some time with
his regiment at Gibraltar.]

[Footnote 117: Colonel Russell of Ashestiel, married to a
sister of Scott's mother.]

The letter, of which the following is an extract, must have been
written in October or November--Scott having been in Liddesdale, and
again in Perthshire, during the interval. It is worth quoting for the
little domestic allusions with which it concludes, and which every one
who has witnessed the discipline of a Presbyterian family of the old
school, at the time of preparation for _the Communion_, will perfectly
understand. Scott's father, though on particular occasions he could
permit himself, like Saunders Fairford, to play the part of a good
Amphitryon, was habitually ascetic in his habits. I have heard his son
tell, that it was common with him, if any one observed that the soup
was good, to taste it again, and say,--"Yes, {p.209} it is too good,
bairns," and dash a tumbler of cold water into his plate. It is easy,
therefore, to imagine with what rigidity he must have enforced the
ultra-Catholic severities which marked, in those days, the yearly or
half-yearly _retreat_ of the descendants of John Knox.

TO MISS CHRISTIAN RUTHERFORD, ASHESTIEL.

Previous to my ramble, I stayed a single day in town, to witness
the exit of the _ci-devant_ Jacobin, Mr. Watt. It was a very
solemn scene, but the pusillanimity of the unfortunate victim was
astonishing, considering the boldness of his nefarious plans. It
is matter of general regret that his associate Downie should have
received a reprieve, which, I understand, is now prolonged for a
second month, I suppose to wait the issue of the London trials.
Our volunteers are now completely embodied, and, notwithstanding
the heaviness of their dress, have a martial and striking
appearance. Their accuracy in firing and manoevring excites the
surprise of military gentlemen, who are the best judges of their
merit in that way. Tom is very proud of the grenadier company, to
which he belongs, which has indisputably carried off the palm
upon all public occasions. And now, give me leave to ask you
whether the approaching _winter_ does not remind you of your snug
parlor in George's Street? Do you not feel a little uncomfortable
when you see

"how bleak and bare
He wanders o'er the heights of _Yair_?"

Amidst a