WAVERLEY.
It is a curious, yet well authenticated fact, that the novel of “Waverley”—the first, and perhaps the best, of the prose writing of sir Walter Scott—remained for more than ten years unpublished. So far back as 1805, the late talented Mr. John Ballantyne announced “Waverley” as a work preparing for publication, but the announce excited so little attention, that the design was laid aside for reasons which every reader will guess. In those days of peace and innocence, the spirit of literary speculation had scarcely begun to dawn in Scotland; the public taste ran chiefly on poetry; and even if gifted men had arisen capable of treading in the footsteps of Fielding, but with a name and reputation unestablished, they must have gone to London to find a publisher. The “magician” himself, with all his powers, appears to have been by no means over sanguine as to the ultimate success of a tale, which has made millions laugh, and as many weep; and in autumn he had very nearly delivered a portion of the MSS. to a party of sportsmen who visited him in the country, and were complaining of a perfect famine of wadding.[98]
[98] The Times, 26th March, from an “Edinburgh paper.”
A Young Artist’s Letter
FROM SWITZERLAND.
From the letter of an English artist, now abroad, accompanied by marginal sketches with the pen, addressed to a young relation, I am obligingly permitted to take the following—
EXTRACT,
Interlaken, Switzerland.
Sunday, Sept. 10, 1826.
I arrived at Geneva, after a ride of a day and a night, from Lyons, through a delightful mountainous country. The steam-boat carried me from Geneva to Lausanne, a very pretty town, at the other end of the fine lake, from whence I went to Berne, one of the principal towns in Switzerland, and the most beautiful I have seen yet. It is extremely clean, and therefore it was quite a treat, after the French towns, which are filthy.
Berne is convenient residence, both in sunny and wet weather, for all the streets have arcades, under which the shops are in this way,
so that people are not obliged to walk in the middle of the street at all. The town is protected by strong fortifications, but the ramparts are changed into charming lawns and walks. There are also delightful terraces on the river side, commanding the surrounding country, which is enchanting—rich woods and fertile valleys, swelling mountains, and meadows like velvet; and, beyond all, the snowy Alps.
At Berne I equipped myself as most persons do who travel on foot through Switzerland; I have seen scores of young men all in the same pedestrian costume. I give you a sketch, that you may have a better idea of it.
The dress is a light sort of smock-frock, with a leather belt round the waist, a straw hat, a knapsack on the back, and a small bottle, covered with leather, to carry spirits, fastened round the neck by a leather strap. The long pole is for climbing up the mountains, and jumping over the ice.
From Berne I arrived at Thun. The fine lake of Thun is surrounded by mountains of various forms, and I proceeded along it to this place. I have been on the lake of Brientys and to Lauterbrunnen, where there is the celebrated waterfall, called the “Stubach;” it falls about 800 feet; the rocks about it are exceedingly romantic, and close to it are the snowy mountains, among which I should particularize the celebrated “Yung frow,” which has never been ascended.
Interlaken is surrounded by mountains, and its scenery for sketches delicious. It is a village, built nearly all of wood; the houses are the prettiest things I ever saw: they are in this way,
but much more beautiful than I can show in a small sketch. They are delicately clean, and mostly have fine vines and plenty of grapes about them. The stones on the roof are to keep the wood from being blown off. Then the people dress so well, and all look so happy, that it is a pleasure to be among them. I cannot understand a word they say, and yet they are all civil and obliging. If any children happen to see me drawing out of doors, they always run to fetch a chair for me. The women are dressed in this manner.
The poor people and ladies are in the same style exactly: the caps are made of horsehair, and the hair dressed quite plain in front, and plaited behind almost to the ground with black ribbons. They wear silver chains from each side of the bosom, to pass under the arms, and fasten on the back. They are not all pretty, but they are particularly clean and neat. There is nothing remarkable in the men’s dress, only that I observe on a Sunday they wear white nightcaps: every man that I can see now out of my window has one on; and they are all playing at ball and nine-pins, just as they do in France. There is another kind of cap worn here made of silk; this is limp, and does not look so well. They have also a flat straw hat.
The women work much more than the men; they even row the boats on the lakes. All the Swiss, however, are very industrious; and I like Switzerland altogether exceedingly. I leave this place to-morrow, and am going on to the beautiful valley of Sornen, (there was a view of it in the Diorama,) and then to the lake of the four cantons, or lake of Lucerne, and round the canton of the Valais to Geneva, and from thence for the lakes of Italy. If you examine a map for these places, it will be an amusement for you.
Lady Byron has been here for two days; she is making a tour of Switzerland. There are several English passing through. I can scarcely give you a better notion of the situation of this beautiful little village, than by saying that it is in a valley between two lakes, and that there are the most charming walks you can imagine to the eminences on the river side, and along the borders of the lakes. There are more goats here than in Wales: they all wear a little bell round their neck; and the sheep and cows being similarly distinguished, the movement of the flocks and herds keep an incessant tinkling, and relieve the stillness of the beauteous scenery.