“I have been very foolishly putting off my writing
until I should have time for a good long epistle; and it is astonishing what a
number of trifles have interfered to prevent my commencing on a great scale.
The last of these has been rather of an extraordinary kind, for your little
friend Walter has chose to make himself
the town-talk, by taking what seemed to be the small-pox, despite of
vaccination in infancy, and inoculation with the variolous matter thereafter,
which last I resorted to by way of making assurance double sure. The medical
gentleman who attended him is of opinion that he has had the real small-pox,
but it shall never be averred by me—for the catastrophe of Tom Thumb is enough to deter any thinking person
from entering into a feud with the cows. Walter is quite
well again, which was the principal matter I was interested in. We had very
nearly been in a bad scrape, for I had fixed the Monday
| 318 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“I am clear of the Lord of the Isles, and I trust you have your copy. It closes my poetic labours upon an extended scale: but I daresay I shall always be dabbling in rhyme until the solve senescentem. I have directed the copy to be sent to Portland Place. I want to shake myself free of Waverley, and accordingly have made a considerable exertion to finish an odd little tale within such time as will mistify the public, I trust—unless they suppose me to be Briareus. Two volumes are already printed, and the only persons in my confidence, W. Erskine, and Ballantyne, are of opinion that it is much more interesting than Waverley. It is a tale of private life, and only varied by the perilous exploits of smugglers and excisemen. The success of Waverley has given me a spare hundred or two, which I have resolved to spend in London this spring, bringing up Charlotte and Sophia with me. I do not forget my English friends—but I fear they will forget me, unless I show face now and then. My correspondence gradually drops, as must happen when people do not meet; and I long to see Ellis, Heber, Gifford, and one or two more. I do not include Mrs Morritt and you, because we are much nearer neighbours, and within a whoop and a holla in comparison. I think we should come up by sea, if I were not a little afraid of Charlotte being startled by the March winds—for our vacation begins 12th March.
“You will have heard of poor Caberfae’s death?
| LETTER TO MORRITT—JAN. 1815. | 319 |
|
* Francis Lord Seaforth died 11th January, 1815, in his 60th year, having outlived four sons, all of high promise. His title died with him, and he was succeeded in his estates by his daughter, Lady Hood, now the Hon. Mrs Stewart Mackenzie of Seaforth. See some verses on Lord Seaforth’s death, in Scott’s Poetical Works, vol. viii. p. 392, Edit. 1834. The Celtic designation of the chief of the clan MacKenzie, Caberfae, means Staghead, the bearing of the family. The prophecy which Scott alludes to in this letter, is also mentioned by Sir Humphry Davy in one of his Journals; (see his Life, by Dr Davy, vol. ii., p. 72) and it was, if the account be correct, a most extraordinary one, for it connected the fall of the house of Seaforth not only with the appearance of a deaf Caberfae, but with the contemporaneous appearance of various different physical misfortunes in several of the other great Highland chiefs; all of which are said and were certainly believed both by Scott and Davy—to have actually occurred within the memory of the generation that has not yet passed away. Mr Morritt can testify thus far— |
| 320 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“I am delighted to find Mrs Morritt is recovering health and strength—better walking on the beach at Worthing than on the plainstanes of Prince’s Street, for the weather is very severe here indeed. I trust Mrs M. will, in her milder climate, lay in such a stock of health and strength as may enable you to face the north in Autumn. I have got the nicest crib for you possible, just about twelve feet square, and in the harmonious vicinity of a piggery. You never saw so minute an establishment,—but it has all that we wish for, and all our friends will care about; and we long to see you there. Charlotte sends the kindest remembrances to Mrs Morritt.
“As for politics, I have thought little about them lately; the high and exciting interest is so completely subsided, that the wine is upon the lees. As for America, we have so managed as to give her the appearance of triumph, and what is worse, encouragement to resume the war upon a more favourable opportunity. It was our business to have given them a fearful memento that the babe unborn should have remembered; but, having missed this opportunity, I believe that this country would submit with great reluctance to continue a war, for which there is really no specific object. As for the continental monarchs, there is no guessing what the folly of Kings and Ministers may do; but, God knows! would any of them look at home, enough is to be done which might strengthen and improve their dominions in a different manner than by mere extension. I trust Ministers will go out rather than be engaged in war again, upon any account. If France is wise (I have no fear that any superfluous feeling of humanity will stand
that he “heard the prophecy quoted in the Highlands at a time when Lord Seaforth had two sons both alive and in good health—So that it certainly was not made après coup.” |
| AFFAIRS OF THE BALLANTYNES. | 321 |
“But my sheet grows to an end, and so does the pleading of the learned counsel, who is thumping the poor bar as I write. He hems twice. Forward, sweet Orator Higgins!—at least till I sign myself, dear Morritt, yours most truly,
