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East AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR SIR WALTER SCOTT AND HIS CHILDREN 1 By JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART No father ever devoted more time and tender care to his offspring than Scott did to each of his, as they successively reached the age when they could listen to him, and understand his talk. 2 Like their mute playmates, Camp and the grey- hounds, they had at all times free access to his study ; he never considered their tattle as any disturbance ; they went and came as pleased their fancy ; he was always ready to answer their 1 From " Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott." 2 This is a description of Scott's children in one of their father's letters written in 1806: "Walter has acquired the surname of Gilnockie, being large of limb and bone, and dauntless in disposition, like that noted chief- tain. Your little friend Sophia is grown a tall girl, and I think promises to be very clever, as she discovers uncommon acuteness of apprehension. We have, moreover, a little roundabout girl, with large dark eyes, as brown, as good-humored, and as lively as the mother that bore her, and of whom she is the most striking picture. Over and above all this there is in rerum natura a certain little Charles, so called after the Knight of the Crocodile; but of this gentleman I can say but little, as he is only five months, and con- sequently not at the time of life when I can often enjoy the honor of his company." 13 14 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR questions ; and when they, unconscious how he was engaged, entreated him to lay down his pen and tell them a story, he would take them on his knee, repeat a ballad or a legend, kiss them, and set them down again to their marbles or ninepins, and resume his labor as if refreshed by the in- terruption. From a very early age he made them dine at table, and "to sit up to supper" was the great reward when they had been "very good bairns." In short, he considered it as the highest duty as well as the sweetest pleasure of a parent to be the companion of his children ; he partook of all their little joys and sorrows, and made his kind unformal instructions to blend so easily and playfully with the current of their own sayings and doings, that so far from regarding him with any distant awe, it was never thought that any sport or diversion could go on in the right way, unless papa were of the party, or that the rainiest day could be dull so he were at home. Of the irregularity of his own education he speaks with considerable regret, in the autobio- graphical fragment written in 1808 at Ashestiel ; yet his practice does not look as if that feeling had been strongly rooted in his mind ; — for he never did show much concern about regulating system- atically what is usually called education in the case of his own children. It seemed, on the contrary, as if he attached little importance to SIR WALTER SCOTT AND HIS CHILDREN 15 anything else, so he could perceive that the young curiosity was excited — the intellect, by what- ever springs of interest, set in motion. He de- tested and despised the whole generation of modern children's books, in which the attempt is made to convey accurate notions of scientific minutiae : delighting cordially, on the other hand, in those of the preceding age, which, addressing themselves chiefly to the imagination, obtain through it, as he believed, the best chance of stirring our graver faculties also. He exercised the memory, by selecting for tasks of recitation passages of popular verse the most likely to catch the fancy of children ; and gradually familiarized them with the ancient history of their own country, by arresting attention, in the course of his own oral narrations, on incidents and characters of a similar description. Nor did he neglect to use the same means of quickening curiosity as to the events of sacred history. On Sunday he never rode — at least not until his growing infirmity made his pony almost necessary to him ; for it was his principle that all domestic animals have a full right to their Sabbath of rest ; but after he had read the church service, he usually walked with his whole family, dogs included, to some favorite spot at a considerable distance from the house — ■ most frequently the ruined tower of Elibank — ■ and there dined with them in the open air on a 1 6 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR basket of cold provisions, mixing his wine with the water of the brook beside which they all were grouped around him on the turf; and here, or at home, if the weather kept them from their ramble, his Sunday talk was just such a series of Biblical lessons as that which we have preserved for the permanent use of rising generations, in his " Tales of a Grandfather/' on the early history of Scotland. I wish he had committed that other series to writ- ing too. By many external accomplishments, either in girl or boy, he set little store. He delighted to hear his daughters sing an old ditty, or one of his own framing ; but, so the singer appeared to feel the spirit of her ballad, he was not at all critical of the technical execution. There was one thing, however, on which he fixed his heart hardly less than the ancient Persians ; like them, next to love of truth, he held love of horsemanship for the prime point of education. As soon as his eldest girl could sit a pony, she was made the regular attendant of his mountain rides ; and they all, as they attained sufficient strength, had the like advancement. He taught them to think nothing of tumbles, and habituated them to his own reckless delight in perilous fords and flooded streams ; and they all imbibed in great perfection his passion for horses — as well, I may venture to add, as his deep reverence for the more impor- SIR WALTER SCOTT AND HIS CHILDREN 17 tant article of that Persian training. "Without courage/' he said, "there cannot be truth; and without truth there can be no other virtue." He had a horror of boarding schools ; never allowed his girls to learn anything out of his own house ; and chose their governess — Miss Miller — who about this time was domesticated with them, and never left them while they needed one, — with far greater regard to her kind good tem- per and excellent moral and religious principles than to the measure of her attainments in what are called fashionable accomplishments. The ad- mirable system of education for boys in Scotland combines all the advantages of public and private instruction ; his carried their satchels to the High School, when the family was in Edinburgh, just as he had done before them, and shared of course the evening society of their happy home. But he rarely, if ever, left them in town, when he could himself be in the country ; and at Ashestiel he was, for better or for worse, his eldest boy's daily tutor, after he began Latin. SIR WALTER AND HIS FRIEND MARJORIE 1 By DR. JOHN BROWN One November afternoon in 1810 — the year in which " Waverley" was resumed and laid aside again, to be finished off, its last two volumes in three weeks, and made immortal in 18 14, and when its author, by the death of Lord Melville, narrowly escaped getting a civil appointment in India — three men, evidently lawyers, might have been seen escaping like schoolboys from the Parliament House, and speeding arm-in-arm down Bank Street and the Mount, in the teeth of a surly blast of sleet. The three friends sought the bield of the low wall old Edinburgh boys remember well, and sometimes miss now, as they struggle with the stout west wind. The three were curiously unlike each other. One, "a little man of feeble make, who would be unhappy if his pony got beyond a foot pace/ 5 slight, with "small, elegant features, hectic cheek, and soft hazel eyes, the index of the quick, sen- 1 An excerpt from " Marjorie Fleming." 18 SIR WALTER AND HIS FRIEND MARJORIE 19 sitive spirit within, as if he had the warm heart of a woman, her genuine enthusiasm, and some of her weaknesses. " Another, as unlike a woman as a man can be ; homely, almost common, in look and figure ; his hat and his coat, and indeed his entire covering, worn to the quick, but all of the best material ; what redeemed him from vul- garity and meanness were his eyes, deep set, heavily thatched, keen, hungry, shrewd, with a slumbering glow far in, as if they could be dan- gerous ; a man to care nothing for at first glance, but somehow, to give a second and not-forgetting look at. The third was the biggest of the three, and though lame, nimble, and all rough and alive with power ; had you met him anywhere else, you would say he was a Liddesdale store-farmer come of gentle blood; "a stout, blunt carle/' as he says of himself, with the swing and stride and the eye of a man of the hills, — a large, sunny, out-of-door air all about him. On his broad and somewhat stooping shoulders was set that head which, with Shakespeare's and Bonaparte's, is the best known in all the world. He was in high spirits, keeping his companions and himself in roars of laughter, and every now and then seizing them, and stopping, that they might take their fill of the fun ; there they stood shaking with laughter, "not an inch of their body free" from its grip. At George Street they parted, 20 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR one to Rose Court, behind St. Andrew's Church, one to Albany Street, the other, our big and limp- ing friend, to Castle Street. We need hardly give their names. The first was William Erskine, afterwards Lord Kinnedder, chased out of the world by a calumny, killed by its foul breath, — " And at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slipped in a moment out of life." There is nothing in literature more beautiful or more pathetic than Scott's love and sorrow for this friend of his youth. The second was William Clerk, — the Darsie Latimer of " Redgauntlet " ; "a man," as Scott says, "of the most acute intellects and powerful apprehension/' but of more powerful indolence, so as to leave the world with little more than the report of what he might have been, — a humorist as genuine, though not quite so savagely Swiftian as his brother, Lord Eldin, neither of whom had much of that commonest and best of all the humors, called good. The third we all know. What has he not done for every one of us ? Who else ever, except Shakespeare, so diverted mankind, entertained and entertains a world so liberally, so whole- somely ? We are fain to say, not even Shake- speare, for his is something deeper than diversion, SIR WALTER AND HIS FRIEND MARJORIE 21 something higher than pleasure, and yet who would care to split this hair ? Had any one watched him closely before and after the parting, what a change he would see ! The bright, broad laugh, the shrewd, jovial word, the man of the Parliament House and of the world ; and next step, moody, the light of his eye withdrawn, as if seeing things that were in- visible ; his shut mouth, like a child's, so im- pressionable, so innocent, so sad ; he was now all within, as before he was all without ; hence his brooding look. As the snow blattered in his face, he muttered: "How it raves and drafts! On-ding o' snaw, — ay, that's the word, — on- ding." He was now at his own door, "Castle Street, No. 39." He opened the door, and went straight to his den ; that wondrous workshop, where, in one year, 1823, when he was fifty-two, he wrote " Peveril of the Peak," "Quentin Dur- ward," and " St. Ronan's Well," besides much else. We once took the foremost of our novelists, the greatest, we would say, since Scott, into this room, and could not but mark the solemnizing effect of sitting where the great magician sat so often and so long, and looking out upon that little shabby bit of sky and that back green, where faithful Camp lies. 1 1 This favorite dog "died about January 1809 and was buried in a fine moonlight night in the little garden behind the house in Castle Street. 22 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR He sat down in his large green morocco elbow- chair, drew himself close to his table, and glowered and gloomed at his writing apparatus, "a very handsome old box, richly carved, lined with crim- son velvet, and containing ink bottles, taper stand, etc., in silver, the whole in such order, that it might have come from the silversmith's window half an hour before. " He took out his paper, then starting up angrily said, "' Go spin, you jade, go spin/ No, it won't do, — " 'My spinnin' wheel is auld and stiff, The rock o't wunna stand, sir, To keep the temper-pin in tiff Employs ower aft my hand, sir/ I am off the fang. I can make nothing of Waver- ley to-day ; I'll awa' to Marjorie. Come wi' me, Maida, you thief/' The great creature rose slowly, and the pair were off, Scott taking a maud (a plaid) with him. "White as a frosted plum-cake, by jingo !' 5 said he, when he got to the street. Maida gamboled and whisked among the snow, and his master strode across to Young Street, and through it to i North Charlotte Street, to the house of his dear friend, Mrs. William Keith, My wife tells me she remembers the whole family in tears about the grave as her father himself smoothed the turf above Camp, with the saddest face she had ever seen. He had been engaged to dine abroad that day, but apologized, on account of the death of a 'dear old friend.'" — LoCKHART's " Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott/' SIR WALTER AND HIS FRIEND MARJORIE 23 of Corstorphine Hill, niece of Mrs. Keith, of Ravelston, of whom he said at her death, eight years after, "Much tradition, and that of the best, has died with this excellent old lady, one of the few persons whose spirits and cleanliness and freshness of mind and body made old age lovely and desirable/' Sir Walter was in that house almost every day, and had a key, so in he and the hound went, shak- ing themselves in the lobby. "Marjorie ! Mar- jorie \ 9i shouted her friend, "where are ye, my bonnie wee croodling doo ?'' In a moment a bright, eager child of seven was in his arms, and he was kissing her all over. Out came Mrs. Keith. "Come yer ways in, Wattie." "No, not now. I am going to take Marjorie wi' me, and you may come to your tea in Duncan Roy's sedan, and bring the bairn home in your lap/' "Tak' Marjorie, and it on-ding o' snaw !" said Mrs. Keith. He said to himself, "On-ding, — that's odd, — that is the very word." "Hoot, awa ! look here," and he displayed the corner of his plaid, made to hold lambs (the true shepherd's plaid, consisting of two breadths sewed together, and uncut at one end, making a poke or cul de sac). "Tak' yer lamb," said she, laughing at the con- trivance, and so the Pet was first well happit up and then put, laughing silently, into the plaid neuk, and the shepherd strode off with his lamb, 24 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR — Maida gamboling through the snow, and running races in his mirth. Didn't he face "the angry airt," and make her bield his bosom, and into his own room with her, and lock the door, and out with the warm, rosy, little wifie, who took it all with great composure ! There the two remained for three or more hours, making the house ring with their laughter ; you can fancy the big man's and Maidie's laugh. Having made the fire cheery, he set her down in his ample chair, and standing sheepishly before her, began to say his lesson, which happened to be, — "Ziccotty, diccotty, dock, the mouse ran up the clock, the clock struck wan, down the mouse ran, ziccotty, diccotty, dock/' This done repeatedly till she was pleased, she gave him his new lesson, gravely and slowly, timing it upon her small fingers, — he saying it after her, — "Wonery, twoery, tickery, seven; Alibi, crackaby, ten, and eleven; Pin, pan, musky, dan; Twenty-wan ; eerie, orie, ourie, You, are, out." He pretended to great difficulty and she re- buked him with most comical gravity, treating him as a child. He used to say that when he came to Alibi Crackaby he broke down, and Pin-Pan, Musky-Dan, Tweedle-um Twoddle-um made him roar with laughter. He said Musky- SIR WALTER AND HIS FRIEND MARJORIE 25 Dan especially was beyond endurance, bringing up an Irishman and his hat fresh from the Spice Islands and odoriferous Ind ; she getting quite bitter in her displeasure at his ill behavior and stupidness. Then he would read ballads to her in his own glorious way, the two getting wild with excite- ment over Gil Mortice or the Baron of Smailholm ; and he would take her on his knee, and make her repeat Constance's speeches in King John, till he swayed to and fro, sobbing his fill. Fancy the gifted little creature, like one possessed, re- peating, — "For I am sick, and capable of fears, Oppressed with wrong, and therefore full of fears, A widow, husbandless, subject to fears — A woman, naturally born to fears/' Or drawing herself up " to the height of her great argument, — "I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. Here I and sorrow sit." Scott used to say that he was amazed at her power over him, saying to Mrs. Keith, "She's the most extraordinary creature I ever met with, and her repeating of Shakespeare overpowers me as nothing else does." THE "DEN" IN THE EDINBURGH HOUSE 1 By JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART [In 1 812, Sir Walter purchased land on the Tweed, near Melrose, and built his famous house Abbotsford. Here he lived almost continuously until his death in 1832, repeatedly enlarging his buildings and his estate, and entertaining lavishly. While editing the Edinburgh Annual Register, however, — a survey of world history for each preceding year, issued during several years prior to 181 8, — Scott took up temporary quarters at the house No. 39 Castle Street, Edinburgh. Of the "den" in this house, Lockhart gives an interesting description.] The "den 5 had but a single Venetian window, opening on a patch of turf not much larger than itself, and the aspect of the place was on the whole sombrous. The walls were entirely clothed with books ; most of them folios and quartos, and all in that complete state of repair which at a glance reveals a tinge of bibliomania. A dozen volumes or so, needful for immediate purposes of reference, were placed close by him on a small movable frame — something like a dumb-waiter. All the rest were in their proper niches, and wherever a volume had been lent, its room was occupied by a wooden block of the same size, having a card with 1 From " Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott.' 26 THE "DEN" IN THE EDINBURGH HOUSE 27 the name of the borrower and date of the loan, tacked on its front. The old bindings had ob- viously been retouched and regilt in the most approved manner ; the new, when the books were of any mark, were rich, but never gaudy — a large proportion of blue morocco — all stamped with his device of the portcullis, and its motto, clausus tutus ero — being an anagram of his name in Latin. Every case and shelf was accurately lettered, and the works arranged systematically ; history and biography on one side — poetry and the drama on another — law books and diction- aries behind his own chair. The only table was a massive piece of furniture which he had con- structed on the model of one at Rokeby ; with a desk and all its appurtenances on either side, that an amanuensis might work opposite to him when he chose ; and with small tiers of drawers, reach- ing all round to the floor. The top displayed a goodly array of session papers, and on the desk below were, besides the MS. at which he was working, sundry parcels of letters, proof sheets, and so forth, all neatly done up with red tape. Besides his own huge elbowchair, there were but two others in the room, and one of these seemed, from its position, to be reserved exclusively for the amanuensis. I observed, during the first evening I spent with him in this sanctum, that while he talked, his hands were hardly ever idle ; 28 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR sometimes he folded letter covers, sometimes he twisted paper into matches, — performing both tasks with great mechanical expertness and nicety ; and when there was no loose paper fit to be so dealt with, he snapped his fingers, and the noble Maida aroused himself from his lair on the hearth rug, and laid his head across his master's knees, to be caressed and fondled. The room had no space for pictures except one, a portrait of Claver- house, which hung over the chimney piece, with a Highland target on either side, and broadswords and dirks (each having its own story) disposed star-fashion round them. A few green tin-boxes, such as solicitors keep title deeds in, were piled over each other on one side of the window ; and on the top of these lay a fox's tail, mounted on an antique silver handle, wherewith, as often as he had occasion to take down a book, he gently brushed the dust off the upper leaves before opening it. I think I have mentioned all the furniture of the room except a sort of ladder, low, broad, well carpeted, and strongly guarded with oaken rails, by which he helped himself to books from his higher shelves. On the top step of this convenience, Hinse of Hinsfeldt (so called from one of the German Tales for Children), a venerable tomcat, fat and sleek, and no longer very locomotive, usually lay watching the pro- ceedings of his master and Maida with an air of THE "DEN" IN THE EDINBURGH HOUSE 29 dignified equanimity ; but when Maida chose to leave the party, he signified his inclinations by thumping the door with his huge paw, as violently as ever a fashionable footman handled a knocker in Grosvenor Square ; the Sheriff rose and opened it for him with courteous alacrity, — and then Hinse came down purring from his perch, and mounted guard by the footstool, vice Maida absent upon furlough. Whatever discourse might be passing was broken every now and then by some affectionate apostrophe to these four-footed friends. He said they understood everything he said to them — and I believe they did understand a great deal of it. But at all events, dogs and cats, like children, have some infallible tact for discovering at once who is, and who is not, really fond of their company ; and I venture to say, Scott was never five minutes in any room before the little pets of the family, whether dumb or lisping, had found out his kindness for all their generation. ABBOTSFORD IN 182s 1 By JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART Some fifteen or sixteen years ago, tells me, there was not a more unlovely spot, in this part of the world, than that on which Abbotsford now exhibits all its quaint architecture and beautiful accompaniment of garden and woodland. A mean farmhouse stood on part of the site of the present edifice; a " kailyard" bloomed where the stately embattled courtyard now spreads itself; and for a thousand acres of flourishing plantations, half of which have all the appearance of being twice as old as they really are, there was but a single long straggling stripe of unthriving firs. The river must needs remain in statu quo; and I will not believe that any place so near those clearest and sweetest of all waters could ever have been quite destitute of charms. The scene, however, was no doubt wild enough : a naked moor — a few turnip fields painfully reclaimed from it — a Scotch cottage — a Scotch farmyard, and some Scotch firs. It is difficult to imagine a more complete contrast to the Abbotsford of 1825. 1 Adapted from " Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott." 30 Abbotsford Sir Walter Scott's Library 3i 32 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR Sir Walter is, as you have no doubt heard, a most zealous agriculturist, and arboriculturist especially ; and he is allowed to have done things with this estate, since it came into his possession, which would have been reckoned wonders, even if they had occupied the whole of a clever and skillful man's attention, during more years than have elapsed since he began to write himself Laird of Abbotsford. He has some excellent arable land on the banks of the Tweed, and to- wards the little town of Melrose, which lies three miles from the mansion ; but the bulk of the property is hilly country, with deep narrow dells interlacing it. Of this he has planted fully one half, and it is admitted on all hands that his rising forest has been laid out, arranged, and managed with consummate taste, care, and suc- cess ; so much so, that the general appearance of Tweedside, for some miles, is already quite altered by the graceful ranges of his woodland. But I am keeping you too long away from "The Roof-tree of Monkbarns," which is situated on the brink of the last of a series of irregular hills, descending from the elevation of the Eildons to the Tweed. The building is such a one, I dare say, as nobody but he would ever have dreamed of erecting ; or if he had, escaped being quizzed for his pains. Yet it is eminently im- posing in its general effect ; and in most of its ABBOTSFORD IN 1825 33 details not only full of historical interest, but beauty also. By the principal approach you come very sud- denly on the edifice ; — but this evil, if evil it be, was unavoidable, in consequence of the vicinity of a public road. The gateway is a lofty arch rising out of an embattled wall of considerable height. On entering, you find yourself within an inclosure of perhaps half an acre, two sides thereof being protected by the high wall above mentioned, all along which, inside, a trellised walk extends itself — broad, cool, and dark over- head with roses and honeysuckles. The third side, to the east, shows a screen of open arches of Gothic stonework, filled with a network of iron, and affording delightful glimpses of the gardens. This elegant screen abuts on the east- ern extremity of the house, which runs along the whole of the northern side (and a small part of the western) of the great inclosure. Within this inclosure, there is room for a piece of the most elaborate turf; and rosaries, of all manner of shapes and sizes, gradually connect this green pavement with the roof of the trellis walk, a verdant cloister, over which appears the gray wall with its little turrets ; and over that again climb oak, elm, birch, and hazel, up a steep bank — so steep, that the trees, young as they are, give already all the effect of a sweeping amphitheater 34 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR of wood. The background on that side is wholly forest ; on the east, the garden loses itself in forest by degrees ; on the west, there is wood on wood also, but with glimpses of the Tweed between ; and in the distance (some half-a-dozen miles off) a complete sierra, the ridge of the mountains between Tweed and Yarrow. The house is more than one hundred and fifty feet long in front, as I paced it ; was built at two different onsets ; has a tall tower at either end, the one not in the least like the other ; presents sundry zigzagged gables to the eye ; most fantas- tic water spouts ; groups of right Elizabethan chimneys ; balconies of divers fashions, greater and lesser ; stones carved with heraldries in- numerable, let in here and there in the wall ; and a very noble projecting gateway. From this porchway, which is spacious and airy and adorned with some enormous petrified stag horns overhead, you are admitted by a pair of folding doors into the imposing hall. The lofty windows, only two in number, being wholly covered with coats of arms, the place appears as dark as. the twelfth century, on your first entrance from noonday; but the delicious coolness of the atmosphere is luxury enough for a minute or two ; and by degrees your eyes get accustomed to the effect of those "storied panes/' and you are satisfied that you stand in one of the most picturesque of apart- ABBOTSFORD IN 1825 35 ments. The hall is about forty feet long by twenty in height and breadth. The walls are of richly carved oak, most part of it exceedingly dark, and brought, it seems, from the old Abbey of Dun- fermline ; the roof, a series of pointed arches of the same, each beam presenting in the center a shield of arms richly blazoned. All around the cornice of this noble room there runs a continued series of blazoned shields of another sort still ; at the center of one end I saw the bloody heart of Douglas, and opposite to that the Royal Lion of Scotland, — and between the ribs there is an inscription in black letter, which I after some trials read. To the best of my recollection, the words are — "These be the Coat Armories of the Clannis and Chief Men of name wha keepit the marchys of Scotland in the aulde time for the Kinge. Trewe ware they were in their tyme, and in their defence God them defendit." The floor of this hall is black and white marble, from the Hebrides, wrought lozenge-wise ; and the upper walls are completely hung with arms and armor. Two full suits of splendid steel occupy niches at the eastern end ; the one an English suit of Henry the Fifth's time, the other an Italian, not quite as old. The variety of cuirasses, black and white, plain and sculptured, is endless ; hel- mets are in equal profusion ; stirrups and spurs, of every fantasy, dangle about and below them ; 36 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR and there are swords of every order, from the enormous two-handed weapon with which the Swiss peasants dared to withstand the spears of the Austrian chivalry, to the claymore of the " Forty-five" and the rapier of Dettingen. A series of German executioners' swords was pointed out to me, on the blade of one of which are the arms of Augsburg, and a legend, which may be thus rendered, — "Dust, when I strike, to dust. From sleepless grave, Sweet Jesu ! stoop, a sin-stained soul to save/' " Stepping westward" (as Wordsworth says) from this hall, you find yourself in a narrow, low-arched room, which runs quite across the house, having a blazoned window again at either extremity, and filled all over with smaller pieces of armor and weapons, — such as swords, firelocks, spears, arrows, darts, daggers, etc., etc., etc. Here are the pieces esteemed most precious by reason of their histories. I saw, among the rest, Rob Roy's gun, with his initials R. M. C. {i.e., Robert Mac- gregor Campbell) round the touchhole ; the blunderbuss of Hofer, a present to Sir Walter from his friend Sir Humphrey Davy ; a mag- nificent sword, as magnificently mounted, the gift of Charles the First to the great Montrose ; the hunting bottle of bonnie King Jamie ; and Buonaparte's pistols (found in his carriage at ABBOTSFORD IN 1825 37 Waterloo, I believe). I should have mentioned that stag horns, and bulls' horns and so forth, are suspended in great abundance above all the doorways of these armories ; and that, in one corner, a dark one, as it ought to be, there is a complete assortment of the old Scottish instru- ments of torture. These relics of other and for the most part darker years are disposed, how- ever, with so much grace and elegance, that I doubt if Mr. Hope himself would find anything to quarrel with in the beautiful apartments which contain them. In the hall, when the weather is hot, the Baronet is accustomed to dine ; and a gallant refectory, no question, it must make. Beyond the smaller, or rather I should say the narrower, armory, lies the dining parlor proper. When lighted up and the curtains down at night, the place may give no bad notion of the private snuggery of some lofty lord abbot of the time of the Canterbury Tales. The room is a handsome one, with a low and richly carved roof of dark oak. The walls are hung in crimson, but almost entirely covered with pictures, of which one of the most remarkable is the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, in a charger, painted by Amias Cawood the day after the decapitation of Fotheringay, and sent some years ago as a present to Sir Walter from a Prussian nobleman, in whose family it had been for more than two centuries. It is a 38 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR most deathlike performance, and the countenance answers well enough to the coins of the unfortunate beauty, though not at all to any of the portraits I have happened to see. Among various family pictures, I noticed particularly Sir Walter's great- grandfather, the old Cavalier mentioned in one of the epistles in. Marmion, who let his beard grow after the execution of Charles the First. Beyond and alongside are narrowish passages, which make one fancy one's self in some dim old monastery ; for roofs and walls and windows are sculptured in stone, after the richest relics of Melrose and Roslin Chapel. One of these leads to a charming breakfast room, which looks to the Tweed on one side, and towards Yarrow and Ettrick, famed in song, on the other ; a cheerful room, fitted up with novels, romances, and poetry, at one end ; and the other walls covered with a valuable and beau- tiful collection of water-color drawings. There is one good oil painting over the chimney piece — Fast Castle, by Thomson, alias the Wolfs Crag of The Bride of Lammermoor. Returning towards the armory, you have, on one side of a most religious-looking corridor, a small greenhouse, with a fountain playing before it — the very foun- tain that in days of yore graced the Cross of Edin- burgh, and used to flow with claret at the corona- tion of the Stuarts. From the small armory you pass into the drawing-room, another handsome and ABBOTSFORD IN 1825 39 spacious apartment, with antique ebony furniture and crimson silk hangings, cabinets, china, and mirrors. From this you pass into the largest of all these rooms, the library. It is an oblong of some fifty feet by thirty, with a projection in the center, opposite the fireplace, terminating in a grand bow window, fitted up with books also, and, in fact, constituting a sort of chapel to the church. The roof is of carved oak again — a very rich pattern — chiefly a la Roslin ; and the bookcases, which are also of richly carved oak, reach high up the walls all round. The collection amounts, in this room, to some fifteen or twenty thousand volumes, arranged according to their subjects : British history and antiquities filling the whole of the chief wall ; English poetry and drama, classics and miscellanies, one end ; foreign literature, chiefly French and German, the other. The cases on the side opposite the fire are wired, and locked, as containing books and manuscripts very precious and very portable. There are few living authors of whose works presentation copies are not to be found here. My friend showed me inscriptions of that sort in, I believe, every European dialect extant. The only picture is Sir Walter's eldest son, in hussar uniform, and holding his horse, by Allan of Edinburgh, — a noble portrait, over the fireplace ; and the only bust is that of Shake- speare, from the Avon monument, in a small niche 40 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR in the center of the east side. On a rich stand of porphyry, in a corner, reposes a tall silver urn, filled with bones from the Piraeus, and bearing the inscription, " Given by George Gordon, Lord Byron, to Sir Walter Scott, Bart." Connecting with this fine room, and fronting — which none of the other sitting rooms do — to the south, is a smaller library, the sanctum of the Author. This room, which seems to be a crib of about twenty feet, contains, of what is properly called furniture, nothing but a small writing table in the center, a plain armchair covered with black leather, and a single chair besides, — plain symptoms that this is no place for company. On either side of the fireplace there are shelves filled with books of reference, chiefly, of course, folios ; but except these, there are no books save the con- tents of a light gallery which runs round three sides of the room, and is reached by a hanging stair of carved oak in one corner. There are only two portraits — an original of the beautiful and mel- ancholy head of Claverhouse 1 (Bonnie Dundee), and a small full-length of Rob Roy. 2 Various little antique cabinets stand round about, each having a bust on it. Stothard's Canterbury Pilgrims are over the mantelpiece ; above them is a Highland target, with a star of claymores ; and 1 See the selections on pages 284, 288. 2 See the selections on pages 320, 322. ABBOTSFORD IN 1825 41 in one corner I saw a collection of really useful weapons — those of the forest craft, to wit — axes and bills, and so forth, of every caliber. The view to the Tweed from all the principal apartments is beautiful. You look out from among bowers over a lawn of sweet turf, upon the clearest of all streams, fringed with the wildest of birch woods, and backed with the green hills of Ettrick Forest. A VISIT AT ABBOTSFORD By WASHINGTON IRVING 1 [In August, 1 817, Irving was touring in Scotland. He had been given a letter of introduction to Sir Walter, to whom he was already known by reputation as the author of " Knickerbocker's History of New York" ; so, finding himself on the highroad above Abbotsford, he halted his chaise, and sent to the house "with a card on which he had written, that he was on his way to the ruins of Melrose, and wished to know whether it would be agreeable to Mr. Scott to re- ceive a visit from him in the course of the morning/' The account of his visit follows, in Irving's own words.] The noise of my chaise had disturbed the quiet of the establishment. Out sallied the warder of the castle, a black greyhound, and leaping on one of the blocks of stone, began a furious barking. This alarm brought out the whole garrison of dogs, all open-mouthed and vociferous. In a little while the lord of the castle himself made his appearance. I knew him at once by the likenesses that had been published of him. He came limping up the gravel walk, aiding himself by a stout walking staff, but moving rapidly and with vigor. By his side jogged along a large iron-gray staghound, of most grave demeanor, who took no part in the clamor of the canine rabble, but seemed to consider him- 1 Quoted by Lockhart in his " Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott/' 42 44 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR self bound, for the dignity of the house, to give me a courteous reception. — Before Scott reached the gate, he called out in a hearty tone, welcoming me to Abbotsford, and asking news of Campbell. Arrived at the door of the chaise, he grasped me warmly by the hand: "Come, drive down, drive down to the house/' said he, "ye're just in time for breakfast, and afterwards ye shall see all the wonders of the Abbey. " I would have excused myself on the plea of having already made my breakfast. "Hut, man/' cried he, ,u a ride in the morning in the keen air of the Scotch hills is war- rant enough for a second breakfast/' I was accordingly whirled to the portal of the cottage, and in a few moments found myself seated at the breakfast table. There was no one present but the family, which consisted of Mrs. Scott ; her eldest daughter, Sophia, then a fine girl about seventeen ; Miss Anne Scott, two or three years younger ; Walter, a well-grown stripling ; and Charles, a lively boy, eleven or twelve years of age. — I soon felt myself quite at home, and my heart in a glow, with the cordial welcome I experienced. I had thought to make a mere morning visit, but found I was not to be let off so lightly. 'You must not think our neighborhood is to be read in a morning like a newspaper," said Scott ; "it takes several days of study for an observant traveler that has a relish for auld-world trumpery. After A VISIT AT ABBOTSFORD 45 breakfast you shall make your visit to Melrose Abbey ; I shall not be able to accompany you, as I have some household affairs to attend to ; but I will put you in charge of my son Charles, who is very learned in all things touching the old ruin and the neighborhood it stands in ; and he and my friend Johnnie Bower will tell you the whole truth about it, with a great deal more that you are not called upon to believe, unless you be a true and nothing-doubting antiquary. When you come back, Fll take you out on a ramble about the neighborhood. To-morrow we will take a look at the Yarrow, and the next day we will drive over to Dryburgh Abbey, which is a fine old ruin, well worth your seeing." — In a word, before Scott had got through with his plan, I found myself committed for a visit of several days, and it seemed as if a little realm of romance was suddenly open before me. [After breakfast, while Scott, no doubt, wrote a chapter of Rob Roy, Mr. Irving, under young Charles's guidance, saw Melrose Abbey, and had much talk with old Bower, the showman of the ruins, who was eager to enlighten in all things the Sheriff's friends. "He'll come here sometimes," said Johnny, "with great folks in his company, and the first I'll know of it is his voice calling out i Johnny ! — Johnny Bower ! ' — and when I go out I'm sure to be greeted with a joke or a pleasant word. He'll stand an' crack an' laugh wi' me just like an auld wife — and to think that of a man that has such an awfu' knowledge o' history !" On his return from the Abbey, Irving found Scott ready for a ramble.] 46 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR As we sallied forth, he writes, every dog in the establishment turned out to attend us. There was the old staghound, Maida, that I have already mentioned, a noble animal ; and Hamlet, the black greyhound, a wild, thoughtless youngster not yet arrived at the years of discretion ; and Finette, a beautiful setter, with soft, silken hair, long, pendant ears, and a mild eye, the parlor favorite. When in front of the house, we were joined by a super- annuated greyhound, who came from the kitchen wagging his tail ; and was cheered by Scott as an old friend and comrade. In our walks, he would frequently pause in conversation, to notice his dogs, and speak to them as if rational companions ; and, indeed, there appears to be a vast deal of rationality in these faithful attendants on man, derived from their close intimacy with him. Maida deported himself with a gravity becoming his age and size, and seemed to consider himself called upon to preserve a great degree of dignity and decorum in our society. As he jogged along a little distance ahead of us, the young dogs would gambol about him, leap on his neck, worry at his ears, and endeavor to tease him into a gambol. The old dog would keep on for a long time with imperturbable solemnity, now and then seeming to rebuke the wantonness of his young companions. At length he would make a sudden turn, seize one of them, and tumble him in the dust, then A VISIT AT ABBOTSFORD 47 giving a glance at us, as much as to say, "You see, gentlemen, I can't help giving way to this nonsense/' would resume his gravity, and jog on as before. Scott amused himself with these pe- culiarities. "I make no doubt," said he, "when Maida is alone with these young dogs, he throws gravity aside, and plays the boy as much as any of them ; but he is ashamed to do so in our com- pany, and seems to say — ' Ha' done with your nonsense, youngsters ; what will the laird and that other gentleman think of me if I give way to such foolery?' Scott amused himself with the pe- culiarities of another of his dogs, a little shamefaced terrier, with large glassy eyes, one of the most sensitive little bodies to insult and indignity in the world. "If ever he whipped him," he said, "the little fellow would sneak off and hide himself from the light of day in a lumber garret, from whence there was no drawing him forth but by the sound of the chopping knife, as if chopping up his victuals, when he would steal forth with hu- miliated and downcast look, but would skulk away again if any one regarded him." — His domestic animals were his friends. Everything about him seemed to rejoice in the light of his countenance. Our ramble took us on the hills, commanding an extensive prospect. "Now," said Scott, "I have brought you, like the pilgrim in the ' Pilgrim's Progress,' to the top of the Delectable Mountains, 48 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE AUTHOR that I may show you all the goodly regions here- abouts/ 5 ... I gazed about me for a time with mute surprise, I may almost say with disappoint- ment. I beheld a mere succession of gray waving hills, line beyond line, as far as my eye could reach, monotonous in their aspect, and so destitute of trees, that one could almost see a stout fly walking along their profile ; and the far-famed Tweed appeared a naked stream, flowing between bare hills, without a tree or thicket on its banks ; and yet such had been the magic web of poetry and romance thrown over the whole, that it had a greater charm for me than the richest scenery I had beheld in England. I could not help giving utterance to my thoughts. Scott hummed for a moment to himself, and looked grave ; he had no idea of having his muse complimented at the ex- pense of his native hills. " It may be pertinacity," said he, at length; "but to my eye, these gray hills, and all this wild border country, have beauties peculiar to themselves. I like the very nakedness of the land ; it has something bold, and stern, and solitary about it. When I have been for some time in the rich scenery about Edinburgh, which is like ornamented garden land, I begin to wish myself back again among my own honest gray hills ; and if I did not see the heather, at least once a year, I think I should die !" The last words were said with an honest warmth, accompanied by a thump A VISIT AT ABBOTSFORD 49 on the ground with his staff, by way of emphasis, that showed his heart in his speech. He vindi- cated the Tweed, too, as a beautiful stream in itself, and observed, that he did not dislike it for being bare of trees, probably from having been much of an angler in his time ; and an angler does not like to have a stream overhung by trees, which embarrass him in the exercise of his rod and line. I took occasion to plead, in like manner, the as- sociations of early life for my disappointment in respect to the surrounding scenery. I had been so accustomed to see hills crowned with forests, and streams breaking their way through a wilder- ness of trees, that all my ideas of romantic land- scape were apt to be well wooded. "Ay, and that's the great charm of your country," cried Scott. "You love the forest as I do the heather; but I would not have you think I do not love the glory of a great woodland prospect. There is nothing I should like more than to be in the midst of one of your grand wild original forests, with the idea of hundreds of miles of untrodden forest around me. I once saw at Leith an immense stick of tim- ber just landed from America. It must have been an enormous tree when it stood in its native soil, at its full height, and with all its branches. I gazed at it with admiration ; it seemed like one of the gigantic obelisks which are now and then brought from Egypt to shame the pigmy monu- 5