The publication of the Heart of Midlothian marked, as has been said, the final cementing together of the alliance between author, publisher, and the Ballantynes. Let us take this opportunity of recording how, at the height of its vogue, a Waverley novel was launched. On such an occasion there would assemble at the house of the printer James Ballantyne, in St. John Street, Edinburgh, a mighty gathering of all those who were in any way connected with the forthcoming publication, including Scott himself, whom a few knew, and more suspected, to be his host's "Great Unknown." After a gorgeous feast had been disposed of, Aldiborontiphoscophornio would rise majestically, and putting as much of John Kemble as he was able into his manner, pronounce the words

"Fill full!

I drink to the general joy of the whole table!" Then, after the king's health had been duly honoured, he would give the company that of Mr. Walter Scott "with three times three," declaring that such a toast should never be omitted in his house.

His old schoolfellow having replied in feeling terms, and the hostess having withdrawn, the fun would then begin. For now it was that James Ballantyne, with every vein on his brow distended and his eyes solemnly fixed upon vacancy, would propose in a stage whisper a bumper to "the immortal author of Waverley." When the cheering, in which Scott took care to join, had subsided, the speaker would proceed to lament "the

obscurity in which his illustrious but too modest correspondent still chose to conceal himself," to assure those present that when the news of the reception they had given to the toast should be conveyed to him it would be the "proudest hour in his life," and much more in the same strain. All the while Scott would be quietly enjoying the scene, his confidant Erskine sitting by his side, preserving the necessary amount of mock gravity. This, however, was but the prelude to the evening's proceedings, the real business taking place over broiled bones and punch after the departure of the more staid among the guests, including Scott himself. The printer now began to descant upon the merits of the forthcoming work, and after a proper interval of affected reluctance, produced proof-sheets and read aloud from them for the general delectation, with great dramatic effect, some such striking passage as that in The Heart of Midlothian describing the interview of Jeanie Deans and the Duke of Argyll with Queen Caroline and Lady Suffolk. "One bumper more to Jedediah Cleishbotham," or some other Waverley toast followed; and the evening closed with "The Last Words of Marmion in the host's best bass.

The elder Ballantyne felt himself rather overawed by the great Constable, but his brother, the auctioneer, and ex-publisher, was far from being so. At his Parisian dinners a much freer atmosphere prevailed; and there one might not only hear Scott addressing his publisher as the Czar of Muscovy, and Johnny

Ballantyne recalling how the latter had dubbed him "The Dey of Alljeers," but even listen to a jest told at the great man's expense by his irreverent little host. One day, said he, a partner of the London firm of Longman and Co. came to Constable's country house to negotiate an important matter of business. That matter came to naught because, when the stranger had complimented the Edinburgh publisher on the fine swans which he had in his pond, the latter had replied that they were only geese, and that the names of the five he would be pleased to observe were Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown! Scott's little protégé actually named the horse on which he daily rode up to his auction rooms "Old Mortality," and had the impudence to call one of his greyhounds "Di Vernon." He was looked upon as incorrigible. At these sales Scott, attended by "Maida," was a constant attendant, so soon as the business of the courts left him free.

His chief other relaxations, while in Edinburgh, were drives in an open carriage to the Blackford Hills, to the beach at Portobello (whence he makes Effie Deans finally escape to her lover), or an evening visit to the theatre. He was obliged to give occasional dinners, but he always got to bed as early as he could. Among the most pleasant breaks in his Edinburgh official life were what he called the "dinners without silver dishes," which took place nearly every Sunday in Castle Street. Only intimates like Erskine, Terry, or Will Clerk would be there besides the family circle; but those intimates

included such men as William Allan, the portrait painter, and James Boswell's son, Sir Alexander; as well as the Clerk's favourite "nephews" or "nieces." After tea in the drawing-room poetry was read aloud, Shakespeare, Byron, and Crabbe being the favourite authors. Scott himself was an impressive reader of tragedy; he was usually a listener to Ballantyne or Terry when comedy had its turn. It is interesting to compare this genial Sunday with the old Presbyterian Sabbath of Scott's childhood as described by himself. For dinner there was always, first sheep's head broth, then sheep's head itself, "the reason being that the sheep's head, which requires much boiling, was put on the night before, and the dressing of the beefsteaks occupied the least possible time, and thus the necessity of employing servants on the Sabbath day was diminished as much as possible." A bottle or two of "special" wine, undoctored by the retail merchant, washed down the sheep's head and prepared the company for the reading of the sermon, "during which one part of the children were sleeping and the other pinching and kicking them to make them keep awake." The old Lord Forbes and his family usually "assisted" at this weekly ceremonial.

A few months before the publication of his Edinburgh story, Scott had the supreme gratification of taking part in the discovery of the Scottish regalia. The old crown and sceptre of Scotland, which some had suspected the English of carrying off, were found in a chest in the Crown Room of the Castle of Edinburgh, where they

had lain since the Union. The appointment of the Commission to search for them had been largely due to Scott's own representation to the Prince Regent; and the depth of feeling with which he regarded the matter is shown by this anecdote. The then Sophia Scott, who was so much in sympathy with her father as almost to faint at the opening of the chest, told how, when one of those present at this second, less formal visit to the Crown Room half-jestingly began to place the crown on the head of a lady near him, she heard him exclaim with the deepest emotion, "By God, no!" so as completely to disconcert the irreverent trifler. Ever after that day, she added, her father and she seemed to have a more intimate relation to one another.

Before the year concluded, the new house at Abbotsford (in its earliest form, that is) was completed, and a "handseling"-Scott refused to call it a housewarming -took place, at which Scott's old schoolfellows, Lord Melville and Adam Ferguson, among others, were present, as well as his future son-in-law and biographer. Lockhart tells us that he had never before seen Scott in such spirits, and never saw him in higher afterwards. His fame was at its height; the proceeds of what he called his "smuggling adventures" had enabled him to realise his darling ambition of becoming a landed proprietor; and he was soon to receive from his Sovereign that title by which he is known to posterity.