A few days after the dinner at Mr. Blackwood's I dined with Mr. Lockhart. Besides the host and hostess, there were present Sir Walter Scott, his son, Charles Scott, Mr. Blackwood, and three or four other persons. At dinner I sat next Sir Walter. Everything went off pleasantly, with the usual ease, hospitality, and heartiness of an English dinner.
After the ladies had retired the conversation became general and animated. Byron was the engrossing topic. Sir Walter spoke of him with the deepest feeling of admiration and regret. A few weeks before, on the receipt of the news of his death, he had written an obituary notice of him, in which he compared him to the sun, withdrawn from the heavens at the very moment when every telescope was levelled to discover either his glory or his spots.
Lockhart and Blackwood both told stories, and we passed a pleasant half hour. The wine was at last rather low, and our host ordered the servant to bring more. Upon which Scott said, "No, no, Lokert"—such was his pronunciation of his son-in-law's name—"we have had enough: let us go and see the ladies." And so we gathered to the parlor.
Mrs. Lockhart spoke with great interest of Washington Irving, who had visited the family at Abbotsford. She said that he slept in a room which looked out on the Tweed. In the morning, when he came down to breakfast, he was very pale, and being asked the reason, confessed that he had not been able to sleep. The sight of the Tweed from his window, and the consciousness of being at Abbotsford, so filled his imagination, so excited his feelings, as to deprive him of slumber.
Our lively hostess was requested to give us some music, and instantly complied—the harp being her instrument. She sang Scotch airs, and played several pibrochs, all with taste and feeling. Her range of tunes seemed inexhaustible. Her father sat by, and entered heartily into the performances. He beat time vigorously with his lame leg, and frequently helped out a chorus, the heartiness of his tones making up for some delinquencies in tune and time. Often he made remarks upon the songs, and told anecdotes respecting them. When a certain pibroch had been played, he said it reminded him of the first time he ever saw Miss Edgeworth. There had come to Abbotsford a wild Gaelic peasant from the neighborhood of Staffa, and it was proposed to him to sing a a pibroch common in that region. He had consented, but required the whole party present to sit in a circle on the floor, while he should sing the song, and perform a certain pantomimic accompaniment, in the centre. All was accordingly arranged in the great hall, and the performer had just begun his wild chant, when in walked a small but stately lady, and announced herself as Miss Edgeworth!
Mrs. Lockhart asked me about the American Indians, expressing great curiosity concerning them. I told the story of one who was tempted to go into the rapids of the Niagara river, just above the Falls, for a bottle of rum. This he took with him, and having swam out to the point agreed upon, he turned back and attempted to regain the land. For a long time the result was doubtful: he struggled powerfully, but in vain; inch by inch he receded from the shore; and at last, finding his doom sealed, he raised himself above the water, wrenched the cork from the bottle, and putting the latter to his lips, yielded to the current, and thus went down to his doom.
Sir Walter then said that he had read an account of an Indian, who was in a boat, approaching a cataract; by some accident it was drawn into the current, and the savage saw that his escape was impossible. Upon this he arose, wrapped his robe of skins around him, seated himself erect, and, with an air of imperturbable gravity, went over the falls.
"The most remarkable thing about the American Indians," said Blackwood, "is their being able to follow in the trail of their enemies, by their footprints left in the leaves, upon the grass, and even upon the moss of the rocks. The accounts given of this seem hardly credible."
"I can readily believe it, however," said Sir Walter. "You must remember that this is a part of their education. I have learned at Abbotsford to discriminate between the hoof-marks of all our neighbors' horses, and I taught the same thing to Mrs. Lockhart. It is, after all, not so difficult as you might think. Every horse's foot has some peculiarity, either of size, shoeing, or manner of striking the earth. I was once walking with Southey—a mile or more from home—across the fields. At last we came to a bridle-path leading towards Abbotsford, and here I noticed fresh hoof-prints. Of this I said nothing; but pausing, and looking up with an inspired expression, I said to Southey,—'I have a gift of second sight: we shall have a stranger to dinner!'
"'And what may be his name?' was the reply.