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_From Jonathan Oldbuck_, _Esq._, _of Monkbarns_, _to Robert Surtees_,
_Esq._, _Mainsforth_.
Monkbarns, June 1.
MY DEAR SIR,—How kind hath Fortune been to you, and, in a secondary
degree, to myself. Your letter must dispel the unreasoning and I fear
envious scepticism of MacCribb, who has put forth a plaunflet (I love
that old spelling) in which he derides the history of Aldobrand Oldenbuck
as a fable. The Ballad shall, indeed, have an honoured place in my poor
Collection whenever the public taste calls for a new edition. But the
original, what would I not give to have it in my hands, to touch the very
parchment which came from the press of my revered ancestor, and, gloating
on the crabbed letters, confute MacCribb to his face _ipso visu et tactu_
of so inestimable a rarity. Exchanges—or “swaps,” as the vulgar call
them—are not unknown among our fraternity. Ask what you will for this
treasure, to the half of my kingdom: my gold Aurelius (found at
Bermuckety, on the very limits of Roman Caledonia), my “Complaynte of
Scotland” (the only perfect copy known),
My copperplate, with almanacks
Engrav’d upon’t, and other knacks;
My moon-dial, with Napier’s bones
And several constellation stones.
Make your choice, in fact, of all my Gabions, as honest old George
Ruthven called them.
Nay, excuse the covetousness of an Antiquary, my dear sir; I well know
that nothing I could offer were worth a tithe of your priceless
discovery, the oldest printed Scots Ballad extant. It shall suffice for
me to look on it, under the roof of Mainsforth, when next I make a raid
across the Border. I have conquered my passions, and can obey the last
of the Commandments. _Haud equiden invideo_, _minor magis_. I need not
bid you be watchful of your booty.—Yours most faithfully,