“I received yesterday your letter of the 24th. I shall with pleasure comply with your request of guaranteeing the L.4000. You must, however, furnish me with the form of a letter to this effect, as I am completely ignorant of transactions of this nature.
 “I am never willing to offer
                                    advice, but when my opinion is asked by a friend I am ready to give it. As to
                                    the offer of His Royal Highness to appoint you laureate, I shall frankly say
                                    that I should be mortified to see you hold a situation which, by the general
                                    concurrence of the world, is stamped ridiculous. There is no good reason why
                                    this should be so; but so it is. Walter Scott, Poet Laureate,
                                    ceases to be the Walter Scott of the Lay, Marmion, &c. Any future poem of yours would not come forward
                                    with the same probability of a successful reception. The poet laureate would
                                    stick to you and your productions like a piece of court
                                        plaster. Your muse has hitherto been independent”on’t put
                                    her into harness. We know how lightly she trots along when left to her natural
                                    paces, but do not try driving. I would write frankly and openly to His Royal
                                    Highness, but with respectful gratitude, for he has paid you a compliment. I
                                    would not fear to state that you had hitherto written when in poetic mood, but
                                    feared to trammel yourself with a fixed periodical exertion; and I cannot but
                                    conceive that His Royal Highness, who has much taste, will at once see the many
                                    objections which you must have to his proposal, but which you cannot write.
                                    Only think of being chaunted and recitatived by a parcel of hoarse and
                                    squeaking choristers on a birthday, for the edification of the bishops, pages,
                                    maids of honour, and gentlemen-pen-
| 80 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |