son,
the friend of Burns, was ready, for one, with The Moorland Wedding, or
Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut;--and so it went on, until Scott and
Erskine, with any clerical or very staid personage that had chanced to
be admitted, saw fit to withdraw. Then the scene was changed. The
claret and olives made way for broiled bones and a mighty bowl of
punch; and when a few glasses of the hot beverage had restored his
powers, James opened _ore rotundo_ on the merits of the forthcoming
romance. "One chapter, one chapter only," was the cry. After "_Nay,
by'r Lady, nay!_" and a few more coy shifts, the proof sheets were at
length produced, and James, with many a prefatory hem, read aloud what
he considered as the most striking dialogue they contained.

The first I heard so read was the interview between Jeanie Deans, the
Duke of Argyle, and Queen Caroline, in Richmond Park; and
notwithstanding some spice of the pompous tricks to which he was
addicted, I must say he did the inimitable scene great justice. At all
events, the effect it produced was deep and memorable, and no wonder
that the exulting typographer's _one bumper more to Jedediah
Cleishbotham_ preceded his parting stave, which was uniformly The Last
Words of Marmion, executed certainly with no contemptible rivalry of
Braham.

What a different affair was a dinner, although probably including many
of the same guests, at the junior partner's! He in those days
retained, I think, no private {p.259} apartments attached to his
auction-rooms in Hanover Street, over the door of which he still kept
emblazoned "John Ballantyne and Company, Booksellers." At any rate,
such of his entertainments as I ever saw Scott partake of, were given
at his villa near to the Frith of Forth, by Trinity;--a retreat which
the little man had named "Harmony Hall," and invested with an air of
dainty voluptuous finery, contrasting strikingly enough with the
substantial citizen-like snugness of his elder brother's domestic
appointments. His house was surrounded by gardens so contrived as to
seem of considerable extent, having many a shady tuft, trellised
alley, and mysterious alcove, interspersed among their bright
parterres. It was a fairy-like labyrinth, and there was no want of
pretty Armidas, such as they might be, to glide half-seen among its
mazes. The sitting-rooms opened upon gay and perfumed conservatories,
and John's professional excursions to Paris and Brussels in quest of
objects of _virtu_, h