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ever looked on. It is true there were cold with enthusiasm, you may soon satisfy yourself critics who complained that he ranted, or over- of your hold upon them. But with the sophistidid his parts; but I was not of their opinion. cated, yet ignorant, inhabitants of towns it is For I have always judged a touch of fine ex- otherwise. They have lost robustness, and aggeration not inappropriate to portrayal of the have learned just enough to make them believe almost superhuman energy of the characters of that it is clever to laugh in the wrong place; our older drama. Certainly the dignity of his and so you can never tell beforehand how a carriage, the sonorous vibration of his voice, performance will affect them. the studied art of his elocution which, divining With the strollers I spent two years, at the the intention of the poet, unfailingly fitted to end of which period—though I still retained a each word its proper accent,-certainly all this sincere admiration and liking for Montacutewas beyond praise. And when, in the character the glamour which had seemed to me to hang of King Henry the Fourth-attired in well- over the player's life, and which had first at. darned hose, and wearing on his head a paste tracted me to it, had long since been dispelled. board diadem-he serenely folded about him a In its place the contrast between real and ideal mantle of tawdry cotton-velvet, there was not a now stood glaringly exposed, and I became scoffer in the audience but was fain to overlook impatient to sever my connection with the these defects and to confess him, in the words theatre. A letter from Tregarthen, which had of the playwright Montacute loved best-"every followed me from post-town to post-town, inch a king." But, such was his versatility, supplied the needed occasion. It informed me that he was seen to almost equal advantage in that, after a protracted engagement, the writer broadly humourous parts, especially in that of was at length about to enter the state of holy Falstaff. His favourite dream was to personify wedlock with the pastor's daughter, and con. Tamburlaine ; but this the exiguity of our cluded with a cordial and pressing invitation to company and its resources, not to speak of the me to be present at the ceremony. The sight taste of our audience (perhaps fortunately) ren of my friend's writing filled me with desire to dered impossible.
shake him by the hand once more, and I lost no Montacute was well versed in our old dramatic time in bidding adieu to my fellow mimes. We literature, and when expounding its beauties or bad worked together pleasantly enough ; yet extolling its glories (which he never tired of among them all I believe that the manager was doing) he found in me an interested listener. the only one who did not in his heart rejoice We became great friends, and his partiality soon over my departure. His character was above led him to insist on my appearing in leading pettiness ; but I fancy that in general, among parts in our performances. I say advisedly his actors, jealousy will be found a force too potent partiality, for even my vanity-and I had no to admit of friendship between rivals. lack of it—did not long prevent my discovering It is high time, however, for me to draw my that nature had never intended me for the stage. story to a close. It was with undiminished My aptitude for it was, indeed, of the slenderest friendship that Tregarthen and I met again.
in fact I was all but destitute of that mimetic His wedding took place soon afterwards ; but faculty which is certainly the basis of the actor's he was not left long undisturbed in the enjoy. art. And when attempting to sustain a comic ment of his bride's society. Three days later character, it was chiefly by the awkwardness of he unexpectedly received the offer of an advan. my efforts that I amused the audience. However, tageous situation on board a vessel of large if I could not impersonate, I could at least tonnage, which was on the point of sailing for “ spout” or declaim—an accomplishment which the Mediterranean, and this he deemed it I owed to the zealous tuition of our manager. prudent to accept. His position of confidence And so, when it happened that the character to in the ship put it in his power to provide for be represented was fairly akin to my own, I me on board of her; and as by this time I had could generally make a passable appearance; entirely abandoned my hopes of meeting with and I have played Norval, or Bertram, behind my mother, I readily agreed to his proposal six tallow candles in a barn, to a crowded that he should do so. Our first voyage was audience of yokels who applauded me to the with a mixed cargo to Marseilles ; and subseecho. And here let me observe that it is not in quently we visited several of the sea-ports of dealing with the wholly unlettered classes that Italy, Sicily, and Spain. The novelty of the an actor's chief difficulties arise. Among them, scenes thus opened up delighted me, and for a the native dramatic instinct, though unde time the love of travel became my ruling passion. veloped, is unimpaired in vigour ; and if you In later voyages I visited Algiers, Malta, Tunis, will only give them nature, strongly marked, Tripoli, the Greek islands, Constantinople and the coast of Asia Minor ; after which the tide a wifeless fellow like myself, that represents the of my fancy set to nor’ard, and I took service feminine element. Fickle it is, as I suppose a on a vessel engaged in the Baltic trade. But I woman may be; but then its fickleness breaks need not weary you with a detailed itinerary. no hearts. And there is this also in its nature After parting with Tregarthen a second time, I which I love --if it is uncompromising, it at had continued to correspond with him, and I least makes no false promises. From the time knew from his letters that he was steadily rising when wind and wave first greet you, and greet in his profession. His parents were by this you with a buffet, you know with what you time dead, and he had found it convenient to have to reckon. And a life of fair and not too remove his wife and family to the East Coast. unequal striving is a good enough life for me. His last letter was put into my hands at White. And so, sir, you see me now on my way to the haven only some three weeks ago. It informed rendezvous with Tregarthen. And then, ho! me that he had been appointed by a syndicate for the frozen seas.” of oil-merchants to the command of one of their The sailor relapsed into silence. Whilst he whaling vessels. The conditions of his employ- had been speaking, the old eight-day clock, which ment were highly favourable, and he added ticked in a corner of the inn parlour, had struck that nothing was wanting to complete his satis- the hour and half-hour more than once. And faction but that I should be with him on his though the Master of Beltrees had listened with first voyage. With this object in view, he an interest which was not entirely due to the mentioned the probable date of the sailing of merits of the story, it was with resignation (to the feet from Whitby, requesting me, if I had a say the least) that he heard the lengthy narrative mind to go with him, to meet him either in that draw to a close. port, or else, a few days later, at Berwick-on
To be continued. Tweed, where he proposed to touch. You will understand that in writing thus Tiegarthen shot
Chiefswood. a bolt at a venture. However fortune favoured his missive, which reached me within the due MONG the thousands of tourists who time, and found me (as the saying is) at a loosex drive or walk up the country between end.: By this time I had experimented freely
Melrose and Abbotsford every season, on existence, and had seen many phases and there are few who are aware that, running aspects of human life. I had been a wanderer parallel with the public road, there is a foot-path by sea and by land, and had known wealth, which is one of the most romantic and beautiful poverty, and that middle condition of independ in all that classic neighbourhood. The path ence, which is perhaps the most honourable of here referred to was one of Sir Walter Scott's all. It rested with me now to act on the results most favourite haunts. Climbing to the summit of my experience. After an evening spent in of the hilly country behind Abbotsford, he used reflection, I resolved to accept Tregarthen's to walk along the shore of Cauldshields Loch, offer; and in coming to this resolution I was find his way down the Rhymer's Glen, and call influenced by the conviction that the best thing at Huntly Burn where lived his friend Sir Adam I had known in life so far was a tried friend. Ferguson, or farther down the burn to ChiefsIt is true that in the peculiar religious senti. wood, the residence of his son-in-law, John ments of Tregarthen, I had long ceased to Gibson Lockhart. The Rhymer's Glen is open participate. But this caused no disagreement to the public now, but ninety-nine tourists out between us; whilst my admiration and respect of every hundred never see it, since they neither for the man remained unaltered. I honoured have time to visit it, nor do they know where it him for his faithfulness to his convictions, and is should they have the time. I loved him for himself. For the longer I go In this charming retreat of Chiefswood, about in this shifty and unstable world, the Lockhart spent the happiest of his days after his more highly shall I prize that confidence with marriage with Miss Sophia Scott. Writing from which he never fails to inspire me--that as he Abbotsford to his brother Tom, Sir Walter, in believes the voice of duty to dictate, so will he 1820, thus describes the home of the young act; and that whatever words may fall from his couple. “They are," he writes, “to spend lips in our discourses, those words are the their vacations in a nice little cottage in a glen sincere, single-hearted, expression of his mind. belonging to this property, with a rivulet in front, To call such a man my friend, to think of him and a grove of trees on the east side to keep as such at all times and in all places, and to say away the cold wind. It is about two miles to myself He is there, is as a sheet-anchor amid distant from this house, and a very pleasant the storms of life! As for the sea, perhaps, to walk reaches to it through my plantations, which
now occupy several hundred acres. Thus there will be space enough betwixt the old man of letters and the young one."
While giving some of the finishing touches to Abbotsford, Scott was extremely unwilling to authorise the demolition of the rustic porch of the primitive cottage, with its luxuriant over. growth of roses and jessamines. In short, he could not make up his mind to sign the death-warrant of this favourite bower until winter had robbed it of its beauties. He then made an excursion from Edinburgh specially to be present at its downfall, and to save as many of the creepers as seemed likely to survive removal.
while down at Chiefswood, was in pacing one of the ponies, called Douce Davie, through the green lanes among his woods, with the children about him, while Laidlaw and Lockhart kept near at hand to hear his instructions about pruning and thinning the plantations.
In the autumn of 1831, Sir Walter's health was in such a critical condition, that he was urged to spend the approaching winter away from Abbotsford, among new scenes, in a more genial climate, and, above all, in complete abstinence from all literary work. But he still clung to Abbotsford, and put off the day of departure as late as possible. In the meantime, he had
These he subsequently planted with his own hands around a similar porch that had been recently erected at Chiefswood.
Many delightful pictures of Scott's life we get through the trees, as it were, at Chiefswood. It was a supreme pleasure to him to have his daughter, her husband, and their children, so near him. The presence of these children always had a soothing and cheerful effect upon him. However languid and low-spirited he got, and into these moods he frequently fell during his brave battle with adversity, he always recovered himself in the company of his grandchildren. One of the greatest pleasures he had,
settled that Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart should dine at Abbotsford, and he and his daughter Anne at Chiefswood, day about. In both homes he was willing to have a few guests, so long as they were not strangers to him. Under these arrangements his health rallied wonderfully. On occasions he was even gay, and like ! self, particularly when the weather was warm and fine enough to tempt the party to dine beneath the trees at Chiefswood. The winter came, and Sir Walter went to Italy, but he returned home in the autumn of the following year, only to bid farewell for ever to all earthly scenes and friends.
Not much about Chiefswood does Mr. Andrew Lang tell us in his recently published “Life and Letters of John Gibson Lockhart :” for Lockhart himself, in the celebrated biography of his illustrious father-in-law, had largely discounted all that could be said. We gather this much, however, that Lockhart's married life was a singularly happy one, and that he was devotedly attached to his wife and children. When in London, he longed to be at Chiefswood, because there he found most repose in being busy over a change of literary work. Many of his novels, if not all, were written there— Valerius, Adam Blair, Reginald Dalton, and
his Spanish Ballads. These novels are not much read now, although we observe that a new edition is in preparation under the editorship of his biographer.
Chiefswood was but a smallcottage--originally called Burnside, if we mistake not-when Lockhart and his wife began house-keeping there. In imitation, on a much smaller scale, however, of Abbotsford, Sir Walter made an addition to it now and again until it attained to the dignity of the modern villa as depicted in the photograph which Mr. Black, of Darnick, has so kindly sent us.
native air. In the former he gives us a graphic
account of David Ritchie, whom Sir Walter has Edinburgh : William Blackwood & Sons.
immortalised in his novel of “ The Black Dwarf." POLLOWING closely upon the publication In addition to the particulars already known
of the late Professor Veitch's " Memoir," regarding the life and habits of the recluse of
noticed in our last month's number, the Manor Water, the Professor relates many interpresent volume comes doubly welcome. Of the esting reminiscences which may almost be called seven essays which it contains, six of them personal ; for his mother had often seen “Bowed originally appeared in Blackwood's Magazine, Davie,” and could narrate many incidents which while the last, on the ancestors of Mr. Gladstone, took place during his occasional visits to is included by permission of Messrs. Longman. Peebles. The poor mis-shapen creature used to
In dealing with Manor and Yarrow, Professor be sadly annoyed by the boys of the town while Veitch is always at home and breathing his hirpling along the streets. In these encounters
* Border Essays. By John Veitch, M.A., LL.D. she felt much sympathy with him, and often
stated her belief that there was much kindliness in his nature, notwithstanding the fearful outbursts of anger and unparliamentary language called forth by the cruelty of his unthinking tormentors. In expressing such sympathy, Veitch's mother was but following up, though unconsciously, the opinion stated by Kant when he says, that there is something of the divine in every man. If the divine in David Ritchie's case was but feebly developed there was, as Professor Veitch observes, " at least a twinkle of it, misanthrope and irritable sprite as he was.”
In his essay on “ The Dowie Dens," Veitch states it as his belief that the original ballad is to be found in the copy of verses handed down, for several generations, in the family of an old Peebles-shire cottar and poet, named William Welsh. Perhaps the most delightful paper in this volume is the one entitled “ The Yarrow of Wordsworth and Scott.”
There is much ingenious speculation on the subjects of the “Inscribed Stone” near Yarrow Kirk, and the “Black Dike" on the English side of the Border. In “Side lights on the Battles of Preston and Falkirk,” the author may, at first sight, seem to have gone beyond the locality and the scenery suggested by the title of his volume. A perusal of this interesting paper, however, brings us back to the Border Country, and places amongst us a bundle of old letters which were written by one James Christie, who lived at Neidpath on the Tweed. In these letters there are many new and hitherto unknown side. lights thrown on the incident of “the ill-fated affair of the '45."
The same remark as to being outside the bounds of the Borders may also, at first sight, seem to apply to the subject of the last essay in the volume. Here again, however, Professor Veitch is on his own ground while tracing the ancestors of Mr. Gladstone from their original home of Libberton, a moorland parish to the north of Biggar, from which they “brizzed yont” to Tweedside, Teviotdale, and ultimately
le, and ultimately over the Border into England.
We have to thank Mrs. Veitch, not only for publishing these Essays, but also for issuing then exactly as they left her husband's hands at first. They are therefore before us in all their untouched fulness and fervour. We feel grateful that they treat of subjects which were so dear to the heart of their author: for the heart of Veitch was ever in the Borderland, and surely no fitter or more appropriate volume could be given to the reading world at the close of his life and his literary career than just these fresh and charming Border Essays,
fernieberst Castle. PERNIEHERST CASTLE is situated on
the right bank of the “crystal Jed,” in
the midst of pretty scenery, about two miles from the town of Jedburgh. The stronghold, which has been recently restored, was the ancient seat of the Kers of the Lothian line, and has figured in many a Border feud and foray. The Kers are said to have settled in Jedwater reaches six hundred years ago. The seventh descendant of Ralph Ker, who settled in Teviotdale in 1350, is designated of Fernieherst in the Parliament records of 1476. To this date, then, or somewhat earlier, belonged the original castle, which was a mere house in the heart of Jed Forest. Here the first laird, Thomas, lived for halt-a-century and died in 1499. He was succeeded by his son Andrew, afterwards Sir Andrew, and popularly known as “ Dand.” He performed some wonderful feats in the rude times of Border warfare. In 1523, when the castle was captured after a desperate struggle by the English, he was taken prisoner. He must, however, have soon regained his liberty, as he is mentioned as having commanded 4000 soldiers at the seige of Wark Castle in the same year. For his bravery and loyalty to the Scottish monarchs, Andrew was made Warden of the Middle Marches of Scotland, and in 1542 knighted by King James V. and made a grant of the bailiary of all the lands and lordships of Jed Forest. Sir Andrew died in 1545, and was buried in Jedburgh Abbey.
The castle was re-taken by his son Sir John, who was knighted in the Abbey in 1552. During the turbulent times when the Borders were invaded by the English Wardens, and when Jedburgh was in the hands of English and Spanish soldiers, Sir John did yeoman service in driving them out. He was laid to rest beside his father in the Abbey transept in 1562.
He was succeeded by his son Sir Thomas, who in 1570, the day after Moray's murder at Linlithgow, swept over the Border with fire and sword, hoping to kindle a war that might lead to Queen Mary's release. For his great zeal on behalf of the unfortunate Queen he was imprisoned, and died in 1586. The castle, which was destroyed on his imprisonment, was not re-built till 1598.
Sir Thomas' son, Andrew, named after his great-grandfather, succeeded his father, and became Provost of Jedburgh in 1601. It was he who built the greater part of the present castle, which still bears his coat-of-arms. In 1622 he was raised to the peerage as Baron Jedburgh, and died in 1631. Having died