it was the works I had taken in hand to publish, for he says, “I expected to see you before I should have thought of publishing the letter on the Revolution, and hoped to whet your almost blunted purpose about doing that and some other things yourself.”  And again afterwards—­“it would have been easy to have written to enquire into your intentions, indeed I intended to do so, but the thing had gone out of my head.”  Why did you intend to write to me, Sir Walter, about intentions which you have said you were unconscious had any existence?  But who can dare to be angry with Sir Walter Scott?  Who could be savage enough to be angry with the meanest individual who could write with so much good nature and bonhommie as he displays in his letter?  Had one particle of angry feeling lurked in my bosom against him, I should have merited scourging.  My answer was as follows....’

    [14] sic for 22nd May.

Sir Thomas was unable to accept Sir Walter’s invitation, but proposed to call on him, and received the following reply:—­

’My dear Sir Thomas,—­I am much mortified at finding that by a peremptory message from my builder at Abbotsford, who is erecting an addition to my house, I must set out there to-morrow at twelve.  But we must meet for all that, and I hope you will do me the honour to breakfast here, though at the unchristian hour of Nine o’clock, and if you come as soon after eight as you will, you will find me ready to receive you.  I mention this because I must be in the court at Ten.  I hope this will suit you till time permits a longer interview.  I shall therefore expect you accordingly.—­Yours very sincerely,

  WALTER SCOTT.

  ‘Castle Street, Friday’

  ’It gives me sincere regret that this unexpected news[15] prevents my
  having the pleasure of receiving you on Monday.’

    [15] This word doubtful.  It is indistinctly written.

Sir Thomas proceeds in his narrative:—­

’N.B.—­I kept my appointment accurately to the hour and minute, and found the Great Unknown dashing off long foolscap sheets of what was soon to interest the eyes, and the minds, and the hearts of the whole reading world; preparing a literary food for the voracious maw of the many-headed monster, every mouth of which was gaping wide in expectation of it.  He received me most kindly, though I could not help secretly grudging, more than I have no doubt he did, every moment of the time he so good-naturedly sacrificed to me.  He repeated in words, and, if possible, in stronger terms, the apologies contained in his letter.  I offered him my Manuscript and my humble services.  He insisted that he would not rob me of the fruits of my pious labours.  “As I know something of publishing,” said he, with an intelligent smile on his countenance, “I shall be able to give you some assistance and advice as to how to bring the work properly and