There is no doubt they had an individuality and distinction, which the

universal adoption of Southern customs and speech has since made

impossible. They were, like Scott's Mrs. Bethune Baliol, of 'real

old-fashioned Scottish growth,' and their dialect was the same. 'It was

Scottish, decidedly Scottish, often containing phrases and words little

used in the present day. But the tone and mode of pronunciation were as

different from the usual accent of the ordinary Scotch _patois_, as the

accent of St. James's is from that of Billingsgate. The vowels were not

pronounced much broader than in the Italian language, and there was none

of the disagreeable drawl which is so offensive to modern ears. In

short, it seemed to be the Scottish as spoken by the ancient court of

Scotland, to which no idea of vulgarity could be attached.' The

Countess of Eglinton, to whom Allan Ramsay dedicated his _Gentle

Shepherd_, was the ideal type of this generation in Scott's estimation

(see Note G to _Highland Widow_).

Miss Sophia, or 'Suphy,' Johnston, of the family of Hilton, was perhaps

even more deserving of the choice. Her picture has been drawn by Lady

Anne Barnard and by Lord Cockburn, who as a boy knew 'Suphy' in her old

age. Her character was just as independent as is possible. She had

'her own proper den' in Windmill Street. One female servant was all the

attendance she required. This privileged person generally left her

alone all the Sunday, when by Miss Suphy's orders she locked the door

upon her mistress and carried away the key. Thus the old lady was saved

the trouble of rising to admit visitors, but she had a hole through

which she could easily see who was at the door and even have a little

talk when she felt inclined; with this very considerable advantage that,

whenever she had had enough, she could tell the caller to go away. This

remarkable woman, owing to her father's eccentricity, had been brought

up without education and passed her youth 'in utter rusticity.' She

made herself a good carpenter and smith, and even when past middle age

she would still occasionally shoe a horse. Lady Anne calls her a droll,

ingenious fellow, and says she was by many people suspected of being a

man. She was a great reader, having taught herself to read and write

after she came to woman's age. Cockburn, who saw her first at Niddrie,

the house of the Wauchopes, near Edinburgh, when she was about sixty,

did not think her 'Amazonian,' but his description of her appearance

seems to suit the epithet. 'Her dress was always the same--a man's hat

when out of doors and generally when within them, a cloth covering

exactly like a man's greatcoat, buttoned closely from the chin to the

ground, worsted stockings, strong shoes with large brass clasps.' Such

peculiarities, in those simpler and more natural times, did not affect

her welcome in society. She was prized by the most fashionable and

aristocratic persons for her excellent disposition and her rare

intellectual powers, for her racy talk, spiced with anecdote and shrewd,

often sarcastic observation; and for the originality of her views, which

she never hesitated to express with refreshing pith and freedom of

speech. Her natural cheerfulness was never impaired either by the

loneliness of her life or by the narrowness of her fortune. When shall

we find again in a noble lady's drawing-room so picturesque a figure

'sitting, with her back to the light, in the usual arm-chair by the side

of the fire, in the Niddrie drawing-room, with her greatcoat and her

hat, her dark wrinkled face, and firmly pursed mouth, the two feet set

flat on the floor and close together, so that the public had a full view

of the substantial shoes, the book held by the two hands very near the

eyes?'

Suphy and her contemporaries were all as stout of heart as some of them

were strong of arm. They had no fear of death, and, though they enjoyed

life and took a deep interest in affairs around them, they had no

hankering concern to ward off the inevitable. When Suphy's strength was

giving way, the famous Dr. Gregory cautioned her to leave off animal

food, saying she must be content with 'spoon meat' unless she wished to

die. 'Dee, Doctor; odd! I'm thinking they've forgotten an auld wife

like me up yonder.' Next day the doctor called, and found her at the

spoon meat--supping a haggis!

Of a little later date was Miss Menie Trotter, of the Mortonhall family,

with whom Lord Cockburn's sketches end:--

'She was of the agrestic order. Her pleasures lay in the fields and

long country walks. Ten miles at a stretch, within a few years of her

death, was nothing to her.... One of her friends asking her, not long

before her death, how she was, she said, "Very weel--quite weel. But,

eh, I had a dismal dream last nicht; a fearful dream!" "Ay, I'm sorry

for that; what was it?" "Ou, what d'ye think? Of a' places i' the

world, I dreamed I was in heaven! And what d'ye think I saw there?

Deil hae 't but thoosands upon thoosands, and ten thoosands upon ten

thoosands, o' stark naked weans! That wad be a dreadfu' thing, for ye

ken I ne'er could bide bairns a' my days."'

The great memoirist concludes his sketches of the old Scottish ladies

with a criticism on their religion which has an interest now as

revealing the religiosity that characterised his own time. He declares

that from the freedom of their remarks and their free use of religious

terms, they would all have been deemed irreligious in his day. We are

happily far removed now from the time when cheerfulness and freedom of

expression on sacred subjects would excite the horror of the pious.

*CHAPTER XVII*

Scott's Contemporaries in Edinburgh--Local 'Societies'--The

Speculative--Scott's Explosion--Visit of Francis Jeffrey to the

'Den'--Anecdote of Murray of Broughton--General View of the youthful

Societies.

How deeply Scott's imagination was affected, how richly his memory

filled, how strongly his inestimable natural qualities confirmed and

developed by his long and intimate association with such pricelessly

rare and noble specimens of the old Scottish national character as have

flitted through the last few chapters, it requires no help of ours to

convince any reader of the Scotch Novels. There is more danger perhaps

of exaggerating any influence that may have been exercised upon him by

his equals in age and juniors with whom he came in contact in general

society, and particularly in the 'literary societies' of the city.

There have been at all periods, we believe, many societies of this kind

for the young aspirants at Edinburgh University. Naturally the young

bloods of the law are the most anxious to shine in such arenas.

Naturally also the prize of reputation usually falls to the glib and

fluent speaker, especially if he has some real ability and learning to

second his tongue. The better the society is attended, the more genuine

is the mettle required in its leaders. It is, however, perhaps safe to

assert the general principle that success in these meetings implies

talent rather than genius, forensic skill rather than learning or

intellect. Thus we can quite believe, as stated in his _Life_, that for

Francis Jeffrey his entrance into the Speculative Society did more than

any other event in the whole course of his education, though such a

statement about Scott would be ludicrous. We can quite agree with

Cockburn that the same society has trained more young men to public

speaking, talent, and liberal thought than all the other private

institutions in Scotland. At the same time we do not in the least

regret that it did not effect all this for Walter Scott. He says with

his usual unconscious self-depreciation that he never made any great

figure in these societies. He was a member, however, of several in

succession, and took some part in their proceedings. He would have

preferred to be silent, but the rules of the societies compelled him at

times to contribute an essay. In his own opinion his essays were but

very poor work. This they may have been from a critic's point of view.

But they had the quality of genius. They were at least utterly

different and distinct from all others. They astonished and delighted

the fortunate hearers. We can gather some idea of this even from his

own statement: 'I was like the Lord of Castle Rack-rent, who was obliged

to cut down a tree to get a few faggots to boil the kettle; for the

quantity of ponderous and miscellaneous knowledge which I really

possessed on many subjects, was not easily condensed, or brought to bear

upon the object I wished particularly to become master of. Yet there

occurred opportunities when this odd lumber of my brain, especially that

which was connected with the recondite parts of history, did me, as

Hamlet says, "yeoman's service." My memory of events was like one of

the large, old-fashioned stone cannons of the Turks---very difficult to

load well and discharge, but making a powerful effect when by good

chance any object did come within range of its shot. Such fortunate

opportunities of exploding with effect maintained my literary character

among my companions, with whom I soon met with great indulgence and

regard.' It was in January, 1791, that Scott became a member of the

Speculative, the most ambitious of the literary societies. On the 11th

of December, 1792, Francis Jeffrey was admitted. On that evening one of

Scott's happy explosions occurred. He delivered an essay on Ballads,

which so interested the future critic that he sought and obtained

Scott's acquaintance, a circumstance which pleasantly revives the memory

of Jeffrey now that his works, once so formidable, have fallen into the

wallet where Time stores alms for Oblivion. Jeffrey called on Scott the

very next evening, and found him 'in a small den, on the sunk floor of

his father's house in George's Square surrounded with dingy books,' from

which, Lockhart records, they went to a tavern and supped together. In

this snug den of Walter's his character and interests were visibly and

quaintly to be traced. It was full to overflowing of books, and a small

painted cabinet contained old Scottish and Roman coins. A little print

of Bonnie Prince Charlie was guarded by a claymore and a Lochaber axe,

which had been given him by old Stewart of Invernahyle, a Jacobite

client of his father's, who had been 'out' in both the 'Fifteen' and the

'Forty-five.' Below the picture a china saucer was hooked up against

the wall. This was 'Broughton's saucer,' the memorial of a very

striking incident in the domestic life of the Scotts. One autumn Mr.

Scott senior had a client who came regularly every evening at a certain

hour to the house, and remained in the Writer's private room usually

till long after the family had gone to bed. The little mystery of the

unknown visitor excited Mrs. Scott's curiosity, and her husband's vague

statements increased it. One night, therefore, though she knew it was

against her husband's desire, she entered the room with a salver in her

hand, and offered the gentlemen a dish of tea. Mr. Scott very coldly

refused it, but the stranger bowed and accepted a cup. Presently he took

his leave, and Mr. Scott, lifting the empty cup he had used, threw it

out on the pavement. His wife was astonished at first, but not when she

heard the explanation: 'I may admit into my house, on business, persons

wholly unworthy to be treated as guests by my wife. Neither lip of me

nor of mine comes after Mr. Murray of Broughton's.' It was actually the

traitor Secretary Murray, who bought off his life and fortune by giving

evidence against his gallant associates. The saucer belonging to the

traitor's cup was appropriated by Walter for his collection. Lockhart

gives an additional anecdote which equally brings out the disgust felt

by the loyal-hearted Scots towards the traitor. 'When Murray was

confronted with Sir John Douglas of Kelhead (ancestor of the Marquis of

Queensberry), before the Privy Council in St. James's, the prisoner was

asked, "Do you know this witness?" "Not I," answered Douglas; "I once

knew a person who bore the designation of Murray of Broughton--but that

was a gentleman and a man of honour, and one that could hold up his

head!"' A great deal of pardonable nonsense has been spoken and written

by distinguished persons regarding the literary societies of their

youth. We shall conclude with Scott's own general remarks, which are

much more sensible and only exaggerated in depreciating himself.

'Looking back on those times, I cannot applaud in all respects the way

in which our days were spent. There was too much idleness, and

sometimes too much conviviality; but our hearts were warm, our minds

honourably bent on knowledge and literary distinction; and if I,

certainly the least informed of the party, may be permitted to bear

witness, we were not without the fair and creditable means of obtaining

the distinction to which we aspired.'

*CHAPTER XVIII*

The Scottish Bar--Two Careers open--Walter's Choice--Studies with

William Clerk--The Law Professors--Hume's Lectures--Hard

Study--Beginnings of social Distinction--Influence of Clerk--Early

Love-story--Description of Walter Scott at Twenty.

Of the two branches of the legal profession, the bar offered the

greatest attractions to young men ambitious of distinction. For mere

financial success Walter Scott might have been tempted to take to the

Writer's career. His father offered to take him at once into

partnership, which would have meant 'an immediate prospect of a handsome

independence.' But Walter was never very fond of money, and had then no

expensive plans in view to make the acquisition of it a necessity. In

all other respects he preferred the Advocate's life. It was the line of

ambition and liberty. When he saw that his father also would prefer it,

he hesitated no longer. Four arduous years of preparation (1789 to 1792)

were devoted to the necessary legal studies. This period was utterly

different from his Arts course. He studied with the greatest zeal and

perseverance, giving his whole heart to the one aim. The companion of

his studies was his cherished friend, William Clerk, whom he describes

as 'a man of the most acute intellects and powerful apprehension, and

who, should he ever shake loose the fetters of indolence by which he has

been trammelled, cannot fail to be distinguished in the highest degree.'

At this time the Civil Law chair might be considered 'as in _abeyance_,'

the Professor being almost in a state of dotage. It was different with

the class of Scots Law. Under Professor David Hume, an enormous amount

of legal learning had to be got up. Jeffrey, who attended the class in

1792, 'groaned over Hume's elaborate dulness,' but on Scott the subject

seemed to exercise a charm. He considered Hume's prelections an honour

to himself and an advantage to his country. He copied them over twice,

which would mean the writing of four or five hundred closely packed

pages. He speaks of Hume as having imported plan and order to the

ancient and constantly altered structure of Scots Law by 'combining the

past state of our legal enactments with the present, and tracing clearly

and judiciously the changes which took place, and the causes which led

to them.'

Upon these years of legal study Scott could always look back with

satisfaction. 'A little parlour (he tells in his fragment of

Autobiography, referring to the 'den' where Jeffrey found him) was

assigned me in my father's house, which was spacious and convenient (for

a modest student), and I took possession of my new realms with all the

feelings of novelty and liberty. Let me do justice to the only years of

my life in which I applied to learning with stern, steady, and

undeviating industry. The rule of my friend Clerk and myself was, that

we should mutually qualify ourselves for undergoing an examination upon

certain points of law every morning in the week, Sundays excepted....

His house being at the extremity of Princes Street, New Town, was a walk

of two miles. With great punctuality, however, I beat him up to his

task every morning before seven o'clock, and in the course of two

summers, we went, by way of question and answer, through the whole of

Heineccius's _Analysis of the Institutes and Pandects_, as well as

through the smaller copy of Erskine's _Institutes of the Law of

Scotland_.'

At this time, as a natural consequence of advancing years, his parents

had given over entertaining company, unless in the case of near

relations. Walter, however, though he was thus left in a great measure

to form connections for himself, found no difficulty in making his way

into good society. He scarcely ever refers to his social triumphs, but

from other sources we can gather that he soon became a notable and a

favourite figure. Before he had achieved any literary reputation, he

had conquered local fame by the charm of his personality and the

freshness of his conversation. Cockburn, speaking of the year 1811, has

recorded that 'people used to be divided at this time as to the

superiority of Scott's poetry or his talk. His novels had not yet begun

to suggest another alternative. Scarcely, however, even in his novels

was he more striking or delightful than in society, where the halting

limb, the bur in the throat, the heavy cheeks, the high

Goldsmith-forehead, the unkempt locks, and general plainness of

appearance, with the Scotch accent and stories and sayings, all graced

by gaiety, simplicity, and kindness, made a combination most worthy of

being enjoyed.'

His early cultivation of society, which was of course a wholesome thing

for a youth of twenty, was greatly favoured by his friendship with

William Clerk. We have Lockhart's authority for the opinion that 'of

all the connections he formed in life there was no one to whom he owed

more.' Clerk's influence helped to decide him to take to the bar, the

line of ambition and liberty. He then, as we have seen, by his very

physical inertia, supplied Scott with a stimulating object during their

legal studies. His influence on Scott's personal habits even was good

and great. Walter's modesty and kind good-nature had perhaps made him a

trifle more free and easy with his father's apprentices than was quite

desirable for either him or them. They were, of course, his

professional equals and the sharers in his daily pursuits, but their

ideas and manners were not calculated to promote ambition so much as

liberty. Walter, during his apprenticeship, was intentionally careless

of appearances, and apt to be slovenly in his dress. He condescended to

the clubs and festive resorts of the apprentices, a most dangerous thing

for a genius, as Ferguson's blasted career had just proved. It was a

fortunate enough and useful episode for the future author of _Guy

Mannering_, but it was not a good school of manners or academy of habits

for Walter Scott. Fortunately William Clerk, with his West-end

prejudices, came just at the right time, to chaff his friend out of his

slovenliness and to show him the way to a more wholesome and not less

interesting society. Finally, of course, it was his own sound sense

that made this amiable change in his habits so easy. To this period,

that is, about 1790, belongs the most romantic episode of Walter Scott's

life, his unrequited love for Margaret Stuart.[1] He had made her

acquaintance in the Greyfriars churchyard on a wet Sunday afternoon,

when she accepted his offered umbrella and his escort home, for 'young

Walter Scott,' a Duchess of Sutherland at this time said, 'was a comely

creature.' And here we may give Lockhart's description of Scott as seen

by Clerk and Margaret and the rest of his Edinburgh friends:--

'His personal appearance at this time was not unengaging.... He had

outgrown the sallowness of early ill-health, and had a fresh, brilliant

complexion. His eyes were clear, open, and well-set, with a changeful

radiance, to which teeth of the most perfect regularity and whiteness

lent their assistance, while the noble expanse and elevation of the brow

gave to the whole aspect a dignity far above the charm of mere features.

His smile was always delightful; and I can easily fancy the peculiar

intermixture of tenderness and gravity with playful, innocent hilarity

and humour in the expression, as being well calculated to fix a fair

lady's eye. His figure, excepting the blemish in one limb, must in

those days have been eminently handsome; tall, much above the usual

standard, it was cast in the very mould of a young Hercules; the head

set on with singular grace, the throat and chest after the truest model

of the antique, the hands delicately finished; the whole outline that of

extraordinary vigour, without as yet a touch of clumsiness.... I have

heard him, in talking of this part of his life, say, with an arch

simplicity of look and tone, which those who were familiar with him can

fill in for themselves--"It was a proud night with me when I first found

that a pretty young woman could think it worth her while to sit and talk

with me, hour after hour, in a corner of the ballroom, while all the

world were capering in our view."'

[1] Scott's youthful love-dream lasted through several years. The lady

eventually married Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, who was a banker in

Edinburgh. Sir William acted a very friendly part during Scott's

financial disaster of 1826-27.

*CHAPTER XIX*

The Advocate's 'Trials'--Scott and Clerk admitted to the Bar--Walter's

first Fee--Connection of the Scotts with Lord Braxfield--Scottish

Judges--Stories of Braxfield.

The trials set to candidates for admission into the Faculty of Advocates

were duly passed by Scott and his friend Clerk on the same days. They

were formally admitted to the fraternity on the 11th of July, 1792.

There is always some story of the young Advocate's first fee. When the

ceremony of 'putting on the gown' was completed, Scott said to Clerk,

putting on the air and tone of some Highland lassie waiting at the Cross

to be 'fee'd' for the harvest, 'We've stood here an hour by the Tron,

hinny, an' deil a ane has speir'd our price.' The friends were about to

leave the Outer Court, when a friend, a solicitor, came up and gave

Scott his first guinea fee. As he and Clerk went down the High Street,

they passed a hosier's shop, and Scott remarked, 'This is a sort of

wedding-day, Willie; I think I must go in and buy me a new nightcap.'

Thus he 'wared' his guinea, but it is pleasing to know that his first

big fee was spent on a silver taper-stand for his mother, which

(Lockhart tells) the old lady used to point to with great satisfaction,

as it stood on her chimney-piece five-and-twenty years afterwards.

Scott's 'thesis'--no doubt, like Alan Fairford's, a very pretty piece of

Latinity--was dedicated to the terrible Lord Braxfield, 'the giant of

the bench,' as Cockburn calls him, 'whose very name makes people start

yet.' Braxfield was a friend and near neighbour of the Scotts, his

house being No. 28 George Square. It is said that he was rather kind to

nervous young advocates at their first appearance in a case, so long as

they were not 'Bar flunkies'--his term for brainless fops. Braxfield

lives in popular tradition as a monster of rough and savage cruelty, and

the sketch of the man by Cockburn bears out the character only too well.

The sketch may be quoted in full, for its intrinsic interest, and for

the vivid light it throws on the character and manners of Scottish

judges in the century following the Union.

'Strong-built and dark, with rough eyebrows, powerful eyes, threatening

lips, and a low growling voice, he was like a formidable blacksmith.

His accent and his dialect were exaggerated Scotch; his language, like

his thoughts, short, strong, and conclusive.... Within the range of the

Feudal and the Civil branches, and in every matter depending on natural

ability and practical sense, he was very great; and his power arose more

from the force of his reasoning and his vigorous application of

principle, than from either the extent or the accuracy of his

learning.... He had a colloquial way of arguing, in the form of

question and answer, which, done in his clear, abrupt style, imparted a

dramatic directness and vivacity to the scene.

'With this intellectual force, as applied to law, his merits, I fear,

cease. Illiterate, and without any taste for refined enjoyment,

strength of understanding, which gave him power without cultivation,

only encouraged him to a more contemptuous disdain of all natures less

coarse than his own. Despising the growing improvement of manners, he

shocked the feelings even of an age which, with more of the formality,

had far less of the substance of decorum than our own. Thousands of his

sayings have been preserved, and the substance of them is indecency;

which he succeeded in making many people enjoy, or at least endure, by

hearty laughter, energy of manner, and rough humour. Almost the only

story I ever heard of him that had some fun in it without immodesty, was

when a butler gave up his place because his lordship's wife was always

scolding him. "Lord!" he exclaimed, "ye 've little to complain o'; ye

may be thankfu' ye 're no married to her."

'It is impossible to blame his conduct as a criminal judge too gravely,

or too severely. It was a disgrace to the age. A dexterous and

practical trier of ordinary cases, he was harsh to prisoners even in his

jocularity, and to every counsel whom he chose to dislike.... It may be

doubted if he was ever so much in his element as when tauntingly

repelling the last despairing claim of a wretched culprit, and sending

him to Botany Bay or the gallows with an insulting jest; over which he

would chuckle the more from observing that correct people were

shocked.[1] Yet this was not from cruelty, for which he was too strong

and too jovial, but from cherished coarseness....

[1] His remark to Margaret, one of the 'Friends of the People,' who made

a speech in his own defence, was, 'Ye're a very clever chiel, man, but

ye wad be nane the war o' a hanging.'

'In the political trials of 1793 and 1794 he was the Jeffreys of

Scotland. He, as the head of the court, and the only very powerful man

it contained, was the real director of its proceedings. The reports

make his abuse of the judgment seat bad enough: but his misconduct was

not so fully disclosed in formal decisions and charges, as it transpired

in casual remarks and general manner. "Let them bring me prisoners and

I'll find them law" used to be openly stated as his suggestion, when an

intended political prosecution was marred by anticipated difficulties.

Mr. Horner (father of Francis), who was one of the juniors in Muir's

case, told me that when he was passing, as was often done then, behind

the bench to get into the box, Braxfield, who knew him, whispered--"Come

awa', Mr. Horner, come awa', and help to hang[2] ane o' thae damned

scoondrels." The reporter of Gerald's case could not venture to make

the prisoner say more than that "Christianity was an innovation." But

the full truth is, that in stating this view he added that all great men

had been reformers, "even our Saviour himself." "Muckle he made o'

that," chuckled Braxfield in an under voice; "he was hanget." Before

Hume's _Commentaries_ had made our criminal record intelligible, the

form and precedents were a mystery understood by the initiated alone,

and by nobody so much as by Mr. Joseph Norris, the ancient clerk.

Braxfield used to quash anticipated doubts by saying--"Hoot! just gie me

Josie Norrie and a gude jury, an' I'll doo for the fallow." He died in

1799, in his seventy-eighth year.'

[2] _Hang_ was his phrase for all kinds of punishment.

*CHAPTER XX*

Stories of the Judges--Lord Eskgrove--His Appearance--The Trials for

Sedition--Anecdotes of Circuit Dinners--'Esky' and _the Harangue_--The

Soldier's Breeches--Esky and the Veiled Witness--Henderson and the

Fine--The Luss Robbers--Death of Eskgrove.

Stories about one or other of the judges were apparently the leading

feature of conversation in Edinburgh society at the end of the

eighteenth century. Lord Eskgrove, who, almost in his dotage at the age

of seventy-six, was appointed to succeed Braxfield as head of the

Criminal Court, was about the most ludicrous and childishly eccentric of

the race. For a time it seemed the whole occupation of the wits to

relate anecdotes about old Eskgrove. To give these anecdotes with a

recognisable mimicry of his voice and manner was, in Cockburn's phrase,

'a sort of fortune in society.' And Scott, he adds, in those days was

famous for this particularly. It was not the wit or the humour of

Eskgrove which amused. He seems to have had neither. It was simply his

personal oddity, and the utter incongruity of such an incredible

creature elevated to a position such as his. His face is described as

varying from a scurfy red to a scurfy blue. His nose was prodigious:

the under lip enormous, and supported on a huge clumsy chin, which moved

like the jaw of a Dutch toy. He walked with a slow, stealthy

step--something between a walk and a hirple, and helped himself on by

short movements of his elbows, backwards and forwards, like fins. His

voice was low and mumbling. His pronunciation seems to have been

fantastic in the extreme, especially in the way of cutting even short

words into two. The following anecdotes from Cockburn, who knew him,

'when he was in the zenith of his absurdity,' bring 'Esky' very vividly

before us.

At the trial of Fysche Palmer for sedition, he made one of the very few

remarks he ever made which had some little merit of their own. It was a

retort to Mr. John Haggart, one of the prisoner's counsel, who, in

defending his client against the charge of disrespect to the king,

quoted Burke's statement that kings are naturally lovers of low company.

"Then, sir, that says very little for you or your client! for if kinggs

be lovers of low company, low company ought to be lovers of kinggs!"

'Nothing disturbed him so much as the expense of the public dinner for

which the judge on the circuit has a fixed allowance, and out of which

the less he spends the more he gains. His devices for economy were

often very diverting. His servant had strict orders to check the

bottles of wine by laying aside the corks. Once at Stirling his

lordship went behind a screen, while the company was still at table, and

seeing an alarming row of corks, got into a warm altercation, which

everybody heard, with John; maintaining it to be "impossibill" that they

could have drunk so much. On being assured that they had, and were still

going on--"Well, then, John, I must just protect myself!" On which he

put a handful of the corks into his pocket, and resumed his seat.

'Like the poor man in the story, Lord Eskgrove was "sair hauden doon by

yon turkey cock." The plague of his life for more than a year was Henry

Brougham. In revenge the judge used to sneer at Brougham's eloquence by

styling it or him _the Harangue_. "Well, gentle-men, what did the

Harangue say next? Why, it said this" (mis-stating it); "but here,

gentle-men, the Harangue was most plainly wrong, and not intelligibill."

'Everything was connected by his terror with republican horrors. I

heard him, in condemning a tailor to death for murdering a soldier by

stabbing him, aggravate the offence thus: "And not only did you murder

him, whereby he was bereaved of his life, but you did thrust, or push,

or pierce, or project, or propell, the le-thall weapon through the

belly-band of his regimen-tal breeches, which were his Majes-ty's!"

'In the trial of Glengarry for murder in a duel, a lady of great beauty

was called as a witness. She came into court veiled. But before

administering the oath Eskgrove gave her this exposition of her

duty--"Young woman! you will now consider yourself as in the presence of

Almighty God and of this High Court. Lift up your veil; throw off all

modesty, and look me in the face."

'Sir John Henderson of Fordell, a zealous Whig, once came before the

court, their lordships having to fix the amount of some discretionary

penalty which he had incurred. Eskgrove began to give his opinion in a

very low voice, but loud enough to be heard by those next him, to the

effect that the fine ought to be L50; when Sir John, with his usual

imprudence, interrupted him and begged him to raise his voice, adding

that if judges did not speak so as to be heard, they might as well not

speak at all. Eskgrove, who never could endure any imputation of bodily

infirmity, asked his neighbour, "What does the fellow say?" "He says

that, if you don't speak out, you may as well hold your tongue." "Oh,

is that what he says? My lords, what I was sayingg was very simpell. I

was only sayingg that in my humbell opinyon, this fine could not be less

than two hundred and fifty pounds sterlingg"--this sum being roared out

as loudly as his old angry voice could launch it.

'His tediousness in charging juries was most dreadful, and he was the

only judge who insisted on the old custom of making juries stand during

the judge's address. Often have I gone back to the court at midnight,

and found him, whom I had left mumbling hours before, still going on,

with the smoky unsnuffed tallow candles in greasy tin candlesticks, and

the poor despairing jurymen, most of the audience having retired or

being asleep; the wagging of his lordship's nose and chin being the

chief signs that he was still _char-ging_.

'A very common arrangement of his logic to juries was this:--"And so,

gentle-men, having shown you that the pannell's argument is utterly

impossibill, I shall now proceed for to show you that it is extremely

improbabill."

'He rarely failed to signalise himself in pronouncing sentences of

death. It was almost a matter of style with him to console the prisoner

by assuring him that, "whatever your religi-ous persua-shon may be, or

even if, as I suppose, you be of no persua-shon at all, there are plenty

of rever-end gentle-men who will be most happy for to show you the way

to yeternal life."

'He had to condemn two or three persons to die who had broken into a

house at Luss, and assaulted Sir James Colquhoun and others, and robbed

them of a large sum of money. He first, as was his almost constant

practice, explained the nature of the various crimes, assault, robbery,

and hamesucken--of which last he gave them the etymology; and he then

reminded them that they attacked the house and the persons within it,

and robbed them, and then came to this climax--"All this you did; and

God preserve us! joost when they were sitten doon to their denner!'"

In concluding his reminiscences of Eskgrove Lord Cockburn says: 'He was

the staple of the public conversation; and so long as his old age

lasted, he nearly drove Napoleon out of the Edinburgh world.... A story

of Eskgrove is still preferred to all other stories. Only, the things

that he did and said every day are beginning to be incredible to this

correct and fiat age.' Lord Eskgrove died in 1804, at the age of

eighty.

*CHAPTER XXI*

Scott's Anecdote of Lord Kames--Judicial Cruelty--Lord Meadowbank's

Marriage--'Declaim, Sir'--Judges and Drinking--Hermand and the

Pope--Bacchus on the Bench--Hermand and the Middy.

When Scott dined at Carlton House in 1815, the Prince Regent is said to

have been particularly delighted with his guest's anecdotes of the old

Scottish judges and lawyers. The following story was considered among

the best, and it is one which Scott was fond of telling: 'Lord Kames'

(described by Cockburn as 'an indefatigable and speculative but coarse

man'), 'whenever he went on the Ayr circuit, was in the habit of

visiting Matthew Hay, a gentleman of good fortune in the neighbourhood,

and staying at least one night, which, being both of them ardent chess

players, they usually concluded with their favourite game. One spring

circuit the battle was not concluded at daybreak, so the judge

said--"Well, Matthew, I must e'en come back this gate in the harvest,

and let the game lie ower for the present"; and back he came in

September, but not to his old friend's hospitable house; for that

gentleman had in the meantime been apprehended on a capital charge, and

his name stood on the _Porteous Roll_, or list of those who were about

to be tried under his former guest's auspices. The laird was indicted

and tried accordingly, and the jury returned a verdict of _Guilty_. The

judge forthwith put on his cocked hat (which answers to the black cap in

England), and pronounced the sentence of the law in the usual terms--"To

be hanged by the neck until you are dead; and may the Lord have mercy

upon your unhappy soul!" Having concluded this awful formula in his

most sonorous cadence, Kames, dismounting his formidable beaver, gave a

familiar nod to his unfortunate acquaintance, and said to him in a sort

of chuckling whisper--"And now, Matthew, my man, that's checkmate to

you." The Regent laughed heartily at this specimen of judicial humour;

and, "I'faith, Walter," said he, "this old big-wig seems to have taken

things as coolly as my tyrannical self. Don't you remember Tom Moore's

description of me at breakfast--

"The table spread with tea and toast,

Death warrants and the _Morning Post_"?'

This gruesome story, incredible as it appears and repulsive in its bare

and uncalled-for cruelty, is an attested fact. Lord Cockburn, in

referring to the above incident, says: 'Besides general and

uncontradicted notoriety, I had the fact from Lord Hermand, who was one

of the counsel at the trial, and never forgot a piece of judicial

cruelty which excited his horror and anger.'

To pass to a more agreeable subject, there was Lord Meadowbank, who

disappeared from the festive party an hour or two after his marriage.

Search was made, and the oblivious Benedick was found busily engaged in

writing a profound thesis on the subject of 'Pains and Penalties.'

He was a most versatile man, and his fondness for discussion made him

often highly diverting. Referring to his power of discovering

principles and tracking out their consequences, Jeffrey said that while

the other judges gave the tree a tug, Meadowbank not only tore it up by

the roots, but gave it a shake which dispersed the earth and exposed all

the fibres.

One day Mr. Thomas Walker Baird was, in a dull technical way, stating a

dry case to Lord Meadowbank, who was sitting single. This did not

please the judge, who thought that his dignity required a grander tone.

So he dismayed poor Baird, than whom no man could have less turn for

burning in the Forum, by throwing himself back in his chair and saying,

'Declaim, sir, why don't you declaim? Speak to me as if I were a

popular assembly.'

In the lively story of Mr. Pleydell and his clerk Driver, Scott has

immortalised the convivial habits of the Scottish Bar. The actual

incident, as stated in the note, occurred to Dundas of Arniston at the

time he was Lord Advocate. How ably the judges comported themselves at

the table is well proved in Cockburn's description of Lord Hermand, who,

he says, 'had acted in more of the severest scenes of old Scotch

drinking than any man at least living. Commonplace topers think

drinking a pleasure; with Hermand it was a virtue. It inspired the

excitement by which he was elevated, and the discursive jollity which he

loved to promote. But beyond these ordinary attractions, he had a

sincere respect for drinking, indeed a high moral approbation, and a

serious compassion for the poor wretches who could not indulge in it;

with due contempt for those who could, but did not. He groaned over the

gradual disappearance of the _Feriat_ days of periodical festivity, and

prolonged the observance, like a hero fighting amidst his fallen

friends, as long as he could. The worship of Bacchus, which softened

his own heart, and seemed to him to soften the hearts of his companions,

was a secondary duty. But in its performance there was no violence, no

coarseness, no impropriety, and no more noise than what belongs to

well-bred jollity unrestrained. It was merely a sublimation of his

peculiarities and excellences; the realisation of what poetry ascribes

to the grape. No carouse ever injured his health, for he was never ill,

or impaired his taste for home and quiet, or muddled his head: he slept

the sounder for it, and rose the earlier and the cooler. The cordiality

inspired by claret and punch was felt by him as so congenial to all

right thinking, that he was confident that he could convert the Pope if

he could only get him to sup with him. And certainly his Holiness would

have been hard to persuade if he could have withstood Hermand about the

middle of his second tumbler.'

The Bacchic religion of Lord Hermand sometimes found expression even on

the Bench. On one occasion a young man was convicted of culpable

homicide. In a wrangle with a friend, with whom he had been drinking

all night, he had stabbed him and caused his death. The case being

little more than a sad accident, the youth was sentenced to only a short

imprisonment. At this Lord Hermand, who regarded the case as a

discredit to the cause of drinking, was highly indignant at his

colleagues' softness. He would have transported the homicide: 'We are

told that there was no malice, and that the prisoner must have been in

liquor. In liquor! Why, he was drunk! And yet he murdered the very man

who had been drinking with him! They had been carousing the whole

night; and yet he stabbed him! after drinking a whole bottle of rum with

him! Good God, my Laards, if he will do this when he's drunk, what will

he not do when he's sober?'

A somewhat similar case shows Lord Hermand in a different light. His

love for children was a great feature in his character. A little

English midshipman, being attacked by a much bigger lad in Greenock,

defended himself with his dirk, and somehow killed his assailant. 'He

was tried for this in Glasgow, and had the good luck to have Hermand for

his judge; for no judge ever fought a more gallant battle for a

prisoner. The boy appeared at the bar in his uniform. Hermand first

refused "to try a child." After this was driven out of him, the

indictment, which described the occurrence, and said that the prisoner

had slain the deceased "wickedly and feloniously," was read; and Hermand

then said, "Well, my young friend, this is not true, is it? Are you

guilty or not guilty?" "Not guilty, my Lord." "I'll be sworn you're

not!" In spite of all his exertions, his young friend was convicted of

culpable homicide; for which he was sentenced to a few days'

imprisonment.'

With his mind filled with the sayings and doings of the Braxfields and

the Eskgroves, Walter Scott could scarcely nourish many illusions

regarding his chosen profession. Fortunately he went 'where his own

nature would be leading.'

*CHAPTER XXII*

Political Lawyers--Politics an 'accident' in Scott's History--Early Days

at the Bar--Peter Peebles--_The Mountain_--Anecdote of Scott and

Clerk--The German Class--Friendship with William Erskine--German

Romance--Seniors of the Bar--Robert Blair--Greatest of Scottish

Judges--Anecdote of Hermand and Henry Erskine.

In speaking of Scottish politics in 1792--it was in 1792, November, that

Scott and Clerk began their regular attendance at the Parliament

House--it is desirable to repeat that Scott is not to be regarded as

ever having been in any circumstances a politician. It is absurd even

to mention his name among the crowd of Tory juniors seeking to push

their way to preferment by party services and loud-mouthed partisan

zeal. This crowd, of which Lord Cockburn speaks, 'produced several most

excellent men and very respectable lawyers, but not one person, except

Walter Scott, who rose to distinction in literature.' Scott was in no

sense a 'product' of so ignoble a school. There is perhaps nothing in

creation so utterly mean and odious as the person who deliberately

engineers his course to legal office by excessive partisanship.

Meanness and narrowness of mind must be born in the creature who does

it. Who would expect literary distinction from such? If there be any

instances on record--and there is most unfortunately that of Francis

Bacon--of genius united with such a career, they are distinguished by

their singularity, and operate as exceptions. Walter Scott was one of

the junior bar, but he was never one of these political aspirants. His

conscience, not the main chance, was the ruling principle with him.

Party was a small thing to Scott: not the be-all and the end-all of

existence as it was to many others of his contemporaries. It was

natural for Cockburn and the Whigs, who were struggling for existence

against very real oppression and injustice, to exaggerate to themselves

the importance of the whole wretched business.

'They took the rustic murmur of their bourg

For the great wave that circles round the world.'

Scott's good sense and utter lack of conceit preserved him from falling

into their mistake. Like most other men of culture and honour, both

then and now, he frankly took a side in politics rather than be always

posing as an independent and as if he were the only conscientious man in

a neighbourhood. Historical sentiment, the glamour of romance and the

tradition of great names, made him prefer the Tory side. That was all.

But he retained his independence complete and unsullied. Whenever at

any time he took an active part in militant politics, it was not to

curry favour and gain the spoils, but because his whole heart and soul

were with the cause.

Scott certainly started life with the idea of making his career in the

law. Work gradually came to him. Friendly solicitors were pleased to

put certain kinds of business in the young man's hands, chiefly at

first, as was natural, for his father's sake. 'By and by,' says Clerk,

'he crept into a tolerable share of such business as may be expected

from a Writer's connexion.' That is, of course, from his father's

connection, and the business would consist of long written

_informations_ and other papers for the Court, on which young

counsellors of the Scottish Bar were expected to bestow a great deal of

trouble for very scanty pecuniary remuneration, and with scarcely any

chance of displaying their ability or making a name. Another part of

every young advocate's work, even less important in fees or in fame, was

that of acting for pauper litigants, as Alan Fairford did in the famous

case of Poor Peter Peebles. In the note Scott says that he himself had

at one time the honour to be counsel for the actual Peter.

On the whole, Scott in these early days had probably plenty of leisure

time on his hands. He spent some of it at all events among the

'unemployed' of the Bar. They were in the habit of congregating at a

particular spot at the north end of the Outer House, which, according to

Lockhart, was called by a name which easily recalls the date--_the

Mountain_. From Cockburn's account it would appear that the loungers of

the Mountain were all Whigs, separated into a sect of their own and all

branded with the same mark. As he mentions among them Thomas Thomson,

who we know was at this time one of Scott's most intimate daily

associates, we must infer that the separation was not quite absolute.

The following story of Clerk's shows that he also was one of the group.

One morning finding them all convulsed with laughter, he complained that

_Duns Scotus_ had been forestalling him in a good story which he had

told him privately the day before--adding, moreover, that his friend had

not only stolen it, but disguised it. 'Why,' answered Scott, skilfully

waiving the main charge, 'this is always the way with the _Baronet_. He

is continually saying that I change his stories, whereas in fact I only

put a cocked hat on their heads, and stick a cane into their hands--to

make them fit for going into company.' About Christmas of this eventful

year, Scott, Clerk, Thomson, and William Erskine (afterwards Lord

Kinedder) joined a German class; and all the four soon qualified

themselves to read Schiller and Goethe. Erskine was a Tory: Scott's

other young advocate friends were by descent and connection Whigs. From

the time of the German class Erskine and Scott drew closer together, and

Erskine became by and by, as we learn from Lockhart, 'the nearest and

most confidential' of all Scott's Edinburgh associates. We also know

that, though politics never shook the mutual regard of the others, 'the

events and controversies of the immediately ensuing years could not but

disturb, more or less, the social habits of young barristers who adopted

opposite views on the French Revolution and the policy of Pitt. His

friendship exercised an influence which Lockhart rates very high, on

Scott's literary tastes. Along with a sincere love of the classics,

Erskine had cherished from boyhood a strong passion for Old English

literature, especially the Elizabethan dramatists. He sympathised with,

and understood the real value of, Scott's taste for antiquity and

national lore. He delighted in the bold and picturesque style, the

strength and originality, of the native English school, but he warned

Scott of the necessity of paying some deference to modern taste. In

short, he knew how to "sift and sunder," and understood that the

absurdities and extravagances of great works form no part of their

greatness, though they are exactly the parts most likely to be selected

for imitation.' Lockhart, in pointing out that Scott was mainly

influenced in his first literary attempts by the founders of German

drama and romance, states the opinion that he ran at first no trivial

risk of adopting some of their extravagances both of idea and

expression. Erskine's vigorous condemnation of the mingled absurdities

and vulgarities of German detail, coming from one who so

enthusiastically admired their great qualities, and who approved of

their new departure in choosing romantic subjects, had no doubt full

weight in guiding the judgment of so sane and sound a genius as Scott.

The seniors of the Bar about this time were, on the Government or Tory

side, Robert Blair, Charles Hope, and Robert Dundas. Of Blair it has

been said by Cockburn that he was a species of man not very common in

Scotland: he might have said in any country, if his own description is

correct. 'He had a fine manly countenance, a gentleman-like, portly

figure, a slow dignified gait, and a general air of thought and power.

Too solid for ingenuity, and too plain for fancy, soundness of

understanding was his peculiar intellectual quality. Within his range

nobody doubted, or could doubt, Blair's wisdom. Nor did it ever occur

to any one to doubt his probity. He was all honesty. The sudden opening

of the whole secrets of his heart would not have disclosed a single

speck of dishonour. And all his affections, personal and domestic, were

excellent and steady.'

If not indolent, Blair seems to have been strongly averse to letting

himself be bothered with mean details or drudgery. He maintained, as

few can do, a noble independence of small and mean interests. But with

his great love of rest, repose, and ease he combined a fiery and

excitable disposition. The combination is said to be rare. It is

always noble.

Blair is a splendid example of this truth. He was absolutely

indifferent to preferment. Lord Melville says that George III. used to

speak of him as 'the man who would not go up.' Literally as well as

morally he kept his own way. There was a line, it is said, in the Outer

House, which was kept clear for him whenever he was present. Even his

official superiors, and the judges themselves, stood in awe of him. He

was, by preference and practice, a silent man. He was one who could

play a long game with a dozen people, and yet not speak. In politics he

was a loyal party man, but as void of malignity as he was free from

self-seeking. He was one of the few who 'have greatness thrust upon

them,' having been made Lord President of the Court of Session a few

years before his death. His memory is still revered as that of the

greatest of Scottish judges. His character and the marvellous clearness

of his judicial 'opinions' made him the pride of Edinburgh during his

all too short reign, which closed in 1811. His death was very sudden,

and affected the whole population like the unexpected loss of a dear

personal friend. Lord Cockburn has described the scene: 'It overwhelmed

us all. Party made no division about Blair. All pleasure and all

business were suspended. I saw Hermand that night. He despised Blair's

abstinence from the pollution of small politics. He did not know that

he could love a man who neither cared for claret nor for whist; but, at

near seventy years of age, he was crying like a child. Next day the

Court was silent, and adjourned. The Faculty of Advocates, hastily

called together, resolved to attend him to his grave. Henry Erskine

tried to say something, and because he could only try it, it was as good

a speech as he ever made.' From his grave in Greyfriars Churchyard to

the edge of the Castlehill, the vast concourse of spectators stood

silent and uncovered when the sod was laid.

*CHAPTER XXIII*

Seniors (_continued_)--Charles Hope--His Voice--Tribute by

Cockburn--Robert Dundas, Nephew of Henry, Lord Melville--His Manner and

Moderation--Anecdote of Lords Blair and Melville--Lord Melville's

Son--Scott's Project of Emigration.

Charles Hope may be considered one of the very best representatives of

his profession. He had an extensive practice as an advocate, and

afterwards filled successively, with great distinction, the offices of

Lord Advocate, Lord Justice-Clerk, and Lord President. But his great

forte was public speaking. For this his qualifications were great: a

tall figure, commanding presence, natural manner, great command of

language, and a magnificent voice, which Cockburn describes as

'surpassed by that of the great Mrs. Siddons alone, which, drawn direct

from heaven and worthy to be heard there, was the noblest that ever

struck the human ear.'

Few men, surely, have ever received or deserved such an encomium from a

political opponent as Cockburn has left us of Lord President Hope:--'It

is a pleasure to me to think of him. He was my first--I might almost

say my only, professional patron, and used to take me with him on his

circuits; and in spite of my obstinate and active Whiggery has been kind

to me through life. When his son, who was Solicitor-General in 1830,

lost that office by the elevation of the Reform Ministry, and I

succeeded him, his father shook me warmly by the hand, and said, "Well,

Harry, I wish you joy. Since my son was to lose it, I am glad that your

father's son has got it." It was always so with him. Less enlightened

than confident in his public opinions, his feelings towards his

adversaries, even when ardently denouncing their principles, were

liberalised by the native humanity and fairness of his dispositions.'

Perhaps the most interesting public character in Scotland at the

beginning of the nineteenth century was Robert Dundas of Arniston. He

was the son of a Lord President Dundas, whose father had also occupied

that high position. His uncle was Henry Dundas, Lord Melville, the

famous friend of Pitt. The uncle, it is supposed, greatly influenced

the policy of the nephew, whose power in Scotland was for a time almost

unlimited. At all events, in a position almost certain to provoke

jealousy and enmity on all hands, he was able to maintain a character

for moderation and fairness even in the cases of political prosecution

which his office of Lord Advocate required him to conduct. In those

troublous times the powers given to the Lord Advocate were extravagant

and arbitrary. Dundas seems to have been a man of moderate abilities

and ordinary acquirements, but Cockburn's lively picture sufficiently

explains his remarkable success in his trying and difficult duties. 'He

had two qualifications which suited his position, and made him not only

the best Lord Advocate that his party could have supplied, but really a

most excellent one. These consisted in his manner, and in his

moderation. He was a little, alert, handsome, gentleman-like man, with

a countenance and air beaming with sprightliness and gaiety, and

dignified by considerable fire; altogether inexpressibly pleasing. It

was impossible not to like the owner of that look. No one could

contemplate his animated and elegant briskness, or his lively benignity,

without feeling that these were the reflections of an ardent and amiable

heart. His want of intellectual depth and force seemed to make people

like him the better. And his manner was worthy of his appearance. It

was kind, polite, and gay; and if the fire did happen to break out, it

was but a passing flash, and left nothing painful after it was gone.'

Dundas had his town residence at No. 57 George Square. His uncle, Lord

Melville, had come here on the 26th of May 1811, with the intention of

attending the funeral of Lord Blair next day. He retired to rest

apparently in his usual health, but was found next morning dead in bed.

Thus, strange to say, the two friends, who had both been alive and

active a week before, were lying dead with but a wall between them, for

Blair's house was No. 56, next door to that of Dundas. A strange

incident is related by Lord Cockburn, which he says he was inclined to

regard as true: viz., that a letter written by Lord Melville was found

on his table, or in a writing-case after his death, in which he drew a

moving picture of his feelings at the funeral of Lord Blair. Little had

he imagined that he himself would be dead before that funeral took

place. The letter was addressed to a member of the government, with a

view to obtain some public provision for Blair's family. 'Such things,'

adds Lord Cockburn, 'are always awkward when detected; especially when

done by a skilful politician. Nevertheless an honest and a true man

might do this. It is easy to anticipate one's feelings at a friend's

burial; and putting the description into the form of having returned

from it is mere rhetoric.'

Scott enjoyed the personal friendship of Viscount Melville, and still

more of the younger members of the Dundas family. Robert Dundas was

Lord Advocate at the time of Scott's appointment to the sheriffship of

Selkirk. Another Robert Dundas, Lord Melville's son, had been one of

Scott's admirers in the story-telling days of the High School, and their

intimacy continued later on. In fact Arniston and Melville supplied

Walter Scott with quite a troop of warm friends. An anecdote which

connects Lord Melville and Scott may be given here, though it belongs to

the end of the next decade (1810). Great changes had at that time been

proposed in the Scottish law and judicature. They did not commend

themselves to Scott's judgment. In fact, he wrote a remarkable essay in

the _Edinburgh Annual Register_ against the rash attempt at a general

innovation. He was at the same time uneasy in regard to the affairs of

his Ballantyne publishing business, and fretting a little at the

drudgery of his clerkship, which as yet yielded him no income. It was a

crisis very like that in the life of Burns when he proposed to emigrate

to Jamaica. Scott indeed seriously entertained the idea of going to

India, as is clear from his letter to his brother Thomas in November

1810. 'I have no objection to tell you in confidence, that, were Dundas

to go out Governor-General to India, and were he willing to take me with

him in a good situation, I would not hesitate to pitch the Court of

Session and the booksellers to the Devil, and try my fortune in another

climate. But this is strictly _entre nous_.' Dundas, it seems, had on

several occasions been spoken of as likely to be appointed

Governor-General of India, and he had hinted at taking Scott with him.

Fortunately the opportunity never occurred, the genius was not driven

into exile, and the Court of Session and the booksellers obtained a

temporary reprieve.

*CHAPTER XXIV*

Henry Erskine--His Ability and Wit--Tributes to his Character--Dismissal

as Dean of Faculty--John Clerk--Reputation at the Bar--His Private

Tastes--Art and Literature--Odd Habits--Anecdotes of Clerk and his

Father.

The Hon. Henry Erskine, the acknowledged leader of the Scottish Bar, and

one of the ablest and wittiest of men, was a son of the fifth Earl of

Buchan, who died in 1767, and was succeeded in the title by his eldest

son David. A younger brother of Henry's was equally illustrious at the

English Bar as the undaunted defender first of Captain Baillie, who was

indicted for libel at the instigation of Lord Sandwich in 1778: next in

1792 of Tom Paine, 'victorious needleman,' indicted for publishing the

_Rights of Man_: and then in 1794 of Hardy, Horne Tooke, and Thelwall,

accused of high treason. This was Thomas Erskine, who became Lord

Chancellor of England and was raised to the peerage as Baron Erskine of

Restormel in 1806. All the brothers were strongly attached to the Whig

party. Under the coalition government of North and Fox in 1783 Henry

Erskine was for a short time Lord Advocate, an office which he held

again in 1806. His fame was spread throughout Scotland as the constant

and disinterested defender of the helpless in distress.

'And all the oppress'd who wanted strength

Had his at their command.'

Like his brother, he was absolutely fearless in the exposure of wrong,

and his name became the terror of every high-handed 'petty tyrant' in

the land. It is said that a poor man in a remote part of the country,

who was threatened with the law by his landlord for the purpose of

compelling him to submit to some injustice, at once turned upon him with

bold indignation and said, 'Ye dinna ken what ye're sayin', maister;

there's no a man in a' Scotland need want a friend or fear an enemy sae

lang as Harry Erskine is to the fore.' In his _Life of Jeffrey_ Lord

Cockburn says of Erskine: 'His name can no sooner be mentioned than it

suggests ideas of wit, with which, in many memories, the recollection of

him is chiefly associated. A tall and rather slender figure, a face

sparkling with vivacity, a clear sweet voice, and a general suffusion of

elegance, gave him a striking and pleasing appearance.... He was the

only one of the marked Edinburgh Whigs who was not received coldly in

the private society of their opponents. Nothing was so sour as not to

be sweetened by the glance, the voice, the gaiety, the beauty, of Henry

Erskine.' Scott speaks of him in the same affectionate strain--'Henry

Erskine was the best-natured man I ever knew: thoroughly a gentleman,

and with but one fault--he could not say No. His wit was of the very

kindest, best-humoured, and gayest sort that ever cheered society.' It

is a matter for deep regret that the public career of so rare and

eminent a man should have been dependent upon the ups and downs of

politics. Even the post of Dean of the Faculty of Advocates, to which

he had been elected for eight years in succession, was taken from him in

1796. He had presided at a public meeting to protest against the war

with France. Such a defiance could not at such a time be overlooked,

and the more powerful party employed their large majority to displace

him. But even this was done without malevolence: the motion for

dismissal--moved by Charles Hope--in no way disturbed the personal

friendship between the two men.

John Clerk, raised to the Bench as Lord Eldin in his old age, was a

worthy compeer of Erskine in his steadfast adherence to Whiggery at the

cost of professional advancement. He was Solicitor-General in 1806,

when Erskine was Lord Advocate. His fame was, therefore, won while he

was at the Bar, of which, after his friend's retirement, he became the

acknowledged leader. But his powerful sarcasm and his great gift of

humour, combined with his remarkable appearance and popular principles,

laid hold of the imagination of men and gained him quite a national

reputation. It is of him that Cockburn says that the conditions of his

private and his professional life almost amounted to the possession of

two natures.

'A contracted limb, which made him pitch when he walked, and only

admitted of his standing erect when he poised it in the air, added to

the peculiarity of a figure with which so many other ideas of oddity

were connected. Blue eyes, very bushy eyebrows, coarse grizzly hair,

always in disorder, and firm, projecting features, made his face and

head not unlike that of a thorough-bred shaggy terrier. It was a

countenance of great thought and great decision.'

He was fond of literature, and his love of the fine arts grew to be a

passion. He had great knowledge of painting, drew and etched cleverly,

and occasionally modelled. His consulting-room was an extraordinary

scene: 'Walls covered with books and pictures, of both of which he had a

large collection; the floor encumbered by little ill-placed tables, each

with a piece of old china on it; strange boxes, bits of sculpture,

curious screens and chairs, cats and dogs (his special favourites), and

all manner of trash, dead and living, and all in confusion;--John

himself sitting in the midst of this museum,--in a red worsted nightcap,

his crippled limb resting horizontally on a tripod stool,--and many

pairs of spectacles and antique snuffboxes on a small table at his right

hand; and there he sits,--perhaps dreaming awake,--probably descanting

on some of his crotchets, and certainly abusing his friends the

judges,--when recalled to the business in hand; but generally giving

acute and vigorous advice.'

The peculiarities which made him a 'character' in the court are analysed

at some length by Lord Cockburn. One was a habit of discussing,

enforcing, and lauding his own virtues, quite without vanity or

ostentation, but with quiet assurance, as if it were something he had no

concern in. In the end he became fiercely resentful of opposition and

suspicious of all who contradicted him. But what most of all made Clerk

unique was his extraordinary zeal for his client. The public hugely

enjoyed his passionate displays, when he defied and insulted not only

his opponent in the case, but even the judges themselves when he found

them adverse. Of course in this respect he was a privileged person: his

fiery onslaughts being regarded as part of the show, and invariably

relieved by some quaint bit of humour.

When he heard a lady on the street behind him point him out as the lame

lawyer, he wheeled round and said, 'Nay, nay, madam, lame man if ye

like, but not a lame lawyer, as the Fifteen (_i.e._ the Judges) know to

their cost.' This ready retort happily illustrates all his

peculiarities.

His father, John Clerk of Eldin, was the author of a celebrated work on

Naval Tactics. In his old age he is reported to have said of himself

and his son: 'I remember the time when people, seeing John limping on

the street, used to ask, "what lame lad that was?" and the answer would

be, "that's the son of Clerk of Eldin." But now, when I myself am

passing, I hear them saying, "what auld, grey-headed man is that?" And

the answer is, "that's the father o' John Clerk."'

*CHAPTER XXV*

Scott's Border 'Raids'--Shortreed--Scott's Circuit Work--Jedburgh

Anecdotes--Edinburgh Days--Fortune's--The Theatre Royal--Oyster

Parties--Social Functions--General Reading.

For many years after his first donning of the gown, Scott made use of

every holiday for those 'raids' into Liddesdale and rambles through

various parts of Scotland which long caused his father anxiety and

vexation. It was not given to the old man, eager to see his son

immersed in what he considered far more important pursuits, to foresee

the marvellous results of these erratic tours. There were some,

however, who could, and one of these was Robert Shortreed,

Sheriff-Substitute of Roxburghshire, who was his guide and companion in

all his Border raids. His remark will serve very well to sum up our

reference to these expeditions, which are 'outwith' the limits of his

Edinburgh life. 'He was _makin' himsell_ a' the time,' was Shortreed's

emphatic comment; 'but he didna ken maybe what he was aboot till years

had passed. At first he thought o' little, I daresay, but the queerness

and the fun.'

Of his circuit work one or two anecdotes will suffice. He made his first

appearance as counsel in a criminal case at the Jedburgh assizes, where

he successfully defended a veteran poacher. When the verdict was

pronounced, Scott whispered to his client, 'You're a lucky scoundrel.'

'I'm just o' your mind,' quoth the desperado, 'and I'll send ye a maukin

(a hare) the morn, man.' Shortly after he defended a certain notorious

housebreaker, who, however, in spite of counsel's strenuous efforts, was

found guilty. The man, knowing that he could not escape, the evidence

of his guilt being clear, yet felt grateful, in his way, to the young

lawyer who had stood by him manfully and seen fair play. He requested

the advocate to visit him in his cell, and Scott complied. When they

were alone together in the _condemned cell_, the poor outcast said, 'I

am very sorry, sir, that I have no fee to offer you--so let me beg your

acceptance of two bits of advice which may be useful, perhaps, when you

come to have a house of your own. I am done with practice, you see, and

here is my legacy. Never keep a large watch-dog out of doors--we can

always silence them cheaply--indeed if it be a _dog_, 'tis easier than

whistling--but tie a little tight yelping terrier within; and secondly,

put no trust in nice, clever, gimcrack locks--the only thing that

bothers us is a huge old heavy one, no matter how simple the

construction,--and the ruder and rustier the key, so much the better for

the housekeeper.' Lockhart heard Scott tell the story some thirty years

after at a Judge's dinner at Jedburgh, and he summed it up with a

rhyme--'Ay, ay, my Lord,' (addressing Lord Meadowbank)--

'Yelping terrier, rusty key,

Was Walter Scott's best Jeddart fee.'

If his life in Edinburgh was not quite as enjoyable as the summer

wanderings or the spring and autumn circuits, it certainly had its

compensations. There was a good deal, no doubt, of what he describes in

_Redgauntlet_ as 'sweeping the boards of the Parliament House with the

skirts of his gown.' But then there was the consolation of the merry

men of the Mountain, with mirth and youthful jollity, to which he could

always contribute more than his share. There was plenty of

claret-drinking at Bayle's, Fortune's, Walker's, the favourite resorts

of the Bar. Claret was still the only drink, in spite of the growing

enmity to France. It is a curious fact, however, that this feeling

caused the Edinburgh Town Council in 1798 to pass a resolution that

claret should not be drunk either at the King's Birthday orgy or any

other civic feast. This 'self-denying ordinance' was not observed. In

spite of conviviality and amusements a young man's expenses in Edinburgh

in those days did not require to be great, when a good dinner at

Fortune's would cost half-a-crown, and a bottle of claret a shilling.

Fifty years before, in the days when a man brought his own fork and

knife, and glass if he wanted one for his own separate use, one dined at

an 'ordinary' in Edinburgh for fourpence, which even included all the

small beer that was called for till the cloth was removed. Scott was a

frequent visitor at the old Theatre Royal--'his dressing-table with old

play-bills, etc.' This building stood in Shakespeare Square, a site now

occupied by the General Post Office. It was eventually purchased by Mr.

Henry Siddons, and there, under his management, the admirers of the

drama 'had the satisfaction to witness the exertion of the unparalleled

talents of Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Jordan, Mr. Braham, Mr. John Kemble, and

others.' Oyster-parties were now very fashionable. They were quite

decorous affairs, though not over-formal, and were attended and enjoyed

by ladies as well as gentlemen.

One of these oyster-parties is described from a stranger's point of view

by Topham in his _Letters from Edinburgh_: 'The shrine of festivity is

nothing more than an oyster-cellar, and its votaries the first people in

Edinburgh.... I was ushered into a large and brilliant company of both

sexes, most of whom I had the honour of being acquainted with. The

table was covered with dishes full of oysters, and pots of porter. By

and by the table was cleared, and glass introduced. The ladies were now

asked whether they would choose brandy or rum punch. I thought this

question an odd one, but I was soon informed that no wine was sold here.

The ladies, who always love what is best, fixed upon brandy punch, and a

large bowl was immediately introduced. The conversation now became

general and lively. A thousand things were hazarded and met with

applause, to which the oddity of the scene gave propriety and which

could have been produced in no other place.... In this little assembly

there was more real happiness and mirth than in all the ceremonies and

splendid meetings at Soho. When the company were tired of conversation,

they began to dance reels, their favourite dance, which they perform

with great agility and perseverance. One of the gentlemen, however, fell

down in the most active part of it, and lamed himself. The dance was at

an end. The ladies retired, and with them went all the mirth.'

Such scenes as these, along with attendance at 'assemblies,' concerts,

and the general round of social engagements, filled up, without great

fear of dulness, the leisure part of Scott's existence when in town.

His duties were but light, and so was his income.[1] There is ample

proof too that he found time to continue his literary studies, and kept

himself, as the phrase is, 'abreast of current literature.' 'On his

desk the new novel most in repute lay snugly intrenched beneath Stair's

_Institutes_, or an open volume of _Decisions_.'

[1] The particulars given by Lockhart are: first year's practice, L24,

3s.; second year's, L57, 15s.; third, L84, 4s.; fourth, L90; and in his

fifth year, that is from November 1796 to July 1797, he made L144, 10s.;

of which L50 were fees from his father's chamber.

*CHAPTER XXVI*

The Edinburgh Environment--Talk of French Revolution--The

'Jacobins'--The Volunteers--Irish Row in the Theatre--Mrs. Barbauld's

Visit--Taylor's _Lenore_--Scott's Version--Anecdote of the Skull--End of

Love Affair--Reference in _Peveril of the Peak_.

To understand the environment of Scott about 1794, it is necessary to

remember that people's minds and conversation were almost wholly

occupied with the French Revolution. It affected every one, and met one

everywhere. Of real sympathy with the French Republic there never was

much anywhere in Britain. In Edinburgh, as in several other towns, there

were a few persons who affected an admiration for the Republic and for

everything French. These were called _Jacobins_, but they soon

disappeared from public view. The name, however, continued to be used

as a political nickname, and was applied freely to all who showed

sympathy with the idea of reform. There was a belief, more or less

vague, among the Tories and the wealthier class generally, that the

working men were hostile to the Constitution. Altogether the feelings

of loyal men, young and old, were strongly excited. In spring of 1794

Scott wrote to friends in Roxburghshire exulting in the 'good spirit'

shown by the upper classes in Edinburgh. He was much excited over the

enrolment of a regiment of volunteers, in which his brother Thomas was a

grenadier, and from which he himself was excluded by his lameness. We

can imagine him chafing in soul to be 'a mere spectator of the drills.'

It was more than his hot, impulsive nature could endure. At last the

happy inspiration came to him to propose the formation of a corps of

volunteer light horse. The idea was popular, but some time was required

to get it carried out.

Meantime an incident happened which vividly illustrates the

highly-charged atmosphere of the time and Scott's romantic excess of

loyalty. Some Irish medical students had set themselves to annoy the

loyal people in the theatre by calling for seditious tunes and howling

down the National Anthem. This foolish conduct was, of course, strongly

resented by the audience, and especially by the young Tory lawyers. It

was determined to give the Irishmen a lesson, and put a stop to the

scandal. 'Scott' (says Lockhart) 'was conspicuous among the juvenile

advocates and solicitors who on this grand night assembled in front of

the pit, armed with stout cudgels, and determined to have _God save the

King_ not only played without interruption but sung in full chorus by

both company and audience. The Irishmen were ready at the first note of

the anthem. They rose, clapped on their hats, and brandished their

shillelaghs; a stern battle ensued, and after many heads had been

cracked, the lawyers at length found themselves in possession of the

field.' From a letter of Scott's written a few days after, it appears

that five of the loyal youths had been bound over to keep the peace, and

that he personally had knocked down three of the Democrats. His friends

said he had 'signalised himself splendidly in this desperate fray.' On

the occasion of the riots which took place in the course of this

troubled year he was active among the special constables sworn in to

guard the town.

In the autumn of 1795 Mrs. Barbauld was on a visit to Edinburgh. One

evening this distinguished writer read to a party in the house of Dugald

Stewart an unpublished poem by William Taylor, a translation of Burger's

ballad of _Lenore_. Scott was not one of the company. He seems to have

been away on one of his usual tours, but on his return in the course of

a few weeks, a friend gave him, as best he could, an account of the

performance. Scott was deeply interested, and never rested till he had

procured a copy of the original German. After reading the poem, he told

his friend, Miss Cranstoun, that he was going to write a translation of

it himself. He was greatly excited over the matter, and finished his

task at one sitting the same night. In the morning, before breakfast,

he took his production to Miss Cranstoun, who was not only delighted but

astonished. Lockhart quotes from one of her letters, 'Upon my word,

Walter Scott is going to turn out a poet--something of a cross, I think,

between Burns and Gray.' Sir Alexander Wood, to whom also he showed the

poem the same day, retained a vivid recollection of the high-strung

enthusiasm to which he had worked himself up by dwelling on the wild,

unearthly imagery of the ballad. He tells how Scott must needs provide

himself with symbols, a skull and cross-bones, which they procured from

Dr. John Bell, and which Scott set up as trophies on the top of his

little book-case. When Wood visited him, after many years of absence

from this country, he saw them again similarly placed in his

dressing-room at Abbotsford.

Miss Cranstoun, afterwards Countess of Purgstall, told Captain Basil

Hall on her deathbed that she and William Erskine got a few copies of

the _Lenore_ printed. She was doing her best for Scott in his courtship

of Miss Stuart, and thought the verses might work in his favour. She

sent a copy, 'richly bound and blazoned,' to Scott, who was in the

country at a house where Miss Stuart was also a visitor. This was

really Scott's first publication. The verses were much admired by his

friends, but this was all. His pursuit of Miss Stuart presently came to

an end, on the announcement of her engagement to Forbes. A most

interesting glimpse into the real inwardness of this affair is afforded

in _Peveril of the Peak_, written twenty-six years after. The poet thus

soberly moralises, _non sine desiderio_:--'The period at which love is

formed for the first time, and felt most strongly, is seldom that at

which there is much prospect of its being brought to a happy issue. The

state of artificial society opposes many complicated obstructions to

early marriages; and the chance is very great that such obstacles prove

insurmountable. In fine, there are few men who do not look back in

secret to some period of their youth, at which a sincere and early

affection was repulsed, or betrayed, or became abortive from opposing

circumstances. It is these little passages of secret history which

leave a tinge of romance in every bosom, scarce permitting us, even in

the most busy or the most advanced period of life, to listen with total

indifference to a tale of true love.'

*CHAPTER XXVII*

Friendship with Skene of Rubislaw--Skene's Account of the Edinburgh

Light Horse--'Earl Walter'--Marriage of Walter Scott and Charlotte

Carpenter--The Edinburgh Home--Edinburgh Friends--The Cottage at

Lasswade.

Scott's German studies brought him at this time one of the most valued

friendships of his life. Mr. Skene of Rubislaw, having resided several

years in Saxony, and having a similar fondness for the fresh and natural

literature of Germany, entered into Scott's ideas with zest, and

assisted him in his struggles with the language. The two soon drew

together, and became intimate friends. Skene wrote afterwards with

pride of this friendship, which during nearly forty years 'never

sustained even a casual chill,' and he testified, like all others who

knew him, that 'never in the whole progress of his varied life, could I

perceive the slightest shade of variance from that simplicity of

character with which he impressed me on the first hour of our meeting.'

Skene was one of those who joined heartily in promoting the volunteer

cavalry movement, and of this affair he has given some interesting

particulars. 'The London Light Horse had set the example, but in truth

it was to Scott's ardour that this force in the North owed its origin.

Unable, by reason of his lameness, to serve amongst his friends on foot,

he had nothing for it but to rouse the spirit of the moss-trooper with

which he readily inspired all who possessed the means of substituting

the sabre for the musket.' In February 1797 a meeting was held, and an

offer was sent to the Government which was at once accepted. The

organisation of the corps was then begun. The Major-Commandant was

Maitland of Rankeillor. Skene was a cornet: Scott was quartermaster.

'The part of quartermaster was purposely selected for him, that he might

be spared the rough usage of the ranks; but, notwithstanding his

infirmity, he had a remarkably firm seat on horseback, and in all

situations a fearless one: no fatigue ever seemed too much for him, and

his zeal and animation served to sustain the enthusiasm of the whole

corps, while his ready _mot a rire_ kept up, in all, a degree of

good-humour and relish for the service, without which the toil and

privations of long _daily_ drills would not easily have been submitted

to by such a body of gentlemen. At every interval of exercise, the order

_sit at ease_ was the signal for the quartermaster to lead the squadron

to merriment; every eye was intuitively turned on "Earl Walter," as he

was familiarly called by his associates of that date, and his ready joke

seldom failed to raise the ready laugh.... His habitual humour was the

great charm, and at the daily mess that reigned supreme.' The gallant

squadron continued its daily drills all the spring and summer of 1797,

and even spent some weeks under canvas at Musselburgh. Most of the

troopers being professional men, they had their drill at five in the

morning,--an act of heroic self-denial which speaks volumes for the

spirit evoked by 'haughty Gaul's' threats of invasion. By the end of

the year England had established her supremacy on sea, all fear of an

invasion was dissipated, and the volunteers' occupation for the time was

gone.[1]

[1] See, in connection with the volunteer episode, Scott's 'War Song of

the Royal Edinburgh Light Dragoons,' written in 1802: also Introduction

to Canto v. of _Marmion_.

On the 24th of December of this year Scott was married in St. Mary's

Church, Carlisle, to Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, whom he had met for

the first time when on a tour during that autumn among the English

Lakes. She was the daughter of Jean Charpentier, a French royalist, who

had died about the beginning of the Revolution. The widow and her

daughter took refuge in England, where Charpentier had, in his first

alarm at the outbreak of the revolution, invested a sum of L4000. In a

letter to his mother Scott speaks of his wife's fortune as then L500 a

year, but precarious as to the amount, being partly dependent on her

brother, who held a high office in Madras. With this added to his own

earnings, he says, 'I have little doubt we will be enabled to hold the

rank in society which my family and situation entitle me to fill.'

Their married life in Edinburgh began in a lodging in George Street,

from which they removed, as soon as it was ready for their reception, to

a house in South Castle Street. Mrs. Scott, who was lively and fond of

society, soon found herself the centre of a most interesting social

life. Indeed 'those humble days' were perhaps the happiest of all.

'Mrs. Scott's arrival' (says Lockhart) 'was welcomed with unmingled

delight by the brothers of _the Mountain_. The officers of the Light

Horse, too, established a club among themselves, supping once a week at

each other's houses in rotation. The lady thus found two somewhat

different, but both highly agreeable circles ready to receive her with

cordial kindness; and the evening hours passed in a round of innocent

gaiety, all the arrangements being conducted in a simple and inexpensive

fashion, suitable to young people whose days were mostly laborious, and

very few of their purses heavy. Scott and Erskine had always been fond

of the theatre; the pretty bride was passionately so--and I doubt if

they ever spent a week in Edinburgh without indulging themselves in this

amusement. But regular dinners and crowded assemblies were in those

years quite unthought of.'

In the summer of 1798 began the series of summer sojourns at Lasswade,

on the Esk, which brought to Scott important additions to his list of

friends. Among his neighbours in this romantic district, which had been

his favourite haunt in boyish rambles, were Henry Mackenzie, the 'Man of

Feeling,' the Clerks of Pennycuick, and Lord Woodhouselee, with all of

whom he was already familiar. But it was at Lasswade that he first

'formed intimacies, even more important in their results, with the noble

families of Melville and Buccleuch, both of whom have castles in the

same valley.'

'Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,

And Roslin's rocky glen;

Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,

And classic Hawthornden?'

It is of the Esk that he says in the same poem, _The Grey Brother_,

'Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet

Rolls to the eastern main.'

An interesting notice appeared recently in a local paper regarding Scott

and his family's connection with St. George's Episcopal Church in York

Place, Edinburgh. He seems to have become a member of what he (in the

person of Paulus Pleydell) calls 'the suffering and Episcopal Church of

Scotland--the shadow of a shade now' after his marriage had set him free

from the customs of George Square. The Scott family pew in St. George's

was No. 81, afterwards No. 85, and the article states that this fact is

attested on a brass plate fixed on the pew, as well as by a written

statement contained in a closed glass case hung inside the church porch.

It was the incumbent of St. George's that officiated at the marriage of

Sophia Scott to John Gibson Lockhart. The worshippers in the quaint old

church to this day, it is said, take great pride in the memory of the

most illustrious member of their historic flock.

*CHAPTER XXVIII*

The Mercantile Class in Edinburgh--The Town Council--Political

Corruption--Petty Tyranny--The Town Clerk--James Laing, Head of the

Police--His Methods with Disturbers of the Peace--Anecdotes of Laing and

Dugald Stewart.

At the end of the eighteenth century there was no social intercourse

between the aristocratic, which was, generally speaking, the educated,

class and the mercantile portion of the community. Wealth had not yet

become a passport into 'society.' Birth and ancestry, on the contrary,

were so, however poor the possessor of an old name might be. The

professions, especially that of law, were still mainly recruited from

noble or gentle families. As yet also, no traders in Edinburgh had made

great fortunes or could afford social display. As individuals,

therefore, business people were of no account. Politically, having no

votes they had no direct power, and in all public matters their general

attitude was one of complete subserviency to their betters. This, of

course, was looked upon by both classes as the natural state of things,

and explains the humble place occupied by the shopkeeping characters in

the Waverley Novels. Lord Cockburn, speaking of the city government,

records that everything of that kind was managed by the town council:

light, water, education, trade, the Port of Leith, the streets, the

poor, the police. He describes the Council Chamber as a low, dark,

blackguard-looking room, entering from a covered passage, on the site of

the present Signet Library. The chamber was a low-roofed room, very

dark and very dirty, with some small dens off it for clerks. 'Within

this Pandemonium sat the town council, omnipotent, corrupt,

impenetrable. Nothing was beyond its grasp; no variety of opinion

disturbed its unanimity, for the pleasure of Dundas was the sole rule

for every one of them. Silent, powerful, submissive, mysterious, and

irresponsible, they might have been sitting in Venice.' Speaking of

Scottish town councils in general, our authority uses even stronger

language. 'Many of the small ones were in the lowest possible condition

of public and private morality. In general, they were sinks of

political and municipal iniquity, steeped in the baseness which they

propagated, and types and causes of the corruption that surrounded

them.' This is just the picture that one would draw, if inclined to be

censorious and not yielding to any sense of humour, from the very

interesting series of facts recorded in John Galt's book, _The Provost_.

Depend upon it, there was a good deal of human nature even in an

'unreformed' town council. Of their corrupt subservience to the powers

in place there can be no doubt, but they had at least as much of the

great quality of efficiency as their reformed successors. Such as they

were, they were generally the best men of the best class in each

community, and few men of the same type could now be got to enter the

popularly elected body. And what would we not give now for the old

peace and quietness? The silence would indeed be cheaply bought at the

price of the mystery and irresponsibility. Conscience is the only

guarantee against corruption, which may flourish like a green bay-tree

under popular election. In 1799, it seems, Mr. Smith, a councillor of

Edinburgh, electrified the city by a pamphlet in which he showed that

the burgh was bankrupt. What subjects would Mr. Smith not have found

for his financial genius if he had lived in 1899? What pamphlets might

Mr. Smith have printed on 'the Edinburgh Cable Tramways and their cost,'

or on 'the Usher Hall Sinking Fund.' Verily, life in a city might be

tolerable but for our town councils.

The old town council had a very simple method of getting their work

done. They just left everything to the town clerk and the manager of

police. This seems to be the modern method, _minus_ the vulgar talk and

reports in the newspapers. The town-clerk was Mr. John Gray. Would he

were here to-day: a man who could hold his tongue and do jobs quietly!

Peace to the ashes of the good Gray: a judicious man, with a belly,

white hair, and decorous black clothes; famous for drinking punch; a

respectable and useful officer, devoted to his superiors, and chock-full

of municipal wisdom. The manager of police was James Laing, about whom

we have anecdotes which endear him to the heart of every lover of quiet.

James was a hater of noise at untimely hours. He may have been

prevented from writing his reminiscences by the rowdy din and uproar

which seems to have been then, as it is now, at all hours of the night

(constant up to midnight, in the small hours sporadic) as remarkable a

feature of residential Edinburgh as its deadly east wind. Fortunately,

James had the power, now defunct and obsolete, of making the police

operate. One evening the usual demoniac orgy of noise was proceeding,

driving peaceful citizens to profanity and despair. The whole devil's

tattoo was caused by a mere handful of tipsy hooligans--six or eight

baker lads, it seems, of respectable though humble parentage. James set

the police in motion, the lads were promptly arrested, and next morning,

when the master baker growled 'Ubi est ille apprentice?' echo answered

promptly, 'Non est inventus.' A lawyer, however, who took an interest

in the family of one of them, went that morning, greatly daring, to

James Laing to inquire, when he was told he need give himself no

trouble; 'they are all beyond Inchkeith by this time.' With a

promptness of device only equalled by his firmness of purpose, this

benefactor of suffering humanity had sent the disciples of Din to exert

their demoniac disturbances on the high seas! They had, in fact, been

shipped on board a tender in Leith Roads, which James knew was to sail

that very morning. After this, one is not astonished to learn that the

great Laing was a philosopher and entertained an immense reverence for

Dugald Stewart. Stewart used to tell an anecdote which proves that

Laing, besides discovering the best means of preserving quiet in the

streets, had also solved the problem of finding healthy employment for

the police in their 'hours of idleness.' The Professor was walking very

early one morning in the Meadows, when he saw a band of men within the

enclosure busily engaged apparently in turning up the turf. Upon going

up to them, he found his friend Laing commanding the operations, who

explained that in these short light nights there was nothing going on

with the blackguards, 'and so, ye see, Mr. Professor, I've just brought

oot the constables to try our hands at the moudieworts.' They were

catching moles.

*CHAPTER XXIX*

Public Condition of Edinburgh in 1800--Ostracism of Dugald Stewart--The

Whigs--Their Struggle for Power--The Infirmary Incident--Dr.

Gregory--His Pamphlets--Characteristics--Family Connection with Rob Roy.

Youthful friendship and their simple, kindly way of life counteracted

the effects of political feeling as concerned Scott and his Whig

friends. Under his humble roof the happiness of the little household

was never apparently marred by the intrusion of the soul-poisoning virus

of party spite. Had the conditions been reversed, had his political

friends been out of power, the difference would not have been great--to

him or his. His saving gift of humour would always have prevented him

from exaggerating the miseries of the losing side into horrors and

persecution. Occupied intellectually with the fascinating vistas of

romantic literature and blessed with the sympathy of a charming,

brave-hearted wife, and too diffident of his merits to resent the slow

advent of professional success, he could never have been chilled and

narrowed into a political prig wailing over the injustice of the times.

For all that, it was a bad time for many of his professional compeers.

From their (that is, the Whig) point of view, the public condition in

1800, and for the preceding ten years, was at once painful and

humiliating. Their very political creed subjected them to the suspicion

of disloyalty. Their cry of Reform was ill-timed, for who will trouble

with repairs to his house when his next-door neighbour's house is being

plundered and set on fire? Distrust begot dislike, and dislike grew to

detestation. 'The frightful thing,' says one who lived through it, 'was

the personal bitterness. The decent appearance of mutual toleration,

which often produces the virtue itself, was despised, and extermination

seemed a duty. This was bad enough in the capital; but far more

dreadful in small places, which were more helplessly exposed to

persecution. If Dugald Stewart was for several years not cordially

received in the city he adorned, what must have been the position of an

ordinary man who held Liberal opinions in the country or in a small

town, open to all the contumely and obstruction that local insolence

could practise, and unsupported probably by any associate cherishing

kindred thoughts? Such persons existed everywhere; but they were always

below the salt.' One may admire the pertinacity of such men, the

forerunners of Reform, while regretting the bitterness of feeling

engendered on both sides. The great mistake of the Tory party lay in

blindly confounding these theoretical politicians with the great mass of

the people. In snubbing their opponents they insulted the people, and

created a store of hatred against themselves which a century has not

exhausted. To this day the 'practical' Liberal politician knows that a

hundred clever speeches will have less effect in a Scottish constituency

than simply getting his opponent well saddled with the epithet of

'Tory.' The 'regeneration' for which the Whigs of 1800 waited, and

which their successors of 1832 thought they had accomplished, turned out

to be the institution of a plutocracy. The twentieth century will

perhaps experiment in pure democracy, now that the manual workers have

begun to _feel_ the power which they owe to the tireless efforts of the

Whigs.

That public opinion was not altogether powerless even in 1800, is proved

by the 'Infirmary' incident. At that time a wellnigh incredible

arrangement prevailed in the hospital. Dr. Sangrado held sway for one

month, and then Dr. Cuchillo got his turn. The members of the Colleges

of Physicians and of Surgeons were the medical officers, and they

attended the hospital by a monthly rotation, so that the treatment of

the patients was liable to be totally altered every thirty days. A

proposal was now made to put an end to the absurdity. The change was

advocated by Dr. James Gregory, the celebrated professor, who was then

the acknowledged head of his profession in Scotland. He wrote a

pamphlet, strongly worded and personal, as was his nature, but

convincing. In spite of the opposition of the colleges and the majority

of the doctors, Gregory prevailed. The public was unanimous, the

managers were convinced, and a resolution was passed that there should

henceforth be permanent medical officers.

Dr. Gregory was a great fighter. He came of a remarkable family, the

Gregories of Aberdeen, originally an offshoot of the MacGregor clan, and

proprietors of Kinardie in Banffshire. His great-grandfather was James

Gregory, inventor of the 'Gregorian' reflecting telescope. His

grandfather and his father were both distinguished medical professors.

It was his father Dr. John Gregory, who counted kin with Rob Roy and

entertained the bold outlaw more than once at Aberdeen. On one occasion

MacGregor proposed to carry James, then a boy of eight or nine, to the

Highlands and 'make a man of him.' The story is told in the

Introduction to _Rob Roy_ of 1829. Scott there describes James Gregory

as 'rather of an irritable and pertinacious disposition'; and says that

his friends were wont to remark, when he showed symptoms of temper, 'Ah!

this comes of not having been educated by Rob Roy.' Lord Cockburn calls

Gregory 'a curious and excellent man, a great physician, a great

lecturer, a great Latin scholar, and a great talker; vigorous and

generous; large of stature, and with a strikingly powerful countenance.

The popularity due to these qualities was increased by his professional

controversies, and the diverting publications by which he used to

maintain and enliven them. The controversies were rather too numerous;

but they were never for any selfish end, and he was never entirely

wrong. Still, a disposition towards personal attack was his besetting

sin.'

*CHAPTER XXX*

Strongest 'Impressions' from the Waverley Novels--Special Charm of Death

of the old Lawyer in Chrystal Croftangry's Recollections--Death of

Walter Scott the Elder--The 'very scene' described--Scott appointed

Sheriff--Independence from Court Work.

A boy of ten in a quiet country parish forty years ago took a pride in

being able to say--'I have read _all_ Shakespeare, _all_ Byron, _all_

the Waverley Novels,' and so on. The pursuit of this hobby was not

entirely fortunate. It tended to omnivorous rather than critical

reading--to the pursuit of enjoyment in reading rather than anything

else. It had, however, its obvious advantages, and gained him at the

University some first prizes, and a certain kindly consideration among

his fellows as one whose literary opinions were founded on first-hand

knowledge. His experience confirms a well-known opinion of Sir Walter

Scott's that children prefer, and on the whole understand quite

sufficiently, if they are encouraged to read it, the same literature

which fascinates their fathers. 'I am persuaded both children and the

lower class of readers hate books which are written _down_ to their

capacity, and love those that are composed more for their elders and

betters. The grand and interesting consists in ideas not in words.'[1]

At all events our 'impressionist' testifies that, having read _all_ the

Waverley Novels in the summer of his tenth year, he now recalls forty

years after, from that first reading, chiefly one general impression and

three special souvenirs which lived with him and have haunted his

imagination ever since. The general impression is an intense interest

in History (chiefly, of course, Scottish History) and Antiquities,

imbibed from the charming Introductions and Notes to the Novels. These

were read again and again, and always laid aside with a vivid sense of

regret that the Notes were so short. The special recollections are of

Henry Bertram returning to Ellangowan and recalling the old ballad of

'the bonnie woods o' Warroch Head': of Count Robert of Paris in the

dungeon: and, above all, of the death of Chrystal Croftangry's friend in

the 'Chronicles of the Canongate.' He still considers Bertram's return

the finest touch of romance since Homer pictured the old hound

recognising his long-lost master, Ulysses, in the beggar man. Count

Robert scarcely affects the man so strongly as he did the boy. But

Chrystal Croftangry has still the old charm--a charm trebled by the

associations which a knowledge of Scott's life attaches to these

inimitable chapters. Lockhart has revealed that 'in the portraiture of

Mrs. Murray Keith, under the name of Mrs. Bethune Baliol, he has mixed

up various features of his own beloved mother, and in the latter a good

deal was taken from nobody but himself.' The pathetic picture of the

death of Chrystal's old friend and legal counsellor, drawn with such

vigour and intense realism, is without doubt the death-scene of the old

'writer,' Walter Scott, the original of that 'one true friend, who knew

the laws of his country well, and, tracing them up to the spirit of

equity and justice in which they originate, had repeatedly prevented, by

his benevolent and manly exertions, the triumphs of selfish cunning over

simplicity and folly.'

[1] _Diary_, June 5, 1827.

The worthy and good old man died in 1799. He had suffered a succession

of paralytic attacks, under which mind as well as body had been laid

quite prostrate. From the lips of a near relation of the family

Lockhart gives the following touching statement made to himself on the

publication of the first 'Chronicles of the Canongate'--'I had been out

of Scotland for some time, and did not know of my good friend's illness,

until I reached Edinburgh, a few months before his death. I saw the

very scene that is here painted[2] of the elder Croftangry's

sickroom--not a feature different--poor Anne Scott, the gentlest of

creatures, was treated by the fretful patient exactly like this niece.'

And the biographer adds--'I have lived to see the curtain rise and fall

once more on a like scene.'

[2] 'Chronicles of the Canongate,' chap. I. Note that the house is in

Brown's Square, where old Fairford dwelt.

The old man's business was continued by his son Thomas, and the property

he left, though less than had been expected, was sufficient to make

ample provision for his widow, and a not inconsiderable addition to the

resources of those among whom the remainder was divided.

On the 16th December 1799, Walter Scott was made Sheriff-Depute of

Selkirkshire, with a salary of L300. Probably, had Scott been an avowed

Whig, he would never have been offered the post, but beyond the mere

fact that he was _not_ a Whig, politics had no part in the appointment.

Personal friendship no doubt aided his other claims. The strongest

efforts were made on his behalf by both Robert and William Dundas,

nephews of Henry Dundas (Lord Melville), in whose hands was the general

control of all Crown patronage. The same was done by his (Henry

Dundas's) son Robert, and Lord Dalkeith and Lord Montague, sons of the

Duke of Buccleuch--all ardent volunteers. The result was that the Duke

and Dundas, both of whom knew and liked Scott, though neither was at all

'addicted to literature,' had no choice. Neither imagined that in

appointing the young advocate to be a sheriff-depute, he was making his

best bid for immortality. This very innocent 'job' was most happily

timed. It crowned the modest fortune of the young poet's little

household. The duties were light, and though the income was small, it

was sufficient to make him independent of the precarious prospects of a

profession for which he had never acquired any real liking. He spoke of

it himself in the words of Slender about Anne Page--'There was no great

love between us at the beginning; and it pleased Heaven to decrease it

on further acquaintance.' The end of the century, therefore, saw Scott

placed by fortune in the position which was his own ideal--free to

devote his best energies to literature, without depending on its results

for his own and his family's daily bread.

*CHAPTER XXXI*

Scott settled in Edinburgh--Defacement of City--Wrytte's

House--Gillespie the Snuff-seller--Erskine's Joke--The Woods of

Bellevue--Scott's ideal _rus in urbe_.

Scott's public career in literature practically began with the new

century. His new duties did not require a change of dwelling-place.

Edinburgh continued to be his home, and the centre of his deepest

personal interests. The defacement of the city was proceeding merrily,

and we cannot doubt that Scott was one of the few who disapproved. An

anonymous writer in the _Scots Magazine_ for July 1800 refers to the

neglect of the Chapel Royal at Holyrood and the destruction of the

Nunnery at Sciennes, and protests against the demolition of the old

building Wrytte's House, which had just been begun. It consisted of a

keep presiding over a group of inferior buildings, most of it as old as

the middle of the fourteenth century, and all delightfully picturesque.

The writer gives some details which are worth quoting: 'This magnificent

building is adorned with a profusion of sculptured figures, especially

above the windows. Above the main door, in beautiful workmanship, are

blazoned the arms of Great Britain, with the inscription, J. 6. M. B. F.

E. H. R. etc., ... there is a rough but curious piece of sculpture,

reminding Nobility of her origin;--Adam digging the ground and Eve

twirling the distaff, with the old rhyme beneath:

When Adam delv'd and Eva span,

Quhar war a' the gentiles than?'

Other figures represented the Virtues and the Five Senses. There was a

head in bas relief of Julius Caesar. This, says the writer, is going to

be preserved because it has been thought to bear some resemblance to the

visage of the celebrated tobacconist whose pious bequest has eventually

produced so woful a revolution!

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

Hospital.

'Duke Luke did this:

God's ban be his!'

But lest we should be tempted to imprecate upon these long-departed

Dogberries the curses thundered by Dr. Slop upon the head of poor

Obadiah, listen now to Lord Cockburn: 'If I recollect right, this was

the first of the public charities of this century by which Edinburgh has

been blessed, or cursed. The founder was a snuff-seller, who brought up

an excellent young man as his heir, and then left death to disclose

that, for the vanity of being remembered by a thing called after

himself, he had all the while had a deed executed by which this, his

nearest, relation was disinherited.'

One of Henry Erskine's jokes was at the expense of this double-minded

old snuff-seller. He suggested for Gillespie's carriage panels the

motto, 'Quid rides,' and beneath it:

'Wha wad hae thocht it,

That noses wad hae bocht it?'

After briefly describing the old castle, Cockburn goes on: 'Nothing

could be more striking when seen against the evening sky. Many a feudal

gathering did that tower see on the Borough Moor; and many a time did

the inventor of logarithms, whose castle of Merchiston was near, enter

it. Yet it was brutishly obliterated, without one public murmur....

The idiot public looked on in silence. How severely has Edinburgh

suffered by similar proceedings, adventured upon by barbarians, knowing

the apathetic nature, in these matters, of the people they have had to

deal with. All our beauty might have been preserved, without the

extinction of innumerable antiquities, conferring interest and dignity.

But reverence for mere antiquity, and even for modern beauty _on their

own account_, is scarcely a Scotch passion.'

Another case. In the _Scots Magazine_ for May appeared, among the odd

scraps of news, this paragraph--'The elegant villa of Bellevue, the

property of the late Mrs. General Scott, in the neighbourhood of this

city, has been purchased by the Town Council; the terms, we understand,

are a feu-duty of L1050 per annum, with the privilege of buying it up,

within seven years, for L20,200. The pleasure ground is to be laid out

for building conformable to a plan.'

The grounds of Bellevue were practically the whole space between the

east end of Queen Street and Canonmills, now fully covered with streets

and houses. The site of the villa was about the centre of the Drummond

Place enclosure, and on it was erected a custom-house which the old

guide-book calls 'another splendid appendage to this flourishing city,

which is now so rapidly enlarging its dimensions.' Such was the idea of

the unspeakable Philistines who destroyed this unmatched scene of

beauty, and transformed it into a commonplace urban corner. The

desecration does seem, however, to have been lamented, if not more

actively resented. Lord Cockburn speaks of people 'shuddering when they

heard the axes busy in the woods of Bellevue, and furious when they saw

the bare ground. But the axes, as usual, triumphed.' The old woodcut,

stiff and hard in its lines, showing the three-storied barracks of Queen

Street, commanding a free view west, north, and east, upon an open

sylvan scene, is enough to make one weep; and pathetic, too, in the same

way is Cockburn's story: 'No part of the home scenery of Edinburgh was

more beautiful than Bellevue.... The whole place waved with wood, and

was diversified by undulations of surface, and adorned by seats and

bowers and summer-houses. Queen Street, from which there was then an

open prospect over the Firth to the north-western mountains, was the

favourite Mall. Nothing certainly, within a town, could be more

delightful than the sea of the Bellevue foliage, gilded by the evening

sun, or the tumult of blackbirds and thrushes sending their notes into

all the adjoining houses in the blue of a summer morning. We clung long

to the hope that, though the city might in time surround them, Bellevue

at the east, and Drumsheugh (Lord Moray's place) at the west, end of

Queen Street, might be spared.... But the mere beauty of the town was

no more thought of at that time by anybody than electric telegraphs and

railways; and perpendicular trees, with leaves and branches, never find

favour in the sight of any Scotch mason. Indeed in Scotland almost

every one seems to be a "foe to the Dryads of the borough groves." It

is partly owing to our climate, which rarely needs shade; but more to

hereditary bad taste. So that at last the whole spot was made as dull

and bare as if the designer of the New Town himself had presided over

the operation.'

There are many allusions in the works of Scott to 'the rage of

indiscriminate destruction which has removed or ruined so many monuments

of antiquity.' With special reference to Edinburgh, showing how little

the barbarous 'improvements' of the new commercial generation were to

his mind, Chrystal Croftangry, coming back to his native city after long

absence, decides to choose his dwelling-place not in George Square--nor

in Charlotte Square--nor in the old New Town--nor in the new New

Town--but in the Canongate--'Perhaps expecting to find some little

old-fashioned house, having somewhat of the _rus in urbe_, which he was

ambitious of enjoying.'

*CHAPTER XXXII*

Richard Heber in Edinburgh--Friendship with Scott--'Discovers' John

Leyden--Leyden's Education--His Appearance, Oddities--Love of

Country--His Help in _Border Minstrelsy_--Anecdote told by Scott--Leyden

a Man of Genius.

Scenes sung by him who sings no more!

His bright and brief career is o'er,

And mute his tuneful strains;

Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore,

That loved the light of song to pour;

A distant and a deadly shore

Has LEYDEN'S cold remains!'

Richard Heber, king of bibliomaniacs, being in Edinburgh in the winter

of 1799-1800, was warmly welcomed by the cultured society of the city,

and finding in Scott a kindred spirit, was soon drawn 'into habits of

close alliance' with the young antiquary whom he found at that time so

absorbed in a congenial task. Scott was busy in research for his

edition of the Border ballads, and Heber was delighted to enter into his

plans, assisting him with advice and with free access to the vast stores

of rare books which he had already collected. Their pleasant friendship

is celebrated in that delicious Christmas piece which introduces the

sixth canto of _Marmion_:--

'How just that, at this time of glee,

My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee!

For many a merry hour we 've known,

And heard the chimes of midnight's tone.

Cease, then, my friend! a moment cease,

And leave these classic tomes in peace!

Of Roman and of Grecian lore,

Sure mortal brain can hold no more.

Heber used to prowl about among the old book-shops, wherever he might

come upon MSS. or books that might be of use for the _Minstrelsy_. One

day he was searching in the small shop kept by a young bookseller named

Archibald Constable, when his attention was attracted 'by the

countenance and gestures of another daily visitant, who came not to

purchase, evidently, but to pore over the more recondite articles--often

balanced for hours on a ladder with a folio in his hand like Dominie

Sampson.' Some casual talk led Heber to the discovery that his

odd-looking acquaintance was 'a master of legend and traditions--an

enthusiastic collector and skilful expounder of these very Border

ballads.' He introduced the young man to Scott, who soon learned that

this was the 'J.L.' whose verses in the _Edinburgh Magazine_ had often

much excited his curiosity, as showing that their author was a native of

the Scottish Borders. Thus commenced the friendship between Scott and

Leyden, two poets who were at least equal in that intense love of

Scotland which is expressed with natural charm in the verses of both.

John Leyden, then twenty-five years of age, was a man who rivalled, in

his extraordinary powers of acquiring knowledge, the almost fabulous

records of the Admirable Crichton and Pico di Mirandola. The son of a

shepherd, he was born at Denholm, a village of Roxburghshire, in 1775.

After learning what he could at a small country school and getting some

help in Latin from a neighbouring minister, the boy set to work to

educate himself, making even then a special study of old Scottish works,

such as the rhyming chronicles of Wallace and Bruce, Sir David Lyndsay's

poems, and the ballads of Teviotdale. When he came to Edinburgh

University in 1790, it is said he astonished all by his odd manners and

speech, and confounded his teachers 'by the portentous mass of his

acquisitions in almost every department of learning.' 'He was'--this is

Cockburn's description--'a wild-looking, thin, Roxburghshire man, with

sandy hair, a screech voice, and staring eyes--exactly as he came from

his native village of Denholm; and not one of these not very attractive

personal qualities would he have exchanged for all the graces of Apollo.

By the time I knew him he had made himself one of our social shows, and

could and did say whatever he chose. His delight lay in arguments ...

always conducted on his part in a high shrill voice, with great

intensity, and an utter unconsciousness of the amazement, or even the

aversion, of strangers. His daily extravagances, especially mixed up, as

they always were, with exhibitions of his own ambition and confidence,

made him be much laughed at even by his friends. Notwithstanding these

ridiculous or offensive habits, he had considerable talent and great

excellences. There is no walk in life, depending on ability, where

Leyden could not have shone. Unwearying industry was sustained and

inspired by burning enthusiasm. Whatever he did, his whole soul was in

it. His heart was warm and true. No distance, or interest, or novelty

could make him forget an absent friend or his poor relations. His

physical energy was as vigorous as his mental; so that it would not be

easy to say whether he would have engaged with a new-found eastern

manuscript, or in battle, with the more cordial alacrity. His love of

Scotland was delightful. It breathes through all his writings and all

his proceedings, and imparts to his poetry its most attractive charm.

The affection borne him by many distinguished friends, and their deep

sorrow for his early extinction, is the best evidence of his talent and

worth. Indeed, his premature death was deplored by all who delight to

observe the elevation of merit, by its own force and through personal

defects, from obscurity to fame. He died in Batavia at the age of

thirty-six. Had he been spared, he would have been a star in the East of

the first magnitude.'