Abbotsford (Scotland) -- Description and travel; Scott, Walter, 1771-1832 -- Homes and haunts
To Morritt we find him writing: 'I have fixed only two points
respecting my intended cottage--one is that it shall be in my garden,
or rather kailyard; the other, that the little drawing-room shall open
into a little conservatory, in which conservatory there shall be a
fountain. These are articles of taste which I have long since
determined upon; but I hope before a stone of my paradise is begun we
shall meet and collogue upon it'; but soon after, as an excuse for
beginning 'Rokeby,' his fourth verse romance, he says: 'I want to build
my cottage a little better than my limited finances will permit out of
my ordinary income.' Later on he tells Lord Byron that 'he is
labouring to contradict an old proverb, and make a silk purse out of a
sow's ear--namely, to convert a bare haugh and brae into a comfortable
farm'; and to Sarah Smith, a London tragic actress, he writes:
'Everybody, after abusing me for buying the ugliest place on Tweedside,
begins now to come over to my side. I think it will be pretty six or
seven years hence, whoever may come to see and enjoy, for the sweep of
the river is a very fine one of almost a mile in length, and the ground
is very unequal, and therefore well adapted for showing off trees.'
Scott, as was said, took a profound interest in tree-planting. Had he
not been able to add by purchase the neighbouring hills to his original
lands, it was said that he would have requested permission of the
owners to plant the grounds, for the mere pleasure of the occupation,
and to beautify the landscape. 'I saunter about,' he said to Lady
Abercorn, 'from nine in the morning till five at night with a plaid
about my shoulders and an immense bloodhound at my heels, and stick in
sprigs which are to become trees when I shall have no eyes to look at
them!' He had a painter's as well as a poet's eye for scenery: 'You
can have no idea of the exquisite delight of a planter,' he said; 'he
is like a painter laying on his colours--at every moment he sees his
effects coming out. There is no art or occupation comparable to this;
it is full of past, present, and future enjoyment. I look back to the
time when there was not a tree here, only bare heath; I look round and
see thousands of trees growing up, all of which--I may say almost each
of which--have received my personal attention. I remember five years
ago looking forward, with the most delighted expectation, to this very
hour, and as each year has passed the expectation has gone on
increasing. I do the same now; I anticipate what this plantation and
that one will presently be, if only taken care of, and there is not a
spot of which I do not watch the progress. Unlike building, or even
painting, or indeed any other kind of pursuit, this has no end, and is
never interrupted, but goes on from day to day and from year to year
with a perpetually augmenting interest. Farming I hate; what have I to
do with fattening and killing beasts, or raising corn only to cut it
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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