been smashed to pieces. They had had a narrow escape. Miss Boswell led a dull life, often passing the winter with her mother in that solitary place, Balmuto; and when in Edinburgh, she was much kept down by her father, and associated little with people of her own age and station. The consequence was that she eloped with her drawing-master, to the inexpressible rage and mortification of her father, who had all the Scotch pride of family and pure blood.
[1D, 41 verso: The Earl of Rosslyn, who was I believe Lord Lieutenant of Fife at the time, invited my father and mother and me to dine and spend the night but did not mention at what hour they dined. Now my father who had been little ashore of late and was accustomed to early sea hours insisted, in spite of all my mother could say, in setting off so early that though the distance was considerable, we arrived while they were at lunch, or breakfast for anything I know, for we did not dine till eight o’clock. Nothing could be more agreeable or kind than our reception. Lady Rosslyn was very handsome and quite a high bred woman. Dysart is a beautiful place, the weather was fine so we spent the morning in walking on the grounds, There was an agreeable party at dinner so my father and mother enjoyed their visit but I was bored to death because there were no young people. While driving home next morning my mother said, ‘You had better take my advice next time I give it; you saw how much too early we were.’ ‘Pah, pah,’ said my father after a little pause, ‘who the devil could have believed that anyone was so ridiculously fashionable as to dine at supper time.’]
This year we remained longer in the country than usual, and I went to spend Christmas with the Oswalds° of Dunnikeir. The family consisted of a son, a colonel in the army, and three daughters, the youngest about my age, a bold horsewoman. She had talent, became a good Greek and Latin scholar, and was afterwards married to the Earl of Elgin°. More than seventy years after this I had a visit from the Dean of Westminster and Lady Augusta Stanley°, her daughter; a very charming person, who told me about her family, of which I had heard nothing for years. I was very happy to see the Dean, one of the most liberal and distinguished members of the Church of England, and son of my old friend the late Bishop of Norwich.
[1D, 39: The other two [daughters] were much older and had seen a great deal of the gay world, they were tall, the youngest rather pretty. The weather was bad and as they walked for exercise in the drawing-room they amused themselves making game of me as I sat at my work. Mrs Oswald came into the room and looking at my work said, ‘So you are making a cap in imitation of my daughter’s, but you need not take the trouble, for wear what you please, you will never be like her.’ I was all my life subject to sick headaches and unfortunately I was seized with one which kept me in bed for a day, and when I came into the drawing-room again, the young ladies laughed and repeated lines from the Elegant Extracts about eating too much Christmas cake.23 It was hard on a timid girl, I inwardly vowed that I never would visit again and rejoiced to return home and go for the rest of the winter to Edinburgh.]
When I returned to Edinburgh Mr Nasmyth was much pleased with the progress I had made in painting, for, besides having copied several landscapes he had lent me, I had taken the outline of a print and coloured it from a storm I saw at the end of our garden. This picture I still possess.
Dr Blair°, minister of the High Kirk of Edinburgh, the well-known author and professor of Rhetoric and Belles Letters in the University, an intimate friend of my grandfather’s, had heard of my turn for painting, and asked my mother to let him see some of my pictures. A few of the best were sent to him, and were returned after a few days accompanied by a long letter from the old gentleman, pointing out what he admired most in each picture. I was delighted with the letter, and not a little vain of the praise.
LETTER FROM DR BLAIR TO MARY FAIRFAX
MY DEAR MISS FAIRFAX,
This comes to return you a thousand thanks for the pleasure and entertainment I have had from your landscape paintings. I had them placed in the best light I could contrive in my drawing-room, and entertained myself a good while every day looking at them and admiring their beauties, which always grew upon me. I intend to return them to you to-morrow, or rather on the beginning of next week; and as they were taken particular care of, I hope they shall not appear to have suffered any injury.
I have exhibited them to several people, some of whom were excellent judges, whom I brought on purpose to view them – Lady Miller, the Solicitor and Mrs Blair, his lady, Dr Hill, Miss Anne Ker of Nisbet, and a variety of ladies. All joined in praising them highly. The penserosa figure caught the highest admiration of any, from the gracefulness of the figure and attitude, and the boldness and propriety of the scenery. The two morning and evening views – one of Lochness, and the other of Elcho Castle – which make fine companions, and which I always placed together, were also highly admired. Each of them had their different partizans, and I myself was for a good while undetermined which of them to prefer. At last, I found the placidity of the scene in Elcho Castle, with the cottages among the trees, dwelt most on my imagination, though the gaiety and brightness of the morning sky in the other has also exquisite beauty. On the whole, I am persuaded that your taste and powers of execution in that art are un-commonly great, and that if you go on you must excel highly, and may go what length you please. Landscape painting has been always a great favourite with me; and you have really contributed much to my entertainment. As I thought you might wish to know my sentiments, after your paintings had been a little considered, I was led to write you these lines (in which I assure you there is nothing flattering), before sending back your pieces to you. With best compliments to Lady Fairfax, believe me,
Your obliged and most obedient Servant,
HUGH BLAIR
ARGYLL SQUARE, 11th April (probably) 1796
A day or two after this a Mrs Ramsay, a rich proud widow, a relation of my mother’s, came with her daughter, who was an heiress, to pay us a morning visit. Looking round the room she asked who had painted the pictures hung up on the walls. My mother, who was rather proud of them, said they were painted by me. ‘I am glad,’ said Mrs Ramsay, ‘that Miss Fairfax has any kind of talent that may enable her to win her bread, for everyone knows she will not have a sixpence.’ It was a very severe hit, because it was true. Had it been my lot to win my bread by painting, I fear I should have fared badly, but I never should have been ashamed of it; on the contrary, I should have been very proud had I been successful. I must say the idea of making money had never entered my head in any of my pursuits, but I was intensely ambitious to excel in something, for I felt in my own breast that women were capable of taking a higher place in creation than that assigned to them in my early days, which was very low.
Not long after Mrs Ramsay’s visit to my mother, Miss Ramsay went to visit the Dons, at Newton Don, a pretty place near Kelso. Miss Ramsay and the three Miss Dons were returning from a long walk; they had reached the park of Newton Don, when they heard the dinner bell ring, and fearing to be too late for dinner, instead of going round, they attempted to cross a brook which runs through the park. One of the Miss Dons stumbled on the stepping-stones and fell into the water. Her two sisters and Miss Ramsay, trying to save her, fell in one after another. The three Miss Dons were drowned, but Miss Ramsay, who wore a stiff worsted petticoat, was buoyed up by it and carried down stream, where she caught by the branch of a tree and was saved. She never recovered the shock of the dreadful scene.
18 Mary Somerville’s note from the original edition: ‘Many people evidently think the science of astronomy consists entirely in observing the stars, for I have been frequently asked if I passed my nights looking through a telescope, and I have astonished the enquirers by saying I did not even possess one.’
19 Xenophon and Herodotus: it is perhaps worth remembering here that, although Mary Somerville speaks lightly of her achievement, she could have been no more than 16.
20 A note in the original edition reads: ‘Nasmyth told a lady still alive