2110-6-1-8

396 Great Clowes St. Higher Broughton, Manchester

9th June 1932

Dear Sir,

May I offer you my thanks for your biography of Sir Walter.

In thinking how I might give expression to my feeling, there came into my mind a passage in the "Journal" that helps me. Sir Walter wrote -

"There is something about all the fine arts of soul and spirit, which, like the vital principle in man, defies the researches of the most critical anatomist. You feel where it is not, yet you cannot describe what it is you want.

Sir Joshua, or some other great painter, was looking at a picture on which great

pains had been bestowed - "Why yes," he said in a hesitating manner, "it is very clever, - very well done - can't find fault; but it wants something; it wants - it wants, damn me - it wants that" - throwing his hand over his heart and snapping his fingers."

And so may I say your book has that, and a' that.

I was interested to see the reference to Refutation and Humbug, which recalled the title of a small book, in black binding with the words on the back

Refutation Reply and Humbug

I saw the book on a grand-uncles bookshelf in the late 'sixties. I was only 8 or 9 years old, but the titles puzzled my small brain [page break] and I opened the book and found it had to do with Sir Walter and the Ballantynes. I have never seen, or heard of the book since, and would not open it if came my way. By the time I had read "Ivanhoe" and Sir Walter had a place in my heart and mind that has grown with the years. Mr Quiller Couch has words to the effect that take Scott where you will, the man is gold - pure gold.

My grandfather liked to tell me of the False Alarm and how a trooper rode up Ettrick giving a bugle call at each farm steading. A herd told my grandfather that he was awakened by the bugle and thought it was the Last Day. "And what did you do," asked my grandfather. "I lay still," was the reply. Our herd, as a sound strategist, awaited developments.

My grandfather had a sister living with him. Rab was her doctor and he said to my mother "Her voice is like

Yarrow murmuring."

Please forgive this intrusion on your time and believe me,

Yours gratefully

F. Elliot Hume