The Country of Sir Walter Scott

by Charles S. Olcott

[[3]] As Crosbie died when Scott was only fourteen, the novelist could scarcely have known him personally; on the other hand, he could hardly have failed to hear the stories of such an individual, whose exploits were well known to the frequenters of Parliament Square.

[[4]] These cadies (or caddies, a name that has become familiar through the introduction of the Scotch game of golf) were a class of men and boys who in the eighteenth century frequented the law courts of Edinburgh, eager to be employed upon any errand. They knew the particular haunts of all the lawyers of any consequence, and never dreamed of looking for anybody at his own home, or in any place other than the special tavern which he was known to frequent.

[[5]] The 'Tappit Hen' was a pewter mug, with the figure of a hen on the lid. It held three quarts of claret, which was drawn from the tap,—hence the name.

CHAPTER X
THE ANTIQUARY

Washington Irving's story of a week spent with Scott at Abbotsford always leaves in my mind an indescribable thrill of pleasure. Partly because Irving really did have a delightful experience such as falls to the lot of few men and partly because he knew, better than others, how to transfer his own pleasurable emotions to the minds of other people, it is certain that, to my mind at least, there is no single sketch in all the Scott literature, not even in Lockhart's brilliant work, that throws a stronger light upon the Great Wizard's character or illuminates a more attractive picture.

It was a happy week for the American visitor, and I imagine it contained no happier moment than when the younger author nestled by the side of his warm-hearted friend, under the lee of a sheltering bank during a shower, the plaid of the Scotchman closely wrapped around them both, while the enchanting flow of anecdote, reminiscence, and whimsical suggestion went merrily on in spite of the Scottish mist. It was in the course of their walk on this particular morning that Scott stopped at the cottage of a labourer on his estate to examine some tongs that had been dug up in the Roman camp near by. 'As he stood regarding the relic,' says Irving, 'turning it round and round, and making comments on it, half grave, half comic, with the cottage group around him, all joining occasionally in the colloquy, the inimitable character of Monkbarns was again brought to mind and I seemed to see before me that prince of antiquarians and humourists, holding forth to his unlearned and unbelieving neighbours.' There was something peculiarly delightful about Scott's antiquarianism. He seemed to feel that those who were without his own knowledge of values were inclined to smile at his enthusiasm, and whenever he talked on his favourite subject there was an undercurrent of sly humour which gave an exquisite flavour to his conversation. The discovery of anything ancient, whether a ruined castle, a broadsword or sporran from the Highlands, or a scrap of some old ballad, gave him the greatest pleasure, and nothing afforded his friends more enjoyment than to be able to present him with such relics and curiosities as they knew he would appreciate. A casual walk through the Entrance Hall and Armory of Abbotsford, where hundreds of helmets, suits of armour, swords, guns, pistols, and curiosities of infinite variety are displayed, is enough to suggest to any one that Sir Walter himself was the real Jonathan Oldbuck of 'The Antiquary.' A glance at the Library, with its collection of twenty thousand rare old volumes, is enough to prove that Scott, like Monkbarns, was not only an antiquary but a bibliophile as well. Who but a genuine enthusiast could have written that chapter in which the worthy Mr. Oldbuck exhibits the treasures of his sanctum sanctorum to Mr. Lovel? 'These little Elzevirs are the memoranda and trophies of many a walk by night and morning through the Cowgate, the Canongate, the Bow, St. Mary's Wynd,—wherever, in fine, there were to be found brokers and trokers, those miscellaneous dealers in things rare and curious. How often have I stood haggling on a half penny, lest, by a too ready acquiescence in the dealer's first price, he should be led to suspect the value I set upon the article!—how have I trembled, lest some passing stranger should chop in between me and the prize, and regarded each poor student of divinity that stopped to turn over the books at the stall as a rival amateur, or prowling bookseller in disguise!—And, then, Mr. Lovel, the sly satisfaction with which one pays the consideration, and pockets the article, affecting a cold indifference, while the hand is trembling with pleasure!'

It was during the visit to Prestonpans, previously mentioned, that Scott, a child of six, first made the acquaintance of George Constable, an old friend of his father's, who resided near Dundee. He must have learned from this gentleman something which started in him the antiquarian instincts, for, as he himself has remarked, 'children derive impulses of a powerful and important kind in hearing things which they cannot entirely comprehend.' Certainly he put enough of Mr. Constable into the description of Jonathan Oldbuck to cause various friends to recognize him; and as Constable's intimacy with Scott's father was well known, this gave colour to the suspicion that Scott himself was the unknown author of 'The Antiquary.' But even a more faithful delineation of George Constable than the book contains would have failed to bring out the real charm of the delightful Oldbuck. It is the Scott part of his nature that we really enjoy.

Next to the Antiquary himself, old Edie Ochiltree is the character who is chiefly responsible for the pleasant flavour of this book. He is a mendicant whom it is a real pleasure to meet. His amiable nature, his sly good humour, and his genuine friendliness win your affection in the beginning and hold it to the very end. He is a picture drawn from real life, though it is probable that old Andrew Gemmels, his prototype, did not possess the many endearing qualities with which the novelist invested Edie.