I wish, for poor auld Scotland's sake,[58] and for the manes of Bruce and Wallace, and for the living comfort of a very worthy and ingenious dissenting clergyman, who has collected a library and medals of some value, and brought up, I believe, sixteen or seventeen children (his wife's ambition extended to twenty) upon about £150 a year—I say I wish, for all these reasons, you could get me among your wealthy friends a name or two for the enclosed proposals. The price is, I think, too high; but the booksellers fixed it two guineas above what I proposed. I trust it will be yet lowered to five guineas, which is a more come-at-able sum than six. The poems themselves are great curiosities, both to the philologist and antiquary; and that of Bruce is invaluable even to the historian. They have been hitherto wretchedly edited.
I am glad you are not to pay for this scrawl. Ever yours,
Walter Scott.
P. S.—I do not see how my silence can be considered as imposing on the public. If I give my name to a book without writing it, unquestionably that would be a trick. But, unless in the case of his averring facts which he may be called upon to defend or justify, I think an author may use his own discretion in giving or withholding his name. Harry Mackenzie never put his name in a title-page till the last edition of his works; and Swift only owned one out of his thousand-and-one publications. In point of emolument, everybody knows that I sacrifice much money by withholding my name; and what should I gain by it, that any human being has a right to consider as an unfair advantage? In fact, only the freedom of writing trifles with less personal responsibility, and perhaps more frequently than I otherwise might do.
W. S.
I am not able to give the exact date of the following reply to one of John Ballantyne's expostulations on the subject of the secret:—
"No, John, I will not own the book—
I won't, you Picaroon.
When next I try St. Grubby's brook,
The A. of Wa—shall bait the hook—
And flat-fish bite as soon,
As if before them they had got
The worn-out wriggler
Walter Scott."
CHAPTER XXVIII
VOYAGE TO THE SHETLAND ISLES, ETC. — SCOTT'S DIARY KEPT ON BOARD THE LIGHTHOUSE YACHT