Unfortunately, however, even “one crowded hour of glorious life” may sometimes have a “sensual” inspiration, and in these days of youthful adventure, too many such hours seem to have owed their inspiration to the Scottish peasant’s chief bane, the Highland whisky.  In his eager search after the old ballads of the Border, Scott had many a blithe adventure, which ended only too often in a carouse.  It was soon after this time that he first began those raids into Liddesdale, of which all the world has enjoyed the records in the sketches—­embodied subsequently in Guy Mannering—­of Dandie Dinmont, his pony Dumple, and the various Peppers and Mustards from whose breed there were afterwards introduced into Scott’s own family, generations of terriers, always named, as Sir Walter expressed it, after “the cruet.”  I must quote the now classic record of those youthful escapades:—­

“Eh me,” said Mr. Shortreed, his companion in all these Liddesdale raids, “sic an endless fund of humour and drollery as he had then wi’ him.  Never ten yards but we were either laughing or roaring and singing.  Wherever we stopped, how brawlie he suited himsel’ to everybody!  He aye did as the lave did; never made himsel’ the great man or took ony airs in the company.  I’ve seen him in a’ moods in these jaunts, grave and gay, daft and serious, sober and drunk—­(this, however, even in our wildest rambles, was but rare)—­but drunk or sober he was aye the gentleman.  He looked excessively heavy and stupid when he was fou, but he was never out o’ gude humour.”

One of the stories of that time will illustrate better the wilder days of Scott’s youth than any comment:—­

“On reaching one evening,” says Mr. Lockhart, “some Charlieshope or other (I forget the name) among those wildernesses, they found a kindly reception as usual:  but to their agreeable surprise, after some days of hard living, a measured and orderly hospitality as respected liquor.  Soon after supper, at which a bottle of elderberry wine alone had been produced, a young student of divinity who happened to be in the house was called upon to take the ‘big ha’ Bible,’ in the good old fashion of Burns’ Saturday Night:  and some progress had been already made in the service, when the good man of the farm, whose ‘tendency,’ as Mr. Mitchell says, ‘was soporific,’ scandalized his wife and the dominie by starting suddenly from his knees, and rubbing his eyes, with a stentorian exclamation of ’By ——! here’s the keg at last!’ and in tumbled, as he spake the word, a couple of sturdy herdsmen, whom, on hearing, a day before, of the advocate’s approaching visit, he had despatched to a certain smuggler’s haunt at some considerable distance in quest of a supply of run brandy from the Solway frith.  The pious ‘exercise’ of the household was hopelessly interrupted.  With a thousand apologies for his hitherto shabby entertainment, this jolly Elliot or Armstrong had the welcome