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reigners urged heir questions, and the pompous simpers of condescending magnates. When sore beset at home in this way, he would every now and then discover that he had some very particular business to attend to on an outlying part of his estate; and, craving the indulgence of his guests over night, appear at the cabin in the glen before its inhabitants were astir in the morning. The clatter of Sibyl Grey's hoofs, the yelping of Mustard and Spice, and his own joyous shout of reveillée under our windows, were the signal that he had burst his toils, and meant for that day to take his ease in his inn.' On descending, he was to be found seated with all his dogs and ours about him, under a spreading ash that overshadowed half the bank between the cottage and the brook, pointing the edge of his woodman's-axe, and listening to Tom Purdie's lecture touching the plantation that most needed thinning. After breakfast he would take possession of a dressing-room up stairs, and write a chapter of The Pirate; and then, having made up and despatched his packet for Mr. Ballantyne, away to join Purdie wherever the foresters were at work-and sometimes to labour among them as strenuously as John Swanston,-until it was time either to rejoin his own party at Abbotsford, or the quiet circle of the cottage. When his guests were few and friendly, he often made them come over and meet him at Chiefs wood in a body towards evening; and surely he never appeared to more amiable advantage than when helping his young people with their little arrangements upon such occasions. He was ready with all sorts of devices to supply the wants of a narrow establishment; he used to delight particularly in sinking the wine in a well under the brae ere he went out, and hauling up the basket just before dinner was announced this primitive device being, he said, what he had always practised when a young housekeeper, and in his opinion far superior in its results to any application of ice; and in the same spirit, whenever the weather was sufficiently genial, he voted for dining out of doors altogether, which at once got rid of the inconvenience of very small rooms, and made it natural and easy for the gentlemen to help the ladies, so that the paucity of servants went for nothing."-Vol. v. pp. 123, 124.
Surely all this is very beautiful; like a picture of Boccaccio: the ideal of a country life in our time. Why could it not last? Income was not wanting: Scott's official permanent income was amply adequate to meet the expense of all that was valuable in it; nay, of all that was not harassing, senseless, and despicable. Scott had some £2,000 a year without writing books at all. Why should he manufacture and not create, to make more money; and rear mass on mass for a dwelling to himself, till the pile toppled, sank, crashing, and buried him in its ruins, when he had a safe pleasant dwelling ready of its own accord? Alas, Scott, with all his health, was infected sick of the fearfullest malady, that of Ambition! To such length had the King's baronetcy, the world's favour, and "sixteen parties a-day," brought it with him. So the inane racket must be kept up, and rise ever higher. So masons
labour, ditchers delve; and there is endless, altogether deplorable correspondence about marble-slabs for tables, wainscotting of rooms, curtains with the trimmings of curtains, orangecoloured or fawn-coloured: Walter Scott, one of the gifted of the world, whom his admirers called the most gifted, must kill himself that he may be a country gentleman, the founder of a race of Scottish lairds. strangest, most tragical histories ever enacted It is one of the under this sun. strong a man into such mad extremes. Surely, So poor a passion can lead so were not man a fool always, one might say there was something eminently distracted in this, end as it would, of a Walter Scott writing daily with the ardour of a steam-engine, that he might make £15,000 a year, and buy upholstery with it. To cover the walls of a stone house in Selkirkshire with knicknacks, ancient armour, and genealogical shields, what can we name it but a being bit with delirium of a kind! That tract after tract of moorland in the shire of Selkirk should be joined together on parch ment and by ring-fence, and named after one's name,-why, it is a shabby small-type edition of your vulgar Napoleons, Alexanders, and conquering heroes, not counted venerable by any teacher of men !—
"The whole world was not half so wide
Not he! And if, "looked at from the Moon,
these "Waverly Novels," so extraordinary in With respect to the literary character of their commercial character, there remains, after so much reviewing, good and bad, little that it were profitable at present to say. The great fact about them is, that they were faster written and better paid for than any other books in the world. It must be granted, moreover, that they have a worth far surpassing what is usual in such cases; nay, that if litera ture had no task but that of harmlessly amus ing indolent, languid men, here was the very perfection of literature; that a man, here more emphatically than ever elsewhere, might fling himself back, exclaiming, “Be mine to lie on this sofa, and read everlasting Novels of Walter Scott!" The composition, slight as it ofter. is, usually hangs together in some measure, and is a composition. There is a free flow of narrative, of incident and sentiment; an easy master-like coherence throughout, as if it were the free dash of a master's hand, "round as the O of Giotto." It is the perfection of
"Venne a Firenze, (il cortigiano del Papa,) è andato una mattina in bottega di Giotto, che lavorava, g's 2 Y
extemporaneous writing. Farthermore, surely | next to no nourishment in them. Opinions, he was a blind critic who did not recognise emotions, principles, doubts, beliefs, beyond here a certain genial sunshiny freshness and what the intelligent country gentleman can picturesqueness; paintings both of scenery carry along with him, are not to be found. It and figures, very graceful, brilliant, occasion- is orderly, customary, it is prudent, decent; ally full of grace and glowing brightness, nothing more. One would say, it lay not in blended in the softest composure; in fact, a Scott to give much more; getting out of the deep sincere love of the beautiful in nature ordinary range, and attempting the heroic, and man, and the readiest faculty of express- which is but seldom the case, he falls almost ing this by imagination and by word. No at once into the rose-pink sentimental,-desfresher paintings of nature can be found than cries the Minerva Press from afar, and hasti Scott's; hardly anywhere a wider sympathy ly quits that course; for none better than he with man. From Davie Deans up to Richard knew it to lead nowhither. On the whole, Coeur-de-Lion; from Meg Merrilies to Die contrasting Waverly, which was carefully Vernon and Queen Elizabeth! It is the ut- written, with most of its followers, which were terance of a man of open soul; of a brave, written extempore, one may regret the extemlarge, free-seeing man, who has a true brother- pore method. Something very perfect in its hood with all men. In joyous picturesque- kind might have come from Scott; nor was it ness and fellow-feeling, freedom of eye and a low kind: nay, who knows how high, with heart; or to say it in a word, in general healthi- studious self-concentration, he might have ness of mind, these novels prove Scott to have gone; what wealth nature had implanted in been amongst the foremost writers. him, which his circumstances, most unkind while seeming to be kindest, had never impelled him to unfold?
But after all, in the loudest blaring and trumpeting of popularity, it is ever to be held in mind, as a truth remaining true for ever, that literature has other aims than that of harmlessly amusing indolent, languid men: or if literature have them not, then literature is a very poor affair; and something else must have them, and must accomplish them, with thanks or without thanks; the thankful or thankless
Neither in the higher and highest excelfence, of drawing character, is he at any time altogether deficient; though at no time can we call him, in the best sense, successful. His Bailie Jarvies, Dinmonts, Dalgettys (for their name is legion) do look and talk like what they give themselves out for; they are, if not created and made poetically alive, yet deceptively enacted as a good player might do them. What more is wanted then? For the reader lying on a sofa, nothing more; yet for another sort of reader, much. It were a long chapter world were not long a world otherwise! Under to unfold the difference in drawing a character this head there is little to be sought or found between a Scott, a Shakspeare, and a Goethe? | in the "Waverley Novels." Not profitable for Yet it is a difference literally immense: they doctrine, for reproof, for edification, for buildare of different species; the value of the one ing up or elevating, in any shape! The sick is not to be counted in the coin of the other. heart will find no healing here, the darkly strug We might say in a short word, which means gling heart no guidance: the Heroic that is in a long matter, that your Shakspeare fashions all men no divine awakening voice. We say, his characters from the heart outwards; your therefore, that they do not found themselves Scott fashions them from the skin inwards, on deep interests, but on comparatively trivial never getting near the heart of them! The ones; not on the perennial, perhaps not even one set became living men and women; the on the lasting. In fact, much of the interest other amount to little more than mechanical of these novels results from what may be cases, deceptively painted automatons. Com- called contrasts of costume. The phraseolopare Fenella with Goethe's Mignon, which, it gy, fashion of arms, of dress and life, belongwas once said, Scott had "done Goethe the ing to one age, is brought suddenly, with singu honour" to borrow. He has borrowed whatlar vividness, before the eyes of another. A he could of Mignon. The small stature, the great effect this; yet, by the very nature of it, climbing talent, the trickiness, the mechanical an altogether temporary one. Consider, brethcase, as we say, he has borrowed; but the soul ren, shall not we too one day be antiques, and of Mignon is left behind. Fenella is an unfa-grow to have as quaint a costume as the rest! vourable specimen for Scott; but it illustrates, The stuffed dandy, only give him time, will bein the aggravated state, what is traceable in come one of the wonderfullest mummies. In all the characters he drew. To the same pur-antiquarian museums, only two centuries port, indeed, we are to say that these famed hence, the steeple-hat will hang on the next books are altogether addressed to the every- peg to Franks and Company's patent, antiquaday mind; that for any other mind, there is rians deciding which is uglier: and the Stultz swallow-tail, one may hope, will seem as incredible as any garment that ever made ridicu lous the respectable back of man. Not by slashed breeches, steeple-hats, buff-belts, or antiquated speech, can romance heroes continue to interest us; but simply and solely, in the long run, by being men. Buff-belts and all manner of jerkins and costumes are transito
chiese un poco di disegno per mandarlo a sua Santità. Giotto, che garbatissimo era, prese un foglio, ed in quello con un pannello tinto di rosso, fermato il braccio al financo per farne compasso, e girato la mano fece un tondo si pari di sesto e di profilo, che fu a vederlo una maraviglia. Cis fatto ghignando disse al cortigiano, Eccovi il disegno." "Onde il Papa, e molti Cortigiani intendenti conobbero perciò, quanto Giotto avanzasse d'ecceleni a tutti gli altri pittori del suo tempo. Divolgatasi poi questa cosa, ne nacque il pro-ry; man alone is perennial. He that has gone verbio, che ancora è in uso dirsi a gli nomini di grossa deeper into this than other men, will be repasta: Tu sei più tondo che l' O di Giotto."-Vasari, membered longer than they; he that has not,
Tite (Roma, 1759), i. 46.
not. Tried under this category, Scott with his | Giotto's O. But indeed, in all things, writing clear practical insight, joyous temper, and other or other, which a man engages in, there is the sound faculties, is not to be accounted little, indispensablest beauty in knowing how to get -among the ordinary circulating library he- done. A man frets himself to no purpose; he roes he might well pass for a demi-god. Not has not the sleight of the trade; he is not a little; yet neither is he great; there were great- craftsman, but an unfortunate borer and buner, more than one or two in his own age: gler, if he know not when to have done. Peramong the great of all ages, one sees no like- fection is unattainable: no carpenter ever lihood of a place for him. made a mathematically accurate right-angle What then is the result of these Waverley in the world; yet all carpenters know when it romances? Are they to amuse one generation | is right enough, and do not botch it, and lose only? One or more. As many generations their wages by making it too right. Too much as they can, but not all generations: ah no, pains-taking speaks disease in one's mind, as when our swallow-tail has become fantastic as well as too little. The adroit sound-minded trunk-hose, they will cease to amuse !-Mean- man will endeavour to spend on each business while, as we can discern, their results have approximately what of pains it deserves; and been several-fold. First of all, and certainly with a conscience void of remorse will disnot least of all, have they not perhaps had this miss it then. All this in favour of easy writresult: that a considerable portion of man- ing shall be granted, and, if need were, enkind has hereby been sated with mere amuse- forced and inculcated. And yet, on the other ment, and set on seeking something better? hand, it shall not less but more strenuously be Amusement in the way of reading can go no inculcated, that in the way of writing no great farther, can do nothing better, by the power of thing was ever, or will ever be done with ease, man; and men ask, Is this what it can do? but with difficulty! Let ready writers, with Scott, we reckon, carried several things to their any faculty in them, lay this to heart. Is it ultimatum and crisis, so that change became with ease, or not with ease, that a man shall inevitable: a great service, though an indi-do his best, in any shape; above all, in this rect one. Secondly, however, we may say, shape, justly named of "soul's travail," workthese historical novels have taught all men this ing in the deep places of thought, imbodying truth, which looks like a truism, and yet was the true out of the obscure and possible, envias good as unknown to writers of history and roned on all sides with the uncreated false? others, till so taught: that the by-gone ages Not so, now or at any time. The experience of the world were actually filled by living men, of all men belies it; the nature of things connot by protocols, state-papers, controversies, tradicts it. Virgil and Tacitus, were they ready and abstractions of men. Not abstractions writers? The whole Prophecies of Isaiah are were they, not diagrams and theorems; but not equal in extent to this cobweb of a review men, in buff or other coats and breeches, with article. Shakspeare, we may fancy, wrote colour in their cheeks, with passions in their with rapidity; but not till he had thought with stomach, and the idioms, features, and vitali-intensity: long and sore had this man thought, ties of very men. It is a little word this; in- as the seeing eye may discern well, and had clusive of great meaning! History will hence- dwelt and wrestled amid dark pains and throes, forth have to take thought of it. Her faint though his great soul is silent about all that. hearsays of "philosophy teaching by experi- It was for him to write rapidly at fit intervals, ence" will have to exchange themselves every-being ready to do it. And herein truly lies the where for direct inspection and imbodyment: secret of the matter: such swiftness of mere this, and this only, will be counted experience; writing, after due energy of preparation, is and till once experience have got in, philoso- doubtless the right method; the hot furnace phy will reconcile herself to wait at the door. having long worked and simmered, let the pure It is a great service, fertile in consequences, gold flow out at one gush. It was Shakspeare's this that Scott has done; a great truth laid plan; no easy writer he, or he had never been open by him;-correspondent indeed to the a Shakspeare. Neither was Milton one of the substantial nature of the man; to his solidity mob of gentlemen that write with ease; he and veracity even of imagination, which, did not attain Shakspeare's faculty, one perwith all his lively discursiveness, was the ceives, of even writing fast after long preparacharacteristic of him. tion. but struggled while he wrote. Goethe also tells us he "had nothing sent him in his sleep" no page of his but he knew well how it came there. It is reckoned to be the best prose, accordingly, that has been written by any modern. Schiller, as an unfortunate and unhealthy man, “könnte nie fertig werden, never could get done;" the noble genius of him struggled not wisely but too well, and wore his life itself heroically out. Or did Petrarch write easily? Dante sees himself "growing gray" over his Divine Comedy; in stern solita
A word here as to the extempore style of writing, which is getting much celebrated in these days. Scott seems to have been a high proficient in it. His rapidity was extreme, and the matter produced was excellent considering that the circumstances under which some of his novels, when he could not himself write, were dictated, are justly considered wonderful. It is a valuable faculty this of ready writing; nay farther, for Scott's purpose it was clearly the only good mode. By much labour he could not have added one guinea to his copy-right; ry death-wrestle with it, to prevail over it, and nor could the reader on the sofa have lain a do it, if his uttermost faculty may: hence, too, whit more at ease. It was in all ways neces- it is done and prevailed over, and the fiery life sary that these works should be produced of it endures for evermore among men. No: rapidly; and, round or not, be thrown off like creation, one would think, cannot be easy.
your Jove has severe pains and fire-flames in | probably, the common Editor of a Daily Newsthe head, out of which an armed Pallas is paper. Consider his leading-articles; what struggling! As for manufacture, that is a dif- they treat of, how passably they are done. ferent matter, and may become easy or not Straw that has been thrashed a hundred times easy, according as it is taken up. Yet of manu- without wheat; ephemeral sound of a sound; facture, too, the general truth is that, given the such portent of the hour as all men have seen manufacturer, it will be worthy in direct pro- a hundred times turn out inane; how a man, portion to the pains bestowed upon it; and with merely human faculty, buckles himself worthless always, or nearly so, with no pains. nightly with new vigour and interest to this Cease, therefore, O ready-writer, to brag open-thrashed straw, nightly thrashes it anew ly of thy rapidity and facility; to thee (if thou nightly gets up new thunder about it; and se be in the manufacturing line) it is a benefit, goes on thrashing and thundering for a con an increase of wages; but to me it is sheer siderable series of years; this is a fact re loss, worsening of my pennyworth: why wilt maining still to be accounted for, in human thou brag of it to me? Write easily, by steam physiology. The vitality of man is great. if thou canst contrive it, and canst sell it; but hide it like virtue! "Easy writing," said Sheridan, "is sometimes d-d hard reading." Sometimes; and always it is sure to be rather useless reading, which indeed (to a creature of few years and much work) may be reckon ed the hardest of all.
Or shall we say, Scott, among the many things he carried towards their ultimatum and crisis, carried this of ready-writing too, that so all men might better see what was in it? It is a valuable consummation. Not without results;-results, at some of which Scott as a Tory politician would have greatly shuddered. Scott's productive facility amazed every- For if once Printing have grown to be as Talk, body; and set Captain Hall, for one, upon a then DEMOCRACY (if we look into the roots of very strange method of accounting for it with- things) is not a bugbear and probability, but out miracle-for which see his "journal," a certainty, and event as good as come! above quoted from. The Captain, on count- 'Inevitable seems it me." But leaving this, ing line for line, found that he himself had sure enough the triumph of ready-writing ap written in that journal of his almost as much|pears to be even now; everywhere the readyas Scott, at odd hours in a given number of writer is found bragging strangely of his readidays; and as for the invention," says he, "itness. In a late translated "Don Carlos," one is known that this costs Scott nothing, but of the most indifferent translations ever done comes to him of its own accord." Conveni- with any sign of ability, a hitherto unknown ent indeed!-But for us too Scott's rapidity is individual is found assuring his reader, “The great, is a proof and consequence of the solid reader will possibly think it an excuse, when health of the man, bodily and spiritual; great, I assure him that the whole piece was combut unmiraculous; not greater than that of pleted within the space of ten weeks, that is to many others besides Captain Hall. Admire say, between the sixth of January and the it, yet with measure. For observe always, eighteenth of March of this year, (inclusive of there are two conditions in work: let me fix a fortnight's interruption from over exertion;) the quality, and you shall fix the quantity! that I often translated twenty pages a-day, and Any man may get through work rapidly who that the fifth act was the work of five days."* easily satisfies himself about it. Print the talk O hitherto unknown individual, what is it to of any man, there will be a thick octavo me what time it was the work of, whether five volume daily; make his writing three times days or five decades of years? The only as good as his talk, there will be the third part question is, How hast thou done it?-So, of a volume daily, which still is good work. however, it stands: the genius of Extempore To write with never such rapidity in a pass- irresistibly lording it, advancing on us like able manner is indicative, not of a man's ge- ocean-tides, like Noah's deluges-of ditchnius, but of his habits; it will prove his sound- water! The prospect seems one of the laness of nervous system, his practicability of mentablest. To have all Literature swum mind, and in fine, that he has the knack of away from us in watery Extempore, and a his trade. In the most flattering view, ra- spiritual time of Noah supervene? That pidity will betoken health of mind: much also, surely is an awful reflection, worthy of dysperhaps most of all, will depend on health of peptic Matthew Bramble in a London fog! body. Doubt it not, a faculty of easy writing Be of comfort, O splenetic Matthew; it is not is attainable by man! The human genius, Literature they are swimming away; it is once fairly set in this direction, will carry it only Book-publishing and Book-selling. Was far. William Cobbett, one of the healthiest there not a Literature before Printing or Faust of men, was a greater improviser even than of Mentz, and yet men wrote extempore? Nay, Walter Scott: his writing, considered as to before Writing or Cadmus of Thebes, and yet quality and quantity, of Rural Rides, Registers, men spoke extempore? Literature is the Grammars, Sermons, Peter Porcupines, His- Thought of thinking Souls; this, by the blessories of Reformation, ever-fresh denounce- ing of God, can in no generation be swum ments of Potatoes and Papermoney,-seems away, but remains with us to the end. to us still more wonderful. Pierre Bayle wrote enormous folios, one sees not on what motive-principle; he flowed on for ever, a mighty tide of ditch-water; and even died flowing, with the pen in his hand. But indeed the most unaccountable ready-writer of all is,
Scott's career, of writing impromptu novels to buy farms with, was not of a kind to terminate voluntarily, but to accelerate itself more
"Don Carlos," a Dramatic Poem, from the German of Schiller, Mannheim and London, 1837.
and more; and one sees not to what wise goal | commend, will utter no word of blame; this it could, in any case, have led him. Book-one word only, Wo is me! The noble warseller Constable's bankruptcy was not the ruin horse that once laughed at the shaking of the of Scott; his ruin was that ambition, and even spear, how is he doomed to toil himself dead, false ambition, had laid hold of him; that his dragging ignoble wheels! Scott's descent was way of life was not wise. Whither could it like that of a spent projectile; rapid, straight lead? Where could it stop? New farms there down;-perhaps mercifully so. It is a tragedy, remained ever to be bought, while new novels as all life is; one proof more that Fortune could pay for them. More and more success stands on a restless globe; that Ambition, but gave more and more appetite, more and literary, warlike, politic, pecuniary, never yet more audacity. The impromptu writing must profited any man. have waxed even thinner; declined faster and faster into the questionable category, into the condemnable, into the general condemned. Already there existed, in secret, everywhere a considerable opposition party; witnesses of the Waverley miracles, but unable to believe in them, forced silently to protest against them. Such opposition party was in the sure case to grow; and even, with the impromptu process ever going on, ever waxing thinner, to draw the world over to it. Silent protest must at length come to words; harsh truths, backed by harsher facts of a world-popularity overwrought and worn out, behoved to have been spoken;-such as can be spoken now without reluctance when they can pain the brave man's heart no more. Who knows? Perhaps it was better ordered to be all otherwise. Otherwise, at any rate, it was. One day the Constable mountain, which seemed to stand strong like the other rock mountains, gave suddenly, as the ice-bergs do, a loud-sounding and Anne has promised close and constant crack; suddenly, with huge clangor, shivered intelligence. I must dine with James Ballanitself into ice-dust; and sank, carrying much tyne to-day en famille. I cannot help it; but along with it. In one day Scott's high-heaped would rather be at home and alone. However, money-wages became fairy-money and non-I can go out too. I will not yield to the barren entity; in one day the rich man and lord of sense of hopelessness which struggles to inland saw himself penniless, landless, a bank-vade me." rupt among creditors.
Our last extract shall be from Volume Sixth; a very tragical one. Tragical, yet still beautiful; waste Ruin's havoc borrowing a kind of sacredness from a yet sterner visitation, that of Death! Scott has withdrawn into a solitary lodging-house in Edinburgh, to do daily the day's work there; and had to leave his wife at Abbotsford in the last stage of disease. He went away silently; looked silently at the sleeping face he scarcely hoped ever to see again. We quote from a Diary he had begun to keep in those months, on hint from Byron's Ravenna Journal: copious sections of it render this sixth volume more interesting than any of the former ones:"Abbotsford, May 11, (1826.)— It withers my heart to think of it, and to recollect that I can hardly hope again to seek confidence and counsel from that ear, to which all might be safely confided. But in her present lethargic state, what would my attendance have availed!
It was a hard trial. He met it proudly, bravely, like a brave proud man of the world. Perhaps there had been a prouder way still; to have owned honestly that he was unsuccessful then, all bankrupt, broken, in the world's good's and repute; and to have turned elsewhither for some refuge. Refuge did lie elsewhere; but it was not Scott's course, or fashion of mind, to seek it there. To say, Hither-One cannot carry the comforts of the Saut to I have been all in the wrong, and this my Market about with one.' Were I at ease in fame and pride, now broken, was an empty mind, I think the body is very well cared for. delusion and spell of accursed witchcraft! It Only one other lodger in the house, a Mr. was difficult for flesh and blood! He said, I Shandy-a clergyman; and, despite his name, will retrieve myself, and make my point good said to be a quiet one." yet, or die for it. Silently, like a proud strong man, he girt himself to the Hercules' task, of removing rubbish-mountains, since that was it; of paying large ransoms by what he could still write and sell. In his declining years too; misfortune is doubly and trebly unfortunate that befalls us then. Scott fell to his Hercules' task like a very man, and went on with it unweariedly; with a noble cheerfulness, while his lifestrings were cracking, he grappled with it, and wrestled with it, years long, in deathgrips, strength to strength;-and it proved the stronger; and his life and heart did crack and break: the cordage of a most strong heart! Abbotsford, May 16.-She died at nine in Over these last writings of Scott, his Napoleons, the morning, after being very ill for two days Demonologies, Scotch Histories, and the rest, criti--easy at last. I arrived here late last night. cism, finding still much to wonder at, much to Anne is worn out, and has had hysterics, which
"May 14.—A fair good-morrow to you, Mr. Sun, who are shining so brightly on these dull walls. Methinks you look as if you were looking as bright on the banks of the Tweed; but look where you will, Sir Sun, you look upon sorrow and suffering.-Hogg was here yesterday in danger, from having obtained an accommodation of £100 from James Ballantyne, which he is now obliged to repay. I am unable to help the poor fellow, being obliged to borrow myself."
"May 15.-Received the melancholy intelligence that all is over at Abbotsford."
"Edinburgh,-Mrs. Brown's lodgings, North St. David Street-May 12.-I passed a pleasant day with kind J. B., which was a great relief from the black dog, which would have worried me at home. He was quite alone.
'Well, here I am in Arden. And I may say with Touchstone, When I was in a better place;' I must, when there is occasion, draw to my own Baillie Nicol Jarvie's consolation