The Press. SATURDAY, JULY 11,1914.

Press, Volume L, Issue 15017, 11 July 1914, Page 10

The Press. SATURDAY, JULY 11,1914.

••Waverley;"—a Centenary. " Bats off to .Sir Walter 1 On July 7th, 1814, was published in three volumes, duodecimo,' the first edition of "Waverley, or 'Tis Sixty Years Since" —-a great event in ._; tho history of Jotters. Stigmatised by Gifford, of the "Quarterly," as "the gratuitous * invention of a facetious fancy," whatever that surprising phrase may mean, it bus discredited the. ingenuous gentleman's rash assumption of the gift of prophecy. For not sixty, but a hundred, years have rolled away since then, and oven-yet "Waverley" is not regarded, far less disregarded, as "a mere romance." Lord Holland Avas -learer to the mark when asked for his 3c opinion of the new book. "Opinion? none of us go to bed - all night slept but my gout." But 3j&jw__!^ : -'_£'.'.' l.hi« & U»1 H " !*•*.'- A-MtnA-nf

hands. Thoy have long since passed into the sacred circle of the accepted great, and though tbe voice of the superior person is sometimes raised against them, still that may be safely counted as an inverted tribute. Everybody knows, or should know, for it is written at large in all compondiuros of literary history, how, at the age of 43, Scott, then in tho zenith of his fame as a writer of galloping narrativo verse, and lyric that at limes approached perfection, determined to essay a neAV role as a writer of novels, and to avoid the adventitious aid of his great poetical reputation, and the manifold inconvenienco of a too groat publicity, by anonymity. What Miss EdgeAvorth had done for Ireland, ho thought he might attempt for Scotland, though, with a fine modesty, he disclaimed any hope of rivalling "the rich humour, pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact" displayed in her accomplished works. He had by him at Abbotsford a half-forgotten MS., "laid aAvay in tho drawers of an old writing-desk," long relegated to a lumber garret, This ho lit on by happy chance when hunting for fishing-tackle for a guest. Tho fragment, written some nihe years before, was of course tho first six chapters of the famous novel. It told tho story of Wavcricy's parentage and early years, and etched with inimitable skill the foibles of tbe dignified old higfi Tory magnate. Sir Everard Waverley, of Wavcrlcy Honour, and his gentlo old sister Rachel, and of their non-juring chaplain, the eccentric tutor, and irrepressible controversialist, Mr Pembroke, and that forward enchantress, the fair "Cecilia Stubbs." There aro those j who resent those opening chapters, and Avish them away. Yet they have the quiet charm of a sketch by Miss Austen or Mrs Gaskell, give the clue to the odd mixture of pride and prejudice, courage and irresolution in the hero's character, and "by showing how perfect a peace had settled on England during the inglorious early years of the Georges, act as a striking foil to the raids and forays that still disturbed life on tho borders of the Highlands, and to the turbulent scenes that were to follow the landing of the Young Chevalier. It is ono of the quaint inaccuracies of Carlyle's dyspeptic essay on Scott that ho speaks of tho pains hestowedl on the composition of "Waverley." When ho wrote it, be was actually reviewing Lockhart's "Life of Scott"—a biography as inexhaustible as Boswell's, and as rich in incomparably good " —ana." Had he.read his Lockhart more carefully he must have learnt that "tho "last two volumes of 'Waverley' wore "written'in three weeks," thrown off in fact as a pleasant relief to more arduous labours. And in the same chapter he should have.lit on profitable matter for his moralising pen in the delightful reminiscence of tho dinner in the -house opposite, and the-conver-sion of the idle apprentice "to diligence, by the disturbing vision of the •-* confounded hand" ' that . never Stopped. A good deal of* nonsense has been-'-'written- one time, or another about Scott's habit of rapid composition.". Tho man was maturo when he took ,to writing tales, and pre-emin-ently ono of Bacon's "fullmen." He was steeped in matter,.rich in varied experience, radiantly alive. "Wittij all "that immensity of work and study"—■ a glance at the list of his''total- output will show'its amazingly wide extent— "his mmd kept-flexible,:glancing to all ,' 1 points of natural interest,' ' wrote R/. I>. Stevenson, and it would be hard to put more truth in fewer words. Above all. he was a born teller of tales, practised from his schooldays in the art of catchirig and sustaining interest. Small . wonder if his pen galloped when ho put it to paper. Ho was not a George Eliot. Subtle analysis of character and sustained digressions on ethical points :were f not in his line. He was not a Meredith. Verbal 'audacities and an over-exquisite avoidance of the plain highway of speech, made small appeal to him. What he could do When he chose''to'elaborate, he showed once for all in "Wandering Willies Tale," a gem of proso as flawless as "Proud -laisie" is in verse. But his general concern was rather with things than Avith words, and ho let his Pegasus choose its own path. The result is a gallery of. scenes and characters drawn from marry centuries and varied lands, instinct - with life, irradiated with humour, filled with the love of all things noble and of good report,, truth, honour, courage, chivalry, loyalty, and warm-hearted charity, the unflinching virtues of- his own most gallant life. In all that glowing gallery there is no portrait more attractive or moro obviously geriu.no than that of the bravo old soldier-pedant, Cosmo Bradwardine of Tully-Veolan, who held his barony by tho quaint tenure, "detrahendi _eu "exuendi caligas regis post battaliam," of drawing off or removing his King's boots after a battle. Rose and Flora, happily contrasted pair, the noble veteran, Colonel Gardiner, and the unbending Major Morton, gifted Gilfillan, that dour "professor," and the dashing and intriguing chieftain, Fergus Maclvor, Baillie Macwheebie, Davie Gcilatloy—every character and incident in the crowded pages of the boole clamour for mention. But tho end of an article is no place to attempt an enumeration of all that clings to the memory of those that love their "Wav- " erley." And as for those that do not —for thought is freo in the realm of literature., there are no eoercivo measures of reconciliation in that united kingdom—to them >vo can only say, as the Archbishop said to Gil Bias, "Je "voris souhaite toutcs sortes de proa'•perit_ avec nn peu plus de gout!"