this with any
certainty or at least who can easily gain the means of ascertaining
it, and as Constable seemed to think there was a possibility that
after the lapse of so much time it might be regarded as matter of
history and as a record of the amiable character of your accomplished
sister, and seemed to suppose there was some probability of such a
favour being granted, you will consider me as putting the question on
his suggestion. It could be printed as the Journal of a lady during
the last illness of a General Officer of distinction during her
attendance upon his last illness, or something to that purpose.
Perhaps it may be my own high admiration of the contents of this
heartrending diary which makes me suppose a possibility that after
such a lapse of years, the publication may possibly (as that which
cannot but do the highest honour to the memory of the amiable
authoress) may not be judged altogether inadmissible. You may and
will, of course, act in this matter with your natural feeling of
consideration, and ascertain whether that which cannot but do honour
to the memory of those who are gone can be made public with the sacred
regard due to the feelings of survivors.

[Footnote 35: Lady De Lancey married again in 1819 Captain Henry
Hervey, Madras Infantry, and died in 1822. _Gentleman's Magazine_,
vol. lxxxix, Part I., p. 368, and vol. cii., Part II., p. 179.]

"Lady Scott begs to add the pleasure she must have in seeing Mrs Hall
and you at Abbotsford, and in speedy expectation of that honour I am
always,

"Dear Sir,

"Most truly yours,

"WALTER SCOTT.

"ABBOTSFORD, 13_th_ _October_ 1825."

* * * * *

"DEVONSHIRE TERRACE,

"_Tuesday evening_, 16_th_ _March_ 1841.

"MY DEAR HALL,

"For I see it must be 'juniores priores,' and that I must demolish the
ice at a blow.

"I have not had courage until last night to read Lady De Lancey's
narrative, and, but for your letter, I should not have mastered it
even then. One glance at it, when through your kindness it first
arrived, had impressed me with a foreboding of its terrible truth, and
I really have shrunk from it in pure lack of heart.

"After working at Barnaby all day, and wandering about the most
wretched and distressful streets for a couple of hours in the
evening--searching for some pictures I wanted to build upon--I went at
it, at about ten o'clock. To say that the reading that most
astonishing and tremendous accou