The second essay in fiction of an author who has triumphed in his first romance is a doubtful and perilous1 adventure. The writer is apt to become self-conscious, to remember the advice of his critics, — a fatal error, — and to tremble before the shadow of his own success. He knows that he will have many enemies, that hundreds of people will be ready to find fault and to vow3 that he is “written out.” Scott was not unacquainted with these apprehensions4. After publishing “Marmion” he wrote thus to Lady Abercorn:—
“No one acquires a certain degree of popularity without exciting an equal degree of malevolence5 among those who, either from rivalsbip or from the mere6 wish to pull down what others have set up, are always ready to catch the first occasion to lower the favoured individual to what they call his ‘real standard.’ Of this I have enough of experience, and my political interferences, however useless to my friends, have not failed to make me more than the usual number of enemies. I am therefore bound, in justice to myself and to those whose good opinion has hitherto protected me, not to peril2 myself too frequently. The naturalists7 tell us that if you destroy the web which the spider has just made, the insect must spend many days in inactivity till he has assembled within his person the materials necessary to weave another. Now, after writing a work of imagination one feels in nearly the same exhausted8 state as the spider. I believe no man now alive writes more rapidly than I do (no great recommendation); but I never think of making verses till I have a sufficient stock of poetical9 ideas to supply them, — I would as soon join the Israelites in Egypt in their heavy task of making bricks without clay. Besides, I know, as a small farmer, that good husbandry consists in not taking the same crop too frequently from the same soil; and as turnips10 come after wheat, according to the best rules of agriculture, I take it that an edition of Swift will do well after such a scourging11 crop as ‘Marmion.’”
[March 13, 1808. Copied from the Collection of Lady Napier and Ettrick.]
These fears of the brave, then, were not unfamiliar12 to Scott; but he audaciously disregarded all of them in the composition of “Guy Mannering.” He had just spun13 his web, like the spider of his simile14, he had just taken off his intellectual fields the “scourging crop” of “The Lord of the Isles15,” he had just received the discouraging news of its comparative failure, when he “buckled to,” achieved “Guy Mannering “ in six weeks, and published it. Moliere tells us that he wrote “Les Facheux” in a fortnight; and a French critic adds that it reads indeed as if it had been written in, a fortnight. Perhaps a self-confident censor17 might venture a similar opinion about “Guy Mannering.” It assuredly shows traces of haste; the plot wanders at its own will; and we may believe that the Author often — did not see his own way out of the wood. But there is little harm in that. “If I do not know what is coming next,” a modern novelist has remarked, “how can the public know?” Curiosity, at least, is likely to be excited by this happy-go-lucky manner of Scott’s. “The worst of it is;” as he wrote to Lady Abercorn about his poems (June 9,1808), “that I am not very good or patient in slow and careful composition; and sometimes I remind myself of the drunken man, who could run long after he could not walk.” Scott could certainly run very well, though averse18 to a plodding19 motion.
[He was probably thinking of a famous Edinburgh character, “Singing Jamie Balfour.” Jamie was found very drunk and adhering to the pavement one night. He could not raise himself; but when helped to his feet, ran his preserver a race to the tavern20, and won!]
The account of the year’s work which preceded “Guy Mannering” is given by Lockhart, and is astounding21. In 1814 Scott had written, Lockhart believes, the greater part of the “Life of Swift,” most of “Waverley” and the “Lord of the Isles;” he had furnished essays to the 14 Encyclopaedia,” and had edited “The Memorie of the Somervilles.” The spider might well seem spun out, the tilth exhausted. But Scott had a fertility, a spontaneity, of fancy equalled only, if equalled at all, by Alexandre Dumas.
On November 7 of this laborious22 year, 1814, Scott was writing to Mr. Joseph Train, thanking him for a parcel of legendary23 lore24, including the Galloway tale of the wandering astrologer and a budget of gypsy traditions. Falling in the rich soil of Scott’s imagination, the tale of the astrologer yielded a name and an opening to “Guy Mannering,” while the gypsy lore blossomed into the legend of Meg Merrilies. The seed of the novel was now sown. But between November 11 and December 25 Scott was writing the three last cantos of the “Lord of the Isles.” Yet before the “Lord of the Isles” was published (Jan. 18, 1815), two volumes of “Guy Mannering “ were in print (Letter to Morritt, Jan. 17, 1815.) The novel was issued on Feb. 14, 1815. Scott, as he says somewhere, was like the turnspit dog, into whose wheel a hot cinder25 is dropped to encourage his activity. Scott needed hot cinders26 in the shape of proof-sheets fresh from the press, and he worked most busily when the printer’s devil was waiting. In this case, not only the printer’s devil, but the wolf was at the door. The affairs of the Ballantynes clamoured for moneys In their necessity and his own, Scott wrote at the rate of a volume in ten days, and for some financial reason published “Guy Mannering” with Messrs. Longmans, not with Constable27. Scott was at this moment facing creditors28 and difficulties as Napoleon faced the armies of the Allies, — present everywhere, everywhere daring and successful. True, his “Lord of the Isles” was a disappointment, as James Ballantyne informed him. “‘Well, James, so be it; but you know we must not droop29, for we cannot afford to give over. Since one line has failed, we must just stick to something else.’ And so he dismissed me, and resumed his novel.”
In these circumstances, far from inspiring, was “Guy Mannering” written and hurried through the press. The story has its own history: one can watch the various reminiscences and experiences of life that crystallized together in Scott’s mind, and grouped themselves fantastically into his unpremeditated plot. Sir Walter gives, in the preface of 1829, the legend which he heard from John MacKinlay, his father’s Highland30 servant, and on which he meant to found a tale more in Hawthorn’s manner than in his own. That plan he changed in the course of printing,” leaving only just enough of astrology to annoy pedantic31 reviewers and foolish Puritans.’ Whence came the rest of the plot, — the tale of the long-lost heir, and so on? The true heir, “kept out of his own,” and returning in disguise, has been a favourite character ever since Homer sang of Odysseus, and probably long before that. But it is just possible that Scott had a certain modern instance in his mind. In turning over the old manuscript diary at Branxholme Park (mentioned in a note to “Waverley”), the Editor lighted on a singular tale, which, in the diarist’s opinion, might have suggested “Guy Mannering “ to Sir Walter. The resemblance between the story of Vanbeest Brown and the hero of the diarist was scanty32; but in a long letter of Scott’s to Lady Abercorn (May 21, 1813), a the Editor finds Sir Walter telling his correspondent the very narrative33 recorded in the Branxholme Park diary. Singular things happen, Sir Walter says; and he goes on to describe a case just heard in the court where he is sitting as Clerk of Sessions. Briefly34, the anecdote35 is this: A certain Mr. Carruthers of Dormont had reason to suspect his wife’s fidelity36. While proceedings37 for a divorce were pending38, Mrs. Carruthers bore a daughter, of whom her husband, of course, was legally the father. But he did not believe in the relationship, and sent the infant girl to be brought up, in ignorance of her origin and in seclusion39, among the Cheviot Hills. Here she somehow learned the facts of her own story. She married a Mr. Routledge, the son of a yeoman, and “compounded” her rights (but not those of her issue) for a small sung of ready money, paid by old Dormont. She bears a boy; then she and her husband died in poverty. Their son was sent by a friend to the East Indies, and was presented with a packet of papers, which he left unopened at a lawyer’s. The young man made a fortune in India, returned to Scotland, and took a shooting in Dumfriesshire, near bormont, his ancestral home. He lodged40 at a small inn hard by, and the landlady41, struck by his name, began to gossip with him about his family history. He knew nothing of the facts which the landlady disclosed, but, impressed by her story, sent for and examined his neglected packet of papers. Then he sought legal opinion, and was advised, by President Blair, that he had a claim worth presenting on the estate of Dormont. “The first decision of the cause,” writes Scott, “was favourable42.” The true heir celebrated43 his legal victory by a dinner-party, and his friends saluted44 him as “Dormont.” Next morning he was found dead. Such is the true tale. As it occupied Scott’s mind in 1813, and as he wrote “Guy Mannering” in 1814-15, it is not impossible that he may have borrowed his wandering heir, who returns by pure accident to his paternal46 domains47, and there learns his origin at a woman’s lips, from the Dormont case. The resemblance of the stories, at least, was close enough to strike a shrewd observer some seventy years ago.
Another possible source of the plot — a more romantic origin, certainly — is suggested by Mr. Robert Chambers48 in “Illustrations of the Author of ‘Waverley.’” A Maxwell of Glenormiston, “a religious and bigoted49 recluse,” sent his only son and heir to a Jesuit College in Flanders, left his estate in his brother’s management, and died. The wicked uncle alleged50 that the heir was also dead. The child, ignorant of his birth, grew up, ran away from the Jesuits at the age of sixteen, enlisted51 in the French army, fought at Fontenoy, got his colours, and, later, landed in the Moray Firth as a French officer in 1745. He went through the campaign, was in hiding in Lochaber after Drumossie, and in making for a Galloway port, was seized, and imprisoned52 in Dumfries. Here an old woman of his father’s household recognized him by “a mark which she remembered on his body.” His cause was taken up by friends; but the usurping53 uncle died, and Sir Robert Maxwell recovered his estates without a lawsuit54. This anecdote is quoted from the “New Monthly Magazine,” June, 1819. There is nothing to prove that Scott was acquainted with this adventure. Scott’s own experience, as usual, supplied him with hints for his characters. The phrase of Dominie Sampson’s father, “Please God, my bairn may live to wag his pow in a pulpit,” was uttered in his own hearing. There was a Bluegown, or Bedesman, like Edie Ochiltree, who had a son at Edinburgh College. Scott was kind to the son, the Bluegown asked him to dinner, and at this meal the old man made the remark about the pulpit and the pow.’ A similar tale is told by Scott in the Introduction to “The Antiquary” (1830). As for the good Dominie, Scott remarks that, for “certain particular reasons,” he must say what he has to say about his prototype “very generally.” Mr. Chambers’ finds the prototype in a Mr. James Sanson, tutor in the house of Mr. Thomas Scott, Sir Walter’s uncle. It seems very unlike Sir Walter to mention this excellent man almost by his name, and the tale about his devotion to his patron’s daughter cannot, apparently55, be true of Mr. James Sanson. The prototype of Pleydell, according to Sir Walter himself (Journal, June 19, 1830), was “my old friend Adam Rolland, Esq., in external circumstances, but not in frolic or fancy.” Mr. Chambers, however, finds the original in Mr. Andrew Crosbie, an advocate of great talents, who frolicked to ruin, and died in 1785. Scott may have heard tales of this patron of “High Jinks,” but cannot have known him much personally. Dandie Dinmont is simply the typical Border farmer. Mr. Shortreed, Scott’s companion in his Liddesdale raids, thought that Willie Elliot, in Millburnholm, was the great original. Scott did not meet Mr. James Davidson in Hindlee, owner of all the Mustards and Peppers, till some years after the novel was written. “Guy Mannering,” when read to him, sent Mr. Davidson to sleep. “The kind and manly56 character of Dandie, the gentle and delicious one of his wife,” and the circumstances of their home, were suggested, Lockhart thinks, by Scott’s friend, steward57, and amanuensis, Mr. William Laidlaw, by Mrs. Laidlaw, and by their farm among the braes of Yarrow. In truth, the Border was peopled then by Dandies and Ailies: nor is the race even now extinct in Liddesdale and Teviotdale, in Ettrick and Yarrow. As for Mustard and Pepper, their offspring too is powerful in the land, and is the deadly foe58 of vermin. The curious may consult Mr. Cook’s work on “The Dandie Dinmont Terrier.” The Duke of Buccleugh’s breed still resembles the fine example painted by Gainsborough in his portrait of the duke (of Scott’s time). “Tod Gabbie,” again, as Lockhart says, was studied from Tod Willie, the huntsman of the hills above Loch Skene. As for the Galloway scenery, Scott did not know it well, having only visited “the Kingdom” in 1793, when he was defending the too frolicsome59 Mr. McNaught, Minister of Girthon. The beautiful and lonely wilds of the Glenkens, in central Galloway, where traditions yet linger, were, unluckily, terra incognita to Scott. A Galloway story of a murder and its detection by the prints of the assassin’s boots inspired the scene where Dirk Hatteraick is traced by similar means. In Colonel Mannering, by the way, the Ettrick Shepherd recognized “Walter Scott, painted by himself.”
The reception of “Guy Mannering” was all that could be wished. William Erskine and Ballantyne were “of opinion that it is much more interesting than ‘Waverley.’” Mr. Morritt (March, 1815) pronounced himself to be “quite charmed with Dandie, Meg Merrilies, and Dirk Hatteraick, — characters as original as true to nature, and as forcibly conceived as, I had almost said, could have been drawn60 by Shakspeare himself.” The public were not less appreciative61. Two thousand copies, at a guinea, were sold the day after publication, and three thousand more were disposed of in three months. The professional critics acted just as Scott, speaking in general terms, had prophesied62 that they would. Let us quote the “British Critic” (1815).
“There are few spectacles in the literary world more lamentable63 than to view a successful author, in his second appearance before the public, limping lamely65 after himself, and treading tediously and awkwardly in the very same round, which, in his first effort, he had traced with vivacity66 and applause. We would not be harsh enough to say that the Author of ‘Waverley’ is in this predicament, but we are most unwillingly67 compelled to assert that the second effort falls far below the standard of the first. In ‘Waverley’ there was brilliancy of genius. . . . In ‘Guy Mannering’ there is little else beyond the wild sallies of an original genius, the bold and irregular efforts of a powerful but an exhausted mind. Time enough has not been allowed him to recruit his resources, both of anecdote and wit; but, encouraged by the credit so justly, bestowed68 upon one of then most finished portraits ever presented to the world, he has followed up the exhibition with a careless and hurried sketch69, which betrays at once the weakness and the strength of its author.
“The character of Dirk Hatteraick is a faithful copy from nature, — it is one of those moral monsters which make us almost ashamed of our kind. Still, amidst the ruffian and murderous brutality70 of the smuggler71, some few feelings of our common nature are thrown in with no less ingenuity72 than truth. . . . The remainder of the personages are very little above the cast of a common lively novel. . . . The Edinburgh lawyer is perhaps the most original portrait; nor are the saturnalia of the Saturday evenings described without humour. The Dominie is overdrawn73 and inconsistent; while the young ladies present nothing above par16 . . . .
“There are parts of this novel which none but one endowed with the sublimity74 of genius could have dictated75; there are others which any ordinary character cobbler might as easily have stitched together. There are sparks both of pathos76 and of humour, even in the dullest parts, which could be elicited77 from none but the Author of ‘Waverley.’ . . . If, indeed, we have spoken in a manner derogatory to this, his later effort, our censure78 arises only from its comparison with the former. . .
“We cannot, however, conclude this article without remarking the absurd influence which our Author unquestionably attributes to the calculations of judicial79 astrology. No power of chance alone could have fulfilled the joint80 predictions both of Guy Mannering and Meg Merrilies; we cannot suppose that the Author can be endowed with sufficient folly81 to believe in the influence of planetary conjunctions himself, nor to have so miserable82 an idea of the understanding of his readers as to suppose them capable of a similar belief. We must also remember that the time of this novel is not in the dark ages, but scarcely forty years since; no aid, therefore, can be derived83 from the general tendency of popular superstition84. What the clew may be to this apparent absurdity85, we cannot imagine; whether the Author be in jest or earnest we do not know, and we are willing to suppose in this dilemma86 that he does not know himself.”
The “Monthly Review” sorrowed, like the “British,” over the encouragement given to the follies87 of astrology. The “Critical Review” “must lament64 that ‘Guy Mannering’ is too often written in language unintelligible88 to all except the Scotch90.” The “Critical Monthly” also had scruples91 about morality. The novel “advocates duelling, encourages a taste for peeping into the future, — a taste by far too prevalent, — and it is not over nice on religious subjects!”
The “Quarterly Review” distinguished94 itself by stupidity, if not by spite. “The language of ‘Guy Mannering,’ though characteristic, is mean; the state of society, though peculiar95, is vulgar. Meg Merrilies is swelled96 into a very unnatural97 importance.” The speech of Meg Merrilies to Ellangowan is “one of the few which affords an intelligible89 extract.” The Author “does not even scruple92 to overturn the laws of Nature” — because Colonel Mannering resides in the neighbourhood of Ellangowan! “The Author either gravely believes what no other man alive believes, or he has, of malice98 prepense, committed so great an offence against good taste as to build his story on what he must know to be a contemptible99 absurdity. . . . The greater part of the characters, their manners and dialect, are at once barbarous and vulgar, extravagant100 and mean. . . . The work would be, on the whole, improved by being translated into English. Though we cannot, on the whole, speak of the novel with approbation101, we will not affect to deny that we read it with interest, and that it repaid us with amusement.”
It is in reviewing “The Antiquary” that the immortal102 idiot of the “Quarterly” complains about “the dark dialect of Anglified Erse.” Published criticism never greatly affected103 Scott’s spirits, — probably, he very seldom read it. He knew that the public, like Constable’s friend Mrs. Stewart, were “ reading ‘Guy Mannering’ all day, and dreaming of it all night.”
Indeed, it is much better to read “Guy Mannering” than to criticise104 it. A book written in six weeks, a book whose whole plot and conception was changed “in the printing,” must have its faults of construction. Thus, we meet Mannering first as “a youthful lover,” a wanderer at adventure, an amateur astrologer, and suddenly we lose sight of him, and only recover him as a disappointed, “disilluded,” and weary, though still vigorous, veteran. This is the inevitable105 result of a novel based on a prediction. Either you have to leap some twenty years just when you are becoming familiar with the persons, or you have to begin in the midst of the events foreseen, and then make a tedious return to explain the prophecy. Again, it was necessary for Scott to sacrifice Frank Kennedy, who is rather a taking adventurer, like Bothwell in “Old Mortality.” Readers regret the necessity which kills Kennedy. The whole fortunes of Vanbeest Brown, his duel93 with the colonel, and his fortunate appearance in the nick of time, seem too rich in coincidences: still, as the Dormont case and the Ormiston case have shown, coincidences as unlooked for do occur. A fastidious critic has found fault with Brown’s flageolet. It is a modest instrument; but what was he to play upon, — a lute45, a concertina, a barrel-organ?
The characters of the young ladies have not always been applauded. Taste, in the matter of heroines, varies greatly; Sir Walter had no high opinion of his own skill in delineating them. But Julia Mannering is probably a masterly picture of a girl of that age, — a girl with some silliness and more gaiety, with wit, love of banter106, and, in the last resort, sense and good feeling. She is particularly good when, in fear and trembling, she teases her imposing107 father.
“I expect,” says Colonel Mannering, “that you will pay to this young lady that attention which is due to misfortune and virtue108.” “Certainly, sir. Is my future friend red-haired?” Miss Mannering is very capable of listening to Brown’s flageolet from the balcony, but not of accompanying Brown, should he desire it, in the boat. As for Brown himself, he is one of Sir Walter’s usual young men, — “brave, handsome, not too clever,” — the despair of their humorous creator. “Once you come to forty year,” as Thackeray sings, “then you’ll know that a lad is an ass;” and Scott had come to that age, and perhaps entertained that theory of a jeune premier109 when he wrote “Guy Mannering.” In that novel, as always, he was most himself when dealing110 either with homely111 Scottish characters of everyday life, with exaggerated types of humorous absurdity, and with wildly adventurous112 banditti, who appealed to the old strain of the Border reiver in his blood. The wandering plot of “Guy Mannering” enabled him to introduce examples of all these sorts. The good-humoured, dull, dawdling113 Ellangowan, a laird half dwindled114 to a yeoman, is a sketch absolutely accurate, and wonderfully touched with pathos. The landladies116, Mrs. MacCandlish and Tib Mumps117, are little masterpieces; so is Mac-Morlan, the foil to Glossin; and so is Pleydell, allowing for the manner of the age. Glossin himself is best when least villanous. Sir Robert Hazlewood is hardly a success. But as to Jock Jabos, a Southern Scot may say that he knows Jock Jabos in the flesh, so persistent118 is the type of that charioteer. It is partly Scott’s good fortune, partly it is his evil luck, to be so inimitably and intimately true in his pictures of Scottish character. This wins the heart of his countrymen, indeed; but the stranger can never know how good Scott really is, any more than a Frenchman can appreciate Falstaff. Thus the alien may be vexed119 by what he thinks the mere clannish120 enthusiasm of praise, in Scott’s countrymen. Every little sketch of a passing face is exquisite121 in Scott’s work, when he is at his best. For example, Dandie Dinmont’s children are only indicated “with a dusty roll of the brush;” but we recognize at once the large, shy, kindly122 families of the Border. Dandie himself, as the “Edinburgh Review” said (1817), “is beyond all question the best rustic123 portrait that has ever yet been exhibited to the public, — the most honourable124 to rustics125, and the most creditable to the heart as well as to the genius of the Author, the truest to nature, the most complete in all its lineaments.” Dandie is always delightful126, — whether at Mumps’s Hall, or on the lonely moor127, or at home in Charlieshope, or hunting, or leistering fish, or entering terriers at vermin, or fighting, or going to law, or listening to the reading of a disappointing will, or entertaining the orphan128 whom others neglect; always delightful he is, always generous, always true, always the Border farmer. There is no better stock of men, none less devastated129 by “the modern spirit.” His wife is worthy130 of him, and has that singular gentleness, kindliness131, and dignity which prevail on the Border, even in households far less prosperous than that of Dandie Dinmont. —[Dr. John Brown’s Ailie, in “Rab and his Friends,” will naturally occur to the mind of every reader.]
Among Scott’s “character parts,” or types broadly humorous, few have been more popular than Dominie Sampson. His ungainly goodness, unwieldy strength, and inaccessible132 learning have made great sport, especially when “Guy Mannering” was “Terryfied” for the stage.
As Miss Bertram remarks in that singular piece, — where even Jock Jabos “wins till his English,” like Elspeth in the Antiquary, — the Dominie “rather forces a tear from the eye of sentiment than a laugh from the lungs of ribaldry.” In the play, however, he sits down to read a folio on some bandboxes, which, very naturally, “give way under him.” As he has just asked Mrs. Mac-Candlish after the health of both her husbands, who are both dead, the lungs of ribaldry are more exercised than the fine eye of sentiment. We scarcely care to see our Dominie treated thus. His creator had the very lowest opinion of the modern playwright’s craft, and probably held that stage humour could not be too palpable and practical. Lockhart writes (v. 130): “What share the novelist himself had in this first specimen133 of what he used to call ‘the art of Terryfying’ I cannot exactly say; but his correspondence shows that the pretty song of the ‘Lullaby’ was not his only contribution to it; and I infer that he had taken the trouble to modify the plot and rearrange for stage purposes a considerable part of the original dialogue.” Friends of the Dominie may be glad to know, perhaps on Scott’s own testimony134, that he was an alumnus of St. Andrews. “I was boarded for twenty pence a week at Luckie Sour-kail’s, in the High Street of St. Andrews.” He was also fortunate enough to hold a bursary in St. Leonard’s College, which, however, is a blunder. St. Leonard’s and St. Salvator’s had already been merged135 in the United College (1747). All this is in direct contradiction to the evidence in the novel, which makes the Dominie a Glasgow man. Yet the change seems to be due to Scott rather than to Terry. It is certain that Colonel Mannering would not have approved of the treatment which the Dominie undergoes, in a play whereof the plot and conduct fall little short of the unintelligible.
Against the character of Pleydell “a few murmurs136 of pedantic criticism,” as Lockhart says, were uttered, and it was natural that Pleydell should seem an incredible character to English readers. But there is plenty of evidence that his “High Jinks” were not exaggerated.
There remains137 the heroine of the novel, as Mr. Ruskin not incorrectly calls her, Meg Merrilies, the sybil who so captivated the imagination of Keats. Among Scott’s many weird138 women, she is the most romantic, with her loyal heart and that fiery139 natural eloquence140 which, as Scott truly observed, does exist ready for moments of passion, even among the reticent141 Lowlanders. The child of a mysterious wandering race, Meg has a double claim to utter such speeches as she addresses to Ellangowan after the eviction142 of her tribe. Her death, as Mr. Ruskin says, is “self — devoted143, heroic in the highest, and happy.” The devotion of Meg Merrilies, the grandeur144 of her figure, the music of her songs, more than redeem145 the character of Dirk Hatteraick, even if we hold, with the “Edinburgh” reviewer, that he is “a vulgar bandit of the German school,” just as the insipidity146 and flageolet of the hero are redeemed147 by the ballad148 sung in the moment of recognition.
“Are these the Links of Forth149, she said,
Or are they the crooks150 of Dee,
Or the bonnie woods of Warroch Head,
That I so fain would see?”
“Guy Mannering,” according to Lockhart, was “pronounced by acclamation fully115 worthy to share the honours of ‘Waverley.’ “One star differeth from another in glory, and “Guy Manneriug” has neither that vivid picture of clannish manners nor that noble melancholy151 of a gallant152 and forlorn endeavour of the Lost Cause,
“When all was done that man may do,
And all was done in vain,”
which give dignity to “Waverley.” Yet, with Lockhart, we may admire, in “Guy Mannering,” “the rapid, ever-heightening interest of the narrative, the unaffected kindliness of feeling, the manly purity of thought, everywhere mingled153 with a gentle humour and homely sagacity, but, above all, the rich variety and skilful154 contrast of character and manners, at once fresh in fiction and stamped with the unforgeable seal of truth and nature.”
Andrew Lang.
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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vow
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apprehensions
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malevolence
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mere
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naturalists
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exhausted
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poetical
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turnips
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scourging
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unfamiliar
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spun
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simile
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isles
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par
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censor
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| n./vt.审查，审查员；删改 | |
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averse
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plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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20
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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21
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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22
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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23
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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24
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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25
cinder
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| n.余烬，矿渣 | |
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26
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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27
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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28
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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29
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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30
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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31
pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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32
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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33
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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34
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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35
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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36
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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37
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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38
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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39
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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40
lodged
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|
| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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41
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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42
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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43
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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44
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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45
lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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46
paternal
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|
| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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47
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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48
chambers
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|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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49
bigoted
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| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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50
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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51
enlisted
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|
| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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52
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
usurping
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的现在分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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54
lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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55
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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56
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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57
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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58
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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59
frolicsome
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|
| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
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60
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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61
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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62
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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64
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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65
lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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66
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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67
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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68
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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70
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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71
smuggler
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| n.走私者 | |
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72
ingenuity
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|
| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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73
overdrawn
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| 透支( overdraw的过去分词 )； (overdraw的过去分词) | |
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74
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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75
dictated
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|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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76
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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77
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
censure
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|
| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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79
judicial
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|
| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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80
joint
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|
| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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81
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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82
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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83
derived
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|
| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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84
superstition
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|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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85
absurdity
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|
| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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86
dilemma
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|
| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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87
follies
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|
| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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88
unintelligible
|
|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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89
intelligible
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|
| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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90
scotch
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|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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91
scruples
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|
| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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92
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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93
duel
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|
| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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94
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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95
peculiar
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|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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96
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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97
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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98
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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99
contemptible
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|
| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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100
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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101
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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102
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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103
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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104
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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105
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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106
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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107
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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108
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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109
premier
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| adj.首要的；n.总理，首相 | |
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110
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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111
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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112
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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113
dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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114
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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116
landladies
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| n.女房东，女店主，女地主( landlady的名词复数 ) | |
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117
mumps
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| n.腮腺炎 | |
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118
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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119
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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120
clannish
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| adj.排他的，门户之见的 | |
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121
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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122
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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123
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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124
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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125
rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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126
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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127
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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128
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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129
devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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130
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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131
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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132
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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133
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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134
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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135
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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136
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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137
remains
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|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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138
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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139
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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140
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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141
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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142
eviction
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| n.租地等的收回 | |
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143
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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144
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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145
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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146
insipidity
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| n.枯燥无味，清淡，无精神；无生气状 | |
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147
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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148
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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149
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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150
crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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151
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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152
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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153
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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154
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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