I think I will be in the Secret next week unless I recruit greatly.

_April_ 27.--They have cut me off from animal food and fermented liquor of every kind, and would press upon me such trash as panada and the like, which affect my stomach.

This I will none of, but quietly wait till my ordinary diet is permitted, and thank G.o.d I can fast with any one. I walked out and found the day delightful; the woods are looking charming, just bursting forth to the tune of the birds. I have been whistling on my wits like so many chickens, and cannot miss any of them. I feel, on the whole, better than I have yet done. I believe I have fined and recovered, and so may be thankful.

_April_ 28 and 29.--Walter made his appearance, well and stout, and completely recovered of his stomach complaints by abstinence. He has youth on his side, and I in age must submit to be a Lazarus. The medical men persist in recommending a seton. I am no friend to these risky remedies, and will be sure of the necessity before I yield consent. The dying like an Indian under torture is no joke, and, as Commodore Trunnion says, I feel heart-whole as a biscuit. My mind turns to politics. I feel better just now, and so I am. I will wait till Lockhart comes, but that may be too late.

FOOTNOTES:

[445] Henry Liddell, second Baron Ravensworth, author of a translation of the Odes of Horace, a volume of Latin Poems, etc.

[446] In a letter from Sir Walter to his son-in-law, of April 11th, he says:--

"When you can take an hour to think of this, I will be glad to hear from you.... I am in possession of five or six ma.n.u.scripts, copies, or large extracts, taken under my own eyes. Croker thinks, and I am of his opinion, that if there was room for a personal narrative of the character, it would answer admirably."

[447] This gentleman, a brother to the Laird of Raeburn, had made some fortune in the East Indies, and bestowed the name of Ravenswood on a villa which he built near Melrose. He died in 1831.--J.G.L.

[448] The Ma.n.u.scripts were sold by auction in London on August 19th, 1831, and the prices realised fell far short of what might have been expected, _e.g._ (1) _Monastery_, 18; (2) _Guy Mannering_, 27, 10s.; (3) _Old Mortality_, 33; (4) _Antiquary_, 42; (5) _Rob Roy_, 50; (6) _Peveril of the Peak_, 42; (7) _Waverley_, 18; (8) _Abbot_, 14; (9) _Ivanhoe_, 12; (10) _Pirate_, 12; (11) _Nigel_, 16, 16s.; (12) _Kenilworth_, 17; (13) _Bride of Lammermoor_, 14, 14s.--Total 317.--See David Laing's Catalogue, pp. 99-108, for an account of the dispersion and sales of the original MSS., prose and poetry.

[449] Miss J. Erskine, a daughter of Lord Kinnedder's. She died in 1838.--J.G.L.

[450] The Rev. N. Paterson, author of _The Manse Garden_; afterwards minister of St. Andrew's, Glasgow. He died in 1871. Mr. Paterson was a grandson of Robert Paterson, "Old Mortality," and brother of the Rev.

Walter Paterson, minister of Kirkurd, author of the _Legend of Iona_--a poem written in imitation of the style of Scott, and in which he recognises his obligations to Sir Walter in the following terms:--"From him I derived courage to persevere in an undertaking on which I had often reflected with terror and distrust."--_Legend_, notes, p. 305.

[451] Mr. John Smith of Darnick, the builder of Abbotsford, and architect of these bridges.--J.G.L.

[452] This gentleman died in Edinburgh on the 4th February 1838.--J.G.L.

[453] The late Captain Watson, R.N., was distantly related to Sir Walter's mother. His son, Sir John Watson Gordon, rose to great eminence as a painter; and his portraits of Scott and Hogg rank among his best pieces. He became President of the Royal Scottish Academy in 1850, died in 1864, leaving funds to endow a Chair of Fine Arts in the Edinburgh University.

[454] Mr. W.F. Skene, Historiographer Royal for Scotland, and son of Scott's dear friend, has been good enough to give me his recollections of these days:--

"On referring to my Diary for the year 1831 I find the following entry: 'This Spring, on 31st April, I went with my father to Abbotsford and left on Sir Walter Scott being taken ill.' The date here given for my visit does not correspond with that in Sir Walter's Diary, but, as there are only thirty days in April it has evidently been written by mistake for the 13th. I had just attained my twenty-first year, and as such a visit at that early age was a great event in my life, I retain a very distinct recollection of the main features of it. I recollect that Lord Meadowbank and his eldest son Alan came at the same time, and the dinner party, at which Mr. Pringle of the Haining and his brother were present.

The day after our arrival Sir Walter asked me to drive with him. We went in his open carriage to the Yarrow, where we got out, and Sir Walter, leaning on my arm, walked up the side of the river, pouring forth a continuous stream of anecdotes, traditions, and sc.r.a.ps of ballads. I was in the seventh heaven of delight, and thought I had never spent such a day. On Sunday Sir Walter did not come down to breakfast, but sent a message to say that he had caught cold and had taken some medicine for it the night before, which had made him ill, and would remain in bed.

When we sat at either lunch or dinner, I do not recollect which, Sir Walter walked into the room and sat down near the table, but ate nothing. He seemed in a dazed state, and took no notice of any one, but after a few minutes' silence, during which his daughter Anne, who was at table, and was watching him with some anxiety, motioned to us to take no notice, he began in a quiet voice to tell us a story of a pauper lunatic, who, fancying he was a rich man, and was entertaining all sorts of high persons to the most splendid banquets, communicated to his doctor in confidence that there was one thing that troubled him much, and which he could not account for, and that was that all these exquisite dishes seemed to him to taste of oatmeal porridge. Sir Walter told this with much humour, and after a few minutes' silence began again, and told the same story over a second time, and then again a third time.[E] His daughter, who was watching him with increasing anxiety, then motioned to us to rise from table, and persuaded her father to return to his bedroom. Next day the doctor, who had been sent for, told us that he was seriously ill, and advised that his guests should leave at once, so that the house might be kept quiet and his daughter devote herself entirely to the care of her father. We accordingly left at once, and I never saw Sir Walter again. I still, however, retain a memorial of my visit. I had fallen into indifferent health in the previous year, and been recommended Highland air. By Sir Walter's advice I was sent to live with a friend of his, the Reverend Doctor Macintosh Mackay, then minister of Laggan, in the Inverness-shire Highlands, and had pa.s.sed my time learning from him the Gaelic language.

This excited in me a taste for Celtic Antiquities, and finding in Sir Walter's Library a copy of O'Connor's _Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores veteres_, I sat up one night transcribing from it the Annals of Tighernac. This transcript is still in my library.--WILLIAM F. SKENE.

"27 INVERLEITH ROW, Sept. 1890."

[E] An echo of one of his own singular ill.u.s.trations (see _Letters on Demonology_) of the occasional collision between a disturbed imagination and the organs of sense.

[455] _aeneid_ II. 62.

MAY.

_April_ 30 _and May_ 1.--To meet Sandy Pringle to settle the day of election on Monday. Go on with _Count Robert_ half-a-dozen leaves per day. I am not much pleased with my handiwork. The Chancery money seems like to be paid. This will relieve me of poor Charles, who is at present my chief burthen. The task of pumping my brains becomes inevitably harder when "both chain-pumps are choked below;"[456] and though this may not be the case literally, yet the apprehension is wellnigh as bad.

_May_ 2.--The day pa.s.sed as usual in dictating (too little) and riding a good deal. I must get finished with _Count Robert_, who is progressing, as the Transatlantics say, at a very slow pace indeed. By the bye, I have a letter from Nathan T. Rossiter, Williamstown, New York City, offering me a collection of poems by Byron, which are said to have been found in Italy some years since by a friend of Mr. Rossiter. I don't see I can at all be ent.i.tled to these, so shall write to decline them. If Mr. Rossiter chooses to publish them in Italy or America he may, but, published here, they must be the property of Lord Byron's executors.

_May_ 3.--Sophia arrives--with all the children looking well and beautiful, except poor Johnnie, who looks very pale. But it is no wonder, poor thing!

_May_ 4.--I have a letter from Lockhart, promising to be down by next Wednesday, that is, to-day. I will consult him about Byron's Exec., and as to these poems said to be his Lordship's. They are very probably first copies thrown aside, or may not be genuine at all. I will be glad to see Lockhart. My p.r.o.nunciation is a good deal improved. My time glides away ill employed, but I am afraid of the palsy. I should not like to be pinned to my chair. But I believe even that kind of life is more endurable than we could suppose. Your wishes are limited to your little circle--yet the idea is terrible to a man who has been active. My own circle in bodily matters is daily narrowing; not so in intellectual matters, but I am perhaps a bad judge. The plough is coming to the end of the furrow, so it is likely I shall not reach the common goal of mortal life by a few years. I am now in my sixtieth year only, and

"Three score and ten years do sum up."[457]

_May_ 5.--A fleece of letters, which must be answered, I suppose--all from persons, my zealous admirers, of course, and expecting a degree of generosity, which will put to rights all their maladies, physical and mental; and expecting that I can put to rights whatever losses have been their lot, raise them to a desirable rank, and [stand] their protector and patron. I must, they take it for granted, be astonished at having an address from a stranger; on the contrary, I would be astonished if any of these extravagant epistles were from any one who had the least t.i.tle to enter into correspondence with me. I have all the plague of answering these teasing people.

Mr. Burn, the architect, came in, struck by the appearance of my house from the road. He approved my architecture greatly. He tells me the edifice for Jeanie Deans--that is, her prototype--is nigh finished, so I must get the inscription ready.[458] Mr. Burn came to meet with Pringle of Haining; but, alas! it is two nights since this poor young man, driving in from his own lake, where he had been fishing, an ill-broken horse ran away with him, and, at his own stable-door, overturned the vehicle and fractured poor Pringle's skull; he died yesterday morning. A sad business; so young a man, the proprietor of a good estate, and a well-disposed youth. His politics were, I think, mistaken, being the reverse of his father's; but that is nothing at such a time. Burn went on to Richardson's place of Kirklands, where he is to meet the proprietor, whom I too would wish to see, but I can hardly make it out.

Here is a world of arrangements. I think we will soon hit upon something. My son Walter takes leave of me to-day to return to Sheffield. At his entreaty I have agreed to put in a seton, which they seem all to recommend. My own opinion is, this addition to my tortures will do me no good; but I cannot hold out against my son. So, when the present blister is well over, let them try their seton as they call it.

_May_ 6 _and_ 7.--Here is a precious job. I have a formal remonstrance from these critical persons, Ballantyne and Cadell, against the last volume of _Count Robert_, which is within a sheet of being finished. I suspect their opinion will be found to coincide with that of the public; at least it is not very different from my own. The blow is a stunning one I suppose, for I scarcely feel it. It is singular, but it comes with as little surprise as if I had a remedy ready. Yet G.o.d knows, I am at sea in the dark, and the vessel leaky, I think, into the bargain. I cannot conceive that I should have tied a knot with my tongue which my teeth cannot untie. We will see. I am determined to write a political pamphlet _coute que coute_; ay,--should it cost me my life.

I will right and left at these unlucky proof-sheets, and alter at least what I cannot mend.

_May_ 8.--I have suffered terribly, that is the truth, rather in body than in mind, and I often wish I could lie down and sleep without waking. But I will fight it out if I can. It would argue too great an attachment of consequence to my literary labours to sink under. Did I know how to begin, I would begin this very day, although I knew I should sink at the end. After all, this is but fear and faintness of heart, though of another kind from that which trembleth at a loaded pistol. My bodily strength is terribly gone; perhaps my mental too?

_May_ 9.--The weather uncommonly beautiful and I am very eager to get on thinning woods while the peeling season lasts. We made about 200 off wood last season, and this is a sum worth looking at.

_May_ 10.--Some repairs on the mill-dam still keep the people employed, and we cannot get to the thinning. Yet I have been urging them for a month. It's a great fault of Scottish servants that they cannot be taught to time their turns.

_May_ 11.--By old practice I should be going into town to-day, the Court sitting to-morrow. Am I happier that I am free from this charge? Perhaps I am; that is certain, time begins to make my literary labour more precious than usual. Very weak, scarce able to crawl about without the pony--lifted on and off--and unable to walk half a mile save with great pain.

_May_ 12.--Resolved to lay by _Robert of Paris_, and take it up when I can work. Thinking on it really makes my head swim, and that is not safe. Miss Ferrier comes out to us. This gifted personage, besides having great talents, has conversation the least _exigeante_ of any author, female at least, whom I have ever seen among the long list I have encountered,--simple, full of humour, and exceedingly ready at repartee; and all this without the least affectation of the blue stocking.[459]

_May_ 13.--Mr., or more properly Dr., Macintosh Mackay comes out to see me, a simple learned man, and a Highlander who weighs his own nation justly--a modest and estimable person.

I was beat up at midnight to sign a warrant against some delinquents. I afterwards heard that the officers were pursued by a mob from Galashiels, with purpose of deforcing them as far as St. Boswell's Green, but the men were lodged in Jedburgh Castle.

Reports of mobs at all the elections, which, I fear, will prove too true. They have much to answer for who in gaiety of heart have brought a peaceful and virtuous population to such a pa.s.s.

_May_ 14.--Rode with Lockhart and Mr. Mackay through the plantations, and spent a pleasanter day than of late months. Story of a haunted glen in Laggan:--A chieftain's daughter or cousin loved a man of low degree.

Her kindred discovered the intrigue and punished the lover's presumption by binding the unhappy man, and laying him naked in one of the large ants' nests common in a Highland forest. He died in agony of course, and his mistress became distracted, roamed wildly in the glen till she died, and her phantom, finding no repose, haunted it after her death to such a degree that the people shunned the road by day as well as night. Mrs.

Grant of Laggan tells the story, with the addition, that her husband, then minister of Laggan, fixed a religious meeting in the place, and, by the exercise of public worship there, overcame the popular terror of the Red Woman. Dr. Mackay seems to think that she was rather banished by a branch of the Parliamentary road running up the glen than by the prayers of his predecessor. Dr. Mackay, it being Sunday, favoured us with an excellent discourse on the Socinian controversy, which I wish my friend Mr. Laidlaw had heard.

_May_ 15.--Dr. M. left us early this morning; and I rode and studied as usual, working at the _Tales of My Grandfather_. Our good and learned Doctor wishes to go down the Tweed to Berwick. It is a laudable curiosity, and I hope will be agreeably satisfied.

_May_ 16 _and_ 17.--I wrote and rode as usual, and had the pleasure of Miss Ferrier's company in my family hours, which was a great satisfaction; she has certainly less affectation than any female I have known that has stood so high--Joanna Baillie hardly excepted. By the way, she [Mrs. Baillie] has entered on the Socinian controversy, for which I am very sorry; she has published a number of texts on which she conceives the controversy to rest, but it escapes her that she can only quote them through a translation. I am sorry this gifted woman is hardly doing herself justice, and doing what is not required at her hands. Mr.

Laidlaw of course thinks it the finest thing in the world.[460]

_May_ 18.--Went to Jedburgh to the election, greatly against the wishes of my daughters. The mob were exceedingly vociferous and brutish, as they usually are now-a-days. But the Sheriff had two troops of dragoons at Ancrum Bridge, and all went off quietly. The populace gathered in formidable numbers--a thousand from Hawick alone; they were sad blackguards, and the day pa.s.sed with much clamour and no mischief. Henry Scott was re-elected--for the last time, I suppose. _Troja fuit._

I left the burgh in the midst of abuse and the gentle hint of "Burke Sir Walter." Much obliged to the brave lads of Jeddart. Upwards of forty freeholders voted for Henry Scott, and only fourteen for the puppy that opposed him. Even of this party he gained far the greater number by the very awkward coalition with Sir William Scott of Ancrum. I came home at seven at night.