Waverley; Or 'Tis Sixty Years Since — Complete Read online

  GENERAL PREFACE TO THE WAVERLEY NOVELS

  ---And must I ravel out My weaved-up follies?

  Richard II, Act IV.

  Having undertaken to give an Introductory Account of the compositionswhich are here offered to the public, with Notes and Illustrations, theAuthor, under whose name they are now for the first time collected,feels that he has the delicate task of speaking more of himself and hispersonal concerns than may perhaps be either graceful or prudent. Inthis particular he runs the risk of presenting himself to the public inthe relation that the dumb wife in the jest-book held to her husband,when, having spent half of his fortune to obtain the cure of herimperfection, he was willing to have bestowed the other half to restoreher to her former condition. But this is a risk inseparable from thetask which the Author has undertaken, and he can only promise to be aslittle of an egotist as the situation will permit. It is perhaps anindifferent sign of a disposition to keep his word, that, havingintroduced himself in the third person singular, he proceeds in thesecond paragraph to make use of the first. But it appears to him thatthe seeming modesty connected with the former mode of writing isoverbalanced by the inconvenience of stiffness and affectation whichattends it during a narrative of some length, and which may be observedless or more in every work in which the third person is used, from theCommentaries of Caesar to the Autobiography of Alexander the Corrector.

  I must refer to a very early period of my life, were I to point out myfirst achievements as a tale-teller; but I believe some of my oldschoolfellows can still bear witness that I had a distinguishedcharacter for that talent, at a time when the applause of my companionswas my recompense for the disgraces and punishments which the futureromance-writer incurred for being idle himself, and keeping othersidle, during hours that should have been employed on our tasks. Thechief enjoyment of my holidays was to escape with a chosen friend, whohad the same taste with myself, and alternately to recite to each othersuch wild adventures as we were able to devise. We told, each in turn,interminable tales of knight-errantry and battles and enchantments,which were continued from one day to another as opportunity offered,without our ever thinking of bringing them to a conclusion. As weobserved a strict secrecy on the subject of this intercourse, itacquired all the character of a concealed pleasure, and we used toselect for the scenes of our indulgence long walks through the solitaryand romantic environs of Arthur's Seat, Salisbury Crags, Braid Hills,and similar places in the vicinity of Edinburgh; and the recollectionof those holidays still forms an oasis in the pilgrimage which I haveto look back upon. I have only to add, that my friend still lives, aprosperous gentleman, but too much occupied with graver business tothank me for indicating him more plainly as a confidant of my childishmystery.

  When boyhood advancing into youth required more serious studies andgraver cares, a long illness threw me back on the kingdom of fiction,as if it were by a species of fatality. My indisposition arose, in partat least, from my having broken a blood-vessel; and motion and speechwere for a long time pronounced positively dangerous. For several weeksI was confined strictly to my bed, during which time I was not allowedto speak above a whisper, to eat more than a spoonful or two of boiledrice, or to have more covering than one thin counterpane. When thereader is informed that I was at this time a growing youth, with thespirits, appetite, and impatience of fifteen, and suffered, of course,greatly under this severe regimen, which the repeated return of mydisorder rendered indispensable, he will not be surprised that I wasabandoned to my own discretion, so far as reading (my almost soleamusement) was concerned, and still less so, that I abused theindulgence which left my time so much at my own disposal.

  There was at this time a circulating library in Edinburgh, founded, Ibelieve, by the celebrated Allan Ramsay, which, besides containing amost respectable collection of books of every description, was, asmight have been expected, peculiarly rich in works of fiction. Itexhibited specimens of every kind, from the romances of chivalry andthe ponderous folios of Cyrus and Cassandra, down to the most approvedworks of later times. I was plunged into this great ocean of readingwithout compass or pilot; and, unless when some one had the charity toplay at chess with me, I was allowed to do nothing save read frommorning to night. I was, in kindness and pity, which was perhapserroneous, however natural, permitted to select my subjects of study atmy own pleasure, upon the same principle that the humours of childrenare indulged to keep them out of mischief. As my taste and appetitewere gratified in nothing else, I indemnified myself by becoming aglutton of books. Accordingly, I believe I read almost all theromances, old plays, and epic poetry in that formidable collection, andno doubt was unconsciously amassing materials for the task in which ithas been my lot to be so much employed.

  At the same time I did not in all respects abuse the license permittedme. Familiar acquaintance with the specious miracles of fiction broughtwith it some degree of satiety, and I began by degrees to seek inhistories, memoirs, voyages and travels, and the like, events nearly aswonderful as those which were the work of imagination, with theadditional advantage that they were at least in a great measure true.The lapse of nearly two years, during which I was left to the exerciseof my own free will, was followed by a temporary residence in thecountry, where I was again very lonely but for the amusement which Iderived from a good though old-fashioned library. The vague and wilduse which I made of this advantage I cannot describe better than byreferring my reader to the desultory studies of Waverley in a similarsituation, the passages concerning whose course of reading wereimitated from recollections of my own. It must be understood that theresemblance extends no farther.

  Time, as it glided on, brought the blessings of confirmed health andpersonal strength, to a degree which had never been expected or hopedfor. The severe studies necessary to render me fit for my professionoccupied the greater part of my time; and the society of my friends andcompanions, who were about to enter life along with, me, filled up theinterval with the usual amusements of young men. I was in a situationwhich rendered serious labour indispensable; for, neither possessing,on the one hand, any of those peculiar advantages which are supposed tofavour a hasty advance in the profession of the law, nor being, on theother hand, exposed to unusual obstacles to interrupt my progress, Imight reasonably expect to succeed according to the greater or lessdegree of trouble which I should take to qualify myself as a pleader.

  It makes no part of the present story to detail how the success of afew ballads had the effect of changing all the purpose and tenor of mylife, and of converting a painstaking lawyer of some years' standinginto a follower of literature. It is enough to say, that I had assumedthe latter character for several years before I seriously thought ofattempting a work of imagination in prose, although one or two of mypoetical attempts did not differ from romances otherwise than by beingwritten in verse. But yet I may observe, that about this time (now,alas! thirty years since) I had nourished the ambitious desire ofcomposing a tale of chivalry, which was to be in the style of theCastle of Otranto, with plenty of Border characters and supernaturalincident. Having found unexpectedly a chapter of this intended workamong some old papers, I have subjoined it to this introductory essay,thinking some readers may account as curious the first attempts atromantic composition by an author who has since written so much in thatdepartment. [Footnote: See Appendix No I.] And those who complain, notunreasonably, of the profusion of the Tales which have followedWaverley, may bless their stars at the narrow escape they have made, bythe commencement of the inundation, which had so nearly taken place inthe first year of the century, being postponed for fifteen years later.

  This particular subject was never resumed, but I did not abandon theidea of fictitious composition in prose, though I determined to giveanother turn to the style of the work.

  My early recollections of the Highland scenery and customs made sofavourable an impression in the poem called the Lady of the Lake, thatI was induced to think of attempting something of the same kind inprose. I had been a good dea
l in the Highlands at a time when they weremuch less accessible and much less visited than they have been of lateyears, and was acquainted with many of the old warriors of 1745, whowere, like most veterans, easily induced to fight their battles overagain for the benefit of a willing listener like myself. It naturallyoccurred to me that the ancient traditions and high spirit of a peoplewho, living in a civilised age and country, retained so strong atincture of manners belonging to an early period of society, mustafford a subject favourable for romance, if it should not prove acurious tale marred in the telling.

  It was with some idea of this kind that, about the year 1805, I threwtogether about one-third part of the first volume of Waverley. It wasadvertised to be published by the late Mr. John Ballantyne, booksellerin Edinburgh, under the name of Waverley; or, 'Tis Fifty Years Since--atitle afterwards altered to 'Tis Sixty Years Since, that the actualdate of publication might be made to correspond with the period inwhich the scene was laid. Having proceeded as far, I think, as theseventh chapter, I showed my work to a critical friend, whose opinionwas unfavourable; and having then some poetical reputation, I wasunwilling to risk the loss of it by attempting a new style ofcomposition. I therefore threw aside the work I had commenced, withouteither reluctance or remonstrance. I ought to add that, though myingenious friend's sentence was afterwards reversed on an appeal to thepublic, it cannot be considered as any imputation on his good taste;for the specimen subjected to his criticism did not extend beyond thedeparture of the hero for Scotland, and consequently had not enteredupon the part of the story which was finally found most interesting.

  Be that as it may, this portion of the manuscript was laid aside in thedrawers of an old writing-desk, which, on my first coming to reside atAbbotsford in 1811, was placed in a lumber garret and entirelyforgotten. Thus, though I sometimes, among other literary avocations,turned my thoughts to the continuation of the romance which I hadcommenced, yet, as I could not find what I had already written, aftersearching such repositories as were within my reach, and was tooindolent to attempt to write it anew from memory, I as often laid asideall thoughts of that nature.

  Two circumstances in particular recalled my recollection of the mislaidmanuscript. The first was the extended and well-merited fame of MissEdgeworth, whose Irish characters have gone so far to make the Englishfamiliar with the character of their gay and kind-hearted neighbours ofIreland, that she may be truly said to have done more towardscompleting the Union than perhaps all the legislative enactments bywhich it has been followed up.

  Without being so presumptuous as to hope to emulate the rich humour,pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact which pervade the works of myaccomplished friend, I felt that something might be attempted for myown country, of the same kind with that which Miss Edgeworth sofortunately achieved for Ireland--something which might introduce hernatives to those of the sister kingdom in a more favourable light thanthey had been placed hitherto, and tend to procure sympathy for theirvirtues and indulgence for their foibles. I thought also, that much ofwhat I wanted in talent might be made up by the intimate acquaintancewith the subject which I could lay claim to possess, as havingtravelled through most parts of Scotland, both Highland and Lowland,having been familiar with the elder as well as more modern race, andhaving had from my infancy free and unrestrained communication with allranks of my countrymen, from the Scottish peer to the Scottishplough-man. Such ideas often occurred to me, and constituted anambitious branch of my theory, however far short I may have fallen ofit in practice.

  But it was not only the triumphs of Miss Edgeworth which worked in meemulation, and disturbed my indolence. I chanced actually to engage ina work which formed a sort of essay piece, and gave me hope that Imight in time become free of the craft of romance-writing, and beesteemed a tolerable workman.

  In the year 1807-08 I undertook, at the request of John Murray, Esq.,of Albemarle Street, to arrange for publication some posthumousproductions of the late Mr. Joseph Strutt, distinguished as an artistand an antiquary, amongst which was an unfinished romance, entitledQueenhoo Hall. The scene of the tale was laid in the reign of Henry VI,and the work was written to illustrate the manners, customs, andlanguage of the people of England during that period. The extensiveacquaintance which Mr. Strutt had acquired with such subjects incompiling his laborious Horda Angel-Cynnan, his Regal andEcclesiastical Antiquities, and his Essay on the Sports and Pastimes ofthe People of England had rendered him familiar with all theantiquarian lore necessary for the purpose of composing the projectedromance; and although the manuscript bore the marks of hurry andincoherence natural to the first rough draught of the author, itevinced (in my opinion) considerable powers of imagination.

  As the work was unfinished, I deemed it my duty, as editor, to supplysuch a hasty and inartificial conclusion as could be shaped out fromthe story, of which Mr. Strutt had laid the foundation. This concludingchapter [Footnote: See Appendix No. II.] is also added to the presentIntroduction, for the reason already mentioned regarding the precedingfragment. It was a step in my advance towards romantic composition; andto preserve the traces of these is in a great measure the object ofthis Essay.

  Queenhoo Hall was not, however, very successful. I thought I was awareof the reason, and supposed that, by rendering his language tooancient, and displaying his antiquarian knowledge too liberally, theingenious author had raised up an obstacle to his own success. Everywork designed for mere amusement must be expressed in language easilycomprehended; and when, as is sometimes the case in QUEENHOO HALL, theauthor addresses himself exclusively to the antiquary, he must becontent to be dismissed by the general reader with the criticism ofMungo, in the PADLOCK, on the Mauritanian music, 'What signifies mehear, if me no understand?'

  I conceived it possible to avoid this error; and, by rendering asimilar work more light and obvious to general comprehension, to escapethe rock on which my predecessor was shipwrecked.

  But I was, on the other hand, so far discouraged by the indifferentreception of Mr. Strutt's romance as to become satisfied that themanners of the middle ages did not possess the interest which I hadconceived; and was led to form the opinion that a romance founded on aHighland story and more modern events would have a better chance ofpopularity than a tale of chivalry.

  My thoughts, therefore, returned more than once to the tale which I hadactually commenced, and accident at length threw the lost sheets in myway.

  I happened to want some fishing-tackle for the use of a guest, when itoccurred to me to search the old writing-desk already mentioned, inwhich I used to keep articles of that nature.

  I got access to it with some difficulty; and, in looking for lines andflies, the long-lost manuscript presented itself.

  I immediately set to work to complete it according to my originalpurpose.

  And here I must frankly confess that the mode in which I conducted thestory scarcely deserved the success which the romance afterwardsattained.

  The tale of WAVERLEY was put together with so little care that I cannotboast of having sketched any distinct plan of the work. The wholeadventures of Waverley, in his movements up and down the country withthe Highland cateran Bean Lean, are managed without much skill. Itsuited best, however, the road I wanted to travel, and permitted me tointroduce some descriptions of scenery and manners, to which thereality gave an interest which the powers of the Author might haveotherwise failed to attain for them. And though I have been in otherinstances a sinner in this sort, I do not recollect any of these novelsin which I have transgressed so widely as in the first of the series.

  Among other unfounded reports, it has been said that the copyright ofWaverley was, during the book's progress through the press, offered forsale to various book-sellers in London at a very inconsiderable price.This was not the case. Messrs. Constable and Cadell, who published thework, were the only persons acquainted with the contents of thepublication, and they offered a large sum for it while in the course ofprinting, which, however, was declined, the Author not choosing to partwit
h the copyright.

  The origin of the story of Waverley, and the particular facts on whichit is founded, are given in the separate introduction prefixed to thatromance in this edition, and require no notice in this place.

  Waverley was published in 1814, and, as the title-page was without thename of the Author, the work was left to win its way in the worldwithout any of the usual recommendations. Its progress was for sometime slow; but after the first two or three months its popularity hadincreased in a degree which must have satisfied the expectations of theAuthor, had these been far more sanguine than he ever entertained.

  Great anxiety was expressed to learn the name of the Author, but onthis no authentic information could be attained. My original motive forpublishing the work anonymously was the consciousness that it was anexperiment on the public taste which might very probably fail, andtherefore there was no occasion to take on myself the personal risk ofdiscomfiture. For this purpose considerable precautions were used topreserve secrecy. My old friend and schoolfellow, Mr. James Ballantyne,who printed these Novels, had the exclusive task of corresponding withthe Author, who thus had not only the advantage of his professionaltalents, but also of his critical abilities. The original manuscript,or, as it is technically called, copy, was transcribed under Mr.Ballantyne's eye by confidential persons; nor was there an instance oftreachery during the many years in which these precautions wereresorted to, although various individuals were employed at differenttimes. Double proof-sheets were regularly printed off. One wasforwarded to the Author by Mr. Ballantyne, and the alterations which itreceived were, by his own hand, copied upon the other proof-sheet forthe use of the printers, so that even the corrected proofs of theAuthor were never seen in the printing office; and thus the curiosityof such eager inquirers as made the most minute investigation wasentirely at fault.

  But although the cause of concealing the Author's name in the firstinstance, when the reception of Waverley was doubtful, was naturalenough, it is more difficult, it may be thought, to account for thesame desire for secrecy during the subsequent editions, to the amountof betwixt eleven and twelve thousand copies, which followed each otherclose, and proved the success of the work. I am sorry I can give littlesatisfaction to queries on this subject. I have already statedelsewhere that I can render little better reason for choosing to remainanonymous than by saying with Shylock, that such was my humour. It willbe observed that I had not the usual stimulus for desiring personalreputation, the desire, namely, to float amidst the conversation ofmen. Of literary fame, whether merited or undeserved, I had already asmuch as might have contented a mind more ambitious than mine; and inentering into this new contest for reputation I might be said rather toendanger what I had than to have any considerable chance of acquiringmore. I was affected, too, by none of those motives which, at anearlier period of life, would doubtless have operated upon me. Myfriendships were formed, my place in society fixed, my life hadattained its middle course. My condition in society was higher perhapsthan I deserved, certainly as high as I wished, and there was scarceany degree of literary success which could have greatly altered orimproved my personal condition.

  I was not, therefore, touched by the spur of ambition, usuallystimulating on such occasions; and yet I ought to stand exculpated fromthe charge of ungracious or unbecoming indifference to public applause.I did not the less feel gratitude for the public favour, although I didnot proclaim it; as the lover who wears his mistress's favour in hisbosom is as proud, though not so vain, of possessing it as another whodisplays the token of her grace upon his bonnet. Far from such anungracious state of mind, I have seldom felt more satisfaction thanwhen, returning from a pleasure voyage, I found Waverley in the zenithof popularity, and public curiosity in full cry after the name of theAuthor. The knowledge that I had the public approbation was like havingthe property of a hidden treasure, not less gratifying to the ownerthan if all the world knew that it was his own. Another advantage wasconnected with the secrecy which I observed. I could appear or retreatfrom the stage at pleasure, without attracting any personal notice orattention, other than what might be founded on suspicion only. In myown person also, as a successful author in another department ofliterature, I might have been charged with too frequent intrusions onthe public patience; but the Author of Waverley was in this respect asimpassible to the critic as the Ghost of Hamlet to the partisan ofMarcellus. Perhaps the curiosity of the public, irritated by theexistence of a secret, and kept afloat by the discussions which tookplace on the subject from time to time, went a good way to maintain anunabated interest in these frequent publications. There was a mysteryconcerning the Author which each new novel was expected to assist inunravelling, although it might in other respects rank lower than itspredecessors.

  I may perhaps be thought guilty of affectation, should I allege as onereason of my silence a secret dislike to enter on personal discussionsconcerning my own literary labours. It is in every case a dangerousintercourse for an author to be dwelling continually among those whomake his writings a frequent and familiar subject of conversation, butwho must necessarily be partial judges of works composed in their ownsociety. The habits of self-importance which are thus acquired byauthors are highly injurious to a well-regulated mind; for the cup offlattery, if it does not, like that of Circe, reduce men to the levelof beasts, is sure, if eagerly drained, to bring the best and theablest down to that of fools. This risk was in some degree prevented bythe mask which I wore; and my own stores of self-conceit were left totheir natural course, without being enhanced by the partiality offriends or adulation of flatterers.

  If I am asked further reasons for the conduct I have long observed, Ican only resort to the explanation supplied by a critic as friendly ashe is intelligent; namely, that the mental organisation of the novelistmust be characterised, to speak craniologically, by an extraordinarydevelopment of the passion for delitescency! I the rather suspect somenatural disposition of this kind; for, from the instant I perceived theextreme curiosity manifested on the subject, I felt a secretsatisfaction in baffling it, for which, when its unimportance isconsidered, I do not well know how to account.

  My desire to remain concealed, in the character of the Author of theseNovels, subjected me occasionally to awkward embarrassments, as itsometimes happened that those who were sufficiently intimate with mewould put the question in direct terms. In this case, only one of threecourses could be followed. Either I must have surrendered my secret, orhave returned an equivocating answer, or, finally, must have stoutlyand boldly denied the fact. The first was a sacrifice which I conceiveno one had a right to force from me, since I alone was concerned in thematter. The alternative of rendering a doubtful answer must have leftme open to the degrading suspicion that I was not unwilling to assumethe merit (if there was any) which I dared not absolutely lay claim to;or those who might think more justly of me must have received such anequivocal answer as an indirect avowal. I therefore considered myselfentitled, like an accused person put upon trial, to refuse giving myown evidence to my own conviction, and flatly to deny all that couldnot be proved against me. At the same time I usually qualified mydenial by stating that, had I been the Author of these works, I wouldhave felt myself quite entitled to protect my secret by refusing my ownevidence, when it was asked for to accomplish a discovery of what Idesired to conceal.

  The real truth is, that I never expected or hoped to disguise myconnection with these Novels from any one who lived on terms ofintimacy with me. The number of coincidences which necessarily existedbetween narratives recounted, modes of expression, and opinionsbroached in these Tales and such as were used by their Author in theintercourse of private life must have been far too great to permit anyof my familiar acquaintances to doubt the identity betwixt their friendand the Author of Waverley; and I believe they were all morallyconvinced of it. But while I was myself silent, their belief could notweigh much more with the world than that of others; their opinions andreasoning were liable to be taxed with partiality, or confronted withop
posing arguments and opinions; and the question was not so muchwhether I should be generally acknowledged to be the Author, in spiteof my own denial, as whether even my own avowal of the works, if suchshould be made, would be sufficient to put me in undisputed possessionof that character.

  I have been often asked concerning supposed cases, in which I was saidto have been placed on the verge of discovery; but, as I maintained mypoint with the composure of a lawyer of thirty years' standing, I neverrecollect being in pain or confusion on the subject. In CaptainMedwyn's Conversations of Lord Byron the reporter states himself tohave asked my noble and highly gifted friend,' If he was certain aboutthese Novels being Sir Walter Scott's?' To which Lord Byron replied,'Scott as much as owned himself the Author of Waverley to me inMurray's shop. I was talking to him about that Novel, and lamented thatits Author had not carried back the story nearer to the time of theRevolution. Scott, entirely off his guard, replied, "Ay, I might havedone so; but--" there he stopped. It was in vain to attempt to correcthimself; he looked confused, and relieved his embarrassment by aprecipitate retreat.' I have no recollection whatever of this scenetaking place, and I should have thought that I was more likely to havelaughed than to appear confused, for I certainly never hoped to imposeupon Lord Byron in a case of the kind; and from the manner in which heuniformly expressed himself, I knew his opinion was entirely formed,and that any disclamations of mine would only have savoured ofaffectation. I do not mean to insinuate that the incident did nothappen, but only that it could hardly have occurred exactly under thecircumstances narrated, without my recollecting something positive onthe subject. In another part of the same volume Lord Byron is reportedto have expressed a supposition that the cause of my not avowing myselfthe Author of Waverley may have been some surmise that the reigningfamily would have been displeased with the work. I can only say, it isthe last apprehension I should have entertained, as indeed theinscription to these volumes sufficiently proves. The sufferers of thatmelancholy period have, during the last and present reign, beenhonoured both with the sympathy and protection of the reigning family,whose magnanimity can well pardon a sigh from others, and bestow onethemselves, to the memory of brave opponents, who did nothing in hate,but all in honour.

  While those who were in habitual intercourse with the real author hadlittle hesitation in assigning the literary property to him, others,and those critics of no mean rank, employed themselves in investigatingwith persevering patience any characteristic features which might seemto betray the origin of these Novels. Amongst these, one gentleman,equally remarkable for the kind and liberal tone of his criticism, theacuteness of his reasoning, and the very gentlemanlike manner in whichhe conducted his inquiries, displayed not only powers of accurateinvestigation, but a temper of mind deserving to be employed on asubject of much greater importance; and I have no doubt made convertsto his opinion of almost all who thought the point worthy ofconsideration. [Footnote: Letters on the Author of Waverly; Rodwell andMartin, London, 1822.] Of those letters, and other attempts of the samekind, the Author could not complain, though his incognito wasendangered. He had challenged the public to a game at bo-peep, and ifhe was discovered in his 'hiding-hole,' he must submit to the shame ofdetection.

  Various reports were of course circulated in various ways; some foundedon an inaccurate rehearsal of what may have been partly real, some oncircumstances having no concern whatever with the subject, and otherson the invention of some importunate persons, who might perhaps imaginethat the readiest mode of forcing the Author to disclose himself was toassign some dishonourable and discreditable cause for his silence.

  It may be easily supposed that this sort of inquisition was treatedwith contempt by the person whom it principally regarded; as, among allthe rumours that were current, there was only one, and that asunfounded as the others, which had nevertheless some alliance toprobability, and indeed might have proved in some degree true.

  I allude to a report which ascribed a great part, or the whole, ofthese Novels to the late Thomas Scott, Esq., of the 70th Regiment, thenstationed in Canada. Those who remember that gentleman will readilygrant that, with general talents at least equal to those of his elderbrother, he added a power of social humour and a deep insight intohuman character which rendered him an universally delightful member ofsociety, and that the habit of composition alone was wanting to renderhim equally successful as a writer. The Author of Waverley was sopersuaded of the truth of this, that he warmly pressed his brother tomake such an experiment, and willingly undertook all the trouble ofcorrecting and superintending the press. Mr. Thomas Scott seemed atfirst very well disposed to embrace the proposal, and had even fixed ona subject and a hero. The latter was a person well known to both of usin our boyish years, from having displayed some strong traits ofcharacter. Mr. T. Scott had determined to represent his youthfulacquaintance as emigrating to America, and encountering the dangers andhardships of the New World, with the same dauntless spirit which he haddisplayed when a boy in his native country. Mr. Scott would probablyhave been highly successful, being familiarly acquainted with themanners of the native Indians, of the old French settlers in Canada,and of the Brules or Woodsmen, and having the power of observing withaccuracy what I have no doubt he could have sketched with force andexpression. In short, the Author believes his brother would have madehimself distinguished in that striking field in which, since thatperiod, Mr. Cooper has achieved so many triumphs. But Mr. T. Scott wasalready affected by bad health, which wholly unfitted him for literarylabour, even if he could have reconciled his patience to the task. Henever, I believe, wrote a single line of the projected work; and I onlyhave the melancholy pleasure of preserving in the Appendix [Footnote:See Appendix No. III.] the simple anecdote on which he proposed tofound it.

  To this I may add, I can easily conceive that there may have beencircumstances which gave a colour to the general report of my brotherbeing interested in these works; and in particular that it might derivestrength from my having occasion to remit to him, in consequence ofcertain family transactions, some considerable sums of money about thatperiod. To which it is to be added that if any person chanced to evinceparticular curiosity on such a subject, my brother was likely enough todivert himself with practising on their credulity.

  It may be mentioned that, while the paternity of these Novels was fromtime to time warmly disputed in Britain, the foreign booksellersexpressed no hesitation on the matter, but affixed my name to the wholeof the Novels, and to some besides to which I had no claim.

  The volumes, therefore, to which the present pages form a Preface areentirely the composition of the Author by whom they are nowacknowledged, with the exception, always, of avowed quotations, andsuch unpremeditated and involuntary plagiarisms as can scarce beguarded against by any one who has read and written a great deal. Theoriginal manuscripts are all in existence, and entirely written(horresco referens) in the Author's own hand, excepting during theyears 1818 and 1819, when, being affected with severe illness, he wasobliged to employ the assistance of a friendly amanuensis.

  The number of persons to whom the secret was necessarily entrusted, orcommunicated by chance, amounted, I should think, to twenty at least,to whom I am greatly obliged for the fidelity with which they observedtheir trust, until the derangement of the affairs of my publishers,Messrs. Constable and Co., and the exposure of their account books,which was the necessary consequence, rendered secrecy no longerpossible. The particulars attending the avowal have been laid beforethe public in the Introduction to the Chronicles of the Canongate.

  The preliminary advertisement has given a sketch of the purpose of thisedition. I have some reason to fear that the notes which accompany thetales, as now published, may be thought too miscellaneous and tooegotistical. It maybe some apology for this, that the publication wasintended to be posthumous, and still more, that old men may bepermitted to speak long, because they cannot in the course of naturehave long time to speak. In preparing the present edition, I have doneall that I can do to explain
the nature of my materials, and the use Ihave made of them; nor is it probable that I shall again revise or evenread these tales. I was therefore desirous rather to exceed in theportion of new and explanatory matter which is added to this editionthan that the reader should have reason to complain that theinformation communicated was of a general and merely nominal character.It remains to be tried whether the public (like a child to whom a watchis shown) will, after having been satiated with looking at the outside,acquire some new interest in the object when it is opened and theinternal machinery displayed to them.

  That Waverly and its successors have had their day of favour andpopularity must be admitted with sincere gratitude; and the Author hasstudied (with the prudence of a beauty whose reign has been ratherlong) to supply, by the assistance of art, the charms which novelty nolonger affords. The publishers have endeavoured to gratify thehonourable partiality of the public for the encouragement of Britishart, by illustrating this edition with designs by the most eminentliving artists. [Footnote: The illustrations here referred to were madefor the edition of 1829]

  To my distinguished countryman, David Wilkie, to Edwin Landseer, whohas exercised his talents so much on Scottish subjects and scenery, toMessrs. Leslie and Newton, my thanks are due, from a friend as well asan author. Nor am I less obliged to Messrs. Cooper, Kidd, and otherartists of distinction to whom I am less personally known, for theready zeal with which they have devoted their talents to the samepurpose.

  Farther explanation respecting the Edition is the business of thepublishers, not of the Author; and here, therefore, the latter hasaccomplished his task of introduction and explanation. If, like aspoiled child, he has sometimes abused or trifled with the indulgenceof the public, he feels himself entitled to full belief when heexculpates himself from the charge of having been at any timeinsensible of their kindness.

  ABBOTSFORD, 1st January, 1829.

  WAVERLEY

  OR 'T IS SIXTY YEARS SINCE

  Under which King, Bezonian? speak, or die!

  Henry IV, Part II.

  VOLUME II