Life of Sir Walter Scott, with Abbotsford Notanda

by Robert Chambers; Robert Carruthers

Amongst other things giving a character to his mind, were certain annual journeys he made into the pastoral district of Liddesdale, where the castles of the old Border chiefs, and the legends of their exploits, were still rife. On these occasions, he was accompanied by an intelligent friend, Mr Robert Shortreed, long after sheriff-substitute at Jedburgh. No inns, and hardly any roads, were then in Liddesdale. The farmers were a simple race, knowing nothing of the outward world. So much was this the case, that one honest fellow, at whose house the travellers alighted to spend a night, was actually frightened at the idea of meeting an Edinburgh advocate. Willie o’ Milburn, as this hero was called, at length took a careful survey of Scott round a corner of the stable, and getting somewhat reassured from the sight, said to Mr Shortreed: ‘Weel, de’il ha’e me if I’s be a bit feared for him now; he’s just a chield like ourselves, I think.’ On these excursions, Scott took down from old people anecdotes of the old rough times, and copies of the ballads in which the adventures of the Elliots and Armstrongs were recorded. Thus were laid the foundations of the collection which became in time the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. The friendship of Mr Edmonstone of Newton led him, in like manner, to visit those districts of Stirlingshire and lower Perthshire where he afterwards localised his Lady of the Lake. There he learned much of the more recent rough times of the Highlands, and even conversed with one gentleman who had had to do with Rob Roy. These things constituted the real education of Scott’s mind, as far as his character as a literary man is concerned.

POLITICAL OPINIONS—SOLDIERING.

From his earliest years, Sir Walter’s political leanings were towards Conservatism, or that principle which disposes men to wish for the preservation of existing institutions, and the continuance of power in the hands which have heretofore possessed it. ‘As for politics,’ says Shenstone in his Letters, ‘I think poets are Tories by nature, supposing them to be by nature poets. The love of an individual person or family that has worn a crown for many successions, is an inclination greatly adapted to the fanciful tribe. On the other hand, mathematicians, abstract reasoners, of no manner of attachment to persons, at least to the visible part of them, but prodigiously devoted to the ideas of virtue, liberty, and so forth, are generally Whigs.’ There is much in this passage that hits the particular case of Sir Walter Scott. But moods of political feeling are not confined to individuals—they sometimes become nearly general over entire nations. At the time when Sir Walter entered public life, almost all the respectable part of the community were replete with a Tory species of feeling in behalf of the British constitution, as threatened by France; and numerous bodies of volunteer militia were consequently formed, for the purpose of local defence against invasion from that country. In the beginning of the year 1797, it was judged necessary by the gentlemen of Mid-Lothian to imitate the example already set by several counties, by embodying themselves in a cavalry corps. This association assumed the name of the Royal Mid-Lothian Regiment of Cavalry; and Mr Walter Scott had the honour to be appointed its adjutant, for which office his lameness was considered no bar, especially as he happened to be a remarkably graceful equestrian. He was a signally zealous officer, and very popular in the regiment, on account of his extreme good-humour and powers of social entertainment. His appointment partly resulted from, and partly led to, an intimacy with the most considerable man of his name, Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, who had taken a great interest in the embodying of the corps. It was also perhaps the means, to a certain extent, of making him known to Mr Henry Dundas, who was now one of His Majesty’s Secretaries of State, and a lively promoter of the scheme of national defence in Scotland. Adjutant Scott composed a war-song, as he called it, for the Mid-Lothian Cavalry, which he afterwards published in the Border Minstrelsy. It is an animated poem, and might, as a person is now apt to suppose, have commanded attention, by whomsoever written, or wherever presented to notice. Yet, to shew how apt men are to judge of literary compositions upon general principles, and not with a direct reference to the particular merits of the article, it may be mentioned that the war-song was only a subject of ridicule to many individuals of the troop. The individual, in particular, who communicated this information, remembered a large party of the officers dining together at Musselburgh, where the chief amusement, at a certain period of the night, was to repeat the initial line, ‘To horse, to horse!’ with burlesque expression, and laugh at ‘this attempt of Scott’s’ as a piece of supreme absurdity.

[VISIT TO PEEBLESSHIRE.

In the autumn of 1797, Walter Scott, accompanied by his brother John, and Adam Ferguson, made an excursion to the borders of Cumberland, taking in their way the mansion of Hallyards, in the parish of Manor, Peeblesshire, where Dr Adam Ferguson was now temporarily settled with his family. Here Scott resided for a few days, visiting Barns and other places in the neighbourhood. In a small cottage on the property of Woodhouse resided a poor and singular recluse, dwarfed and decrepit, by name David Ritchie, who was visited as one of the curiosities of the district; and it was doubtless on this occasion that Scott received those impressions which afterwards figured in the character of the ‘Black Dwarf.’

Ritchie, with all his oddities, had a deep veneration for learning; and as he was told that Scott was a young advocate, he invested him with extraordinary interest. Ferguson gave an amusing account of the interview. He and his companion were accommodated with seats in the lowly and dingy hut. After grinning upon Scott for a moment with a smile less bitter than his wont, the dwarf passed to the door, double-locked it, and then, coming up to the stranger, seized him by the wrist with one of his hands, and said: ‘Man, hae ye ony poo’er?’ By this he meant magical power, to which he had himself some vague pretensions, or which, at least, he had studied and reflected upon till it had become with him a kind of monomania. Scott disavowed the possession of any gifts of this kind, evidently to the great disappointment of the inquirer, who then turned round and gave a signal to a huge black cat, hitherto unobserved, which immediately jumped up to a shelf, where it perched itself, and seemed to the excited senses of the visitors as if it had really been the familiar spirit of the mansion. ‘He has poo’er,’ said the dwarf, in a voice which made the flesh of the hearers thrill, and Scott, in particular, looked as if he conceived himself to have actually got into the den of one of those magicians with whom his studies had rendered him familiar. ‘Ay, he has poo’er,’ repeated the recluse, and then going to his usual seat, he sat for some minutes grinning horribly, as if enjoying the impression he had made; while not a word escaped from any of the party. Mr Ferguson at length plucked up his spirits, and called to David to open the door, as they must now be going. The dwarf slowly obeyed; and when they had got out, Mr Ferguson observed that his friend was as pale as ashes, while his person was agitated in every limb. Under such striking circumstances was this extraordinary being first presented to the real magician, who was afterwards to give him such a deathless celebrity.

Before quitting the district, Scott had an opportunity of visiting the old inn and posting establishment of Miss Ritchie in Peebles, then, and for ten or twelve years later, the principal place of accommodation for travellers. Miss Ritchie, an elderly lady, was somewhat of an original in manner, and there can be little doubt that her peculiarities furnished such recollections as were afterwards matured in the character of ‘Meg Dods of the Cleikum Inn, St Ronans.’ Proceeding southwards, the tourists at length reached Carlisle, and extended their excursion to Penrith and other places of interest in Cumberland, where an incident occurred that requires more than a casual notice.]

MARRIAGE.

Two children, a boy and girl, named Charpentier, of French parentage, fell by circumstances under the guardianship of the Marquis of Downshire. In time, the boy received a lucrative appointment in India; on his naturalisation as a British subject, changing his name to Carpenter. Miss Carpenter was placed under the charge of a governess, Miss Nicholson, and, requiring a change of scene, was, through the kindness of Lord Downshire, sent with her governess to Cumberland, where she was to live in such pleasant rural spot as might be found by the Rev. Mr Burd, Dean of Carlisle. The two ladies arrived unexpectedly, when Mrs Burd was setting out for the sake of her health to Gilsland. This was at the end of the month of August or beginning of September 1797.

Having duly arrived at Gilsland, which is situated near the borders of Scotland, they took up their residence at the inn, where, according to the custom of such places, they were placed, as the latest guests, at the bottom of the table. It chanced that three young Scottish gentlemen had arrived the same afternoon, and being also placed at the bottom of the table, one of them happened accidentally to come into close contact with the party of Mr Burd. Enough of conversation took place during dinner to let the latter individuals understand that the gentleman was a Scotchman, and this was in itself the cause of the acquaintance being protracted. Mrs Burd was intimate with a Scotch military gentleman, a Major Riddell, whose regiment was then in Scotland; and as there had been a collision between the military and the people at Tranent, on account of the Militia Act, she was anxious to know if her friend had been among those present, or if he had received any hurt. After dinner, therefore, as they were rising from table, Mrs Burd requested her husband to ask the Scotch gentleman if he knew anything of the late riots, and particularly if a Major Riddell had been concerned in suppressing them. On these questions being put, it was found that the stranger knew Major Riddell intimately, and he was able to assure them, in very courteous terms, that his friend was quite well. From a desire to prolong the conversation on this point, the Burds invited their informant to drink tea with them in their own room, to which he very readily consented, notwithstanding that he had previously ordered his horse to be brought to the door in order to proceed upon his journey. At tea, their common acquaintance with Major Riddell furnished much pleasant conversation, and the parties became so agreeable to each other, that, in a subsequent walk to the Wells, the stranger still accompanied Mr Burd’s party. He had now ordered his horse back to the stable, and talked no more of continuing his journey. It may be easily imagined that a desire of discussing the major was not now the sole bond of union between the parties. Mr Scott—for so he gave his name—had been impressed, during the earlier part of the evening, with the elegant and fascinating appearance of Miss Carpenter, and it was on her account that he was lingering at Gilsland. Of this young lady, it will be observed, he could have previously known nothing: she was hardly known even to the respectable persons under whose protection she appeared to be living. She was simply a lovely woman, and a young poet was struck with her charms.