The Book-Hunter
"Love to all the household, and remembrances to guests, from yours
affectionately, J.H. BURTON."
* * * * *
"DOUGLAS HOTEL, ABERDEEN,
_14th July 1880_.
"MY DEAR LOVE,-- ... I had some fun yesterday with a class of
people I detest--those who, because a man has been studious, and
has written books, count that he is public property, who may be
hailed by any one like a mountebank or street musician.
"There were some forty or fifty at dinner, and I found from the
tenor of the conversation that I was taken for the American Judge
Haliburton, the author of 'Sam Slick,' and other embodiments of
smart Yankeyism. No direct question on the point was put to me, and
I let the affair take its run, though a good deal to the
bewilderment of some people, who I saw really knew me.[21] Good
cold weather: seeing one by one the remnants of my generation of
school and college friends.--Love to all, from your affectionate
"J.H. BURTON.
"_P.S._--On Monday I hired a boat, or small ship, and went
a-hunting after antiquities. Passing Wire and Rousay, I recalled
some association in the names, and I think it was with poor nurse
Barbara. I was able to call on Mat.'s old friend, Mrs Burroughs;
her husband, now General, was out. They live in great grandeur, on
about the dreariest hillside Nature ever created."
[Footnote 21: A rather amusing comment on this letter is conveyed
in the following extract from one addressed to Dr Burton's
publishers, by Mr George M'Crie, a grandson of the eminent Scotch
divine of the same name:--
"In the month of July last year, I happened to be travelling
southward, in the steamer St Magnus, from Orkney. Before calling at
Wick, and while the tourists on board were gazing at John o'
Groat's House, I was spoken to by an elderly gentleman, on the
'bridge,' regarding some of the steamer's arrangements. I satisfied
his curiosity as well as I was able, and thought no more of the
matter. We had a large number of passengers, and I did not notice
him again until we were coming out together in a boat, after a
ramble on shore at Pulteneytown. A fellow-passenger, who had
previously noticed the elderly gentleman and myself in
conversation, then whispered to me, 'A celebrated literary man
that, sir, with whom you were speaking before we went ashore; no
other than the famous Judge Haliburton of America, the author of
"Sam Slick."' Some doubt, I must confess, crossed my mind at this
stage. I surely had heard of the Judge's death some years before,
but thinking, very pardonably, that I must be mistaken, I replied,
'Oh, indeed!' and viewed my late acquaintance with some curiosity.
I am imaginative, but it was difficult, in truth, to connect this
staid and sober personage with the idea of the American satirist,
however proverbially dissimilar authors may be to their own
creations. However, I am no hunter after celebrities, literary or
otherwise, and I would not, in all likelihood, have taken any steps
to further conversation with the one in question, had he not, by
chance, been seated close beside me on the quarterdeck when we
resumed our journey south. The steamer was rolling heavily, and his
seat was not a comfortable one. I gave him a camp-stool which I had
secured, and in return he kindly again entered into conversation
with me. We talked about many things, but I could not help thinking
that the American author seemed well informed, for a transatlantic
stranger, regarding the coast, the route generally, and, singularly
enough, regarding Scottish antiquities. At last an observation,
which I timidly hazarded regarding the United States, showed me, in
the reply it received, that I was hopelessly at sea regarding my
fellow-passenger's identity. Before we came to Aberdeen he had told
me that his name was John Hill Burton. The similarity of the sound
of the names had misled my too easily persuaded informant and my
own credulous self. I had taken the author of the 'Book-hunter' for
the author of the 'Clockmaker'!
"Dr Hill Burton most kindly continued to converse with me for
several hours after we had exchanged cards. My own is a name not
unconnected with Scottish ecclesiastical history, and this, to him,
was a sufficient topic. Being an Edinburgh man by birth, I ought to
have known him by sight, but I have been absent from my native city
for many years, and may be excused for not recognising one of
Edinburgh's most distinguished dwellers, now unhappily lost to us.
"G.M. M'C."]
* * * * *
"BANCHORY, _16th July 1880_.
"MY DEAR LOVE,--I am here in the scene of many recollections going
back to boyhood, and the interest of them takes a zest from knowing
that you, too, must have stored up associations with the spot,
though of a later period. I think the avenue trees at Blackhall
were cut down before your day. They are not now much missed in the
general landscape. The lapse of half a century has given such a
growth to the surrounding plantations, that where I remember bare
hills, or freshly planted and uglier than bare, there are now great
stretches deserving to be called forest land."
* * * * *
Dr Burton returned from this pleasant little trip well, and in good
spirits, but the winter was one of illness.
On the 8th of November it was found necessary to call in medical advice
on account of a severe exoema affecting chiefly one leg. The doctor
ordered confinement to bed, besides other remedies. On the 8th of
December these had proved successful, and Dr Burton was able to be up,
and, at Christmas, to assist his wife in carrying gifts to all their
poor neighbours--a plan substituted that year for the first time instead
of a Christmas-tree for the same class of people.
Dr Burton was always much interested in the Christmas-tree, and used to
contribute largely to it what he called _trash_--_i.e._, cheap fancy
articles, if he happened to be in London before Christmas-time, or money
if he did not. His mode of visiting poor people was peculiar. He no
sooner heard of any plan of benevolence towards them than he was
determined it should be immediately carried out, and utterly impatient
of all preparations. He chose to carry a basket, the heavier the better,
but would on no account enter a cottage, still less speak to an inmate.
He preferred such expeditions in the dark, that he might successfully
hide himself outside while his wife went in to distribute his bounty.
On the 8th of January 1881 a recurrence of the former symptoms again
obliged him to take to bed. On the 8th of February he was able to rise
and go down to the library.
On the 8th of March he again became ill, and towards the end of that
month had an alarming attack of bronchitis and congestion of the lungs.
Slight hope was entertained of his recovery for some days, but this
illness appeared a turning-point, and by the 8th of April he was able to
come down-stairs. No more 8ths were marked by disaster or recovery till
again the 8th of August.
During the summer Dr Burton appeared to have recovered completely. He
wrote several articles for 'Blackwood's Magazine,' and took regular
walks, first with his wife, and, when his walking power improved so as
to exceed hers, with his son. He also began to edit the literary remains
of the late Mr Edward Ellice, to whom he was joint literary executor
along with Mrs Ellice.
At the time of the General Assembly Dr Burton had the pleasure of seeing
once more his valued friend, the Rev. James White, minister of Methlick.
This gentleman had been his schoolfellow at the Grammar School in
Aberdeen. The two old friends spent a pleasant summer evening together
at Morton. On the Saturday before his own death Dr Burton learned that
of Mr White. "Ah! so Jamie White's gone," he said, "and _without the
catalogues_." The last part of his sentence referred to old class lists
in which Joannes Burton and Jacobus White's names appear next each
other. They believed themselves the last survivors of their Grammar
School class.
On Tuesday, 2d August, he walked into Edinburgh and out again as usual,
though his family drove in at the same time that he walked, and drove
out again also at the same time, in the hope that he would avail himself
of a seat in the pony-carriage, at least for part of the way. His
aversion to driving clung to him. He did not appear fatigued, declared
himself the better for the walk, and even next day still boasted of the
advantage which he thought he always gained from a long walk. On
Thursday, 4th August, he became very hoarse, and complained of sore
throat. On Friday these complaints were better. On Saturday, 6th, he
slept almost the whole day, rousing himself to take food when required,
and always intending to rise, but as the shades of evening fell
announcing his intention of "making a day of it," and being very active
and down in good time next day.
On Sunday, 7th, he did come down as early as usual, and did not
complain, but appeared languid, lying on the sofa the greater part of
the day,--a thing he had never done before. He read and talked as usual.
He sat at table with his family at dinner for the last time. It was
observed that he looked ill, so ill that his wife resolved to send for
the doctor as soon as possible next day, which was Monday, again the
8th, of August. The night had passed quietly, but on the doctor's
arrival he pronounced the case very grave. The lungs were much
congested, and the heart's action weak. The day brought no aggravation
of the symptoms; again the night was quiet.
On Tuesday, 9th August, there was a slight improvement, which continued
throughout the night.
On Wednesday, 10th, the improvement seemed more marked till about ten
A.M. About that time a change in the countenance was observed. On the
doctor's visit about twelve he pronounced the case all but hopeless, and
five hours later life was extinct. Consciousness remained till almost
the last moment. The illness was attended by no bodily pain, little even
of uneasiness, and the mind was calm and placid throughout.
Since the beginning of illness, nine months before, the natural
irritability, or impatience of temper, had been diminishing. Dr Burton
was by no means, as all his friends seemed to suppose, a fretful or
unreasonable invalid. With but few exceptions he was gentle and grateful
to his attendants, especially to his wife. He was perfectly aware of his
own condition, though never directly told it. His friend Mr Belcombe,
the clergyman of the Episcopal Chapel at Morningside, called for him on
Tuesday, 9th August, was received by him with pleasure, and spent some
time with him. Dr Burton had been brought up an Episcopalian, and
continued attached to the Moderate party in that Church through life.
It can hardly be expected that the writer should offer a critical
estimate of one so lately dead, and so nearly related to her. In the
preceding sketch she has endeavoured to inform the public on all
particulars in which they might be supposed interested in the life of a
man who served them during life with considerable acceptance. His
voluminous works may speak for themselves, or find a more competent
exponent than the present writer. She has endeavoured to give a picture
of himself.
John Hill Burton can never have been handsome, and he so determinedly