isit, and it will
save time. By the way, you must attend that the usual
quantity of stock is included in the arrangement--that is
L600 for 6000 copies. My sum is L1700, payable in May--a
round advance, by'r Lady, but I think I am entitled to it,
considering what I have twined off hitherto on such
occasions.

I make a point on your coming with Constable, health
allowing. Yours truly,

W. S.

The result of this meeting is indicated in a note, scribbled by John
Ballantyne at the bottom of the foregoing letter, before it was seen
by his brother the printer:--

Half-past 3 o'clock, Tuesday.

DEAR JAMES,--I am at this moment returned from Abbotsford,
with entire and full success. Wish me joy. I shall gain
above L600--Constable taking my share of stock also. This
title is _Rob Roy--by the Author of Waverley!!!_ Keep this
letter for me.

J. B.

On the same page there is written, in fresher ink, which marks, no
doubt, the time when John pasted it into his collection of private
papers now before me,--

N. B.--I did gain above L1200.--J. B.

{p.161} The title of this novel was suggested by Constable, and he
told me years afterwards the difficulty he had to get it adopted by
the author. "What!" said he, "Mr. Accoucheur, must you be setting up
for Mr. Sponsor too?--but let's hear it." Constable said the name of
the real hero would be the best possible name for the book. "Nay,"
answered Scott, "never let me have to write up to a name. You well
know I have generally adopted a title that told nothing."--The
bookseller, however, persevered; and after the trio had dined, these
scruples gave way.

On rising from table, according to Constable, they sallied out to the
green before the door of the cottage, and all in the highest spirits
enjoyed the fine May evening. John Ballantyne, hopping up and down in
his glee, exclaimed, "Is Rob's gun here, Mr. Scott; would you object
to my trying the auld barrel with a _few de joy_?"--"Nay, Mr. Puff,"
said Scott, "it would burst, and blow you to the devil before your
time."--"Johnny, my man," said Constable, "what the mischief puts
drawing at sight into _your_ head?" Scott laughed heartily at this
innuendo; and then observing that the little man felt somewhat sore,
called attention to the notes of a b