The closing sentence of this letter refers to a fit of the gout which had disabled the Duke's right hand, but not cooled his zeal on a subject which, throughout January, 1818, occupied, I firmly believe, much more of his correspondent's thoughts by day and dreams by night, than any one, or perhaps than all others, besides. The time {p.206} now approached when a Commission to examine the Crown-room in the Castle of Edinburgh, which had sprung from one of Scott's conversations with the Prince Regent in 1815, was at length to be acted upon. The minstrel of the "Rough Clan" had taken care that the name of his chief should stand at the head of the document; but the Duke's now precarious health ultimately prevented him from being present at the discovery of the long buried and almost forgotten Regalia of Scotland. The two following letters on this subject are of the same date--Edinburgh, 14th January, 1818. TO THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, ETC., ETC., BOWHILL. MY DEAR LORD,--You will hear from the Advocate that the Commission for opening the Regalia is arrived, and that the Commissioners held their first meeting yesterday. They have named next Wednesday (in case your Grace can attend) for opening the mysterious chest. So this question will be put to rest forever. I remember among the rebel company which debauched my youth, there was a drunken old Tory, who used to sing a ballad made about these same Regalia at the time of the Union, in which they were all destined to the basest uses; the crown, for example, "To make a can for Brandy Nan To puke in when she's tipsy." The rest of the song is in a tone of equally pure humor; the chorus ran:-- "Farewell, thou ancient kingdom-- Farewell, thou ancient kingdom. Who sold thyself for English pelf-- Was ever such a thing done?" I hope your Grace feels yourself sufficiently interested in the recovery of these ancient symbols of national independence, so long worn by your forefathers, and which were never profaned by the touch of a monarch of a foreign {p.207} dynasty. Here is fine planting weather. I trust it is as good in the Forest and on Tweedside. Ever your Grace's truly faithful Walter SCOTT. TO J. B. S. MORRITT, ESQ., M. P., ROKEBY.