Mr. James Bertram, editor of the North Briton, published in 1893 “Memories of Books and Authors,” which contained the following notice of the Ballantyne Press in 1837-38: “I had often occasion to visit Paul’s Work, where my friend, Mr. R. H. Patterson, afterwards editor of the Edinburgh Advertiser, was one of the ‘readers.’ Ballantyne’s was an office in which many ‘characters’ were to be found, including ‘the Major,’ Mr. Cartwright, an accomplished printer’s-reader; Mr. Christie, one of the foremen; and William Tofts, one of the machinists. These men had all known Sir Walter, Mr. Lockhart, Mr. Constable, Mr. Blackwood, Professor Wilson, and others of the bright spirits of Maga. One of the old ‘pigs’[34] of the house delighted to tell us stories about Sir Walter, ‘stories that Mr. Lockhart kent naething ava aboot.’ He maintained that he knew who wrote the novels ‘almost as soon as the master’ (Mr. James Ballantyne). When asked how that came about, he would tell his best tale with a sufficient amount of importance; and although it was credited in the office, I cannot guarantee its accuracy. ‘I had just begun (he would say) to a new sheet of “Guy Mannering” one night a while after twelve—we were working late in the press-room at that time—and all the compositors had left, when in comes Mr. Ballantyne himself, with a letter in his hand and a lot of types. “I am going to make a small alteration, Sandy,” he said, “just unlock the forme, will you? I’ll not keep you many minutes.” Well, I did as I was bidden, and Mr. B., looking at the letter, altered three lines on one page and one line on another. “That will do now, I think, Sandy,” were his words; “but first pull a sheet till I see.” The master then looked carefully over the two pages and said, “Bring me the printed sheets—they’ll have to be destroyed,” and off he went, never thinking that he had left the letter lying on my bank. I had barely time to get a glimpse at it, when back came Mr. Ballantyne, but I kent the hand weel, and the signature, and it was “Walter Scott.” I had a great lang ballant (ballad) in Sir Walter’s ain hand o’ write at hame, so that I was nae stranger to it. I would hae likit to see what the difference was that was made in the sheets, but he made me carry them up to his room. So you see, gentlemen, I kent the grand secret, when it was a secret.’”
On William Tofts’ death in 1859 the following notice appeared in the North Briton: “Mr. Tofts was, in some respects, a remarkable man. He had been associated with the mechanical department of the printing trade for nearly half a century, and during that period had witnessed many eventful changes. When he first went, as a boy, to learn the pressman’s trade, the neat hand-presses now in use were not known, and printing by steam was not even dreamt of. The presses then in use were of cumbrous construction, and in place of rollers, the ink was distributed over the surface of the types by means of pads, with which the formes were dabbed over. The work of improvement had begun, however, and printing by means of hand-presses was shortly afterwards brought to the state of perfection in which we now find it.
OLD WOODEN PRESS AT PAUL’S WORK
Used by Ballantyne in Printing the Waverley Novels
“Mr. Tofts was engaged in the office of the Messrs. Ballantyne in the palmy days of the Waverley Novels, and printed off several of the impressions of that immortal series of fictions. He well remembered Sir Walter Scott, who made frequent visits to the office where Mr. Tofts, then a very young man, was engaged; and he had also vivid recollections of Jeffrey, Lockhart, Sydney Smith, and the other great guns of the Edinburgh Review. He was the first man who superintended a steam printing-machine in Scotland—it was, if we remember rightly, on the first introduction of one of these valuable aids to book-making in Messrs. Ballantyne’s establishment. He also had the distinction of inaugurating a steam machine for printing Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal.”
In appearance James Ballantyne was a gentleman of the old school. It was a treat to see him do the honours of his own house in St. John Street, whether in the drawing-room before dinner, showing the proof-sheets of Scott’s poems or novels, bound up with the marginal correspondence between the critic-printer and the author, or after dinner, pressing his guests to a particular glass of Burgundy, “a present from his friend Sir Walter.” The prop of his existence was his connection with Scott; the happiest moments of his life were those that he spent—while the Waverley Novels were appearing in rapid and dazzling succession—amid a small circle of friends, when the eagerly-expected volumes were produced, a week or a fortnight before they were issued to the general public. James Ballantyne read them aloud with his best emphasis and expression, and for this duty he was admirably qualified, being a good elocutionist, and possessed of a melodious voice. There was to the listeners a certain gratification in forestalling the rest of the world—in being able to tell their friends mysteriously that there was a great treat awaiting them. There was much pleasure also in discussing the merits of the work, with timid allusions to the veiled author, whose name was never mentioned. And amid the circle sat James, the founder of the feast, happy in the happiness he was creating.