Walter Scott - The Man Behind the Books - Walter Scott

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them, one day, to an old shrewd sarcastic Master of Arts, who looked over the collection, and then observed, “A promising nest of eggs; what a pity the great part will turn out addle!” And so they do; looking round amongst the young men, one sees to all appearance fine flourish — but it ripens not.

       May 31. — I have finished Napier’s War in the Peninsula. It is written in the spirit of a Liberal, but the narrative is distinct and clear, and I should suppose accurate. He has, however, given a bad sample of accuracy in the case of Lord Strangford, where his pointed affirmation has been as pointedly repelled. It is evident he would require probing. His defence of Moore is spirited and well argued, though it is evident he defends the statesman as much as the general. As a Liberal and a military man, Colonel Napier finds it difficult to steer his course. The former character calls on him to plead for the insurgent Spaniards; the latter induces him to palliate the cruelties of the French. Good-even to him until next volume, which I shall long to see. This was a day of pleasure and nothing else. After breakfast I walked with Morritt in the new path he has made up the Tees. When last here, his poor nephew was of the party. It hangs on my mind, and perhaps on Morritt’s. When we returned we took a short drive as far as Barnard Castle; and the business of eating and drinking took up the remainder of the evening, excepting a dip into the Greta Walk.

       Table of Contents

      June 1. — We took leave of our friends at Rokeby after breakfast, and pursued our wellknown path over Stanmore to Brough, Appleby, Penrith, and Carlisle. As I have this road by heart, I have little amusement save the melancholy task of recalling the sensations with which I have traced it in former times, all of which refer to decay of animal strength, and abatement if not of mental powers, at least of mental energy. The non est tanti grows fast at my time of life. We reached Carlisle at seven o’clock, and were housed for the night. My books being exhausted, I lighted on an odd volume of the Gentleman’s Magazine, a work in which, as in a pawnbroker’s shop, much of real curiosity and value are stowed away and concealed amid the frippery and trumpery of those reverend old gentlewomen who were the regular correspondents of the work.

       June 2. — We intended to walk to the Castle, but were baffled by rainy weather. I was obliged to wait for a certificate from the parish register — Hei mihi!! I cannot have it till ten o’clock, or rather, as it chanced, till past eleven, when I got the paper for which I waited. We lunched at Hawick, and concluded our pilgrimage at Abbotsford about nine at night, where the joyful barking of the dogs, with the sight of the kind familiar faces of our domestics, gave us welcome, and I enjoyed a sound repose on my own bed. I remark that in this journey I have never once experienced depression of spirits, or the tremor cordis of which I have sometimes such unpleasant visits. Dissipation, and a succession of trifling engagements, prevent the mind from throwing itself out in the manner calculated to exhaust the owner, and to entertain other people. There is a lesson in this.

      June 3, [Abbotsford]. — This was a very idle day. I waked to walk about my beautiful young woods with old Tom and the dogs. The sun shone bright, and the wind fanned my cheek as if it were a welcoming. I did not do the least right thing, except packing a few books necessary for writing the continuation of the Tales. In this merry mood I wandered as far as Huntly Burn, where I found the Miss Fergusons well and happy; then I sauntered back to Abbotsford, sitting on every bench by the way, and thus

      “It grew to dinner in conclusion.”

      A good appetite made my simple meal relish better than the magnificent cheer which I have lately partaken of. I smoked a cigar, slept away an hour, and read Mure of Auchendrane’s trial, and thus ended the day. I cannot afford to spend many such, nor would they seem so pleasant.

      June 4, [Edinburgh]. — The former part of this day was employed much as yesterday, but some packing was inevitable. Will Laidlaw came to dinner, of which we partook at three o’clock. Started at halfpast four, and arrived at home, if we must call it so, at nine o’clock in the evening. I employed my leisure in the chaise to peruse Mure of Auchendrane’s trial, out of which something might be coopered up for the public. It is one of the wildest stories I ever read. Something might surely be twisted out of it.

       June 5. — Cadell breakfasted; in great spirits with the success of the Fair Maid of Perth. A disappointment being always to be apprehended, I too am greatly pleased that the evil day is adjourned, for the time must come — and yet I can spin a tough yarn still with any one now going.

      I was much distressed to find that the last of the Macdonald Buchanans, a fine lad of about twenty-one, is now decidedly infected by the same pulmonary complaint which carried off his four brothers in succession. This is indeed a cruel stroke, and it is melancholy to witness the undaunted Highland courage of the father.

      I went to Court, and when I returned did some work upon the Tales.

      “And now again, boys, to the oar.”

       June 6. — I have determined to work sans intermission for lost time, and to make up at least my task every day. J. Gibson called on me with good hopes that the trustees will authorise the grand opus to be set afloat. They are scrupulous a little about the expense of engravings, but I fear the taste of the town will not be satisfied without them. It is time these things were settled. I wrought both before and after dinner, and finished five pages, which is two above bargain.

       June 7. — Saturday was another working day, and nothing occurred to disturb me.

       June 8. — I finished five sheets this day. Will Clerk and Francis Scott of Harden came to dinner, and we spent a pleasant evening.

       June 9. — I laboured till about one, and was then obliged to go to attend a meeting of the Oil Gas Company, — as I devoutly hope for the last time.

      After that I was obliged to go to sit to Colvin Smith, which is an atrocious bore, but cannot be helped.

      Cadell rendered me report of accounts paid for me with vouchers, which very nearly puts me out of all shop debts. God grant me grace to keep so!

      June 10-14. — During these five days almost nothing occurred to diversify the ordinary task of the day, which, I must own, was dull enough. I rose to my task by seven, and, less or more, wrought it out in the course of the day, far exceeding the ordinary average of three leaves per day. I have attended the Parliament House with the most strict regularity, and returned to dine alone with Anne. Also, I gave three sittings to Mr. Colvin Smith, who I think has improved since I saw him.

      Of important intelligence nothing occurs save the termination of all suspense on the subject of poor James Macdonald Buchanan. He died at Malta. The celebrated Dugald Stewart is also dead, famous for his intimate acquaintance with the history and philosophy of the human mind. There is much of water-painting in all metaphysics, which consist rather of words than ideas. But Stewart was most impressive and eloquent. In former days I was frequently with him, but not for many years. Latterly, I am told, he had lost not the power of thinking, but the power of expressing his thoughts by speech. This is like the Metamorphosis of Ovid, the bark binding in and hardening the living flesh.

       June 15. — W. Clerk, Francis Scott, and Charles Sharpe dined with me, but my task had been concluded before dinner.

       June 16. — Dined at Dalmahoy, with the young Earl and Countess of Morton. I like these young noble folks particularly well. Their manners and style of living are easy and unaffected, and I should like to see them often. Came home at night. The task finished to-day. I should mention that the plan about the new edition of the novels was considered at a meeting of trustees, and finally approved of. I trust it will answer; yet, who can warrant the continuance of popularity? Old Corri, who entered into many projects, and could never set the sails of a windmill so as to catch the aura popularis, used to say that he believed that were he to turn baker, it would put bread out of fashion. I have had the better luck to dress my sails to every wind; and so blow on, good wind, and spin

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