not be obviated or corrected in the present instance, except by an acknowledgment from the author himself. . . . He was prepared, he said, to furnish you, if you wished it, with documents unquestionably proving that Christian was entitled to, and possessed the gratitude of, the Isle-of-Manners of his own and subsequent times, and that he was idolised in the country as a martyr, I suppose in a good cause. I replied that no one, I was sure, had a greater respect for ancestry than yourself, and that I could not think you would regard me as an unwarrantable intruder if I repeated his wish that some notice should be found in the following edition, by which the reader might be set right as to the real character of the person who came to so melancholy an end. -My dear Scott, everlastingly yours,

WM. WORDSWORTH."

To this letter Scott replied in a letter addressed to Wordsworth at "Mount Rydal," and dated from Edinburgh, 2d July 1830

"DEAREST WORDSWORTH,-I would instantly have answered your kind letter as soon as received, but I have been obliged to go, as we express it, over the water—that is, to cross the Forth, to look after some property of Walter's. His predecessors had done a thing not easily repaired, and drained a mire of about a hundred acres, leaving the ancient castle of a certain Baron de Lochore 'beggared and outraged.' It would, however, I fear, be outraging the character of antiquary to restore this noble grange, by flooding about £200 a year of property; besides that, I suspect the present proprietor would be more curious about a modern pit, or ravelin, than the venerable towers of the said knight of old; so I shall leave them to their fate, rejoicing that we have no concern in the sacrilege.

I do not the less sympathise with Mr. Christian that I think the cause of his grief or displeasure is a little fantastic;

for, after all, his namesake is an imaginary character in an imaginary story; and I will take pains to be as explicit as I possibly can in the new edition upon this point, and with the courtesy of Bellini's Lion, that my rogue has no reference to any person that actually existed. I had copies many years since of all the papers referring to Mr. Christian's execution, and it struck me as one of those ambiguous events happening during the time of deadly feud, to which the passions and prejudice of both parties at the time threw a light so various and so doubtful, as [to] render it something difficult for posterity to find a fair estimate of it. I would be most happy to receive and avail myself in this edition of any communications which Mr. Christian may be disposed to honour me with. If I had known the unfortunate Mr. Christian had a direct descendant alive I would probably have given the story a different turn. But the name is little known on our northern side of the Border, as is intimated by an old story. A poor woman coming into Moffat, a country village, late in a winter night, knocked at several doors for quarters, which the inhabitants rudely refused. At last she exclaimed aloud, 'Good Heaven! are there no Christians in this place?' A window then flew open, and a person, thinking she inquired after some one of that name, replied, Na, na, woman, we're nae Christians here; we are all Johnstones and Jardines '-against which surnames the story is often told as a joke.

And now, my dear Wordsworth, don't you remember something of a promise broken, and propose to repair it next year? I hope you mean to visit Abbotsford, and bring with you as many of your family as you possibly can. You will find me in my glory; as I hope, for a short time at least, to have all my children with me; and the Lockharts have taken up their residence at a little cottage of mine in the vicinity, called Chiefswood, which is a very sweet little retreat. So pray come, and make good your old promise. Bring as many of

your family as you can. Mrs. Wordsworth and Miss Wordsworth will, I hope, think themselves at home, as well as my early acquaintance, Miss Dorothea. Pray think of this soon, and assure yourself nothing can be more agreeable; and we have plenty of room, besides flocks and barns.

There is a new reign, which may bring hope to many, but to me only the sad recollection that the late King was very kind and civil to me.-Believe me always, yours affectionately,

WALTER SCOTT."

To this letter Wordsworth replied as follows:

“Rydal Mount—sometimes called Idle Mount, and in your address of June last mis-named Mount Rydal,-20th July [1831].

I feel truly obliged, dear Sir Walter, by your attention to Mr. Christian's wishes. He is perfectly satisfied. When I mentioned the matter to you I had not the least suspicion of an event being in progress which has already connected me with the family of Christian by a tie much stronger than that of common acquaintance. My eldest son has been accepted by Miss Curwen, with the entire approbation of her parents, as her future husband, and they are soon to be married. She is now upon a visit to us, and we are quite charmed with her amiable disposition, her gentleness, her delicacy, her modesty, her sound sense, and right notions; so that my son has a prospect before him as bright as man can wish for."

Before starting for Scotland Wordsworth wrote to John Kenyon from Rydal on September 9th :

*

*

"The summer that is over has been with us as well as with you a brilliant one, for sunshine and fair calm weather— brilliant also for its unexampled gaiety in regattas, balls, dejeunes, pic-nics, by the lake-side, on the islands, and on the mountain-tops, fireworks by night, dancing on the green

sward by day-in short, a fever of pleasure from morn to dewy eve-from dewy eve till break of day. Our youths and maidens, like Chaucer's Squire, 'have slept no more than doth the nightingale,' and our old men have looked as bright as Tithonus when his withered cheek reflected the blushes of Aurora upon the first declaration of her passion for him. In the room where I am now dictating, we had, three days ago a dance-forty beaus and belles, besides matrons, ancient spinsters and greybeards-and to-morrow in this same room we are to muster for a venison feast. Why are you not here either to enjoy, or to philosophise upon this dissipation? Our party to-morrow is not so large but that we could find room for you and Mrs. Kenyon. The disturbed state of the Continent is no doubt the reason why, in spite of the Reform Bill, such multitudes of pleasure-hunters have found their way this summer to the Lakes.

After so much levity, Mary shall transcribe for you a serious stanza or two, intended for an inscription in a part of the grounds of Rydal Mount with which you are not acquainteda field adjoining our garden which I purchased two or three years ago.

Under the shade of some pollard oaks, and on a green terrace in that field, we have lived no small part of the long bright days of the summer gone by; and in a hazel nook of this favourite piece of ground, is a Stone, for which I wrote one day the following serious Inscription. You will forgive its egotism.

In these fair Vales, hath many a Tree
At Wordsworth's suit been spared,
And from the Builder's hand this Stone
For some rude beauty of its own,

Was rescued by the Bard;
Long may it rest in peace, & here
Perchance the tender-hearted

Will heave a gentle sigh for him
As One of the Departed."

In the autumn of 1831, Wordsworth started on his fourth Scottish Tour, accompanied this time by his daughter Dora. His memorial of this tour was a series of poems, published in 1835, and entitled Yarrow Revisited, and other Poems. His aim, however, was mainly to see Sir Walter Scott before his departure for Italy.

On his way to Abbotsford, Wordsworth was detained in Carlisle for a day or two, and his daughter Dora wrote thus for her father to Sir Walter:

"Carlisle, Sept. 16.

MY DEAR SIR WALTER,- There's a man wi' a veil, and a lass drivin',' exclaimed a little urchin, as we entered Merrie Carlisle a couple of hours ago, on our way to Abbotsford.

Let

A nephew of mine,* a student of Christchurch-and I may add, a distinguished one-to whom I could not but allow the pleasure of accompanying us, has taken the Newcastle road into Scotland, hoping to join me at Abbotsford. If he should arrive before us, let him be no restraint upon you whatever. him loose in your library, or on the Tweed with his fishingrod, or in the stubble with his gun (he is but a novice of a shot, by-the-bye), and he will be no trouble to any part of your family. I am, very affectionately yours, W. W."

They arrived at Abbotsford on the 21st September. Wordsworth gives a very interesting, though sad and touching, account of the visit in the note dictated to Miss Fenwick. Sir Walter, his son Major Scott, and Anne his daughter, the Lockharts, Allan the artist, and Laidlaw, Scott's friend, were at Abbotsford with some others-one of Burns's sons having just left. Songs were sung in the evening, and old ballads chaunted to the playing of the harp, while humorous stories were told, and acted merrily; and Sir Walter-though much changed from the bright hopeful man he was when, with

*Afterwards Bishop Wordsworth of St. Andrews.