stery which hung so long over the authorship of the Waverley
Novels, was cleared up by a misfortune which all the world deplores,
and which would have crushed any other spirit save that of Scott. This
stroke of evil fortune did not, perhaps, come quite unexpected; it
was, however, unavoidable, and it arose from no mismanagement or
miscalculation of his own, unless I may consider--which I do not--his
embarking in the hazards of a printing-house, a piece of
miscalculation. It is said, that he received warnings: the paper of
Constable, the bookseller, or, to speak plainer, long money-bills were
much in circulation: one of them, for a large sum, made its appearance
in the Bank of Scotland, with Scott's name upon it, and a secretary
sent for Sir Walter. "Do you know," said he, "that Constable has many
such bills abroad--Sir Walter, I warn you."--"Well," answered Sir
Walter, "it is, perhaps, as you say, and I thank you; but," raising
his voice, "Archie Constable was a good friend to me when friends were
rarer than now, and I will not see him balked for the sake of a few
thousand pounds." The amount of the sum for which Scott, on the
failure of Constable, became responsible, I have heard various
accounts of--varying from fifty to seventy thousand pounds. Some
generous and wealthy person sent him a blank check, properly signed,
upon the bank, desiring him to fill in the sum, and relieve himself;
but he returned it, with proper acknowledgments. He took, as it were,
the debt upon himself, as a loan, the whole payable, with interest, in
ten years; and to work he went, with head, and heart, and hand, to
amend his broken fortunes. I had several letters from him during these
disastrous days: the language was cheerful, and there were no
allusions to what had happened. It is true, there was no occasion for
him to mention these occurrences to me: all that he said about them
was--"I miss my daughter, Mrs. Lockhart, who used to sing to me; I
have some need of her now." No general, after a bloody and disastrous
battle, ever set about preparing himself for a more successful contest
than did this distinguished man. Work succeeded work with unheard of
rapidity; the chief of which was, "The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte,"
in nine volumes--a production of singular power, and an almost perfect
work, with the exception of the parts which treat of the French
Revolution, and the captivity of the great prisoner. I had the
curiosity, on seeing one of the