely let him know who
I was, when he said, 'Mr. William, were you ever in this place
before?' I said, no. 'Then, sir, you must go and look at Regulus'
Tower,--no doubt you will have something of an eye of an
architect about you;--walk up to it at an angle, advance and
recede until you get to see it at its proper distance, and come
back and tell me whether you ever saw anything so beautiful in
building: till I saw that tower and studied it, I thought the
beauty of architecture had consisted in curly-wurlies, but now I
find it consists in symmetry and proportion.' In the following
winter Rob Roy was published, and there I read that the Cathedral
of Glasgow was 'a respectable Gothic structure, without any
_curly-wurlies_.'
"But what confirmed, and was certainly meant to disclose to me
the author (and that in a very elegant manner), was the mention
of the Kiery Craigs--a picturesque piece of scenery in the
grounds of Blair-Adam--as being in the vicinity of Kelty Bridge,
the _howf_ of Auchtermuchty, the Kinross carrier.--It was only an
intimate friend of the family, in the habit of coming to
Blair-Adam, who could know anything of the Kiery Craigs or its
name; and both the scenery and the name had attractions for Sir
Walter.
"At our first meeting after the publication of The Abbot, when
the party was assembled on the top of the rock, the Chief-Baron
Shepherd, looking Sir Walter full in the face, and stamping his
staff on the ground, said, 'Now, Sir Walter, I think we be upon
the top of the Kiery _Craggs_.' Sir Walter preserved profound
silence; but there was a conscious looking down, and a
considerable elongation of his upper lip."
[Footnote 105: The good Chief-Commissioner makes a little mistake
here--a _Phoca_ being, not a porpoise, but a _Seal_.]
Since I have obtained permission to quote from this private volume, I
may as well mention that I was partly moved to ask that favor, by the
author's own confession that his "Blair-Adam, from 1733 to 1834,"
originated in a suggestion of Scott's. "It was," says the Judge, "on a
fine Sunday, lying on the grassy summit of Bennarty, above its craggy
brow, that Sir Walter said, looking first at the flat expanse of
Kinross-shire (on the south side of the Ochils), and then at the space
which Blair-Adam fills between the hill of Drumglow (the highest of
the Cleish hills) and the valley of Lochore, 'What an extraordinary
thing it is, that here to the north so little appears to have been
done, when there are so many proprietors to work upon it; and to the
south, here is a district of country entirely made by the efforts of
one family, in three generations, and one of them amongst us in the
full enjoyment of what has been done by his two predecessors and
himself. Blair-Adam, as I have always heard, had a wild, uncomely, and
unhospitable appearance, before its improvements were begun. It would
be most curious to record in writing its original state, and trace its
gradual progress to its present condition.'" Upon this suggestion,
enforced by the approbation of the other members present, the
President of the Blair-Adam Club commenced arranging the materials for
what constitutes a most instructive as well as entertaining history of
the agricultural and arboricultural progress of his domains, in the
course of a hundred years, under his grandfather, his father (the
celebrated architect), and himself. And Sir Walter had only suggested
to his friend of Kinross-shire what he was resolved to put into
practice with regard to his own improvements on Tweedside; for he
begun at precisely the same period to keep a regular Journal of all
his rural transactions, under the title of Sylva Abbotsfordiensis.
For reasons, as we have seen, connected with the affairs of the
Ballantynes, Messrs. Longman published the first edition of The
Monastery; and similar circumstances induced Sir Walter to associate
this house with that of Constable in the succeeding novel. Constable
disliked its title, and would fain have had The Nunnery instead: but
Scott stuck to his Abbot. The bookseller grumbled a little, but was
soothed by the author's reception of his request that Queen Elizabeth
might be brought into the field in his next romance, as a companion to
the Mary Stuart of The Abbot.[106] Scott would not indeed indulge him
with the choice of the particular period of Elizabeth's reign,
indicated in the proposed title of The Armada; but expressed his
willingness to take up his own old favorite, the legend of Meikle's
ballad. He wished to call the novel, like the ballad, Cumnor-Hall, but
in further deference to Constable's wishes, substituted Kenilworth.
John Ballantyne objected to this title, and told Constable the result
would be "something worthy of the kennel;" but Constable had all
reason to be satisfied with the child of his christening. His partner,
Mr. Cadell, says: "His vanity boiled over so much at this time, on
having his suggestion gone into, that when in his high moods, he used
to stalk up and down his room, and exclaim, 'By G--, I am all but the
author of the Waverley Novels!'" Constable's bibliographical
knowledge, however, it is but fair to say, was really of most
essential service to Scott upon many of these occasions; and his
letter (now before me) proposing the subject of The Armada, furnished
the Novelist with such a catalogue of materials for the illustration
of the period as may, probably enough, have called forth some very
energetic expression of thankfulness.
[Footnote 106: [Scott writes in December to Lady Louisa Stuart: "I do
not design any scandal about Queen Bess, whom I admire much, although,
like an old _true blue_, I have malice against her on Queen Mary's
account. But I think I shall be very fair. The story is the tragedy of
Leicester's first wife, and I have made it, as far as my facilities
would permit, 'a pleasant tragedy, stuffed with most pitiful
mirth.'"--_Familiar Letters_, vol. ii. p. 102.]]
Scott's kindness secured for John Ballantyne the usual interest in the
profits of Kenilworth, the last of his great works in which this
friend was to have any concern. I have already mentioned the obvious
drooping of his health and strength; and a document, to be introduced
presently, will show that John himself had occasional glimpses, at
least, of his danger, before the close of 1819. Nevertheless, his
spirits continued, at the time of which I am now treating, to be in
general as high as ever;--nay, it was now, after his maladies had
taken a very serious shape, and it was hardly possible to look on him
without anticipating a speedy termination of his career, that the gay
hopeful spirit of the shattered and trembling invalid led him to
plunge into a new stream of costly indulgence. It was an amiable point
in his character that he had always retained a tender fondness for his
native place. He had now taken up the ambition of rivalling his
illustrious friend, in some sort, by providing himself with a summer
retirement amidst the scenery of his boyhood; and it need not be
doubted, at the same time, that in erecting a villa at Kelso, he
anticipated and calculated on substantial advantages from its vicinity
to Abbotsford.
One fine day of this autumn I accompanied Sir Walter to inspect the
progress of this edifice, which was to have the title of Walton Hall.
John had purchased two or three old houses of two stories in height,
with notched gables and thatched roofs, near the end of the long
original street of Kelso, and not far from the gateway of the Duke of
Roxburghe's magnificent park, with their small gardens and paddocks
running down to the margin of the Tweed. He had already fitted up
convenient bachelor's lodgings in one of the primitive tenements, and
converted the others into a goodly range of stabling, and was now
watching the completion of his new _corps de logis_ behind, which
included a handsome entrance-hall, or saloon, destined to have old
Piscator's bust, on a stand, in the centre, and to be embellished all
round with emblems of his sport. Behind this were spacious rooms
overlooking the little _pleasance_, which was to be laid out somewhat
in the Italian style, with ornamental steps, a fountain and _jet
d'eau_, and a broad terrace hanging over the river, and commanding an
extensive view of perhaps the most beautiful landscape in Scotland. In
these new dominions John received us with pride and hilarity; and we
then walked with him over this pretty town, lounged away an hour among
the ruins of the Abbey, and closed our perambulation with _the
Garden_, where Scott had spent some of the happiest of his early
summers, and where he pointed out with sorrowful eyes the site of the
Platanus under which he first read Percy's Reliques. Returning to
John's villa, we dined gayly, _al fresco_, by the side of his
fountain; and after not a few bumpers to the prosperity of Walton
Hall, he mounted Old Mortality, and escorted us for several miles on
our ride homewards. It was this day that, overflowing with kindly
zeal, Scott revived one of the long-forgotten projects of their early
connection in business, and offered his services as editor of a
Novelists' Library, to be printed and published for the sole benefit
of his host. The offer was eagerly embraced, and when, two or three
mornings afterwards John returned Sir Walter's visit, he had put into
his hands the MS. of that admirable life of Fielding, which was
followed at brief intervals, as the arrangements of the projected work
required, by others of Smollett, Richardson, Defoe, Sterne, Johnson,
Goldsmith, Le Sage, Horace Walpole, Cumberland, Mrs. Radcliffe,
Charles Johnstone, Clara Reeve, Charlotte Smith, and Robert Bage. The
publication of the first volume of Ballantyne's Novelists' Library did
not take place, however, until February, 1821; and the series was
closed soon after the proprietor's death in the ensuing summer. In
spite of the charming prefaces, in which Scott combines all the
graces of his easy narrative with a perpetual stream of deep and
gentle wisdom in commenting on the tempers and fortunes of his best
predecessors in novel literature, and also with expositions of his own
critical views, which prove how profoundly he had investigated the
principles and practice of those masters before he struck out a new
path for himself--in spite of these delightful and valuable essays,
the publication was not prosperous. Constable, after Ballantyne's
death, would willingly have resumed the scheme. But Scott had by that
time convinced himself that it was in vain to expect much success for
a collection so bulky and miscellaneous, and which must of necessity
include a large proportion of matter, condemned by the purity, whether
real or affected, of modern taste. He could hardly have failed to
perceive, on reflection, that his own novels, already constituting an
extensive library of fiction, in which no purist could pretend to
discover danger for the morals of youth, had in fact superseded the
works of less strait-laced days in the only permanently and solidly
profitable market for books of this order. He at all events declined
Constable's proposition for renewing and extending this attempt. What
he did, was done gratuitously for John Ballantyne's sake; and I have
dwelt on it thus long, because, as the reader will perceive by and by,
it was so done during (with one exception) the very busiest period of
Scott's literary life.
Shortly before Scott wrote the following letters, he had placed his
second son (at this time in his fifteenth year) under the care of the
Reverend John Williams, who had been my intimate friend and companion
at Oxford, with a view of preparing him for that University.[107] Mr.
Williams was then Vicar of Lampeter, in Cardiganshire, and the high
satisfaction with which his care of Charles Scott inspired Sir Walter,
induced several other Scotch gentlemen of distinction by and by to
send their sons also to his Welsh parsonage; the result of which
northern connections was important to the fortunes of one of the most
accurate and extensive scholars and most skilful teachers of the
present time.
[Footnote 107: [Writing to Lady Louisa Stuart, December 14, Scott
says: "My youngest son, who is very clever and very idle, I have sent
to a learned clergyman ... to get more thoroughly grounded in
classical learning. For two years Mr. Williams has undertaken to speak
with him in Latin, and, as everybody else talks Welsh, he will have
nobody to show off his miscellaneous information to, and thus a main
obstacle to his improvement will be removed. It would be a pity any
stumbling-block were left for him to break his shins over, for he has
a most active mind and a good disposition."--_Familiar Letters_, vol.
ii. p. 103.]]
TO WALTER SCOTT, ESQ., 18TH HUSSARS, CORK.
EDINBURGH, 14th November, 1820.
MY DEAR WALTER,--I send you a cheque on Coutts for your quarter's
allowance. I hope you manage your cash like a person of
discretion--above all, avoid the card-tables of ancient dowagers.
Always remember that my fortune, however much my efforts may
increase it, and although I am improving it for your benefit, not
for any that can accrue in my own time,--yet never can be more
than a decent independence, and therefore will make a poor figure
unless managed with good sense, moderation, and prudence--which
are habits easily acquired in youth, while habitual extravagance
is a fault very difficult to be afterwards corrected.
We came to town yesterday, and bade adieu to Abbotsford for the
season. Fife,[108] to mamma's great surprise and scandal, chose
to stay at Abbotsford with Mai, and plainly denied to follow the
carriage--so our canine establishment in Castle Street is reduced
to little Ury.[109] We spent two days at Arniston, on the
road,--and on coming here, found Sophia as nicely and orderly
settled in her house as if she had been a married woman these
five years. I believe she is very happy--perhaps unusually so,
for her wishes are moderate, and all seem anxious to please her.
She is preparing in due time for the arrival of a little
stranger, who will make you an uncle, and me (God help me!) a
grandpapa.
The Round Towers you mention are very curious, and seem to have
been built, as the Irish hackney-coachman said of the Martello
one at the Black Rock, "to puzzle posterity." There are two of
them in Scotland--both excellent pieces of architecture; one at
Brechin, built quite close to the old church, so as to appear
united with it, but in fact it is quite detached from the church,
and sways from it in a high wind, when it vibrates like a
lighthouse. The other is at Abernethy in Perthshire--said to have
been the capital city of the Picts. I am glad to see you observe
objects of interest and curiosity, because otherwise a man may
travel over the universe without acquiring any more knowledge
than his horse does.
We had our hunt, and our jollification after it, on last
Wednesday. It went off in great style, although I felt a little
sorry at having neither Charles nor you in the field. By the way,
Charles seems most admirably settled. I had a most sensible
letter on the subject from Mr. Williams, who appears to have
taken great pains, and to have formed a very just conception both
of his merits and foibles. When I have an opportunity, I will
hand you his letter; for it will entertain you, it is so correct
a picture of Monsieur Charles.
Dominie Thomson has gone to a Mrs. Dennistoun, of Colgrain, to
drill her youngsters. I am afraid he will find a change; but I
hope to have a nook open to him by and by--as a sort of retreat
or harbor on his lee. Adieu, my dear--always believe me your
affectionate father,
WALTER SCOTT.
[Footnote 108: _Finette_--a spaniel of Lady Scott's.]
[Footnote 109: _Urisk_ [Ourisque]--a small terrier of the long
silky-haired Kintail breed.]
TO MR. CHARLES SCOTT.
_Care of the Rev. John Williams, Lampeter._
EDINBURGH, 14th November, 1820.
MY DEAR BOY CHARLES,--Your letters made us all very happy, and I
trust you are now comfortably settled and plying your task hard.
Mr. Williams will probably ground you more perfectly in the
grammar of the classical languages than has hitherto been done,
and this you will at first find but dry work. But there are many
indispensable reasons why you must bestow the utmost attention
upon it. A perfect knowledge of the classical languages has been
fixed upon, and not without good reason, as the mark of a
well-educated young man; and though people may have scrambled
into distinction without it, it is always with the greatest
difficulty, just like climbing over a wall, instead of giving
your ticket at the door. Perhaps you may think another proof of a
youth's talents might have been adopted; but what good will arise
from your thinking so, if the general practice of society has
fixed on this particular branch of knowledge as the criterion?
Wheat or barley were as good grain, I suppose, as _sesamum_; but
it was only to _sesamum_ that the talisman gave way, and the rock
opened; and it is equally certain that, if you are not a
well-founded grammatical scholar in Greek and Latin, you will in
vain present other qualifications to distinction. Besides, the
study of grammar, from its very asperities, is calculated to
teach youth that patient labor which is necessary to the useful
exertion of the understanding upon every other branch of
knowledge; and your great deficiency is want of steadiness and of
resolute application to the dry as well as the interesting parts
of your learning. But exerting yourself, as I have no doubt you
will do, under the direction of so learned a man and so excellent
a teacher as Mr. Williams, and being without the temptations to
idleness which occurred at home, I have every reason to believe
that to your natural quickness you will presently add such a
_habit_ of application and steadiness, as will make you a
respected member of society, perhaps a distinguished one. It is
very probable that the whole success of your future life may
depend on the manner in which you employ _the next two years_;
and I am therefore most anxious you should fully avail yourself
of the opportunities now afforded you.
You must not be too much disconcerted with the apparent dryness
of your immediate studies. Language is the great mark by which
man is distinguished from the beasts, and a strict acquaintance
with the manner in which it is composed becomes, as you follow it
a little way, one of the most curious and interesting exercises
of the intellect.
We had our grand hunt on Wednesday last, a fine day, and plenty
of sport. We hunted all over Huntly wood, and so on to Halidon
and Prieston--saw twelve hares, and killed six, having very hard
runs, and tiring three packs of grews completely. In absence of
Walter and you, Stenhouse the horse-couper led the field, and
rode as if he had been a piece of his horse, sweltering like a
wild-drake all through Marriage-Moss, at a motion betwixt
swimming and riding. One unlucky accident befell;--Queen Mab, who
was bestrode by Captain Adam, lifted up her heels against Mr.
Craig of Galashiels,[110] whose leg she greeted with a thump like
a pistol-shot, while by the same movement she very nearly sent
the noble Captain over her ears. Mr. Craig was helped from horse,
but would not permit his boot to be drawn off, protesting he
would faint if he saw the bone of his leg sticking through the
stocking. Some thought he was reluctant to exhibit his legs in
their primitive and unclothed simplicity, in respect they have an
unhappy resemblance to a pair of tongs. As for the Captain, he
declared that if the accident had happened _in action_, the
surgeon and drum-boys would have had off, not his _boot_ only,
but his _leg to boot_, before he could have uttered a
remonstrance. At length Gala and I prevailed to have the boot
drawn, and to my great joy I found the damage was not serious,
though the pain must have been severe.
On Saturday we left Abbotsford, and dined and spent Sunday at
Arniston, where we had many inquiries after you from Robert
Dundas, who was so kind to you last year.
I must conclude for the present, requesting your earnest pursuit
of such branches of study as Mr. Williams recommends. In a short
time, as you begin to comprehend the subjects you are learning,
you will find the path turn smoother, and that which at present
seems wrapped up in an inextricable labyrinth of thorns and
briers, will at once become easy and attractive.--Always, dear
Charlie, your affectionate father,
W. S.
[Footnote 110: Mr. George Craig, factor to the laird of Gala, and
manager of a little branch bank at Galashiels. This worthy man was one
of the regular members of the Abbotsford Hunt.]
On the same day Scott wrote as follows to the manly and amiable author
of Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, who had shortly before sent the MS. of that
romantic drama to Abbotsford for his inspection:--
TO MR. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
_Care of F. Chantrey, Esq., R. A., London._
EDINBURGH, 14th November, 1820.
MY DEAR ALLAN,--I have been meditating a long letter to you for
many weeks past; but company, and rural business, and rural
sports, are very unfavorable to writing letters. I have now a
double reason for writing, for I have to thank you for sending me
in safety a beautiful specimen of our English Michael's talents
in the cast of my venerable friend Mr. Watt: it is a most
striking resemblance, with all that living character which we are
apt to think life itself alone can exhibit. I hope Mr. Chantrey
does not permit his distinguished skill either to remain
unexercised, or to be lavished exclusively on subjects of little
interest. I would like to see him engaged on some subject of
importance completely adapted to the purpose of his chisel, and
demanding its highest powers. Pray remember me to him most
kindly.
I have perused twice your curious and interesting manuscript.
Many parts of the poetry are eminently beautiful, though I fear
the great length of the piece, and some obscurity of the plot,
would render it unfit for dramatic representation. There is also
a fine tone of supernatural impulse spread over the whole action,
which I think a common audience would not be likely to adopt or
comprehend--though I own that to me it has a very powerful
effect. Speaking of dramatic composition in general, I think it
is almost essential (though the rule be most difficult in
practice) that the plot, or business of the piece, should advance
with every line that is spoken. The fact is, the drama is
addressed chiefly to the eyes, and as much as can be, by any
possibility, represented on the stage, should neither be told nor
described. Of the miscellaneous part of a large audience, many do
not understand, nay, many cannot hear, either narrative or
description, but are solely intent upon the action exhibited. It
is, I conceive, for this reason that very bad plays, written by
performers themselves, often contrive to get through, and not
without applause; while others, immeasurably superior in point of
poetical merit, fail, merely because the author is not
sufficiently possessed of the trick of the scene, or enough aware
of the importance of a maxim pronounced by no less a performer
than Punch himself--(at least he was the last authority from whom
I heard it),--_Push on, keep moving!_[111] Now, in your very
ingenious dramatic effort, the interest not only stands still,
but sometimes retrogrades. It contains, notwithstanding, many
passages of eminent beauty,--many specimens of most interesting
dialogue; and, on the whole, if it is not fitted for the modern
stage, I am not sure that its very imperfections do not render it
more fit for the closet, for we certainly do not always read with
the greatest pleasure those plays which act best.
If, however, you should at any time wish to become a candidate
for dramatic laurels, I would advise you, in the first place, to
consult some professional person of judgment and taste. I should
regard friend Terry as an excellent Mentor, and I believe he
would concur with me in recommending that at least one third of
the drama be retrenched, that the plot should be rendered
simpler, and the motives more obvious, and I think the powerful
language and many of the situations might then have their full
effect upon the audience. I am uncertain if I have made myself
sufficiently understood; but I would say, for example, that it is
ill explained by what means Comyn and his gang, who land as
shipwrecked men, become at once possessed of the old lord's
domains, merely by killing and taking possession. I am aware of
what you mean--namely, that being attached to the then rulers, he
is supported in his ill-acquired power by their authority. But
this is imperfectly brought out, and escaped me at the first
reading. The superstitious motives, also, which induced the
shepherds to delay their vengeance, are not likely to be
intelligible to the generality of the hearers. It would seem more
probable that the young Baron should have led his faithful
vassals to avenge the death of his parents; and it has escaped me
what prevents him from taking this direct and natural course.
Besides it is, I believe, a rule (and it seems a good one) that
one single interest, to which every other is subordinate, should
occupy the whole play,--each separate object having just the
effect of a mill-dam, sluicing off a certain portion of the
sympathy, which should move on with increasing force and rapidity
to the catastrophe. Now, in your work, there are several divided
points of interest; there is the murder of the old Baron--the
escape of his wife--that of his son--the loss of his bride--the
villainous artifices of Comyn to possess himself of her
person--and, finally, the fall of Comyn, and acceleration of the
vengeance due to his crimes. I am sure your own excellent sense,
which I admire as much as I do your genius, will give me credit
for my frankness in these matters; I only know, that I do not
know many persons on whose performances I would venture to offer
so much criticism.
I will return the manuscript under Mr. Freeling's Post-Office
cover, and I hope it will reach you safe.--Adieu, my leal and
esteemed friend--yours truly,
WALTER SCOTT.
[Footnote 111: _Punch_ had been borrowing from _Young Rapid_, in the
_Cure for the Heart-ache_.]
Shortly afterwards, Mr. Cunningham, thanking his critic, said he had
not yet received back his MS.; but that he hoped the delay had been
occasioned by Sir Walter's communication of it to some friend of
theatrical experience. He also mentioned his having undertaken a
collection of The Songs of Scotland, with notes. The answer was in
these terms:--
TO MR. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
MY DEAR ALLAN,--It was as you supposed--I detained your
manuscript to read it over with Terry. The plot appears to Terry,
as to me, ill-combined, which is a great defect in a drama,
though less perceptible in the closet than on the stage. Still,
if the mind can be kept upon one unbroken course of interest, the
effect even in perusal is more gratifying. I have always
considered this as the great secret in dramatic poetry, and
conceive it one of the most difficult exercises of the invention
possible, to conduct a story through five acts, developing it
gradually in every scene, so as to keep up the attention, yet
never till the very conclusion permitting the nature of the
catastrophe to become visible,--and all the while to accompany
this by the necessary delineation of character and beauty of
language. I am glad, however, that you mean to preserve in some
permanent form your very curious drama, which, if not altogether
fitted for the stage, cannot be read without very much and very
deep interest.
I am glad you are about Scottish song. No man--not Robert Burns
himself--has contributed more beautiful effusions to enrich it.
Here and there I would pluck a flower from your Posy to give what
remains an effect of greater simplicity; but luxuriance can only
be the fault of genius, and many of your songs are, I think,
unmatched. I would instance, It's Hame and it's Hame, which my
daughter Mrs. Lockhart sings with such uncommon effect. You
cannot do anything either in the way of original composition, or
collection, or criticism, that will not be highly acceptable to
all who are worth pleasing in the Scottish public--and I pray you
to proceed with it.
Remember me kindly to Chantrey. I am happy my effigy is to go
with that of Wordsworth,[112] for (differing from him in very
many points of taste) I do not know a man more to be venerated
for uprightness of heart and loftiness of genius. Why he will
sometimes choose to crawl upon all fours, when God has given him
so noble a countenance to lift to heaven, I am as little able to
account for, as for his quarrelling (as you tell me) with the
wrinkles which time and meditation have stamped his brow withal.
I am obliged to conclude hastily, having long letters to
write--God wot upon very different subjects. I pray my kind
respects to Mrs. Chantrey.--Believe me, dear Allan, very truly
yours, etc.,
WALTER SCOTT.
[Footnote 112: Mr. Cunningham had told Scott that Chantrey's bust of
Wordsworth (another of his noblest works) was also to be produced at
the Royal Academy's Exhibition for 1821.]
The following letter touches on the dropping of the Bill which had
been introduced by Government for the purpose of degrading the consort
of George the Fourth; the riotous rejoicings of the Edinburgh mob on
that occasion; and Scott's acquiescence in the request of the
guardians of the young Duke of Buccleuch, that he should act as
chancellor of the jury about to _serve_ his grace _heir_ (as the law
phrase goes) to the Scottish estates of his family.
TO THE LORD MONTAGU.
EDINBURGH, 30th November, 1820.
MY DEAR LORD,--I had your letter some time since, and have now to
congratulate you on your two months' spell of labor-in-vain duty
being at length at an end. The old sign of the Labor-in-vain
Tavern was a fellow attempting to scrub a black-a-moor white; but
the present difficulty seems to lie in showing that one _is_
black. Truly, I congratulate the country on the issue; for, since
the days of Queen Dollalolla[113] and the _Rumti-iddity_ chorus
in Tom Thumb, never was there so jolly a representative of
royalty. A good ballad might be made, by way of parody, on Gay's
Jonathan Wild,--
"Her Majesty's trial has set us at ease,
And every wife round me may kiss if she please."
We had the Marquis of Bute and Francis Jeffrey, very brilliant in
George Street, and I think one grocer besides. I was hard
threatened by letter, but I caused my servant to say in the
quarter where I thought the threatening came from, that I should
suffer my windows to be broken like a Christian, but if anything
else was attempted, I should become as great a heathen as the Dey
of Algiers. We were passed over, but many houses were terribly
_Cossaque_, as was the phrase in Paris in 1814 and 1815. The next
night, being, like true Scotsmen, wise behind the hand, the
bailies had a sufficient force sufficiently arranged, and put
down every attempt to riot. If the same precautions had been
taken before, the town would have been saved some disgrace, and
the loss of at least L1000 worth of property.--Hay Donaldson[114]
is getting stout again, and up to the throat in business; there
is no getting a word out of him that does not smell of parchment
and special service. He asked me, as it is to be a mere _law_
service, to act as chancellor on the Duke's inquest, which
honorable office I will of course undertake with great
willingness, and discharge--I mean the _hospitable_ part of
it--to the best of my power. I think you are right to avoid a
more extended service, as L1000 certainly would not clear the
expense, as you would have to dine at least four counties, and as
sweetly sing, with Duke Wharton on Chevy Chase,
"Pity it were
So much good wine to spill,
As these bold freeholders would drink,
Before they had their fill."
I hope we shall all live to see our young baron take his own
chair, and feast the land in his own way. Ever your Lordship's
most truly faithful
WALTER SCOTT.
P. S.--In the illumination row, young Romilly was knocked down
and robbed by the mob, just while he was in the act of declaiming
on the impropriety of having constables and volunteers to
interfere with the harmless mirth of the people.
[Footnote 113:
_Queen._--"What though I now am half-seas o'er,
I scorn to baulk this bout;
Of stiff rack-punch fetch bowls a score,
'Fore George, I'll see them out!
_Chorus._--"Rumti-iddity, row, row, row,
If we'd a good sup, we'd take it now."
Fielding's _Tom Thumb_.]
[Footnote 114: This gentleman, Scott's friend and confidential
solicitor, had obtained (I believe), on his recommendation, the legal
management of the Buccleuch affairs in Scotland.]
TO MR. CHARLES SCOTT.
_Care of the Rev. John Williams, Lampeter._
EDINBURGH, 19th December, 1820.
MY DEAR CHARLES,--We begin to be afraid that, in improving your
head, you have lost the use of your fingers, or got so deep into
the Greek and Latin grammar, that you have forgotten how to
express yourself in your own language. To ease our anxious minds
in these important doubts, we beg you will write as soon as
possible, and give us a full account of your proceedings, as I do
not approve of long intervals of silence, or think that you need
to stand very rigorously upon the exchange of letters, especially
as mine are so much the longest.
I rely upon it that you are now working hard in the classical
mine, getting out the rubbish as fast as you can, and preparing
yourself to collect the ore. I cannot too much impress upon your
mind that _labor_ is the condition which God has imposed on us in
every station of life--there is nothing worth having, that can be
had without it, from the bread which the peasant wins with the
sweat of his brow, to the sports by which the rich man must get
rid of his ennui. The only difference betwixt them is, that the
poor man labors to get a dinner to his appetite, the rich man to
get an appetite to his dinner. As for knowledge, it can no more
be planted in the human mind without labor, than a field of wheat
can be produced without the previous use of the plough. There is
indeed this great difference, that chance or circumstances may so
cause it that another shall reap what the farmer sows; but no man
can be deprived, whether by accident or misfortune, of the fruits
of his own studies; and the liberal and extended acquisitions of
knowledge which he makes are all for his own use. Labor, my dear
boy, therefore, and improve the time. In youth our steps are
light, and our minds are ductile, and knowledge is easily laid
up; but if we neglect our spring, our summers will be useless and
contemptible, our harvest will be chaff, and the winter of our
old age unrespected and desolate.
It is now Christmas-tide, and it comes sadly round to me as
reminding me of your excellent grandmother, who was taken from us
last year at this time. Do you, my dear Charles, pay attention
to the wishes of your parents while they are with you, that you
may have no self-reproach when you think of them at a future
period.
You hear the Welsh spoken much about you, and if you can pick it
up without interfering with more important labors, it will be
worth while. I suppose you can easily get a grammar and
dictionary. It is, you know, the language spoken by the Britons
before the invasion of the Anglo-Saxons, who brought in the
principal ingredients of our present language, called from thence
English. It was afterwards, however, much mingled with Norman
French, the language of William the Conqueror and his followers;
so if you can pick up a little of the Cambro-British speech, it
will qualify you hereafter to be a good philologist, should your
genius turn towards languages. Pray, have you yet learned who
Howel Dha was?--Glendower you are well acquainted with by reading
Shakespeare. The wild mysterious barbaric grandeur with which he
has invested that chieftain has often struck me as very fine. I
wish we had some more of him.
We are all well here, and I hope to get to Abbotsford for a few
days--they cannot be many--in the ensuing vacation, when I trust
to see the planting has got well forward. All are well here, and
Mr. Cadell[115] is come back, and gives a pleasant account of
your journey. Let me hear from you very soon, and tell me if you
expect any _skating_, and whether there is any ice in Wales. I
presume there will be a merry Christmas, and beg my best wishes
on the subject to Mr. Williams, his sister, and family. The
Lockharts dine with us, and the Scotts of Harden, James
Scott[116] with his pipes, and I hope Captain Adam. We will
remember your health in a glass of claret just about _six_
o'clock at night; so that you will know exactly (allowing for
variation of time) what we are doing at the same moment.
But I think I have written quite enough to a young Welshman, who
has forgot all his Scots kith, kin, and allies. Mamma and Anne
send many loves. Walter came like a shadow, and so
departed--after about ten days' stay. The effect was quite
dramatic, for the door was flung open as we were about to go down
to dinner, and Turner announced _Captain Scott_. We could not
conceive who was meant, when in walked Walter as large as life.
He is positively a new edition of the Irish giant.--I beg my kind
respects to Mr. Williams. At his leisure I should be happy to
have a line from him.--I am, my dear little boy, always your
affectionate father,
WALTER SCOTT.
[Footnote 115: Mr. Robert Cadell, of the house of Constable, had this
year conveyed Charles Scott from Abbotsford to Lampeter.]
[Footnote 116: Sir Walter's cousin, a son of his uncle Thomas. See
_ante_, vol. i. p. 62.]
The next letter contains a brief allusion to an affair, which in the
life of any other man of letters would have deserved to be considered
as of some consequence. The late Sir James Hall of Dunglass resigned,
in November, 1820, the Presidency of the Royal Society of Edinburgh;
and the Fellows, though they had on all former occasions selected a
man of science to fill that post, paid Sir Walter the compliment of
unanimously requesting him to be Sir James's successor in it. He felt
and expressed a natural hesitation about accepting this honor--which
at first sight seemed like invading the proper department of another
order of scholars. But when it was urged upon him that the Society is
really a double one,--embracing a section for literature as well as
one of science,--and that it was only due to the former to let it
occasionally supply the chief of the whole body,--Scott acquiesced in
the flattering proposal; and his gentle skill was found effective, so
long as he held the Chair, in maintaining and strengthening the tone
of good feeling and good manners which can alone render the meetings
of such a Society either agreeable or useful. The new President
himself soon began to take a lively interest in many of their
discussions--those at least which pointed to any discovery of
practical use;--and he by and by added some eminent men of science,
with whom his acquaintance had hitherto been slight, to the list of
his most valued friends: I may mention in particular Doctor, now Sir
David, Brewster.
Sir Walter also alludes to an institution of a far different
description,--that called "The Celtic Society of Edinburgh;" a club
established mainly for the patronage of ancient Highland manners and
customs, especially the use of "the Garb of Old Gaul"--though part of
their funds have always been applied to the really important object of
extending education in the wilder districts of the north. At their
annual meetings Scott was, as may be supposed, a regular attendant. He
appeared, as in duty bound, in the costume of the Fraternity, and was
usually followed by "John of Skye," in a still more complete, or
rather incomplete, style of equipment.
TO THE LORD MONTAGU, DITTON PARK.
EDINBURGH, 17th January, 1821.
MY DEAR LORD,--We had a tight day of it on Monday last, both dry
and wet. The dry part was as dry as may be, consisting in
rehearsing the whole lands of the Buccleuch estate for five
mortal hours, although Donaldson had kindly selected a clerk
whose tongue went over baronies, lordships, and regalities, at as
high a rate of top speed as ever Eclipse displayed in clearing
the course at Newmarket. The evening went off very
well--considering that while looking forward with the natural
feelings of hope and expectation on behalf of our young friend,
most of us who were present could not help casting looks of sad
remembrance on the days we had seen. However, we did very well,
and I kept the chair till eleven, when we had coffee, and
departed, "no very fou, but gaily yet."[117] Besides the law
gentlemen, and immediate agents of the family, I picked up on my
own account Tom Ogilvie,[118] Sir Harry Hay Macdougal, Harden and
his son, Gala, and Captain John Ferguson, whom I asked as from
myself, stating that the party was to be quite private. I suppose
there was no harm in this, and it helped us well on. I believe
your nephew and my young chief enters life with as favorable
auspices as could well attend him, for to few youths can attach
so many good wishes, and _none_ can look back to more estimable
examples both in his father and grandfather. I think he will
succeed to the warm and social affections of his relatives,
which, if they sometimes occasion pain to those who possess them,
contain also the purest sources of happiness as well as of
virtue.
Our late Pitt meeting amounted to about 800, a most tremendous
multitude. I had charge of a separate room, containing a
detachment of about 250, and gained a headache of two days, by
roaring to them for five or six hours almost incessantly. The
Foxites had also a very numerous meeting,--500 at least, but sad
scamps. We had a most formidable band of young men, almost all
born gentlemen and zealous proselytes. We shall now begin to
look anxiously to London for news. I suppose they will go by the
ears in the House of Commons: but I trust Ministers will have a
great majority. If not, they should go out, and let the others
make the best of it with their acquitted Queen, who will be a
ticklish card in their hand, for she is by nature _intrigante_
more ways than one. The loss of Canning is a serious
disadvantage; many of our friends have good talents and good
taste; but I think he alone has that higher order of parts which
we call genius. I wish he had had more prudence to guide it. He
has been a most unlucky politician. Adieu. Best love to all at
Ditton, and great respect withal. My best compliments attend my
young chief, now seated, to use an Oriental phrase, upon the
_Musnud_. I am almost knocked up with public meetings, for the
triple Hecate was a joke to my plurality of offices this week. On
Friday I had my Pittite stewardship;--on Monday my
chancellorship;--yesterday my presidentship of the Royal Society;
for I had a meeting of that learned body at my house last night,
where mulled wine and punch were manufactured and consumed
according to the latest philosophical discoveries. Besides all
this, I have before my eyes the terrors of a certain Highland
Association, who dine bonneted and _kilted_ in the old fashion
(all save myself, of course), and armed to the teeth. This is
rather severe service; but men who wear broadswords, dirks, and
pistols, are not to be neglected in these days; and the Gael are
very loyal lads, so it is as well to keep up an influence with
them. Once more, my dear Lord, farewell, and believe me always
most truly yours,
WALTER SCOTT.
[Footnote 117: ["It was often remarked as a proof that they [the
novels] were all Sir Walter's, that he was never known to refer to
them, though they were the constant topic of conversation in every
company at the time. I recollect, however, one striking instance to
the contrary. In the month of January, 1821, a dinner was given in the
Waterloo Rooms, Edinburgh, to a large party of gentlemen, to celebrate
the serving Heir, as it is called in Scotland, of a young gentleman,
to the large estates of his ancestors. Sir Walter having been
Chancellor of the Inquest, also presided at the dinner, and after the
usual toasts on such occasions, he rose, and, with a smiling face,
spoke to the following effect: 'Gentlemen, I dare say you have read of
a man called Dandie Dinmont, and his dogs. He had old Pepper and old
Mustard, and young Pepper and young Mustard, and little Pepper and
little Mustard; but he used to say that "beast or body, education
should aye be minded; a dog is good for nothing until it has been weel
entered; I have always had my dogs weel entered." Now, gentlemen, I am
sure [the Duke] has been weel entered, and if you please we shall
drink to the health of his guardians.'"--Gibson's _Reminiscences of
Sir Walter Scott_.]]
[Footnote 118: The late Thomas Elliot Ogilvie, Esq., of Chesters, in
Roxburghshire--one of Sir Walter's good friends among his country
neighbors.]
In the course of the riotous week commemorated in the preceding
letter, appeared Kenilworth, in three volumes post 8vo, like Ivanhoe,
which form was adhered to with all the subsequent novels of the
series. Kenilworth was one of the most successful of them all at the
time of publication; and it continues, and, I doubt not, will ever
continue to be placed in the very highest rank of prose fiction.[119]
The rich variety of character, and scenery, and incident in this
novel, has never indeed been surpassed; nor, with the one exception of
The Bride of Lammermoor, has Scott bequeathed us a deeper and more
affecting tragedy than that of Amy Robsart.
[Footnote 119: [Mr. Morritt writes to Scott, January 28, 1821: "I feel
that I am leaving Rokeby in your debt, and before I set out for town,
amongst other things I have to settle, I may as well discharge my
account by paying you a reasonable and no small return of thanks for
_Kenilworth_, which was duly delivered, read, re-read, and thumbed
with great delight by our fireside. You know, when I first heard that
Queen Elizabeth was to be brought forward as a heroine of a novel, how
I trembled for her reputation. Well knowing your not over-affectionate
regard for that flower of maidenhood, I dreaded lest all her venerable
admirers on this side of the Tweed would have been driven to despair
by a portrait of her Majesty after the manner of Mr. Sharpe's
ingenious sketches. The author, however, has been so very fair, and
has allowed her so many of her real historical merits, that I think he
really has, like Squire Western, a fair right to demand that we should
at least allow her to have been a b----. I am not sure that I do not
like and enjoy _Kenilworth_ quite as much as any of its predecessors.
I think it peculiarly happy in the variety and facility of its
portraits, and the story is so interesting, and so out of the track of
the common sources of novel interest, that perhaps I like it better
from its having so little of the commonplace heroes and heroines who
adorn all other tales of the sort."--_Familiar Letters_, vol. ii. p.
107.]]