upper part of the body, but never inclining in the least to what is
called corpulency. His right limb was shrunk from an early period of
boyhood, and required to be supported by a staff, which he carried
close to the toes, the heel turning a little inwards. The other limb
was perfectly sound, but the foot was too long to bring it within the
description of handsome. The chest, arms, and shoulders were those of
a strong man; but the frame, in its general movements, must have been
much enfeebled by his lameness, which was such as to give an ungainly,
though not inactive appearance to the figure. The most remarkable
part of Sir Walter’s person was his head, which was so very tall and
cylindrical as to be quite unique. The measurement of the part below
the eyes was fully an inch and a half less than that above, which,
both upon the old and the new systems of phrenology, must be held as
a striking mark of the intellectuality of his character. In early
life, the hair was of a sandy pale colour; but it was changed by his
illness in 1819 to a light gray, and latterly had become rather thin.
The eyebrows, of the same hue, were so shaggy and prominent, that,
when he was reading or writing at a table, they completely shrouded
the eyes beneath. The eyes were gray, and somewhat small, surrounded
by humorous diverging lines, and possessing the extraordinary property
of shutting as much from below as from above, when their possessor was
excited by a ludicrous idea. The nose was the least elegant feature,
though its effect in a front view was by no means unpleasing. The
cheeks were firm and close; and the chin small and undistinguished.
The mouth was straight in its general shape, and the lips rather thin.
Between the nose and mouth was a considerable space, intersected by
a hollow, which gave an air of firmness to the visage. When walking
alone, Sir Walter generally kept his eyes bent upon the ground, and had
a somewhat abstracted and even repulsive aspect. But when animated by
conversation, his countenance became full of pleasant expression. He
may be said to have had three principal kinds of aspects: _First_, when
totally unexcited, the face was heavy, with sometimes an appearance
of vacancy, arising from a habit of drawing the under-lip far into
his mouth, as if to facilitate breathing. _Second_, when stirred with
some lively thought, the face broke into an agreeable smile, and the
eyes twinkled with a peculiarly droll expression, the result of
that elevation of the lower eyelids which has been just noticed. In
no portrait is this aspect caught so happily as in that painted near
the close of his life by Watson Gordon, no other painter, apparently,
having detected the extraordinary muscular movement which occasions the
expression. The _third_ aspect of Sir Walter Scott was one of a solemn
kind, always assumed when he talked of anything which he respected,
or for which his good sense informed him that a solemn expression
was appropriate. For example, if he had occasion to recite but a
single verse of romantic ballad poetry, or if he were informed of any
unfortunate occurrence in the least degree concerning the individual
addressing him, his visage altered in a moment to an expression of deep
veneration or of grave sympathy. The general tone of his mind, however,
being decidedly cheerful, the humorous aspect was that in which he most
frequently appeared. It remains only to be mentioned, in an account of
his personal peculiarities, that his voice was slightly affected by the
indistinctness which is so general in the county of Northumberland in
pronouncing the letter _r_, and that this was more observable when he
spoke in a solemn manner, than on other occasions.
CHARACTER.
The character of Scott has already been indicated in the tenor of his
life, and it is not necessary to say much in addition. It certainly
included a wonderful amount of the very noblest and most lovable of
the qualities of humanity--rarely, perhaps, have so many been combined
in one person. The public had a stronger sense of this in Scott’s
lifetime than even now, for the revelations made by Mr Lockhart
and others regarding his commercial affairs have had the effect of
derogating considerably from his reputation. But we venture to predict
that this is only a temporary effect. It has damaged the ideal image
only; it has not injured the real man. Far better, we would say, to
look the actual character in the face, and judge of it from its shadows
as well as its lights; then only can we truly appreciate even the
worth and goodness of Scott, for then only do we see a bearer of our
own nature, charged with a share of its infirmities, as well as of its
glories. Admit, for instance, that he erred in his anxiety for wealth;
see, on the other hand, what objects he had here in view! There was
nothing sordid in this passion of his--the results were mainly used to
realise a poetic dream from which others were to derive the substantial
benefits. A large share was also devoted without a grudge to solace
the unfortunate. Grant, again, that he venerated rank; the feeling was
essentially connected with his historic taste. He worshipped not the
title or its living bearer; his idol was constituted by the romantic
associations which it awoke--and thus he has been known to pay far more
practical respect to a poor Highland chieftain than to a modern English
peer. It may, in like manner, be admitted that his judgments on passing
affairs were obsolete, and they may be excused by a similar reference
to his poetic habits. It was the same romance of the brain from which
we derived his novels, that misled him on these points.
Sir Walter Scott possessed, in an eminent degree, the power of
imagination, with the gift of memory. If to this be added his strong
tendency to venerate past things, we at once have the most obvious
features of his intellectual character. A desultory course of reading
had brought him into acquaintance with almost all the fictitious
literature that existed before his own day, as well as the minutest
points of British, and more particularly Scottish history. His easy and
familiar habits had also introduced him to an extensive observation
of the varieties of human character. His immense memory retained the
ideas thus acquired, and his splendid imagination gave them new shape
and colour. Thus, his literary character rests almost exclusively upon
his power of combining and embellishing past events, and his skill
in delineating natural character. In early life, accident threw his
exertions into the shape of verse--in later life, into prose; but, in
whatever form they appear, the powers are not much different. The same
magician is still at work, reawaking the figures and events of history,
or sketching the characters which we every day see around us, and
investing the whole with the light of a most extraordinary fancy. His
versified writings, though replete with good feeling, display neither
the high imaginings nor the profound sympathies which are expected
in poetry; their charm lies almost entirely in the re-creation of
beings long since passed away, or the conception of others who might
be supposed to have once existed. As some of the material elements of
poetry were thus wanting, it was fortunate that he at last preferred
prose as a vehicle for his ideas--a medium of communication in which no
more was expected than what he was able or inclined to give, while it
afforded a scope for the delineation of familiar character, which was
nearly denied in poetry. As the discoverer and successful cultivator of
this kind of fictitious writing, Sir Walter Scott must rank among the
very highest names in British literature--Shakspeare, Milton, and Byron
being the only others who can be said to stand on the same level.
Among the minor powers of his mind, humour was one of the most
prominent. Both in his prose writings and in private conversation,
he was perpetually making droll application of some ancient adage,
or some snatch of popular literature, or some whimsical anecdote of
real life, which he happened to think appropriate to the occasion.[2]
A strong feeling of nationality was another of the features of his
character, though perhaps it ought, in some measure, to be identified
with his tendency to admire whatever belonged to the past. He loved
Scotland and Scotchmen, but, it may be remarked, fully as much with
a view to what they were, and what they did long ago, as to their
later or present condition. Of the common people, when they came
individually before him, it cannot be said that he was a despiser:
to them, as to all who came in his way, he was invariably kind and
affable. Nevertheless, from the highly aristocratic tone of his mind,
he had no affection for the people as a body. He seems to have never
conceived the idea of a manly and independent character in middle or
humble life; and in his novels, where an individual of these classes is
introduced, he is never invested with any virtues, unless obedience, or
even servility to superiors, be of the number. Among the features of
his character, it would be improper to omit noticing his passion for
field-sports, and for all the machinery by which they are carried on.
He was so fond of a good horse, that the present writer has seen him
turn the most serious conversation, in order to remark the strength
and speed of one of these animals which he saw passing. He has also
recorded his attachment to dogs, by being frequently drawn with one by
his side.
The gravest charge against Sir Walter Scott lies undeniably in
his heedlessness regarding his affairs. Apart altogether from his
accommodations to Constable and Company, he had entered deeply into
a false system of credit on his own account; and while much debt was
consequently hanging over him, he is found transferring the only solid
security for it--his estate--to his son. This, however, should be
contemplated in connection with all the circumstances which we can
suppose to have justified it in his own mind. To one who was producing
ten thousand a year by his pen, and who had done so for years, who,
moreover, saw large possessions in his own hands, there might appear
no pressing reason for looking anxiously into the accounts concerning
even so large a sum of floating debt as forty-six thousand pounds; at
least to one whose temperament, we now see, was sanguine and ideal as
ever poet manifested, though in his case usually veiled under an air
of worldly seeming. When this is considered, the weight of the charge
will, we think, appear much lessened, though it cannot be altogether
done away. For what remains, let us reflect on the latter days of
Scott, and surely we must own that never was fault more nobly expiated,
or punishment more nobly borne, than by the great Minstrel.
It is by far the greatest glory of Sir Walter Scott, that he shone
equally as a good and virtuous man, as he did in his capacity of the
first fictitious writer of the age. His behaviour through life was
marked by undeviating integrity and purity, insomuch that no scandalous
whisper was ever yet circulated against him. The traditionary
recollection of his early life is burdened with no stain of any sort.
His character as a husband and father is altogether irreproachable.
Indeed, in no single relation of life does it appear that he ever
incurred the least blame. His good sense, and good feeling united,
appear to have guided him aright through all the difficulties and
temptations of life; and, even as a politician, though blamed by many
for his exclusive sympathy with the cause of established rule, he was
always acknowledged to be too benevolent and too unobtrusive to call
for severe censure. Along with the most perfect uprightness of conduct,
he was characterised by extraordinary simplicity of manners. He was
invariably gracious and kind, and it was impossible ever to detect in
his conversation a symptom of his grounding the slightest title to
consideration upon his literary fame, or of his even being conscious of
it. Of all men living, the most modest, as likewise the greatest and
most virtuous, was Sir Walter Scott.
[CONCLUSION.
The vast exertions made by Scott in his latter years to redeem his
financial blunders were happily successful. Since his death, the whole
of his debts have been cleared off by the profits of his writings. More
than a generation has elapsed since his decease, yet the popularity of
his works remains unabated. Written to satisfy no temporary feeling,
but founded on a knowledge of human character, and ever enduring
and elevating in their tendency, the fictions of Scott do not seem
destined to grow old or out of date. From the frantic novel-writing of
the period, too commonly the mere rack of invention, with characters
and incidents in violation of all known experience, one turns to the
fictions of Sir Walter with undiminished, if not increasing, delight
and admiration. Mr Cadell’s interest in the Waverley Novels having been
transferred in 1851 to Messrs A. & C. Black, innumerable editions have
since testified the lasting appreciation of these interesting works,
to which much justice has certainly been done as regards the method of
publication; though, like some others among the original readers of the
fictions, we could have spared the explanatory notes of the author,
which, with all their merits, are somewhat calculated to destroy the
vraisemblance of the respective narratives. A few years after the
death of Sir Walter, the citizens of Edinburgh resolved to erect a
monument to his memory, and the device adopted was that magnificent
Norman cross, from plans of Mr George M. Kemp, placed in so conspicuous
a situation in Princes Street as to strike the eye of every passing
traveller. It encloses, under open Gothic arches, a marble statue
(life-size) of the poet in a sitting posture, by a native artist, Mr
John Steell. The monument, which was completed in 1846, is open daily
for the inspection of strangers. The cost of the structure has been
upwards of £15,000.
There is something sorrowful in the failure of Scott’s high hopes of
founding a family. The fond dream of his life may be said to have come
to nought. He left two sons and two daughters, who did not long survive
him. Miss Anne Scott died in London, 25th June 1833. Sophia, who was
married to John Gibson Lockhart, and who, in appearance and character,
most resembled her father, died 17th May 1837. Charles Scott, the
second son, died, unmarried, while acting as an attaché to a diplomatic
embassy to Persia, 28th October 1841. Walter, the eldest son, who
succeeded to the baronetcy, and rose to be lieutenant-colonel in the
15th Hussars, died on his passage home from India, 8th February 1847.
He was married, but left no issue, and the baronetcy is extinct. Mrs
Lockhart had three children, John Hugh Lockhart--the ‘Hugh Littlejohn’
for whom Scott so lovingly wrote the _Tales of a Grandfather_--who died
15th December 1831; Walter Scott Lockhart, an officer in the army,
who died at Versailles, 10th January 1853; and Charlotte Harriet Jane
Lockhart, who was married in 1847 to James Robert Hope, barrister,
grandson of the Earl of Hopetoun. This lady, the last surviving child
of the novelist, died at Edinburgh 26th October 1858. She had three
children, two of whom died young, the only survivor being Mary Monica,
born 2d October 1852, who is now the only living descendant of Sir
Walter Scott. Mrs Hope having, in virtue of inheritance, succeeded to
the estate of Abbotsford, assumed with her husband the surname Scott,
in addition to that of Hope. Their daughter is accordingly known as
Miss Hope-Scott. Mr Hope-Scott, who occupies Abbotsford, was by a
second marriage united to a sister of the present Duke of Norfolk,
1861. All Sir Walter Scott’s brothers pre-deceased him. The only one of
them who was married was Thomas, who left a son and three daughters.
In the occupancy of Mr Hope-Scott, Abbotsford remains a central point
of attraction to tourists, who, for the purpose of visiting it, and
also the mausoleum at Dryburgh, make the village of Melrose the spot
to which they first direct their pilgrimage. Carefully preserved in
every respect, the mansion of Abbotsford will be found almost in
the condition in which it was left by the great Scottish novelist.
The lapse of forty years, however, has effected great changes on
the grounds. The belts and clumps of plantation, the laying out and
thinning of which afforded so much delight to Sir Walter in the days
of his prosperity, when accompanied by Tom Purdie or William Laidlaw,
have become thick, umbrageous woods, clothing with beauty the once
bare hill-sides, and otherwise realising the anticipations of one who
fondly watched over their early development. The scene, one of the
most admired in the south of Scotland, ought not to be passed over
hurriedly. Here, within the murmuring sound of the Tweed, Sir Walter
Scott breathed his last, and here is the memorable shrine of his
affections.]
ABBOTSFORD NOTANDA
OR
SIR WALTER SCOTT AND HIS FACTOR
BY
ROBERT CARRUTHERS. LL.D.
Looking over the correspondence and other papers of my old friend,
William Laidlaw, long since deceased, and sleeping at the foot of a
Highland hill, far from his beloved Tweedside, it occurred to me that
certain portions of the letters and memoranda might possess interest
to some readers, and not be without value to future biographers. Mr
Laidlaw, it is well known, was factor or steward to Sir Walter Scott at
Abbotsford, and also occasional amanuensis. Lockhart has done justice
to his gentle, unassuming character, and merits, and to his familiar
intercourse with the Great Minstrel. Still, there are domestic details
and incidents unrecorded, such as we should rejoice to have concerning
Shakspeare at New Place, with his one hundred and seven acres of land
in the neighbourhood, or from Horace addressing the bailiff on his
Sabine farm. Such personal memorials of great men, if genuine and
correct, are seldom complained of, as Gibbon has observed, for their
minuteness or prolixity.
The following pages are reprinted partly from _Chambers’s Journal_, and
partly from the _Gentleman’s Magazine_, the proprietors of which kindly
permitted their republication.
R. C.
INVERNESS.
ABBOTSFORD NOTANDA.
The death of Mr William Laidlaw, a man of fine natural powers, and
of most estimable character, removed another of the few individuals
connected directly and confidentially with the daily life and literary
history of Sir Walter Scott, and also with the revival of the antique
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. The loss of Hogg, while the
twilight from Scott’s departed greatness still shone on the land, was
universally regretted; and by the death of Laidlaw, another ‘flower of
the forest,’ less bright, but a genuine product of the soil, was ‘wede
away.’ As the author of one of our sweetest and most characteristic
Scottish ballads, _Lucy’s Flittin’_, and as a collaborateur with Scott
in the collection of the ancient minstrelsy, Laidlaw is entitled to
honourable remembrance. Let us never forget those who have added even
one wild-rose to the chaplet of Scottish song! It is chiefly, however,
as the companion and factor or land-steward of Scott, that William
Laidlaw will be known in after-times. During most of those busy and
glorious years when Scott was pouring out so prodigally the treasures
of his prose fictions, and building up his baronial romance of
Abbotsford, Laidlaw was his confidential adviser and assistant. From
1817 to 1832, he was resident on the poet’s estate, and emphatically
one of his household friends. Not a shade of distrust or estrangement
came between them; and this close connection, notwithstanding
a disparity in circumstances and opinions, in fame and worldly
consequence, is too honourable to both parties to be readily forgotten.
The manly kindness and consideration of one noble nature was paralleled
by the affectionate devotion and admiration of another; and literary
history is brightened by the rare conjunction.
Scott’s early excursions to Liddesdale and Ettrick form one of the
most interesting epochs of his life. He was then young, not great,
but prosperous, high-spirited, and overflowing with enthusiasm. His
appointment as sheriff had procured him confidence and respect. He had
given hostages to fortune as a husband and a father, and no one felt
more strongly the force and tenderness of those ties. Friends were
daily gathering round him; his German studies and ballads inspired
visions of literary distinction; and he was full of hope and ambition.
In his Border raids, he revelled among the choice and curious stores
of Scottish poetry and antiquities. Almost every step in his progress
was marked by some memorable deed or plaintive ballad--some martial
achievement or fairy superstition. Every tragic tale and family
tradition was known to him. The old _peels_, or castles, the bare
hills and treeless forest, and solitary streams were all sacred in his
eyes. They told of times long past--of warlike feuds and forays--of
knights and freebooters, and of primitive manners and customs, fast
disappearing, yet embalmed in songs, often rude and imperfect, but
always energetic or tender. Thus, the Border towers, and streams, and
rocks were equally dear to him as memorials of feudal valour, and as
the scenes of lyric poetry and pastoral tranquillity. He contrasted
the strife and violence of the warlike Douglases, the Elliots, and
Armstrongs, with the peace and security of later times, when shepherds
ranged the silent hill, or Scottish maidens sang ancient songs, and,
like the Trojan dames,
‘Washed their fair garments in the days of peace.’
Much of this romance was in the scene, but more was in the mind of the
beholder.
William Laidlaw’s acquaintance with Scott commenced in the autumn
of 1802, after two volumes of the _Minstrelsy_ had been published,
and the editor was making collections for a third. The eldest son
of a respectable sheep-farmer, Mr Laidlaw was born at Blackhouse,
Selkirkshire, in November 1780. He had received a good education,
had a strong bias towards natural history and poetry, was modest and
retiring, and of remarkably mild and agreeable manners. The scheme of
collecting the old ballads of the Forest was exactly suited to his
taste. Burns had filled the whole land with a love of song and poetry,
James Hogg was his intimate friend and companion. Hogg had been ten
years a shepherd with Mr Laidlaw’s father, had taught the younger
members of the family their letters, and recited poetry to the old, and
was engaged in every _ploy_ and pursuit at Blackhouse, the name of the
elder Laidlaw’s farm.
A solitary and interesting spot is Blackhouse!--a wild extensive
sheep-walk, with its complement of traditional story, and the suitable
accompaniment of a ruined tower. The farm lies along the Douglas
Burn, a small mountain-stream which falls into the Yarrow about two
miles from St Mary’s Loch. Near the house, at the foot of a steep,
green hill, and surrounded with a belting of trees, is Blackhouse
Tower, or the Tower of Douglas, so called, according to tradition,
after the Black Douglas, one of whose ancestors, Sir John Douglas of
Douglas-burn, as appears from Godscroft’s history of the family, sat
in Malcolm Canmore’s first parliament. The tower has in one corner the
remains of a round turret, which contained the stair, and the walls
rise in high broken points, which altogether give the ruin a singular
and picturesque appearance. It is also the scene of a popular ballad,
_The Douglas Tragedy_, in which, as in the old Elizabethan dramas,
blood is shed and horrors are accumulated with no sparing hand. A
knightly lover, the ‘Lord William’ of so many ballads, carries off
a daughter of Lord Douglas, and is pursued by this puissant noble
and his seven sons. All these are slain by Lord William, while the
fair betrothed looks on, holding his steed; and the lover himself is
mortally wounded in the combat, and dies ere morn. The lady also falls
a prey to her grief; and, in the true vein of antique story and legend,
we are told
‘Lord William was buried in St Mary’s kirk,
Lady Margaret in Mary’s quire;
Out o’ the lady’s grave grew a bonny red rose,
And out o’ the knight’s a brier.’
The tower and legend interested Scott as they had done Laidlaw. He
listened attentively to the traditionary narrative, and, like the
lovers in the ballad,
‘He lighted down to take a drink
Of the spring that ran sae clear,’
and visited the seven large stones erected upon the neighbouring
heights of Blackhouse to mark the spot where the seven brethren were
slain.
Mr Laidlaw was prepared for Scott’s mission. He had heard from a
Selkirk man in Edinburgh, Mr Andrew Mercer--a Border rhymester,
and connected with the _Edinburgh Magazine_--that the sheriff was
meditating a poetical raid into Ettrick, accompanied by John Leyden,
and he had written down various ballads from the recitation of old
women and the singing of the servant-girls. He had also enlisted the
Ettrick Shepherd into this special service. The following is one of
Hogg’s rambling bizarre epistles, which relates chiefly to the ballad
of the Outlaw Murray:
‘DEAR SIR--I received yours, with the transcript, on the day before
St Boswell’s Fair’ [17th of July], ‘and am sorry to say it will not
be in my power to procure you manuscripts of the two old ballads,
especially as they which Mr Scott hath already collected are so
near being published. I was talking to my uncle concerning them,
and he tells me they are mostly escaped his memory, and they really
are so--in so much, that of the whole long transactions betwixt
the Scottish king and Murray, he cannot make above half-a-dozen
of stanzas to metre, and these are wretched. He attributed it to
James V., but as he can mention no part of the song or tale from
whence this is proven, I apprehend, from some expressions, it
is much ancienter. Upon the whole, I think the thing worthy of
investigation--the more so as he’ [Murray of the ballad] ‘was the
progenitor of a very respectable family, and seems to have been
a man of the utmost boldness and magnanimity. What way he became
possessed of Ettrick Forest, or from whom he conquered it, remains
to me a mystery. When taken prisoner by the king at Permanscore,
above Hanginshaw, where the traces of the encampments are still
visible, and pleading the justice of his claim to Ettrick Forest,
he hath this remarkable expression: