“My dear James I return the proofs of Tales, and send some leaves, copy of St Valentine’s. Pray get on with this in case we should fall through again. When the press does not follow me, I get on slowly and ill, and put myself in mind of Jamie Balfour, who could run when he could not stand still. We must go on or stop altogether. Yours,” &c. &c.
“I think you are hypercritical in your commentary. I
counted the hours with accuracy. In the morning the citizens went to Kinfauns
and returned. This puts over the hour of noon, then the dinner-hour.
Afterwards, and when the king has had his devotions in private, comes all the
scene in the court-yard. The sun sets at half-past five on the 14th February;
and if we suppose it to be within an hour of evening, it was surely
| NOTES TO BALLANTYNE—1828. | 111 |
“I cannot afford to be merciful to Master Oliver Proudfoot, although I am heartily glad there is any one of the personages sufficiently interesting to make you care whether he lives or dies. But it would cost my cancelling half a volume, and rather than do so, I would, like the valiant Baron of Clackmannan, kill the whole characters, the author, and the printer. Besides, entre nous, the resurrection of Athelstane was a botch. It struck me when I was reading Ivanhoe over the other day.
“I value your criticism as much as ever, but the worst is, my faults are better known to myself than to you. Tell a young beauty that she wears an unbecoming dress, or an ill-fashioned ornament, or speaks too loud, or commits any other mistake which she can correct, and she will do so, if she has sense and a good opinion of your taste. But tell a fading beauty, that her hair is getting grey, her wrinkles apparent, her gait heavy, and that she has no business in a ball-room but to be ranged against the wall as an ever-green, and you will afflict the poor old lady, without rendering her any service. She knows all that better than you. I am sure the old lady in question takes pain enough at her toilette, and gives you, her trusty suivante, enough of trouble. Yours truly,
