LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. | 61 |
Sir Walter Scott opens his brief account of his ancestry with a playful allusion to a trait of national character, which has, time out of mind, furnished merriment to the neighbours of the Scotch; but the zeal of pedigree was deeply rooted in himself, and he would have been the last to treat it with serious disparagement. It has often been exhibited under circumstances sufficiently grotesque; but it has lent strength to many a good impulse, sustained hope and self-respect under many a difficulty and distress, armed heart and nerve to many a bold and resolute struggle for independence; and prompted also many a generous act of assistance, which under its influence alone could have been accepted without any feeling of degradation.
He speaks modestly of his own descent; for, while none of his predecessors had ever sunk below the situation and character of a gentleman, he had but to go three or four generations back, and thence, as far as they could be followed, either on the paternal or maternal side, they were to be found moving in the highest ranks of our baronage. When he fitted up in his later years the beautiful hall of Abbotsford, he was careful to have the armorial bearings of his forefathers blazoned in due
62 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
In the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, and Notes to the Lay of the Last Minstrel, the reader will find sundry notices of the “Bauld Rutherfords that were sae stout,” and the Swintons of Swinton in Berwickshire, the two nearest houses on the maternal side. An illustrious old warrior of the latter family, Sir John Swinton, extolled by Froissart, is the hero of the dramatic sketch, “Halidon Hill”; and it is not to be omitted, that through the Swintons Sir Walter Scott could trace himself to William Alexander, Earl of Stirling, the poet and dramatist.* His respect for the worthy barons of Newmains and Dryburgh, of whom, in right of his father’s mother, he was the representative, and in whose venerable sepulchre his remains now rest, was testified by his “Memorials of the Haliburtons,” a small volume printed (for private circulation only) in the year 1820. His own male ancestors of the family of Harden, whose lineage is traced by Douglas in his Baronage of Scotland back to the middle of the fourteenth century, when they branched off from the great blood of Buccleuch, have been so largely celebrated in his various writings,
* On Sir Walter’s copy of “Recreations with the Muses, by William Earl of Stirling, 1637,” there is the following MS. note: “Sir William Alexander, sixth Baron of Menstrie, and first Earl of Stirling, the friend of Drummond of Hawthornden and Ben Jonson, died in 1640. His eldest son, William Viscount Canada, died before his father, leaving one son and three daughters by his wife, Lady Margaret Douglas, eldest daughter of William, first Marquis of Douglas. Margaret, the second of these daughters, married Sir Robert Sinclair of Longformacus in the Merse, to whom she bore two daughters, Anne and Jean. Jean Sinclair, the younger daughter, married Sir John Swinton of Swinton; and Jean Swinton, her eldest daughter, was the grandmother of the proprietor of this volume.” |
PEDIGREE—SATCHELLS. | 63 |
The race had been celebrated, however, long before his day, by a minstrel of its own; nor did he conceal his belief that he owed much to the influence exerted over his juvenile mind by the rude but enthusiastic clan-poetry of old Satchells, who describes himself on his title-page as
“Captain Walter Scot, an old Souldier and no Scholler, And one that can write nane, But just the Letters of his Name.” |
* His family well remember the delight which he expressed on receiving, in 1818, a copy of this first edition, a small dark quarto of 1688, from his friend Constable. He was breakfasting when the present was delivered, and said, “This is indeed the resurrection of an old ally—I mind spelling these lines.” He read aloud the jingling epistle to his own great-great-grandfather, which, like the rest, concludes with abroad hint that, as the author had neither lands nor flocks “no estate left except his designation” the more fortunate kinsman who enjoyed, like Jason of old, a fair share |
64 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“It is four hundred winters past in order Since that Buccleuch was Warden in the Border; A son he had at that same tide, Which was so lame could neither run nor ride. John, this lame son, if my author speaks true, He sent him to St Mungo’s in Glasgu, Where he remained a scholar’s time, Then married a wife according to his mind. . . . And betwixt them twa was procreat Headshaw, Askirk, Sinton, and
Glack.” |
of fleeces, might do worse than bestow on him some of King James’s broad pieces. On rising from table, Sir Walter immediately wrote as follows on the blank leaf opposite to poor Satchells’ honest title-page—
The rarity of the original edition of Satchells is such, that the copy now at Abbotsford was the only one Mr Constable had ever seen and no wonder, for the author’s envoy is in these words:
|
PEDIGREE—SATCHELLS. | 65 |
“The Laird and Lady of Harden Betwixt them procreat was a son Called William Boltfoot of
Harden” |
“He did survive to be a man.” |
“To tak the foord he aye was first, Unless the English loons were near; Plunge vassal than, plunge horse and man, Auld Boltfoot rides into the
rear.” |
“From childhood’s earliest hour,” says the poet in one of his last Journals, “I have rebelled against external circumstances.” How largely the traditional famousness of the stalwart Boltfoot may have helped to develope this element of his character, I do not pretend to say; but I cannot avoid regretting that Lord Byron had not discovered such another “Deformed Transformed” among his own chivalrous progenitors.
So long as Sir Walter retained his vigorous habits, he used to make an autumnal excursion, with whatever friend happened to be his guest at the time, to the tower of Harden, the incunabula of his race. A
66 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“Where Bortha hoarse, that loads the meads with sand, Rolls her red tide to Teviot’s western strand, Through slaty hills, whose sides are shagged with thorn, Where springs in scattered tufts the dark-green corn, Towers wood-girt Harden far above the vale, And clouds of ravens o’er the turrets sail. A hardy race who never shrunk from war, The Scott, to rival realms a mighty bar, Here fixed his mountain home;—a wide domain, And rich the soil, had purple heath been grain; But what the niggard ground of wealth denied, From fields more bless’d his fearless arm supplied.”* |
It was to this wild retreat that the Harden of the Lay of the Last Minstrel, the Auld Wat of a hundred Border ditties, brought home, in 1567, his beautiful bride, Mary Scott, “the Flower of Yarrow,” whose grace and gentleness have lived in song along with the stern vir-
* Leyden, the author of these beautiful lines, has borrowed, as the Lay of the Last Minstrel did also, from one of Satchells’ primitive couplets—
|
PEDIGREE. | 67 |
“His are the strains whose wandering echoes thrill The shepherd lingering on the twilight hill, When evening brings the merry folding hours, And sun-eyed daisies close their winking flowers. He lived o’er Yarrow’s
Flower to shed the tear, To strew the holly leaves o’er Harden’s bier; But none was found above the minstrel’s tomb, Emblem of peace, to bid the daisy bloom. He, nameless as the race from which he sprung, Saved other names, and left his own unsung.” |
We are told, that when the last bullock which Auld Wat had provided from the English pastures was consumed, the Flower of Yarrow placed on her table a dish containing a pair of clean spurs; a hint to the company that they must bestir themselves for their next dinner. Sir Walter adds, in a note to the Minstrelsy, “Upon one occasion when the village herd was driving out the cattle to pasture, the old laird heard him call loudly to drive out Harden’s cow. ‘Harden’s cow!’ echoed the affronted chief; ‘Is it come to that pass? by my faith they shall soon say Harden’s kye (cows).’ Accordingly, he sounded his bugle, set out with his followers, and next day returned with a bow of kye, and a bassen’d (brindled) bull. On his return with this gallant prey, he passed a very large haystack. It occurred to the provident laird that this would be extremely convenient to fodder his new stock of cattle; but as no means of transporting it were obvious, he was fain
68 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
Another striking chapter in the genealogical history belongs to the marriage of Auld Wat’s son and heir, afterwards Sir William Scott of Harden, distinguished by the early favour of James VI., and severely fined for his loyalty under the usurpation of Cromwell. The period of this gentleman’s youth was a very wild one in that district. The Border clans still made war on each other occasionally, much in the fashion of their forefathers; and the young and handsome heir of Harden, engaging in a foray upon the lands of Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank, treasurer-depute of Scotland, was overpowered by that baron’s retainers, and carried in shackles to his castle, now a heap of ruins, on the banks of the Tweed. Elibank’s “doomtree” extended its broad arms close to the gates of his fortress, and the indignant laird was on the point of desiring his prisoner to say a last prayer, when his more considerate dame interposed milder counsels, suggesting that the culprit was born to a good estate, and that they had three unmarried daughters. Young Harden, not, it is said, without hesitation, agreed to save his life by taking the plainest of the three off their hands, and the contract of marriage, executed instantly on the parchment of a drum, is still in the charter-chest of his noble representative.
Walter Scott, the third son of this couple, was the first Laird of Raeburn, already alluded to as one of the patrons of Satchells. He married Isabel Macdougal, daughter of Macdougal of Makerstoun—a family of great antiquity and distinction in Roxburgh-
PEDIGREE. | 69 |
The MS. adds, “of the first Raeburn’s two sons it may be observed, that, thanks to the discipline of the Privy Council, they were both good scholars.” Of these sons, Walter, the second, was the poet’s greatgrandfather, the enthusiastic Jacobite of the autobiographical fragment,—who is introduced,
70 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“With amber beard and flaxen hair, And reverend apostolic air,” |
“Barba crescat, barba crescat, Donec carduus revirescat.” |
Scantily as the worthy Jacobite seems to have been provided with this world’s goods, he married the daughter of a gentleman of good condition, “through whom,” says the MS. Memorandum already quoted, “his descendants have inherited a connexion with some honourable branches of the Slioch nan Diarmid, or Clan of Campbell.” To this connexion Sir Walter owed, as we shall see hereafter, many of those early opportunities for studying the manners of the Highlanders, to which the world are indebted for Waverley, Rob Roy, and the Lady of the Lake.
Robert Scott, the son of Beardie, formed also an honourable alliance. His father-in-law, Thomas Haliburton,* the last but one of the “good lairds of New-
* “From the genealogical deduction in the Memorials, it appears that the Haliburtons of Newmains were descended from and represented the ancient and once powerful family of Haliburton of Mertoun, which became extinct in the beginning of the eighteenth cen- |
PARENTAGE. | 71 |
I need scarcely remind the reader of the exquisite description of the poet’s grandfather, in the Introduction to the third Canto of Marmion—
——“the thatched mansion’s grey-hair’d sire, Wise without learning, plain and good, And sprung of Scotland’s gentler blood; |
tury. The first of this latter family possessed the lands and barony of Mertoun by a charter granted by Archibald Earl of Douglas and Lord of Galloway (one of those tremendous lords whose coronets counterpoised the Scottish crown) to Henry de Haliburton, whom he designates as his standard-bearer, on account of his service to the earl in England. On this account the Haliburtons of Mertoun and those of Newmains, in addition to the arms borne by the Haliburtons of Dirleton (the ancient chiefs of that once great and powerful but now almost extinguished name)—viz. or, on a bend azure, three mascles of the first—gave the distinctive bearing of a buckle of the second in the sinister canton. These arms still appear on various old tombs in the abbeys of Melrose and Dryburgh, as well as on their house at Dryburgh, which was built in 1572.”—MS. Memorandum, 1820. Sir Walter was served heir to these Haliburtons soon after the date of this Memorandum, and thenceforth quartered the arms above described with those of his paternal family. |
72 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
Whose eye, in age quick, clear, and keen, Showed what in youth its glance had been; Whose doom discording neighbours sought, Content with equity unbought.” |
PARENTAGE. | 73 |
Of Robert of Sandy-Knowe also there is a very tolerable portrait at Abbotsford, and the likeness of the poet to his grandfather must have forcibly struck every one who has seen it. Indeed, but for its wanting some inches in elevation of forehead (a considerable want it must be allowed), the picture might be mistaken for one of Sir Walter Scott. The keen shrewd expression of the eye, and the remarkable length and compression of the upper lip, bring him exactly before me as he appeared when entering with all the zeal of a professional agriculturist into the merits of a pit of marle discovered at Abbotsford. Had the old man been represented with his cap on his head, the resemblance to one particular phasis of the most changeful of countenances, would have been perfect.
Robert Scott had a numerous progeny, and Sir Walter has intimated his intention of recording several of them “with a sincere tribute of gratitude” in the contemplated prosecution of his autobiography. Two of the younger sons were bred to the naval service of the East India Company; one of whom died early and unmarried; the other was the excellent Captain Robert Scott, of whose kindness to his nephew some particulars are given in the Ashestiel Fragment, and more will occur hereafter. Another son, Thomas, followed the profession of his father with ability, and
74 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
I visited this old man, two years before his death, in company with Sir Walter, and thought him about the most venerable figure I had ever set my eyes on—tall and erect, with long flowing tresses of the most silvery whiteness, and stockings rolled up over his knees, after the fashion of three generations back. He sat reading his Bible without spectacles, and did not, for a moment, perceive that any one had entered his room, but on recognising his nephew he rose, with cordial alacrity, kissing him on both cheeks, and exclaiming, “God bless thee, Walter, my man, thou hast risen to
PARENTAGE. | 75 |
The particulars which I have been setting down may help English readers to form some notion of the structure
LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
PARENTAGE. | 77 |
Walter Scott, the eldest son of Robert of Sandy-Knowe, appears to have been the first of the family that ever adopted a town life, or any thing claiming to be classed among the learned professions. His branch of the law, however, could not in those days be advantageously prosecuted without extensive connexions in the country; his own were too respectable not to be of much service to him in his calling, and they were cultivated accordingly. His professional visits to Roxburghshire and Ettrick Forest were, in his vigorous life, very frequent; and though he was never supposed to have any tincture either of romance or poetry in his composition, he retained to the last a warm affection for his native district, with a certain reluctant flavour of the old feelings and prejudices of the Borderer. I have little to add to Sir Walter’s short and respectful notice of his father, except that I have heard it confirmed by the testimony of many less partial observers. According to every account, he was a most just, honourable, conscientious man; only too high of spirit for some parts of his business. “He passed from the cradle to the grave,” says a surviving relation, “without making an enemy or losing a friend. He was a most affectionate parent, and if he discouraged, rather than otherwise, his son’s early devotion to the pursuits which led him to the height of literary eminence, it was only because he did not understand what such things meant, and considered it his duty to keep his young man to that path in which good sense and industry might, humanly speaking, be thought sure of success.”
Sir Walter’s mother was short of stature, and by no
78 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
Mr Scott was nearly thirty years of age when he married, and six children, born to him between 1759
* See Chambers’s Traditions of Edinburgh, vol. ii. pp. 127-131. The functions here ascribed to Mrs Ogilvie may appear to modern readers little consistent with her rank. Such things, however, were not uncommon in those days in poor old Scotland. Ladies with whom I have conversed in my youth well remembered an Honourable Mrs Maitland who practised the obstetric art in the Cowgate. |
SANDY-KNOWE. | 79 |
He says that his consciousness of existence dated from Sandy-Knowe; and how deep and indelible was the impression which its romantic localities had left on his imagination, I need not remind the readers of Marmion and the Eve of St John. On the summit of the Crags which overhang the farm-house stands the ruined tower of Smailholme, the scene of that fine ballad; and the view from thence takes in a wide expanse of the district in which, as has been truly said, every field has its battle, and every rivulet its song:—
“The lady looked in mournful mood, Looked over hill and vale, O’er Mertoun’s wood, and Tweed’s fair flood, And all down Teviotdale”— |
* In Sir Walter Scott’s desk, after his death, there was found a little packet containing six locks of hair, with this inscription in the handwriting of his mother:
All these are dead, and none of my present family was born till some time afterwards.” |
80 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“Whether an impulse that has birth
Soon as the infant wakes on earth,
One with our feelings and our powers,
And rather part of us than ours;
Or whether fitlier term’d the sway
Of habit, formed in early day,
Howe’er derived, its force confest
Rules with despotic sway the breast,
|
SANDY-KNOWE. | 81 |
And drags us on by viewless chain,
While taste and reason plead in vain. . . .
Thus, while I ape the measure wild
Of tales that charm’d me yet a child,
Rude though they be, still with the chime
Return the thoughts of early time,
And feelings rous’d in life’s first day,
Glow in the line and prompt the lay.
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower,
Which charm’d my fancy’s wakening hour.
It was a barren scene and wild
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled;
But ever and anon between
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green;
And well the lonely infant knew
Recesses where the wall flower grew
And honeysuckle loved to crawl
Up the low crag and ruin’d wall.
I deem’d such nooks the sweetest shade
The sun in all its round surveyed;
And still I thought that shattered tower
The mightiest work of human power,
And marvelled as the aged hind,
With some strange tale bewitch’d my mind,
Of forayers who, with headlong force,
Down from that strength had spurr’d their horse,
Their southern rapine to renew,
Far in the distant Cheviots blue,
And home returning, fill’d the hall
With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl.
Methought that still with trump and clang
The gateway’s broken arches rang;
Methought grim features, seam’d with scars,
Glared thro’ the windows’ rusty bars
And ever, by the winter hearth,
Old tales I heard of wo or mirth,
Of lovers’ slights, of ladies’ charms,
Of witches’ spells, of warriors’ arms—
Of patriot battles won of old
By Wallace Wight and Bruce the Bold—
Of later fields of feud and fight,
When, pouring from their Highland height,
|
82 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
The Scottish clans, in headlong sway,
Had swept the scarlet ranks away.
While stretched at length upon the floor,
Again I fought each combat o’er,
Pebbles and shells, in order laid,
The mimic ranks of war displayed,
And onward still the Scottish Lion bore,
And still the scattered Southron fled before.”
|
There are still living in that neighbourhood two old women, who were in the domestic service of Sandy-Knowe, when the lame child was brought thither in the third year of his age. One of them, Tibby Hunter, remembers his coming well; and that ‘he was a sweet-tempered bairn, a darling with all about the house. The young ewe-milkers delighted, she says, to carry him about on their backs among the crags; and he was very gleg (quick) at the uptake, and soon kenned every sheep and lamb by headmark as well as any of them.’ His great pleasure, however, was in the society of the ‘aged hind,’ recorded in the epistle to Erskine. ‘Auld Sandy Ormistoun,’ called, from the most dignified part of his function, ‘the Cow-bailie,’ had the chief superintendence of the flocks that browsed upon ‘the velvet tufts of loveliest green.’ If the child saw him in the morning, he could not be satisfied unless the old man would set him astride on his shoulder, and take him to keep him company as he lay watching his charge.
“Here was poetic impulse given By the green hill and clear blue heaven.” |
SANDY-KNOWE. | 83 |
I find the following marginal note on his copy of Allan Ramsay’s Tea-Table Miscellany (edition 1724): “This book belonged to my grandfather, Robert Scott, and out of it I was taught Hardiknute by heart before I could read the ballad myself. It was the first poem I ever learnt the last I shall ever forget.” According to Tibby Hunter, he was not particularly fond of his book, embracing every pretext for joining his friend the Cow-bailie out of doors; but ‘Miss Jenny was a grand hand at keeping him to the bit, and by degrees he came to read brawly.’* An early acquaintance of a higher class, Mrs Duncan, the wife of the present excellent minister of Mertoun, informs me, that though she was younger than Sir Walter, she has a dim remembrance of the interior of Sandy-Knowe:—‘Old Mrs Scott sitting, with her spinning-wheel, at one side of the fire, in a clean clean parlour; the grandfather, a good deal failed, in his elbow-chair opposite; and the little boy lying on the carpet, at the old man’s feet, listening
* This old woman still possesses ‘the banes’ (bones)—that is to say, the boards—of a Psalm-book, which Master Walter gave her at Sandy-knowe. ‘He chose it,’ she says, ‘of a very large print, that I might be able to read it when I was very auld—forty year auld; but the bairns pulled the leaves out langsyne.’ |
84 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
Robert Scott died before his grandson was four years of age; and I heard him mention when he was an old man that he distinctly remembered the writing and sealing of the funeral letters, and all the ceremonial of the melancholy procession as it left Sandy-Knowe. I shall conclude my notices of the residence at Sandy-Knowe with observing, that in Sir Walter’s account of the friendly clergyman who so often sat at his grandfather’s fireside, we cannot fail to trace many features of the secluded divine in the novel of Saint Ronan’s Well.
I have nothing to add to what he has told us of that excursion to England which interrupted his residence at Sandy-Knowe for about a twelvemonth, except that I had often been astonished, long before I read his autobiographic fragment, with the minute recollection he seemed to possess of all the striking features of the city of Bath, which he had never seen again since he quitted it before he was six years of age. He has himself alluded, in his Memoir, to the lively recollection he retained of his first visit to the theatre, to which his uncle Robert carried him to witness a representation of As You Like It. In his Reviewal of the Life of John Kemble, written in 1826, he has recorded that impression more fully, and in terms so striking, that I must copy them in this place:—
“There are few things which those gifted with any degree of imagination recollect with a sense of more anxious and mysterious delight than the first dramatic representation which they have witnessed. The unusual form of the house, filled with such groups of crowded spectators, themselves forming an extraordinary spectacle to the eye which has never witnessed it be-
BATH. | 85 |
86 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
Probably it was this performance that first tempted him to open the page of Shakspeare. Before he returned to Sandy-Knowe, assuredly, notwithstanding the modest language of his autobiography, the progress which had been made in his intellectual education was extraordinary; and it is impossible to doubt that his hitherto almost sole tutoress, Miss Jenny Scott, must have been a woman of tastes and acquirements very far above what could have been often found among Scotch ladies, of any but the highest class at least, in that day. In the winter of 1777, she and her charge spent some few weeks—not happy weeks, the “Memoir” hints them to have been—in George’s Square, Edinburgh; and it so happened, that during this little interval, Mr and Mrs Scott received in their domestic circle a guest capable of appreciating, and, fortunately for us, of recording in a very striking manner the remarkable developement of young Walter’s faculties. Mrs Cockburn, mentioned by him in his Memoir as the authoress of the modern “Flowers of the Forest,” born a Rutherford, of Fairnalie, in Selkirkshire, was as distantly related to the poet’s mother, with whom she had through life been in habits of intimate friendship. This accomplished woman was staying at Ravelstone, in the vicinity of Edinburgh, a seat of the Keiths of Dunnotar, nearly related to Mrs Scott, and to herself. With some of that family she spent an evening in George’s Square. She chanced to be writing next day
* Miscellaneous Prose Works, vol. xx. p. 154. |
EDINBURGH 1777 | 87 |
* * * * “I last night supped in Mr Walter Scott’s. He has the most extraordinary genius of a boy I ever saw. He was reading a poem to his mother when I went in. I made him read on; it was the description of a shipwreck. His passion rose with the storm. He lifted his eyes and hands. ‘There’s the mast gone,’ says he; ‘crash it goes!—they will all perish!’ After his agitation, he turns to me. ‘That is too melancholy,’ says he; ‘I had better read you something more amusing.’ I preferred a little chat, and asked his opinion of Milton and other books he was reading, which he gave me wonderfully. One of his observations was, ‘How strange it is that Adam, just new come into the world, should know every thing—that must be the poet’s fancy,’ says he. But when he was told he was created perfect by God, he instantly yielded. When taken to bed last night, he told his aunt he liked that lady. What lady?’ says she. ‘Why, Mrs Cockburn; for I think she is a virtuoso, like myself.’ ‘Dear Walter,’ says aunt Jenny, ‘what is a virtuoso?’ ‘Don’t ye know? Why, it’s one who wishes and will know every thing.’*—
* It may amuse my reader to recall, by the side of Scott’s early definition of “a Virtuoso,” the lines in which Akenside has painted that character—lines which might have been written for a description of the Author of Waverley:—
|
88 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
Some particulars in Mrs Cockburn’s account appear considerably at variance with what Sir Walter has told us respecting his own boyish proficiency—especially in the article of pronunciation. On that last head, however, Mrs Cockburn was not, probably, a very accurate judge: all that can be said is, that if at this early period he had acquired any thing which could be justly described as an English accent, he soon lost, and never again recovered, what he had thus gained from his short residence at Bath. In after life his pronunciation of words, considered separately, was seldom much different from that of a well-educated Englishman of his time; but he used many words in a sense which belonged to Scotland not to England, and the tone and accent remained broadly Scotch, though, unless in the burr, which no doubt smacked of the country bordering on Northumberland, there was no provincial peculiarity about his utterance. He had strong powers of mimicry—could talk with a peasant quite in his own style, and frequently in general society introduced rustic
RAVELSTONE’1777. | 89 |
Another lady, nearly connected with the Keiths of Ravelstone, has a lively recollection of young Walter, when paying a visit much about the same period to his kind relation,* the mistress of that picturesque old mansion, which furnished him in after days with many of the features of his Tully-Veolan, and whose venerable gardens, with their massive hedges of yew and holly, he always considered as the ideal of the art. The lady, whose letter I have now before me, says she distinctly remembers the sickly boy sitting at the gate of the house with his attendant, when a poor mendicant approached, old and woebegone, to claim the charity which none asked for in vain at Ravelstone. When the man was retiring, the servant remarked to Walter that he ought to be thankful to Providence for having placed him above the want and misery he had been contemplating. ‘The child looked up with a half wistful, half incredulous expression,’—and said Homer was a beggar! How do ‘you know that? said the other Why, don’t you remember, answered the little Virtuoso,—that
‘Seven Roman cities strove for Homer
dead, Through which the living Homer begged his bread?’
|
‘Each blank in faithless memory void The poet’s glowing thought supplied.’ |
It was in this same year, 1777, that he spent some time at Prestonpans; made his first acquaintance with
* Mrs Keith of Ravelstone was born a Swinton of Swinton, and sister to Sir Walter’s maternal grandmother. |
90 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
His uncle Thomas, whom I have described as I saw him in extreme old age at Monklaw, had the management of the farm affairs at Sandy-Knowe, when Walter returned thither from Prestonpans; he was a kindhearted man, and very fond of the child. Appearing on his return somewhat strengthened, his uncle promoted him from the Cow-bailie’s shoulder to a dwarf of the Shetland race, not so large as many a Newfoundland dog. This creature walked freely into the house, and was regularly fed from the boy’s hand. He soon learned to sit her well, and often alarmed aunt Jenny, by cantering over the rough places about the tower. In the evening of his life, when he had a grandchild afflicted with an infirmity akin to his own, he provided him with a little mare of the same breed, and gave her the name of Marion, in memory of this early favourite.
* Waverley, vol. ii. p. 175. |
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