Ettrick, and I have seen but little of him since. He had serious work
with the English noblemen in the king’s train, who did not seem to
wish that Scotland should shew off as an independent kingdom, which,
by the articles of the Union, was provided for in the event of the
king’s coming to Edinburgh. They wanted all to be done according to
English form, as was the case in Ireland, but he settled them. They
proposed, too, that the Highland guard (indeed they objected to the
guard altogether) should have the flints taken from their pistols! A
deputy, Colonel Stevenson, had the management, and corresponded with
Sir Walter; and as he was to dine at Castle Street with a number of
the Highland chiefs, Sir Walter proposed that the colonel should speak
to them on the subject. After they were a little warmed with wine, Sir
Walter addressed Stevenson, who sat beside him, saying he had better
now propose what he had mentioned before. The Highlanders had got to
telling old stories, and were in high spirits; they were, of course,
in full dress. Colonel Stevenson said he saw now that he had mistaken
the sort of people beside him; and on Sir Walter pressing him (rather
slyly) to proceed, he declared he would rather not.
‘The king was greatly surprised and affected with the behaviour of the
people on Sunday. They did not cheer as usual, but took off their hats
and bowed as they passed along. He expressed himself strongly to Sir
Walter about this. Sir Walter said the verses of the cavalier to his
mistress might be applied to the people:
“Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.”
I found the lines were by Lovelace, addressed to his Lucasta, on his
going to the wars. The king witnessed an incident that seemed, as Sir
Walter said, to have made a deep impression on his mind. As he came
along the Calton Hill road, the crowd made a rush down hill towards the
royal carriage, and the king saw a child fall. Had it been in London,
he said, the child would have been trampled to death, and he expected
nothing else. But in a moment there was a loud cry of “Stop!” and five
or six men linked themselves together arm-in-arm, and set themselves to
keep off the crowd, standing like an arch; then a man stepped before
them and lifted the boy, and held him up above the crowd, to shew that
he was not hurt. Sir Walter heard the king relate this incident twice.’
In the autumn of 1825, Sir Walter visited Ireland, and thus, in homely
confidential style, records his impressions:
‘MY DEAR WILLIE--I conclude you are now returned, with wife and
bairns, to Kaeside, and not the worse of your tour. I have been
the better of mine; and Killarney being the extreme point, I am
just about to commence my return to Dublin, where I only intend to
remain two or three days at farthest. I should like to find a line
from you, addressed “Care of David Macculloch, Esq., Cheltenham,”
letting me know how matters go on at Abbotsford--if you want money
(as I suppose you do), and so forth.
‘I have every reason to make a good report of Ireland, having
been received with distinction, which is flattering, and with
warm-hearted kindness, which is much better. I am happy to say the
country is rapidly improving every year, which argues the spirit
that is afloat, and indicates that British capital is finding its
way into a country where it can be employed to advantage. The idea
of security is gaining ground even in those districts which are, or
rather were, the most unsettled, and plenty has brought her usual
companion content, in her hand. But the public peace is secured
chiefly by large bodies of armed police, called by the civil term
of constables, but very unlike the Dogberries of England, being,
in fact, soldiers on foot and horse, well armed and mounted, and
dressed exactly like our yeomen. It is not pleasant to see this,
but it is absolutely necessary for some time at least; and from all
I can hear, the men are under strict discipline, and behave well.
They are commanded by the magistracy, and are very alert.
‘The soil is in most places extremely rich, but cultivation is
not as yet well understood. That accursed system of making peats
interferes with everything; and I have passed through whole
counties where a very noble harvest, ripe for the sickle, was
waiting for the next shower of rain; while all the population who
should cut were up to the midst in bogs. Not a single field of
turnips have I seen, owing probably to the same reason.
‘The political disputes are of far less consequence here than we
think in Britain; but, on the whole, it would be highly desirable
that the Catholic Bill should pass. It would satisfy most of the
higher classes of that persuasion, who seem much inclined to form a
sort of Low Church, differing in ceremonies more than in essential
points from that of the English Church. I mean they would do this
tacitly and gradually. The lower class will probably continue for a
long time bigoted Papists; but education becoming general, it is to
be supposed that popery, in its violent tenets, will decline even
amongst them. By the way, education is already far more general
than in England. I saw in the same village four hundred Catholic
children attending school, and about two hundred Protestants
attending another. The peculiar doctrines of neither church were
permitted to be taught; and there were Protestants amongst the
Papist children, and Papists among the Protestant.
‘The general condition of the peasantry requires much improvement.
Their cabins are wretched, and their dress such a labyrinth of
rags, that I have often feared some button would give way, and
shame us all. But this is mending, and the younger people are all
more decently dressed, and the new huts which are arising are
greatly better than the old pigsties. In short, all is on the move
and the mend. But as I must be on the move myself, I must defer the
rest of my discoveries till we meet. We have in our party, Anne,
Lockhart, Walter and his wife, and two Miss Edgeworths, so we are a
jolly party. Will you shew this to Lady Scott? I wrote to her two
days since.--Always truly yours,
WALTER SCOTT.
‘KILLARNEY, _8th August_.’
The brilliance of Abbotsford had now reached its culminating point.
The commercial crisis of 1825–26 was close at hand, and the first
note of the alarm and confusion in the money-market suspended all
improvements, and occasioned intense anxiety to Sir Walter. We add two
letters as supplementing Lockhart’s narrative:
‘MY DEAR WILLIAM--The money-market in London is in a tremendous
state, so much so that, whatever good reason I have, and I have
the best, for knowing that Constable and his allies, Hurst and
Robinson, are in perfect force, yet I hold it wise and necessary to
prepare myself for making good my engagements, which come back on
me suddenly, or by taking up those which I hold good security for.
For this purpose I have resolved to exercise my reserved faculty
to burden Abbotsford with £8000 or £10,000. I can easily get the
money, and having no other debts, and these well secured, I hold it
better to “put money in my purse,” and be a debtor on my land for a
year or two, till the credit of the public is restored. I may not
want the money, in which case I will buy into the funds, and make
some cash by it. But I think it would be most necessary, and even
improper not to be fully prepared.
‘What I want of you is to give me a copy of the rental of
Abbotsford, as it now stands, mentioning the actual rents of ground
let, and the probable rents of those in my hand. You gave me one
last year, but I would rather have the actual rents, and as such
business is express, I would have you send it immediately, and keep
it all as much within as you think fair and prudent. Your letter
need only contain the rental, and you may write your remarks
separately. I have not the slightest idea of losing a penny, but
the distrust is so great in London that the best houses refuse the
best bills of the best tradesmen, and as I have retained such a
sum in view of protecting my literary commerce, I think it better
to make use of it, and keep my own mind easy, than to carry about
bills to unwilling banks, and beg for funds which I can use of my
own. I have more than £10,000 to receive before Midsummer, but then
I might be put to vexation before that, which I am determined to
prevent.
‘By all I can learn, this is just such an embarrassment as may
arise when pickpockets cry “Fire!” in a crowd, and honest men
get trampled to death. Thank God, I can clear myself of the
_mêlée_, and am not afraid of the slightest injury. If the money
horizon does not clear up in a month or two, I will abridge my
farming, &c. I cannot find there is any real cause for this; but
an imaginary one will do equal mischief. I need not say this is
confidential.--Yours truly,
WALTER SCOTT.
‘_16th December_ [1825], EDINBURGH.’
‘The confusion of 1814 is a joke to this. I have no debts of my own. On
the contrary, £3000 and more lying out on interest, &c. It is a little
hard that, making about £7000 a year, and working hard for it, I should
have this botheration. But it arises out of the nature of the same
connection which gives, and has given me, a fortune, and therefore I am
not entitled to grumble.’
[EDINBURGH, _January 26, 1826_.]
‘MY DEAR WILLIE--I wrote to you some days since, but from yours by
the carrier I see my letter has not reached you. It does not much
signify, as it was not, and could not be, of any great consequence
until I see how these untoward matters are to turn up. Of course,
everything will depend on the way the friends of the great house
in London, and those of Constable here, shall turn out. Were they
to be ultimately good, or near it, this would pass over my head
with little inconvenience. But I think it better to take the worst
point of view, and suppose that I do not receive from them above
five shillings in the pound; and even in that case, I am able to
make a proposal to my creditors, that if they allow me to put my
affairs into the hands of a private trustee, or trustees, and
finish the literary engagements I have on hand, there is no great
chance of their being ultimate losers. This is the course I should
choose. But if they wish rather to do what they can for themselves,
they will, in that case, give me a great deal of pain, and make
a great deal less of the funds. For, it is needless to say, that
no security can make a man write books, and upon my doing so--I
mean completing those in hand--depends the instant payment of a
large sum. I have no reason to apprehend that any of the parties
concerned are blind to their interest in this matter. I have had
messages from all the banks, &c., offering what assistance they
could give, so that I think my offer will be accepted. Indeed, as
they cannot sell Abbotsford, owing to its being settled in Walter’s
marriage contract, there can be little doubt they will adopt the
only way which promises, with a little time, to give them full
payment, and my life may, in the meanwhile, be insured. My present
occupations completed, will enable me to lay down, in the course of
the summer, at least £20,000 of good cash, which, if things had
remained sound among the booksellers, would have put me on velvet.
‘The probable result being that we must be accommodated with the
delay necessary, our plan is to sell the house and furniture
in Castle Street, and Lady S. and Anne to come to Abbotsford,
with a view of economising, while I take lodgings in Edinburgh,
and work hard till the Session permits me to come out. All our
farming operations must, of course, be stopped so soon as they can
with least possible loss, and stock, &c., disposed of. In short,
everything must be done to avoid outlay. At the same time, there
can be no want of comfort. I must keep Peter and the horses for
Lady Scott’s sake, though I make sacrifices in my own [case].
Bogie, I think, we will also keep, but we must sell the produce of
the garden. As for Tom, he and I go to the grave together. All idle
horses, &c., must be dispensed with.
‘For you, my dear friend, we must part--that is, as laird and
factor--and it rejoices me to think that your patience and
endurance, which set me so good an example, are like to bring
round better days. You never flattered my prosperity, and in my
adversity it is not the least painful consideration that I cannot
any longer be useful to you. But Kaeside, I hope, will still be
your residence; and I will have the advantage of your company and
advice, and probably your services as amanuensis. Observe, I am
not in indigence, though no longer in affluence; and if I am to
exert myself in the common behalf, I must have honourable and easy
means of life, although it will be my inclination to observe the
most strict privacy, both to save expense and also time; nor do we
propose to see any one but yourself and the Fergusons.
‘I will be obliged to you to think over all these matters; also
whether anything could be done in leasing the saw-mill, or Swanston
working it for the public. I should like to keep him if I could. I
imagine they must leave me my official income, which, indeed, is
not liable to be attached. That will be £1600 a year, but there
is Charles’s college expenses come to £300 at least. I can add,
however, £200 or £300 without interrupting serious work. Three or
four years of my favour with the public, if my health and life
permit, will make me better off than ever I have been in my life. I
hope it will not inconvenience the Miss Smiths to be out of their
money for a little while. It is a most unexpected chance on my part.
‘All that I have said is for your consideration and making up your
mind, for nothing can be certain till we hear what the persons
principally concerned please to say. But then, if they accede to
the trust, we will expect to have the pleasure of seeing you here
with a list of stock and a scheme of what you think best to be
done. My purpose is that everything shall be paid ready money from
week to week.
‘I have £180 to send to you, and it is in my hands. Of course it
will be paid, but I am unwilling to send it until I know the exact
footing on which I am to stand. The gentleman whom I wish should be
my trustee--or one of them--is John Gibson, the Duke’s factor.
‘Lady Scott’s spirits were affected at first, but she is getting
better. For myself, I feel like the Eildon Hills--quite firm,
though a little cloudy. I do not dislike the path which lies
before me. I have seen all that society can shew, and enjoyed
all that wealth can give me, and I am satisfied much is vanity,
if not vexation of spirit. I am arranging my affairs, and mean to
economise a good deal, and I will pay every man his due.--Yours
truly,
WALTER SCOTT.’
There was some delusion in all this. Sir Walter never fully
comprehended the state of his pecuniary affairs. It was one of his
weaknesses, as James Ballantyne has said, to shrink too much from
looking evil in the face, and he was apt to carry a great deal too far
‘sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.’ Laidlaw mentions another
small weakness: ‘he was always in alarm lest the servants should
suspect he was in want of money.’ This, of course, was subsequent to
the public declaration of the failure. Laidlaw went to Edinburgh to
report to the trustees with respect to the best way of closing the farm
business, and there met Sir Walter.
‘He bears himself wonderfully. Miss Scott does not seem to be quite
aware or sensible of anything but that they are to reside in retirement
at Abbotsford. Lady Scott is rather unwilling to believe it, and does
not see the necessity of such complete retrenchment as Sir Walter tells
her is absolutely necessary. I have dined three times there, and there
is not much difference in their manner. Sir W. is often merry, and so
are they all, but still oftener silent. I think that if they were a
week or two at Abbotsford they would be more happy than they have been
for many a day. I am sure this would be the case with Sir Walter, for
the weight of such an immense system of bills sent for his signature
every now and then would be off his mind. I heard to-day that the Duke
of Somerset and another English nobleman have written to Sir Walter,
offering him £30,000 each, which he has firmly refused; and it is
reported that the young Duke of Buccleuch has written him, offering to
take the whole loss on himself, and to pay the interest of Sir Walter’s
debt until he comes of age. If that is true, Sir Walter should accept
the offer for the Duke’s own sake--for the glorious moral effect it
would have upon the truly noble young fellow. But, apart from all
this, cannot they set up Constable again? He has likewise been a real
benefactor to his country, and then Sir Walter would, of course, be
relieved.’
The private grief of Scott was for a short time merged in what he
considered an important public cause. The Liverpool Administration at
this time proposed to change the Scotch system of currency, abolishing
the small bank-notes, and assimilating the monetary system of Scotland
to that of England. This project was assailed by the wit, humour,
sound sense, and nationality of Scott, in a series of letters signed
‘Malachi Malagrowther,’ and the letters of Malachi were as successful
as those of Swift’s ‘M. B. Drapier’ concerning the currency of Ireland.
The English government, in both cases, was compelled to abandon the
denationalising scheme. Scott writes to Laidlaw, March 1, 1826:
‘I enclose a couple of copies of a pamphlet on the currency, which may
amuse you. The other copy is for Mr Craig, Galashiels. I have got off
some bile from my stomach which has been disturbing me for some years.
The Scotch have a fair opportunity now to give battle, if they dare
avail themselves of it. One would think I had little to do, that I
should go loose upon politics.’
He had, in fact, entered upon his herculean task of paying off some
£120,000 of debt by his pen! The _Life of Napoleon_ was commenced, and
in the autumn the biographer set off for London and Paris to consult
state-papers and gather information. He succeeded well in his errand.
‘My collection of information,’ he writes, ‘goes on faster than I
can take it in; but, then, it is so much coloured by passion and
party-feeling, that it requires much scouring. I spent a day at the
Royal Lodge at Windsor, which was a grand affair for John Nicholson, as
he got an opportunity to see his Majesty.’ And the incident, no doubt,
afforded as much gratification to the kind, indulgent master as it did
to the servant.
After the Abbotsford establishment was broken up, Laidlaw was some time
engaged in cataloguing the large library of Scott of Harden, and at
times visiting his brothers, sheep-farmers in Ross-shire. The following
description of a scene he witnessed, a Highland Summer Sacrament out of
doors, evinces no mean powers of observation and description:
‘The people here gather in thousands to the sacraments, as they did
in Ettrick in Boston’s time. We set out on Sunday to the communion
at Ferrintosh, near Dingwall, to which the people resort from fifty
miles’ distance. Macdonald, the minister who attracts this concourse
of persons, was the son of a piper in Caithness (but from the Celtic
population of the mountains there). He preached the sermon in the
church in English, with a command of language and a justness of tone,
action, and reasoning--keeping close to the pure metaphysics of
Calvin--that I have seldom, if ever, heard surpassed. He had great
energy on all points, but it never touched on extravagance. The
Highland congregation sat in a _cleugh_, or dell, of a long, hollow,
oval shape, bordered with hazel and birch and wild roses. It seemed
to be formed for the purpose. We walked round the outside of the
congregated thousands, and looked down on the glen from the upper end,
and the scene was really indescribable. Two-thirds of those present
were women, dressed mostly in large, high, wide muslin caps, the back
part standing up like the head of a paper kite, and ornamented with
ribbons. They had wrapped round them bright-coloured plaid shawls, the
predominant hue being scarlet.
‘It was a warm, breezy day, one of the most glorious in June. The
place will be about half a mile from the Frith on the south side, and
at an elevation of five hundred feet. Dingwall was just opposite at
the foot of Ben Wyvis, still spotted with wreaths of snow. Over the
town, with its modern castle, its church, and Lombardy poplars, we
saw up the richly cultivated valley of Strathpeffer. The tufted rocks
and woods of Brahan (Mackenzie of Seaforth) were a few miles to the
south, and fields of wheat and potatoes, separated with hedgerows of
trees, intervened. Further off, the high-peaked mountains that divide
the county of Inverness from Ross-shire towered in the distance. I
never saw such a scene. We sat down on the brae among the people,
the long white communion tables being conspicuous at the bottom. The
congregation began singing the psalm to one of the plaintive, wild old
tunes that I am told are only sung in the Gaelic service. The people
all sing, but in such an extended multitude they could not sing all
together. They chanted, as it were, in masses or large groups. I can
compare the singing to nothing earthly, except it be imagining what
would be the effect of a gigantic and tremendous Æolian harp with
hundreds of strings! There was no resisting the impression. After
coming a little to myself, I went and paced the length and breadth of
the amphitheatre, taking averages, and carefully noting, as well as I
could, how the people were sitting together, and I could not, in this
way, make them less than 9500, besides those in the church, amounting
perhaps to 1500. Most of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood, with their
families, were there. I enjoyed the scene as something perfect in its
way, and of rare beauty and excellence--like Melrose Abbey under a fine
light, or the back of old Edinburgh during an illumination, or the Loch
of the Lowes in a fine calm July evening, five minutes after sunset!’
The following brief and pleasant note, without date, must be referred
to 1827, as it was in June of that year that the _Life of Napoleon_ was
published:
‘MY DEAR MR LAIDLAW--I would be happy if you would come down
at _kail-time_ to-day. _Napoleon_ (6000 copies) is sold for
£11,000.--Yours truly,
W. S.
‘_SUNDAY._’
Mr Gibson, W.S., in his _Reminiscences of Sir Walter Scott_ (1871),
says of the transactions of this period: ‘Of _Woodstock_, 9850 copies
were sold for £9500; and of the _Life of Napoleon_, 8000 copies were
sold for £18,200, and these sums, with some other funds realised, were
speedily divided amongst the creditors.’ Under the date of August 1827,
Sir Walter writes in the following affectionate strain:
‘Your leaving Kaeside makes a most melancholy blank to us. You, Mrs
Laidlaw, and the bairns, were objects we met with so much pleasure,
that it is painful to think of strangers being there. But they do
not deserve good weather who cannot endure the bad, and so I would
“set a stout heart to a stey” [steep] “brae;” yet I think the loss of
our walks, plans, discussions, and debates, does not make the least
privation that I experience from the loss of world’s gear. But, _sursum
corda_, and we shall have many happy days yet, and spend some of them
together. I expect Walter and Jane, and then our long-separated family
will be all together in peace and happiness. I hope Mrs Laidlaw and
you will come down and spend a few days with us, and revisit your old
haunts. I miss you terribly at this moment, being engaged in writing a
planting article for the _Quarterly_, and not having patience to make
some necessary calculations.’
Mr Laidlaw has written on the back of the communication: ‘This letter
lies in the drawer in which the unfinished manuscript of _Waverley_ was
found, amongst fishing-tackle, &c. which yet remain. I got the desk as
a present from Sir Walter.’
The death, in the autumn of 1829, of faithful Tom Purdie--forester,
henchman, and humble friend--was a heavy blow to Sir Walter, then fast
sinking in vigour and alacrity. The proverbial difficulty of obtaining
a precisely exact account of any contemporary event, even from parties
most closely connected with it, is illustrated in this case. Lockhart
reports the death as follows:
‘Thomas Purdie leaned his head one evening on the table, and dropped
asleep. This was nothing uncommon in a hard-working man; and his family
went and came about him for several hours, without taking any notice.
When supper came, they tried to awaken him, and found that life had
been for some time extinct.’
Scott’s account is different: