accepted without hesitation; and thenceforth, accordingly, he threw
his daily letters to his wife into the form of communications meant
for an imaginary group, consisting of a spinster sister, a statistical
laird, a rural clergyman of the Presbyterian Kirk, and a brother, a
veteran officer on half-pay. The rank of this last personage
corresponded, however, exactly with that of his own elder brother,
John Scott, who also, like the Major of the book, had served in the
Duke of York's unfortunate campaign of 1797; the sister is only a
slender disguise for his aunt Christian Rutherford, already often
mentioned; Lord Somerville, long President of the Board of
Agriculture, was Paul's laird; and the shrewd and unbigoted Dr.
Douglas of Galashiels was his "minister of the gospel." These
epistles, after having been devoured by the little circle at
Abbotsford, were transmitted to Major John Scott, his mother, and Miss
Rutherford, in Edinburgh; from their hands they passed to those of
James Ballantyne and Mr. Erskine, both of whom assured me that the
copy ultimately sent to the press consisted, in great part, of the
identical sheets that {p.045} had successively reached Melrose
through the post. The rest had of course been, as Ballantyne expresses
it, "somewhat cobbled;" but, on the whole, Paul's Letters are to be
considered as a true and faithful journal of this expedition;
insomuch, that I might perhaps content myself, in this place, with a
simple reference to that delightful volume. He found time, however, to
write letters during his absence from Britain, to some others of his
friends; and a specimen or two of these may interest the reader. I
have also gathered, from the companions of the journey, a few more
particulars, which Scott's modesty withheld him from recording; and
some trivial circumstances which occur to me, from recollection of his
own conversation, may also be acceptable.

But I hope that, if the reader has not perused Paul's Letters
recently, he will refresh his memory, before he proceeds further, by
bestowing an hour on that genuine fragment of the author's
autobiography. He is now, unless he had the advantage of Scott's
personal familiarity, much better acquainted with the man than he
could have been before he took up this compilation of his private
correspondence--and especially before he perused the full diary of the
lighthouse yacht in 1814; and a thousand little turns and
circumstances which may have, when