_From Robert Surtees_, _Esq._, _of Mainsforth_, _to Jonathan Oldbuck_,
_Esq._, _of Monkbarns_.
It is well known that Mr. Surtees of Mainsforth not only palmed off on
Sir Waiter Scott several ballads of his own manufacture, but also
invented and pretended to have found in a document (since burned) the
story of the duel with the spectre knight which occurs in Marmion. In
the following letter this ingenious antiquary plays the same game with
Mr. Jonathan Oldbuck, of Monkbarns, the celebrated antiquary. A note on
the subject is published in the Appendix.
Mainsforth, May 9, 1815.
DEAR SIR,—I am something of the Mussulman’s humour, as you know, and
never willingly pass by a scrap of printed paper, however it comes in my
way. I cannot, indeed, like the “Spectator,” “mention a paper kite from
which I have received great improvement,” nor “a hat-case which I would
not exchange for all the beavers in Great Britain.” It is in a less
unlikely place that I have made a little discovery which will interest
you, I hope; for as it chances, not only has a lost ballad been at least
partially recovered, but . . . however, I will keep your learned patience
on the tenterhooks for a while.
Business taking me to Newcastle of late, I found myself in Bell’s little
shop on the quay. {65} You know the man by report at least; he is more a
collector than a bookseller, though poor; and I verily believe that he
would sell all his children—Douglas Bell, Percy Bell, Hobbie Bell, and
Kinmont Bell—“for a song.” Ballads are his foible, and he can hardly be
made to part with one of the broadsides in his broken portfolios. Well,
_semel insanivimus omnes_ (by the way, did it ever strike you that the
Roman “cribbed” that line, as the vulgar say, from an epigram in the
Anthology?), and you and I will scarce throw the first stone at the poor
man’s folly. However, I am delaying your natural eagerness. So now for
the story of my great discovery. As our friend Bell would scarce let his
dusty broadsheet lumber out of his hands, I was turning to leave him in
no very good humour, when I noticed a small and rather long octavo, in
dirty and crumpled vellum, lying on the top of a heap of rubbish,
Boston’s “Crook in the Lot,” “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” and other
chap-book trumpery. I do not know what good angel that watches over us
collectors made me take up the thing, which I found to be nothing less
than a copy of old Guillaume Coquillart. It was not Galliot du Pré’s
edition, in _lettres rondes_, but, still more precious had it only been
complete, an example in black letter. I give you the whole title. First
the motto, in the frieze of an architectural design, ΑΓΑΘΗ ΤΥΧΗ. Then,
in small capitals—
LES ŒUVRES
MAISTRE GVIL
LAUME COQUIL
LART EN SON VI
VANT OFFICIAL
DE REIMS. NOV
VELLEMENT RE
VEVES ET CORRI
GEES.