er some suggestion from that house had been made to him
which appeared to him to interfere with his independence as an author,
that he was one of "the Black Hussars" of literature, who would not
endure that sort of treatment. Constable, who was really very liberal,
hurt his sensitive pride through the _Edinburgh Review_, of which
Jeffrey was editor. Thus the Ballantynes' great deficiency--that
neither of them had any independent capacity for the publishing
business, which would in any way hamper his discretion--though this is
just what commercial partners ought to have had, or they were not
worth their salt,--was, I believe, precisely what induced this Black
Hussar of literature, in spite of his otherwise considerable sagacity
and knowledge of human nature, to select them for partners.

And yet it is strange that he not only chose them, but chose the
inferior and lighter-headed of the two for far the most important and
difficult of the two businesses. In the printing concern there was at
least this to be said, that of part of the business--the selection of
type and the superintendence of the executive part,--James Ballantyne
was a good judge. He was never apparently a good man of business, for
he kept no strong hand over the expenditure and accounts, which is the
core of success in every concern. But he understood types; and his
customers were publishers, a wealthy and judicious class, who were not
likely all to fail together. But to select a "Rigdumfunnidos,"--a
dissipated comic-song singer and horse-fancier,--for the head of a
publishing concern, was indeed a kind of insanity. It is told of John
Ballantyne, that after the successful negotiation with Constable for
_Rob Roy_, and while "hopping up and down in his glee," he exclaimed,
"'Is Rob's gun here, Mr. Scott? Would you object to my trying the old
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 bird in the adjoining shrubbery. 'And by-the-bye,' said he, as
they continued listening, ''tis a long time, Johnny, since we have had
"The Cobbler of Kelso."' Mr. Puff forthwith jumped up on a mass of
stone, and seating himself in the proper attitude of one working with
an awl, be