j£1at2£*4 Gahtmbtit {Bmbcnttp LIBRARY fej ?& itSfi SOCIETY, '^j LETTERS TO HIS KINSFOLK TO WHICH IS ADDED, WDSttStHBHMfe ADDRESSED TO SAMLYEli T. COIiERXDGE, ESQ SECOND AMERICAN EDITION. >®®®< NEW-YORK : PRINTED BY JJJUES AND JOHN HARPEM, No. 138 Fulton-Street, FOR E. DUYCKINCK, COLLINS & CO. COLLINS k HANNAY S= CAMPBELL it SON, AND G. LON(?. 1920 i-T 1 VU DEDICATION TO THE RIGHT REVEREND TH^IaOUD msllOT OY ST. DAVIDS. My Lord> I trust you will excuse the liberty I take in inscrib- ing to you a new edition of my Letters from Scotland. That none of these letters were addressed to your Lordship, is a circumstance for which I take great shame to myself, after the very kind manner in which you spoke to me on that head, the day I left you— may I be permitted to add, after the long experience I have had of your Lordship's concern and attach- ment, in several years of professional attendance, and, since that was laid aside, of private intercourse and friendship. I must not attempt to deny, that there are some things in these Letters which are not exactly what I should have judged proper for your Lordship's eye; but your Lordship is aware, that they were written without the smallest notion of being printed. I hope the effect of the whole correspondence may be agree- able to you, and I well know the gentle and forgiving tl COKTEiNTS. LETTER XXVIII— Scottish Bar—Mr. W- and ]\Ir. J , — Edinburgh — Parliament Close — St. Giles's — Parliament House — King Charles, 171 LETTER XXIX.— Court of Session, 177 LETTER XXX.— Court of Session, 182 LETTER XXXI— Statue of Lord Melville— Lord Mel- ville — Statues of Forbes and Blair — Lord President Blair, 186 LETTER XXXII— Mr. Clerk, 190 LETTER XXXIIL— Mr. Cranstoun, 195 LETTER XXXIV— Mr. Jeffrey, 197' LETTER XXXV— Mr. Henry Cockbum— Comparison of Mr. Cockbum and Mr. Jeffrey, 20Q LETTER XXXVI— Mr. Moncrleff— Mr. Murray— Mr. J. P. Grant, 207 LETTER XXXVII— Scottish Bar— Mr. Forsyth— Scottish Bar, 211 LETTER XXXVIII.— Court of Session— Lord Justice Clerk— Lord Robertson — Lord President Hope, 216 LETTER XXXIX.— Macqueen of Braxfield— Lord Her- mand, 222 LETTER XL.— Edinburgh Review— Stupidity of the Young Whigs, 230 LETTER XLL— Edinburgh Whigs, 240 LETTER XL1I— Edinburgh Booksellers, 244 LETTER XL! 1 1.— Edinburgh Booksellers, 253 LETTER XL1V— Edinburgh Booksellers— Gabriel's Road. 259 LETTER XLV— Blackwood's Magazine, 267 LETTER XLVl— Blackwood's Magazine, 267 LETTER XLVII— Artists and ~ Connoisseurs— Mr. Bridges' Shop, and Bits— Mr. Allan— Mr. Allan's Pic- tures^ 280 LETTER XL VIII.— Allan's Pictures, 289 LETTER XLiX— Paintings, 294 LETTER L. — Wilkie and Allan— Hamilton and Runci- raan — William's Pictures — Nasmyth and Thomson — Staff- Surgeon Schetky — Mr. Raeburn — Mr. John Watson and Mr. Nicholson— Mr. William Thomson, 302 LETTER LI.— Borthwick Castle— Gala Water— The Tweed -Mr. S ,— Mr. Wordsworth— Mr. S , 311 LETTER LII— Mr. S -, 320 TTER LIIL— Melrose Abbey— Drvburgh Abbey, 325 LETTER LI V.— Mr. S ,— Craniology, 330 LETTER LV— Mr. S —The Scotch Novels— ^ >ttish Literature, 335. CONTENTS. V]I Page. LETTER L VI.— The Gout— The Clergy— Peter's Por- trait, 344 LETTER LVIL— The General Assembly— Commission- er's Levee — Procession— Town and Country Ministers, 346 LETTER LVIIL— The Assembly Aisle— The Galleries — Moderates and Wildmen — Dr. Robertson — Dr. Er- skine — Sir Henry MoncriefT — Dr. Inglis, 356 LETTER LIX. — The General Assembly — Commission- er's Dinner, 367 LETTER LX.— The General Assembly— Dr. Skene Keith, and Mr. Lapslie, 369 LETTER LXL— Clergy of Scotland— Sk Henry Mon- crieff — Dr. Inglis — Mr. Andrew Thomson — Dr. Mack- night, and Dr. Brunton, 375 LETTER LXXI1.— Scottish Episcopalian Church— Dr. Sandford — Mr. Alison — Episcopalian Fund — Old and New Light Anti-Burghers — Dr. M'Crie — Dr. Jamieson —Old Potts. 384 LETTER LXIII.— Old Potts— Scottish Dandyism— Dil- letanti Society — Dandyism, 3#2 LETTER LXIV.— Visit to Lasswade— Roslyn Glen— Roslyn Chapel — Roslyn Castle — Hawthornden - Drum- mondof Hawthornden — Mr. G , — Mr. Wordsworth's Sonnet to Mr. Gillies — The Ettrick Shepherd— Mr. L , — M de Peudemots — Captain H — — , — The Et- trick Shepherd— Mr. W , 399- LETTER LXV.— Visit to Glasgow— Kirk of Shotts— Glasgow, 411 LETTER LXVIL— Glasgow— Cathedral of Glasgow— Roftenrow and Antiquities of Glasgow — Coffee-Room of GUsgow— Dinner Party and Glasgow Punch, 417 LETTER LXV1II. — Glasgow University — Hunterian l Museum — Professor Young— Professor Jardine — Hunte- r/an Museum — Supper at Archie Cameron's, 427 Ll/TTER LXIX— Glasgow Manufactories, and Mr. Kirkman Finlay — Green of Glasgow — Nelson's Monu- ment — Green of Glasgow — Philosophical Weaver — His /Opinion of the present State of the Edinburgh Review, 436 I/ETTER LXX.— Old Potts— Buck's-Head Inn— Glas- gow Punch — Glasgow Dandies — Glasgow Ball, 446 BETTER LXXL— Glasgow Wit— Gaggery— Trotting— / Glasgow Clubs, 45,'y LETTER LXIL— Glasgow Merchants— Observatory and Botanical Garden— James Grahame — Mr. Wilson, 459 Vlll CONTENTS. Page LETTER LXXIIL—Covenanters— Observance of the Sabbath — Dr. Ghalmers — State of Religion in Scotland — Quarterly Review, 466 LETTER LXXIV— Pisley— Mr. J S ,-Dr. C- , — Bothwell Castle— ^-Bothwell Bridge — Hamilton Palace — Pictures — Cadyow Castle — The Mountain Bull — Valley of the Clyde — Glasgow, 477 LETTER LXX Y\— Country Sacrament, 484 LETTER LXXVI.— Country Sacrament—Sacrament Sabbath — Sunday Evening, 494 LETTER LXXVII.— -Breakfast at the Laird's— Sacra- ment Monday— The Rev. Mr. , — Dinner at the Manse — Hotch-potch, and Lochfine Herrings— The Croupier — Song, The Shooting Minister— Old Mortality — Departure — Glasgow Steam-Boat, 501 POSTCRIPT, 507 PETERS LETTERS TO HIS KINSFOLK. L E T T E R I. *T0 THE REV. DAVID WILLIAMS. Oman's Hotel, Edinburgh, March 5. 1 arrived here last night, only two hours later than my 'calculation at Liverpool, which was entirely owing to a small accident that befel Scrub, as I was coming down the hill to Musselburgh. I was so much engaged with the view, that I did not remark him stumble once or twice, and at last down he came, having got a pretty long nail run into his foot. 1 turned round to curse .lohn, but perceived that he bad been fast asleep during the whole affair. However, it happened luckily that there was a farrier's shop only a few yards on, and by his assistance we were soon in a condition to move again. My chief regret was being obliged to make my entry into the city after night-fall, in consequence of the delay ; and yet that is no great matter neither. As for the shandrydan, 1 never had the least reason to repent my bringing it with me. It is positively the very best vehicle in existence. The lightness of the gig — the capacity of the chariot — and the stylishness of the car — it is a wonderful com- bination of excellencies. But I forget your old quizzing about my Hobby. My evil genius, in the shape of an old drivelling turn- pike-man, directed me to put up at the black Bull, a crowd- ed, noisy, shabby, uncomfortable inn, frequented by all man- ner of stage-coaches and their contents, as my ears were well taught before morning. Having devoured a tolerable break- fast, however, I began to feel myself in a more genial con- dition than I had expected, and sallied out to deliver one or two letters of introduction, and take a general view of the town, in a temper which even you might have envied. To say the truth, I know not a feeling of more delightful excita* *»on. than that which attends a traveller when he sallies .2 JO petek's letters. out of a fine clear morning, to make his first survey of a splendid city, to which he is a stranger. I have often before experienced this charming spirit-stirring sensation. Even now, I remember, with a kind of solemn enthusiasm, the day when (in your company too, my dear David,) I opened my win- dow at the White Horse, Fetter-lane, and beheld, for the first time, the chimneys and smoke (for there what else could I behold?) of London. I remember the brief devoirs paid by us both to our coffee and muffins, and the spring of juvenile elasticity with which we bounded, rather than walked, into the midst of the hum, hurry, and dusky magnificence of Fleet-street. How we stared at Temple-Bar ! How our young blood boiled within us as we passed over the very stones that had drank the drops as they oozed from the fresh-dis- severed head of the brave old Balmerino ! With what con- sciousness of reverence did we pace along the Strand — retir- ing now and then into a corner to consult our pocket-map — and returning with a high satisfaction, to feel ourselves under the shadow of edifices whose very names were enough for us ! How we stood agaze at Charing Cross ! The statue of the Martyr at our right — Whitehall on our left — Westminister Abbey, lifting itfself like a cloud before us — pillars and palaces all around, and the sun lighting up the whole scene with rays enriched by the deep tinges of the at- mosphere through which they passed. I do not pretend to compare my own feelkigs now-a-days with those of that happy time — neither have I any intention of representing Edinburgh as a place calculated to produce the same sublime impressions, which every Englishman must experience when he first finds himself in London. The ima- gination of a Southern does not connect with this northern city so many glorious recollections of antiquity, nor is there any thing to be compared with the feeling of moral reverence, accorded by even the dullest of mankind, to the actual seat and centre of the wisest and greatest government in the world. Without at all referring to these things, the gigan- tic bulk and population of London, are, of themselves, more than sufficient to make it the most impressive of all earthly cities. In no place is one so sensible, at once, to the little- ness and the greatness of his nature — how insignificant the being that forms scarcely a distinguishable speck in that huge sweep of congregated existence — yet how noble the spirit which has called together that mass — which rules and guides LETTERS. rl I and animates them all — which so adorns their combination, and teaches the structures of art almost to rival the vastness of Nature. How awful is the idea which the poet has expressed when he speaks of " all that mighty heart !" And yet there is no lack of food for enthusiasm even here. Here is the capital of an ancient, independent, and heroic na- tion, abounding in buildings ennobled by the memory of illus- trious inhabitants in the old times, and illustrious deeds of good and evil ; and in others, which hereafter will be reve- renced by posterity, for the sake of those that inhabit them now. Above all, here is all the sublimity of situation and scenery — mountains near and afar off — rocks and glens — and the sea itself, almost within hearing of its waves. I was pre- pared to feel much; and yet you will not wonder when I tell you, that I felt more than I was prepared for. You know well that my mother was a Scotchwoman, and therefore you will comprehend that 1 viewed the whole with some little of the pride of her nation. I arrived, at least, without pre- judices against that which I should see, and was ready to open myself to such impressions as might come. I know no city, where the lofty feelings, generated by the ideas of antiquity, and the multitude of human beings, are so much swelled and improved by the admixture of those other lofty, perhaps yet loftier feelings, which arise from the contemplation of free and spacious nature herself. Edin- burgh, even were its population as great as that of London, could never be merely a city. Here there must always be present the idea of the comparative littleness of all human works. Here the proudest of palaces must be content to catch the shadows of mountains; and the grandest of for- tresses to appear like the dwellings of pigmies, perched on the very bulwarks of creation. Every where — all around — you have rocks frowning over rocks in imperial elevation, and descending, among the smoke and dust of a city, into dark depths, such as nature alone can excavate. The builders of the old city, too, appear as if they had made nature the model of their architecture. Seen through the lowering mist which almost perpetually envelops them, the huge masses of these erections, so high, so rugged in their outlines, so heaped together, and conglomerated and wedged into each other, are not easily to be distinguished from the yet larger and bolder forms of cliff and ravine, among which their foundations have been pitched. There is a certain gloomy indistinctness in the 12 peter's letters. formation of these fantastic piles, which leaves the eye, that would scrutinize and penetrate them, unsatisfied and dim with gazing. In company with the first friend I saw, (of whom more anon,) I proceeded at once to take a look of this superb city from a height, placed just over the point where the old and new parts of the town meet. These two quarters of the city, or rather these two neighbouring but distinct cities, are sepa- rated by a deep green valley, which once contained a lake, and which is crossed at one place by a huge earthen mound, and at another by a magnificent bridge of three arches. This valley runs off toward the estuary of the Forth, which lies about a mile and a half from the city, and between the city and the sea there rises on each side of it a hill — to the south that called Arthur's Seat — to the north the lower and yet sufficiently commanding eminence on which I now stood — the Calton Hill. This hill, which rises about 350 feet above the level of the sea, is, in fact, nothing more than a huge pile of rocks, covered with a thin coating of soil, and, for the most part, with a beautiful verdure. It has lately been circled all round with spacious gravelled walks, so that one reaches the sum- mit without the least fatigue. It seems as if you had not quitted the streets, so easy is the ascent ; and yet where did streets or city ever afford such a prospect ! The view changes every moment as you proceed ; yet what grandeur of unity in the general and ultimate impression ! At first you see only the skirts of the New Town, with apparently few public edi- fices to diversify the grand uniformity of their outlines ; then you have a rich plain, with green fields, groves and villas, gradually losing itself in the sea-port town of Edinburgh, — Leith. Leith covers, for a brief space, the margin of that magnificent Frith which recedes upward among an amphi- theatre of mountains, and opens downward into the ocean, broken everywhere by green and woody isles, excepting where the bare brown rock of the Bass lifts itself above the waters mid-way to the sea. As you move round, the Frith disappears, and you have Arthur's Seat in your front. In the valley between lies Holyrood, ruined — desolate — but ma- jestic in its desolation. From thence the Old Town stretches its dark shadow — up, in a line, to the summit of the Castle rock — a royal residence at either extremity — and all between ^n indistinguishable mass of black tower-like structures — LETTERS. 13 the ooncentrated " walled city," which has stood more sieges than I can tell of. Here we paused for a time, enjoying the majestic gloom of this most picturesque of cities. A thick blue smoke hung low upon the houses, and their outlines reposed behind on ridges of purple clouds ; — the smoke, and the clouds, and the murky air, giving yet more extravagant bulk and altitude to those huge strange dwellings, and increasing the power of contrast which met our view, when a few paces more brought us once again upon the New Town — the airy bridge — the bright green vale below and beyond it — and, skirting the line of the vale on either side, the rough crags of the Castle rock, and the broad glare of Prince's Street, that most superb of terraces — all beaming in the open yellow light of the sun — steeples and towers, and cupolas, scattered bright beneath our feet — and, far as the eye could reach, the whole pomp and richness of distant commotion — the heart of the city. Such was my first view of Edinburgh. I descended again into her streets in a sort of stupor of admiration. Excuse my troubling you with all this, now that I have written it ; but do not be alarmed with any fear, lest I should propose to treat you with much more of the same kind of diet. I have no intention to send you a description of the cities and scenery of Scotland. I refer you semel et simul to Sir John Carr, and our dear countryman, Mr. Pennant. I have always been " a fisher of men ;" and here also, I promise you, I mean to stick to my vocation. But enough for the present. Yours sincerely, P. M. P. S. — You will observe by the date of my letter, I have already left the Black Bull. I write from one of the most comfortable hotels I ever wasrin, and have already ascertained the excellence of the port 14 i*ETER 5 S LETTERS. LETTER II. TO THE SAME. Oman's, March 6. Dear David, Do you recollect W , of Trinity? I suspect not; but you have heard of him a thousand times. And yet you may have met him at my rooms, or North's ; for I think he determined, after you began to reside. At all events, you re- member to have heard me describe his strange eccentric cha- racter — his dissolute behaviour during the first years of his residence — his extravagant zeal of study afterwards — last of all, the absurdity of his sudden elopement, without a degree, after having astonished the examining masters by the splendid commencement of his examination. The man is half-mad in some things ; and that is the key of the whole mystery. W and I were great friends during the first terms I spent at Jesus. He had gone to school at Harrow with my brother Samuel, and called on me the very day I entered. What a life was ours in that thoughtless prime of our days ! We spent all the mornings after lecture in utter lounging — eating ice at Jubb's — flirting with Miss Butler — bathing in the Charwell, and so forth. And then, after dinner, we used to have our fruit and wine carried into the garden, (I mean at Trinity,) and there we sat, three or four of us, sipping away for a couple of hours, under the dark refreshing shade of those old beechen bowers. Evensong was no sooner over, than we would down to the Isis, and man one, or sometimes two, of Mother Hall's boats, and so run races against each other, or some of our friends, to Iffley or Sandford. What lots of bread and butter we used to devour at tea, and what delight we felt in rowing back in the cool misty evening — sometimes the moon up long ere we reached Christ Church meadows again. A light supper — cheese-and-bread and let- tuces — and a joyous bowl of Bishop — these were the regular conclusion. I would give half I am worth to live one week of it over again. At that time, W and I, Tom Vere, (of Corpus,) and one or two more, were never separate above three or four hours in the day. I was on my way to deliver a letter of introduction to a peter's letters. i5 young barrister of this place, when, in turning the corner of a street, my old friend, Will W , passed close at my el- bow. I knew him in a moment, although he is greatly changed, and called after him. He turned round with a fierce air, as if loth to be disturbed, (for he was evidently up to the chin in meditation ;) but, on recognizing his ancient acquaintance, nothing could be more hearty than the kindness of his coun- tenance. After a few hurried interrogations on both sides, diversified by scarcely any responses on either, I took his arm and began to explain to him the purposes of my visit to a city in which he had so little expectation of seeing me. He accompanied me immediately to the Calton Hill, of which I spoke in my last, and where, as he assured me, he spends at least one hour every day when in Edinburgh. On coming down he carried me to the Hotel where I now am ; and, having seen my baggage and horses fairly established, and walked a good deal about the town, we proceeded to his house, where I remained for the rest of the day. I assure you this ren- counter has afforded me the highest pleasure, and I doubt not it will be of infinite use to me, moreover — for W is, per- haps, of all men, the very person I should have selected to act as my cicerone in Scotland. Indeed, I wonder at myself for not having made more accurate inquiries about him before I set out ; but I had somehow got a confused idea in my head that he was resident in France or Germany, and really had never thought of him in relation to my own schemes of visit- ing his country. He has already introduced me to several very pleasant fellows here. But before I describe his compa- nions, I must endeavour to give you some little notion of him- self. After leaving Oxford under the strange circumstances you have often heard me speak of, W proceeded to the North, where he spent several years in severe study, not a whit dis- couraged in his views, or shaken from his attachments, by the singular catastrophe to which the constitutional and irre- sistible panic of a moment had exposed him. He changed^ however, but indeed it was scarcely possible for him to do otherwise, the course and tenor of his usual pursuits ; passing for a time from the classics, with the greater part of whom he had formed a pretty accurate acquaintance, and flinging him- self over head and ears into the very heart of Gothic antiqui- ties, and the history, poetry, and romance, of the middle ages* Mj peter's letters. These he has quitted by fits and starts, and spent the intervals of their neglect in making himself far better skilled than is common in the modern literature of foreign countries, as well as of England ; but ever since, and up to this moment, they form the staple of his occupation — the daily bread of his mind. He lives almost continually in the days gone by, and feels himself, as he says, almost a stranger among matters which might be supposed to be nearer to him. And yet he is any thing but a stranger to the world he actually lives in ; al- though indeed he does perhaps regard not a few both of its men and its things, with somewhat of the coldness of an un- concerned visiter. In short, for there is no need to dis- guise the fact to you, he has nursed himself into such a fer- vent veneration for the thoughts and feelings of the more ancient times of his country and of ours, (for as to that mat- ter he is no bigot,) that he cannot witness, without a deep mixture of bile, the adoration paid by those around him to thoughts, feelings, and persons, for whom he entertains, if not absolute, at the least no inconsiderable comparative contempt. I have said that he is not a bigot, in regard to any old ideas of difference between his own country and ours. This I attribute in a great measure, certainly, to the course of study he has so devoutly pursued, and which could not have failed, in making him acquainted with the ancient con- dition of both countries, to reveal to him far more points of agreement than disagreement between them. But a part of his liberality must also, I should think, be ascribed to the influence of his education in England, more particularly in Oxford ; his long residence in that noble city having filled the finest part of his mind with reverent ideas concerning both the old and the present grandeur of England, such as can never be eradicated, nor even weakened, by any after experience of his life. Such, I suspect, from his conversa- tion, to be the truth of the case ; and yet it is only from odd hints and suggestions, that I have made shift to gather so much, for of all men living, he is the least chargeable with the sin of dissertation, and I never heard him in my life give more than one sentence to the expression of any opinion he entertains. Having now succeeded to the family estate, which is a very aucient and tolerably productive one, W feels himself perfectly at liberty to pursue whatever mode of life is most peter's letters. 17 agreeable to his r 3iicy. He has travelled a good deal on the continent o: £ trope, and even penetrated into Asia Minor and Egypt, as far up as the Pyramids. These JGurneys, however, could only have been undertaken for the purpose of gratifying some very ardent curiosity, in regard to a few particular points connected with his former devotedness to classical learning ; and he now declares, that unless he should be tempted to visit Spain for the sake of her cathedrals, he will never again leave the white cliffs behind him. He makes an annual or biennial trip to London ; but, with this exception, he is always to be found either at his old castle in Berwick- shire, or here in Edinburgh, where he has a very snug house, although by no means in a fashionable part of the town. From a feeling of respect for his ancestors, he refuses to quit the old family residence, which is no other than a lodging up five pair of stairs, in one of those huge aerial edifices of the Old Town — edifices which sometimes contain beneath a single roof a population, layer above layer, household above household, more numerous than that of many a street in many a city south of the " ideal line." Here W still sits in the same enormously stuffed and prodigiously backed elbow-chair, and still reposes beneath the same an- tediluvian testers which served his grandfather, his great grandfather, and all his generations back, for aught I know, to the days of Queen Mary ; it being on many occasions his most chosen boast, that the degradation which affects, in other houses, the blood of the race, has touched in his house nothing but their furniture, and has not totally de- stroyed even that. W ushered me into this remarkable habitation of his, not only without the least symptom of shame for its apparent obscurity, and the equally apparent filth of its approach, but with a certain air of proud and haughty satisfaction, as if he would have been ashamed to have conducted me to one of the newer, more commodious, and more elegant houses we had seen in the New Town. " The times are changed," says he, " since my grandfather, the Lord of Session, used to see all the ladies of quality in Edinburgh in this old-fashioned habitaculum. I desire to see none of them here now. I have a tailor for my neighbour immedi- ately below me — a cobler — a tallow chandler — a dancing- roaster— a grocer — and a cowfeeder, are all between me and 18 peter's letters. the street ; and above, God knows what store of washer- women — French teachers — auctioneers — mid wives — seams- tresses — and students of divinity, are between me and the chimney-top. But no matter. I have some claret, which is not too old to be tasteable ; and I shall make an endea- vour to give you, at least, as good commons as you were used to at the Bachelor's table of Trinity." I had no reason to complain of his fare, although I con- fess, when the covers were first removed, I was not without some apprehensions, that it might prove as Methuselamitish as his dwelling. Whether that might, or might not be, the pro- vender was excellent. It consisted, prim®, of broth made from a sheep's head, with a copious infusion of parsley, and other condiments, which I found more than palatable, espe- cially after, at my host's request, I added a spoonful or two of Burgess to it. Secttndo, came the aforementioned sheep's head in propria personiz — the hair having been taken off, not by the knife but by the hot-iron, and the skin retaining from this opera- tion, not only an inky hue, which would astound an Ex- moorian, but a delicious, oily, fragrant gusto, worthy of being transferred, me judice, to the memorandum-book of Beauvilliers himself. These being removed, then came ?. leg of roasted mutton, five years old at the least, from the Castlemains of W— . A dish of pancakes, very finely powdered with sugar, brought up the rear of the dinner,, every five minutes of which we washed down with a glass of rare sherry, as ancient as Falstaff, or Johannisberg, which my friend had imported himself from the very cellars of Metternicb. A ewe-milk cheese, which I found as good as any thing which ever came from the Pays de Vaud, and a glass of ale, such as I could not beat even in Cardigan, formed a sort of appendage to the feast ; and just before the cloth was drawn, 1 tasted, for the first time, a liqueur, which I prefer vastly to all the Marasquin— ay, to all the Curaeoa in existence — the genuine Usquebaugh of Locha- ber. Our Chateau-la-fitte and olives went down after this repast like very nectar and ambrosia. But you will say, 1 am a gourmand even upon paper. To conclude with a portrait of my entertainer — William W is a pale-faced, grave-looking thin gentleman, of forty years old, or thereby. He has a stoop in his gait, and walks peter's letters. M with his toes in ; but his limbs seem full of sinew, and he is of a seemly breadth across the back. He uses to wear a hat of singular broad brims, like a Quaker, for the convenience of shadow to his eyes, which are weak, though piercing. These he farther comforts and assists by means of a pair of spectacles, of the pure crystalline in winter, " but throughout the sunny portion of the year," green. His nose is turned up somewhat at the point, as it were disdainfully. His lips would be altogether indiscernible, but for the line of their di- vision ; and can call up in no mind (unless, perchance, on the principle of contrast) any phantasy either of cherry or rose- bud, to say nothing about bees. This yellow visage of his, with his close firm lips, and his grey eyes shining through his spectacles, as through a burning-glass, more brightly-^ the black beard not over diligently shorn— all lurking under the projecting shadow of that strange brim, compose such a physiognomy, as one would less wonder to meet with in Val~ ladolid, than in Edinburgh. It is plain, yet not ugly. It is monastic, yet it is not anchoretic. It is bitter, and yet it wants not gleams of sheer good humour. In short, it belongs, and only could belong, to the nervous, irritable, enthusiastic, sar- castic William W . The years which had passed since our parting, had exaggerated the lines of this countenance, and entirely removed every vestige of its bloom. But the features were too marked to have undergone any essential alteration ; and after dinner, when some half a dozen bum- pers of claret had somewhat smoothed its asperities, I could almost have fancied myself to be once more transported back to the common-room of Trinity or Jesus. To you, who know us of old, I need scarcely add, that two Oxonians meeting after such a separation, over such wine, were in no hurry to shorten their sederunt. I think it is very creditable to me, however, that I retained enough of my senses to be able to find my way to Oman's, without accepting, far less asking, either direction or assistance. Of course, I am too well-seasoned a cask to feel the smallest bad effects this morning. Quite the contrary : I have already swallowed three cups of coffee, as many rolls and eggs, and about a pound of excellent mutton-ham, and expect W every moment to resume his functions as my LAonizer. Ever vours, ' P. M. 20 peter's letters, LETTER III. TO THE SAME. March 14. Dear David, If you knew what a life I have led since I wrote to you, you would certainly (ee\ no difficulty in comprehending the reason of my silence. I thought my days of utter dissipation had been long since over, but I fear your clerical frown would have told me quite the reverse, had you been present almost any evening that has passed since my arrival in Edinburgh. I shall not shock you with any of the particulars ; remember that you were once a layman yourself, and try to excuse about the worst you can imagine. What a glorious night we spent at your rooms the Saturday before you took orders ! I continue, notwithstanding all this, to pick up a vast deal of information concerning the present literary, political, and religious condition of this country ; and I have already jotted down the heads of several highly valuable letters, in which I design, ere long, to embody the elite of all my acquisitions for your benefit and that of Jack. Perhaps, however, the facts I have gathered may be nothing the worse for undergoing a more leisurely digestion in my own mind, before I think of conveying them to yours. Depend upon it, that I shall very soon put you in possession of more knowledge, touching Scot- land, than was ever revealed to any wondering common- room, by any travelled or travelling tutor, since the days of Dr. Johnson. So have patience. W was never more completely in his element, than when he took me to see Holyrood. You, who delight in honest enthusiasm, whatever be its objects, would have been gratified beyond measure, with the high jealous air of digni- fied earnestness he assumed, long before ive arrived even within sight of the old palace. From his own house, the way thither lies straight clown the only great street of the Old Town — a street by far the most impressive in its character of any I have ever seen in Britain. The sombre shadows, cast by those huge houses of which it is composed, and the streams of i'aint light cutting the darkness here and there, where the entrance to some fantastic alley pierces the sable mass of building — the strange projectings, recedings, and windings — peter's letters. 21 the roofs — the stairs — the windows, all so luxuriating in the endless variety of carved work — the fading and mouldering coals of arms, helmets, crests, coronets, supporters, mantles, and pavilions, — all these testimonials of forgotten pride, min- gled so profusely with the placards of old clothes'-men, and every ensign of plebeian wretchedness — it is not possible to imagine mere speaking emblems of the decay of a once royal city, or a more appropriate avenue to a deserted palace. W was at home in every nook of this labyrinth. I be- lieve he could more easily tell in what particular house of the Canongate any given lord or baron dwelt two hundred years ago, than he could in what street of the new city his descend- ant of the present day is to be found. It was quite marvel- lous with what facility he expounded the minutest hierogly- phics which had, no doubt, once been visible on shields of which my eye could now see nothing but rough outlines and smooth surfaces. " Ha !" said he, " the crescents and the sheaves!" pointing to a tall thin building, from the windows of which sundry patches of wet linen hung dangling over our heads — " the crescents within the tressure — the sheaves — and the sword in pale on the escutcheon of pretence — this was once the palace of the Seatons — Oh! domus antiqua, heu! quam dispari dominare domino!" A little on, the heart and stars of Douglas — the lymphads of Argyle — the lion of Dun- das, and I know not how many monsters of how many chief- tains, were all saluted in their turn with like exclamations of reverence. He directed my attention to a building of prodi- gious elevation on the right, altogether having very much the appearance of the more ancient hotels in Paris, and informed me that here was the residence of the Hamiltons, after they had left their house without the walls, in the time of James VI. ; " and here," said he, pointing right forward, " is Ho- lyrood. You are already within the liberty, for we have crossed the strand." At first sight, this ancient habitation has truly a great deal of royalty in its aspect. Two huge square towers — one many centuries older than the other, but still sufficiently like to ba- lance each other nobly — a low curtain between these, and, in the centre, a spacious gateway under a lofty canopy, some- what after the fashion of a crown imperial, the whole of fine old grey stone ; in front, an open esplanade, paved with massy pieces of granite, and a few kilted grenadiers loitering about the gate — all had an appearance of neglected majesty, which *M l'ETER*'S letters* I could not help feeling to be abundantly impressive. W uncovered himself as we stept into the porch, and 1 saw by his manner, that I should sorely offend him by omitting the same mark of veneration. Within, I found a melancholy quadrangle, for the most part of a noble architecture, but all over as black as if the sun had never shone upon it since the death of Queen Elizabeth. An ancient gentlewoman, with whom my friend seemed to be on terms of infinite familiarity, undertook forthwith to conduct us over the interior. Here, but for the power of memory, and it may be of imagination, I suspect there would not, after all, be much to merit parti- cular attention. The gallery is long and stately, but the vile daubs of Fergus I. and his progenitors, entirely disfigure it. The adjoining apartments of Queen Mary, now appropriated to the use of the family of Hamilton, are far from noble in their dimensions ; but there is a genuine air of antique gran- deur in the hangings and furniture of the inner apartments, none of which have been changed since the time of the most unfortunate of Queens and Beauties — and this is enough to atone for every thing. In the state-room also, the attendant pointed out a cypher, which she said was Mary's, but W told me, that, in fact, that room had been last fitted up for Charles I., and that the cypher was composed of his initials, and those of his Queen Henrietta Maria. Here, then, is the bed in which Mary slept with Darnley — the closet where Riz- zio was murdered — the ante-chamber in which Knox insulted his sovereign, and made it his boast that he " cared little for the pleasant face of a gentlewoman." There are some por- traits, and one exquisite one of Mary herself— I mean an ex- quisitely beautiful portrait of some exquisite beauty — for as to the real features of the lovely Queen, he must be a more skilful antiquarian than I pretend to be, who could venture any guess with respect to them. Even her eyes are repre- sented of many different colours ; but this I only take as an evidence, that they were of that most delicious of all hues, if hue it may be called, that is as changeful as the cameleon — the hazel. I think it is Mackenzie that raves somewhere so delightfully about those softest, and yet most queenlike of eyes. They have not indeed the dazzling sparkle of the Jewish or Italian black, neither have they the vestal calmness of the bine — but they are the only eyes in the world that have the watery swimming lustre of conscious weakness — and when they can change this for the fire of command, and flash anni- peter's letters. 23 hilation from their contracting lids, what eyes can be com- pared to them, or what eyes could be so fitting for Mary ? The portrait is very beautiful indeed, but it is only a minia- ture, and by no means satisfies my imagination so much as that in the picture gallery of the Bodleian. There is nothing I should like better than to ascertain the real history of that painting. It is so softly executed, that, at first sight, one would suppose it to be done in water colours, and to be cover- ed with a glass. But it is in oils, and on a very old piece of oak (for I once took it down to examine it.) It strikes me, that they used to tell some story about its having been paint- ed by a nun before Mary left France ; but I suspect the tradition of its history is very vague and uncertain. I think, however, the picture carries much more of the air of reality about it than any I have seen. What luxurious pensiveness in the lips ! what irresistible melting radiance in the eyes — the eye-lids how beautifully oval ; the eye-lashes how long, how tender ! there was no body ever invented the like except Cor- reggio But I forget that I am not talking to W 9 who would fain, if he could, not only make a beauty, but a saint of her. There is also a fine portrait of Charles I. — one of the many, many masterly Vandykes. The king is in a riding habit ; he has the same indescribable look of majesty and me- lancholy which makes it impossible for any man to look upon it without wondering by what process of brutalizing, even a Cromwell or a Bradshaw should ever have learned to regard the original without the reverence of humility. How could any common mortal feel otherwise than abashed in the presence of that " grey discrowned head ?" — And Charles kept his court here too for a time, and Laud preached, and Rothes flattered, and the Presbyterians themselves looked smoothly on all the pageants of his state. What a different kind of journey he lived to make hither, and what a different kind of return to his Whitehall ! Some spacious, but uncomfortable looking apartments in the newer part of the quadrangle, were occupied by the Bourbon princes during their stay here. I saw the Prie-dieu used by Monsieur, and many other little relics of their Catholic devo- tion ; but in truth, I neither felt, nor pretended to feel, either curiosity or interest about tracing the footsteps of these gen- tlemen. I have seen these younger sprigs of the lily, and with all my respect for the good old king himself, I wish the lily 24 peter's letter*, were rid of a few of its incumbrances. I shall write very sooe again, and hope in a more amusing way. Yours ever, P. M. P. S. — I forgot to mention the only inhabitants of this Palace, or rather of its precincts, are gentlemen, who find it convenient to take advantage of the sanctuary still afford- ed by the royalty of the soil. All around the Palace itself, and its most melancholy garden, there are a variety of little miserable patchwork dwellings, inhabited by a considerable population of gentry, who prefer a residence here to one in a jail. They have abundance of room here within their limits, for the whole of Arthur's Seat is, I believe, considered as part of the royal domain. However, they emerge into the town of a Sunday ; and I am told some of them contrive to cut a very fashionable figure in the streets, while the catch- poles, in obedience to the commandment, " rest from working." LETTER IV. TO THE SAME. March iiO. I believe, that had I given myself up entirely to the di- rection of my friend W , I should have known, up to this hour, very little about Edinburgh more modern than the Canongate, and perhaps heard as little about any worthies she has produced since the murder of Archbishop Sharpe. He seemed to consider it a matter of course, that morning after morning the whole of my time ought to be spent in ex- amining the structure of those gloomy tenements in wynds and closes, which had, in the old time, been honoured with the residence of the haughty Scottish Barons, or the French ambassadors and generals, their constant visiters. In vain did I assure him, that houses of exactly the same sort were to be seen in abundance in the city of London, and that even I myself had been wearied of counting the fleurs-de-lis carved on every roof and chimney piece of a green grocer's habitation in Mincing-lane. Of such food, in his estima- peter's letters 1 . 26 tion, there could be no satiety ; every land had its coat of arms, and every quartering called up to his memory the whole history of some unfortunate amour, or still more un- fortunate marriage •, in so much that, had I taken accurate notes of all his conversation, I am persuaded I might, before this time, have been in a condition to fill more sheets than you might be likely to peruse, with all the mysteries of the causes celebres, or, to speak more plainly, of the Scandalous Chronicle of Scotland. What horrors of barbarism — what scenes of murder, rape, incest — seem to have been the staple commodities of a week-day life, among these ferocious nobles I But, in good truth, I did not come to Scotland to learn such things as these ; and although a little sprinkling of them might be very well in its way, I soon found it expedient to give my good friend a slight hint, that I wished he could contrive to afford me something else for the main woof of my meditations He begins to understand my drift, and will, I think, learn to accommodate himself to my hu- mour, pas-a-pas. Notwithstanding all his devotion to the past, indeed, he is far from being an unconcerned or inept observer of more mo- dern things — and I have already said as much. He is quite aufait, I have found, in regard to the history and perform- ances of all the leading characters of the present day in Scot- land ; but, unless questions are put to him, he seems, with a very few exceptions, to make a point of never alluding to their existence. It would appear as if he was not over anxious to remember that such people are ; but when the conversation actually turns on them and their merits, he expresses himself apparently in no uncandid manner concerning the least — and in a tone of genuine admiration concerning the greatest of them. But I despair of making you comprehend the vaga- ries of such an original. 1 wish you had a few minutes' use of the magical mirror, if it were only that you might enjoy one view of him, as he sits wrapped up in his huge blue velvet robe-de-chambre, with a night-cap of the same, dashing execrations by the dozen upon the whigs, the presbyterians, and the Edinburgh reviewers ; for his splenetic imagination jumbles them altogether — dis* jecta membra poetae — in one chaos of abomination. Could one enter into his premises of prejudice, one might perhaps find less difficulty in joining in his sweeping sentences of con- 'dusion. He considers whiggery as having been the ruin of 4: 26 FETER'S LETTER'S. the independence of his country, and as forming, at this mo- ment, the principal engine for degrading the character of his countrymen. I own I am rather at a loss to discover what he means by " whiggery," (for he never deigns to give a de- finition ;) and all I know of the matter is, that it is something for which he equally vituperates Mr. Halkston of Rathillet, and Mr. Francis Jeffrey — two persons, between whom, I suspect, few other people would find many circumstances of resemblance — and each of whom, I am quite sure, would dis- dain, with all his might, the idea of being coupled with the other. What you or I might be apt to designate by the same term, would, I am certain, coincide in very few points with any notion he may happen to affix to it. But, perchance, we may be able to get a little more light as we go on. In the mean time, W has gne into the country for a few days,, upon some of his county politics. I wished to have gone with him, but had caught a vile cold, and did not care for aggra- vating it. I shall iiave more leisure to write during his ab- sence : so expect a long letter next time. P. M LETTER V. to lady johnes. Bear aunt, You ask me to speak more particularly concerning the external aspect and manners of the people among whom I am sojourning. I wish it were as easy for me to satisfy your cu- riosity on some other points mentioned in your last letter, as on this. The Scots are certainly rather a hard-favoured race than otherwise ; but I think their looks are very far from meriting the sort of common-place sarcasms their southern neighbours are used to treat them with. Indeed, no one who has seen a Scots regiment, as I should suppose you must have done,, can possibly be of opinion that they are at all an ugly na- tion ; although it is very likely he may be inclined to prefei the general appearance of some other nation or nations to theirs. For my part, I am not without suspicion, that a little longer residence among them might teach me to become an PETER ? S LETTERS. 27 absolute admirer of their physiognomies ; at least, I am sen- sible, that the slight repugnance I felt for them at first, has already very considerably given way. What the Scottish physiognomists are used to talk of, with the highest satisfaction, is the air of superior intelligence stamped on the faces of their countrymen of the lower orders of society ; and indeed there is no question, a Scottish pea- sant, with his long dry visage, his sharp prominent cheek- bones, his grey twinkling eyes, and peaked chin, would seem a very Argus> if set up close beside the sleek and ponderous chubbiness of a Gloucestershire farmer — to say nothing of the smarter and ruddier oiliness of some of our own country folks. As to the matter of a mere acuteness, however, I think I have seen faces in Yorkshire, at least a match for any thing to be found farther to the north. But the mere shrewdness of the Scotch peasant's face, is only one part of its expres- sion; it has other things, I should imagine, even more pecu- liarly characteristic. The best place to study their faces in is the kirk ; it is there that the sharpness of their discernment is most vehemently expressed in every line — for they are all critics of the sermon, and even of the prayers ; but it is there also that this sharp- ness of feature is most frequently seen to melt away before emotions of a nobler order, which are no less peculiarly, though far less pertinently theirs. It is to me a very interest- ing thing to witness the struggle that seems to be perpetually going on between the sarcastic and reverential elements of their disposition — how bitterly they seem to rejoice in their own strength, when they espy, or think they espy, some chink jn the armour of their preacher's reasoning ; and then with what sudden humility they appear to bow themselves into the dust, before some single solitary gleam of warm affectionate eloquence — the only weapon they have no power to resist. If I mistake not, it is in this mixture of sheer speculative and active hard-headedness, with the capacity of so much lofty enthusiasm concerning things intangible, that we must seek for the true differential quality of the Scottish peasants. I shall have abundant occasion to return to this hereafter. The gentlemen of this part of the country have assuredly by no means the same advantages over those of the south, which the Scotch peasants have over the English. I know not altogether to what these advantages enjoyed by the lower orders maybe owing ; — their better education is of course tb' 28 peter's letters. first and most obvious source ; their more sterile soil — and, consequently, their less luxurious life, may be others almost as efficient. Above all, the picturesque aspect of their ever various landscapes, cannot fail to exert a powerful influence on the opening mind of their youth. But in some of these things, at least, the peasantry of particular districts in Eng- land share abundantly, and I think there are some pretty ex- tensive tracts on the continent vvhere the whole of these cir- cumstances, are very nearly so, are found acting together, without producing any such similarity of effect as might have been expected. I suspect that we must go farther back if we would arrive at any satisfactory solution. — Of this too here- after. The gentry, however, have no pretensions to a more intel- ligent exterior than their neighbours of the south. The truth is, that certain indications of worldly quicksightedness, which please on the face, and the air of a peasant, produce quite a different effect when exhibited in the case of a person of superior rank. One rather wishes to see these things kept under in the appearance of a person of education, than sus- pectstheirnon-existencein the totality of hischaracter. With- out wanting their due proportion of the national enthusiasm, the Scottish gentry seem to show much fewer symptoms of it than those below them ; and this is a sufficiently natural result of their sense of their own comparative importance. It is a result, notwithstanding, which tends to make any thing but a favourable impression on the mind of a stranger. High and low, they are, for the most part, a race of tall, well-formed people ; active of limb, and powerful of muscle ; leaner by far than the English : — (for here a very fat man is stared at, and one of such bulk as is met with at every corner in London, must, it would seem, lay his account with a little quizzing from all his friends on the subject of his obesity.) In their gait and gestures, they have neither the vivacity of the Frenchman, nor the nob'e gravity of the Spaniard, nor the stable heavy vigour of the Englishman ; but a certain grotesque mixture of elasticity and sedateness, which is sufficient to prove their descent from a hardy and warlike set of marauders, the effects of whose subazthric existence have not yet been washed out by any great influx of idleness or luxury ; and, at the same time, under favour, to remind one with what zeal these progeni- tors exerted all their energies, inbehalf of the most taciturn spe- cies of fanaticism that was ever made subservient to the pur- peter's letters. 29 poses of ghostly ambition. When a man visits France, whe- ther he be a believer or a despiser of the doctrine of the Spurzheims, he must look long around him before he can find any face which he could imagine to be the property of one lineally sprung from the loins of the Bayards and the Du- guesclins, or, if you will, of the Harlays, and the Du Thous. But here the deterioration of the species, if such there be, has scarcely begun to tell upon their physiognomies ; and you meet, at every step, persons who have that about them which would prevent you from being at all astonished, if you should be told immediately afterwards, that they could trace them- selves, without difficulty, to the Burleighs and the Claver- houses, — I bad almost said, the Bell-the-Cats, and the Kirk- patricks. I have not, as yet, seen a great deal of the women. Those, even of the peasantry, seem, when young, to be comely and well-complexioned ; but it is a great mistake to suppose that they are fairer than with us. And yet the testimony of travel- lers cannot be entirely despised ; and if their report is in any degree a correct one, light hair, and light eyes, were almost universal at no very remote period. This is a circumstance that has often appeared to me to be very inadequately ac- counted for ; I mean the great and remarkable change that has taken place in the complexions not only of the Scotch, but of the English, and indeed of all the Gothic nations of Europe. When the Romans first became acquainted with the Germans and the Britons, there can be no question that both the gentlemen and the ladies of those nations had yellow locks and blue eyes ; and you have heard, no doubt, that the Roman belles, stimulated, it is to be suspected, by the stories of their campaigning husbands and lovers, endeavoured, by a thousand tricks of the toilette, to muster charms as nearly as they could in the same taste. You well know, that the Messalinas and Poppaeas used to cut off the finest black curls in the world, to make room for false tctes manufactured from the hair of the poor girls of the Sicambri and the Batavi, while others strove to produce the same sort of effect by means of hair-powder made of gold-dust, and washes, of more cun- ning chemistry than I would undertake to describe. Even in far later times, so late as Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, Eras- mus and Paul Henztner represent \he ladies of England as being, with very few exceptions, blondes; and such, if voya- gers of less illustrious reputation " may be in aught believeoV ' Si) peter's letters. not much above a hundred years ago, were the far greater portion of the beaux and belles of Scotland. " Sandy-haired" is still one of the standing epithets applied to the ideal Scot, by all inexperienced persons, who introduce any description of him into novels or satires — witness Chur- chill, and a thousand of less note ; and I confess, that I was myself prepared to find the case much more as they have re- presented it, than I really have done. By looking around me at home, and remembering what the old writers had said of ourselves, I might have learned to be more suspicious of their accuracy ; but the truth is, I had never taken the pains to think much about the matter. In fact, they are now as far from being a light-haired people as we are. I amused my- self (God forgive me) with counting the number of fair heads last Sunday in a very crowded church, and, I assure you, they did not amount to one in fifty. There are far more peo- ple here with locks of all but Israelitish blackness, than of any shade that could with propriety be called either white, yellow, or red ; and the general hues are exactly the same variations of brown, between Bistre and burnt Sienna, which we are accustomed to in the south. I was at a large party yesterday evening — the first sight I have had of the gay world here — and had an opportunity of viewing, at my leisure, all the fashionable belles of the town. You always accuse me of being too undistinguishing an ad- mirer ; but I am sure, even you would have allowed that there was no want of beauty. It is many years since I have been familiar with the beau monde of London, but I do not believe I ever in any one evening there, saw a greater num- ber of fine women and of very different kinds too. I had heard before I went that I should see Miss #####, the same celebrated star of whom you have so often heard Sir Thomas speak, and who, indeed, cannot show herself any where, even in this unromantic age, without leaving an uneffaceable im- pression on all that behold her. I confess the description the knight used to give of her appeared to me to be a little high-flown ; but " seeing is believing" — the world has as- suredly only one #=####. I looked round a room crowded with lovely women, but my eye was fixed in a moment ; and I never thought of asking which was she. The first view I had was a profile. I had no suspicion that nature could still form countenances upon that heavenly model. The fore- meter's letters, 31 head, high and clear, decends almost without a curve inta the nose, and that again drops into the mouth with such bold defined elegance of lineament, as I should scarcely have believed to be copied from living beauty, had I met with it in some masterpiece of sculpture. The lips have such a de- licate precision of form, and such an expression of divine simplicity in their smile, that one could almost believe they had never admitted any grosser diet than ambrosia ; but the full oval sweep of the cheek and chin, and the mode in which these are carried down into the neck, are, perhaps, the most truly antique parts of the whole. And then such hair — such long luxurious tresses of radiant brown, braided with such serene grace upon that meek forehead ! If you have, seen Canova's testa d' Helena, you may form some notion of those most exquisite curls. The colour of her eyes I could not ascertain ; I suspect they are dark grey, or hazel ; but the redundant richness of her eye-lashes gives them all that glossy splendour which oriental beauties borrow from their Sirme. But, indeed, colour is a small matter in eyes enchased so deeply beneath such majestic brows. I think Lucretius himself would have admitted, that the spirit must be im- mortal on which so glorious a tenement has been bestowed I With this divine exception, I must do the men the justice to say, that the most beautiful women in the room were all matrons. Had she been absent, there were two or three of. these on whom all my enthusiasm might well have been ex- pended ; and one, Mrs. #*####, whose graceful majesty was such, that when I met her next evening in a smaller assembly, I almost began to suspect myself in having been too exclusive in my deification. But I have already said more than I should have ventured on to almost any other of your sex — a great deal more than I should have dared to write, far less speak, to my cousin — to whom I beg you will present the humble duty of Her slave, &c* &c. P. M. P. S. By way of pleasing Jane, you may tell her that I do not think the Scottish ladies are at all good dressers. They are very gorgeous — I never saw such a display of crimson velvet, and ostrich feathers, and diamond necklaces, except once at a birth-day. But the fashions have a long 32 PETER 5 S LETTERS. cold journey before they reach Edinburgh, and I think they do not regain the same easy air which they have before they begin their travels. They are apt to overdo every thing, particularly that vilest and most unnatural of all fashions, the saddle — or I know not what you call it — which is at pre- sent permitted to destroy so much of the back, and indeed, to give so much meanness to the whole air. They say the scrophula brought in the high shirt collars of the men — and the Spectator gives some equally intelligible account of the fardingale. Pray, what hunch-backed countess was she that had wit enough to bring the saddle into vogue ? I think all the three fashions are equally abominable, and the two of them that still remain should be voted out by the clean-skin- ned and straight-backed, who, I hope, are still the major part of the community. But, ne antor ultra crepidam * # * P. M, LETTER VI. to the rev. david william3. Dear David, Although my sole purpose, or nearly so, in coining to Scotland, was to see and converse with the illustrious men who live here, I havebeen*in Edinburgh for a fortnight, and can scarcely say that 1 have as yet seen even the faces of most of them. What with lounging about in the mornings with W- , and claret in the evening, and routs and balls at night, I fear I am fast getting into a very unprofitable life. The only very great man here to whom I had letters of intro- duction, was Scott, and he happened to go out of town for a few weeks, I believe the very day after my arrival. I for- warded my letter to hjm in the country, however, and he has invited me to pay him a visit there, at the castle he has just built upon the banks of the Tweed* He has been so atten- tive, moreover, as to send me letters for Mr. McKenzie the Man of Feeling, Mr. Jeffrey, Mr. Piayfair, and several other men of note, on both sides of the question ; so that I shall now see as much as I please of all the Dons. I shall take the op- portunity of W 's absence, to call upon all these gentle- peter's letters. 33 men ; for, excepting Mr. Scott and Mr. McKenzie, he has no acquaintance with any of them. I believe, indeed, there is little love lost between him and them — and I wish to see things with my own eyes. Of all the celebrated characters of this place, I rather under- stand that Jeffrey is the one whom travellers are commonly most in a hurry to see— not surely, that the world, in general, has any such deep and abiding feeling of admiration for him, or any such longing to satisfy their eyes with gazing on his features, as they have with regard to such a man as Scott, or even St 1 ; but I think the interest felt with respect to him is of a more vivacious and eager kind, and they rush with all speed to gratify it — exactly as men give immediate vent to their petty passions, who have no difficulty, or rather, indeed, who have a sort of pleasure in nursing silently, and concealing long, those of a more serious and grave iaiport- ance. A few years ago, I should, perhaps, have been more inclined to be a sharer in this violent sort of impatience ; but even now I approached the residence of Jeffrey with any feelings assuredly rather than those of indifference. He was within when I called, and in a second I found my- self in the presence of this bugbear of authors. He received me so kindly, (although, from the appearance of his room, he seemed to be immersed in occupation,) and asked so many questions, and said and looked so much, in so short a time, that I had some difficulty in collecting my inquisitorial powers to examine the person of the man. I know not how, there is a kind of atmosphere of activity about him ; and my eyes caught so much of the prevailing spirit, that they darted for some minutes from object to object, and refused, for the first time, to settle themselves even upon the features of a man of genius — to them, of all human things, the most potent attractions. I find that the common prints give a very inadequate no- tion of his appearance. The artists of this day are such a sel of cowardly fellows, that they never dare to give the- truth as it is in nature ; and the consequence is, after all, that they rather take from, than add to, the impressiveness of the faces they would flatter. What a small matter is smooth- ness of skin, or even regularity of feature, in the counte- nance that Nature has formed to be the index of a powerful intellect ? Perhaps I am too much of a connoisseur to be a fair iudge of such matters; but I am very sure 3 that the mere 5 o4 peter's letters. handsomeness of a great man is one of the last things about him that fixes my attention. I do not wish, neither, to denyv that, when I first saw Goethe, the sublime simplicity of his Homeric beauty — the awful pile of forehead — the large deep eyes, with their melancholy lightnings — the whole counte- nance, so radiant with divinity, would have lost much of its power, had it not been, at the same time, the finest specimen of humanity I had ever beheld ; neither would I conceal the immeasurable softness of delight which mingled with my re- verence, when 1 detected, as if by intuition, in the midst of the whole artists of St. Luke's, the Hyperion curls, and calm majestic lineaments, which could be nobody's but Canova's. But although beauty never exists in vain, there is nothing more certain than that its absence is scarcely perceived by those who are capable of discovering and enjoying the marks of things more precious than beauty. Could all our country- men of the present time, of very great reputation for talents or genius, be brought together into a single room, their phy- siognomies would, I doubt not, form as impressive a group as can well be imagined ; but among the whole, there would scarcely be more than one face which any sculptor might be ambitious of imitating on marble. Jeffrey's countenance could not stand such a test. To catch the minutest elements of its eloquent power, would I think be a hard enough task for any painter, and indeed, as I have already told you, it has proved too hard a task for such as have yet attempted it. It is a face which any man would pass without observation in a crowd, because it is small and swarthy, and entirely de- void of lofty or commanding outlines — and besides, his stature is so low, that he might walk close under your chin or mine without ever catching the eye even for a moment. How- ever, he is scarcely shorter than Campbell ; and some inches taller than Tom Moore, or the late Monk Lewis. I remem- ber Lord Clarendon somewhere takes notice, that in his age, (the prime manhood of English intellect, as Coleridge calls it,) a very large proportion of the remarkable men were very short in stature. Such, if my memory serves me, were Hales ; and Chillingworth, and Sidney Godolphin, and Lord Falk- land himself, who used, f think, to say, that it was a great ingredient into his friendship for Mr. Godolphin, that he was pleased to be in his company, where he was the properer man. In our own time^we have more than one striking instance o f meter's letters. 3© the " Mens magna in corpore parvo ;" — Buonaparte himself for one ; and, by the way, he is the only little man I ever saw, who seemed t© be unconscious, or careless, or disdainful of the circumstance. Almost ali other persons of that de- scription appear to labour under a continual and distressing feeling that nature has done them injustice, and not a few of them strive to make up for her defects, by holding their heads as high as possible, and even giving an uncomfortable elevation or projection to the chin, all which has a very mean effect upon their air and attitude, and is particularly hurtful to the features of the face, moreover, — because it tends to re- verse the arrangement of Nature, and to throw all those parts into light which she has meant to be in shade. It is exactly the same sort of thing that we all remark on the stage, where the absurd manner in which the lamps are placed, under the leet of the performers, has such a destructive effect, that few actors, except those of the Kemble blood, appear to have any better than snub noses. Now, Napoleon has not the least of this trick ; but, on the contrary, carries his head almost con- stantly in a stooping posture, and so preserves and even in- creases the natural effect of his grand formation about the eyebrows, and the beautiful classical cut of his mouth and chin — though, to be sure, his features are so fine that nothing could take much from their power. — But, to come back to our own small men, Jeffrey has a good deal of this unhappy manner, and so loses much of what his features, such as they are, might be made to convey. I have heard many persons say, that the first sight of Mr. Jeffrey disappointed them, and jarred with all the ideas they had previously formed of his genius and character. Perhaps the very first glance of this celebrated person produced some- thing of the same effect upon my own mind ; but a minute or two of contemplation sufficed to restore me to the whole of my faith in physiognomy. People may dispute as much as they please about particular features, and their effect, but I have been all my life a student of " the human face divine," and I have never yet met with any countenance which did not perfectly harmonize, so far as I could have opportunity of ascertaining, with the intellectual conformation and habits of the man that bore it. But I must not allow myself to be seduced into a disquisition— 1 shall rather try my hand at # portrait. 36 peter's letters. Mr. Jeffrey, then, as I have said, is a very short, and very active-looking man, with an appearance of extraordinary vi- vacity in all his motions and gestures. His face is one which cannot be understood at a single look — perhaps it requires, as it certainly invites, a long and anxious scrutiny before it lays itself open to the gazer. The features are neither hand- gome, nor even very defined in their outlines ; and yet the ef- fect of the whole is as striking as any arrangement either of more noble or more marked features, which ever came under my view. The forehead is very singularly shaped, describing in its bend from side to side a larger segment of a circle than is at all common ; compressed below the temples almost as much as Sterne's ; and throwing out sinuses above the eyes, of an extremely bold and compact structure. The hair is very black and wiry, standing in ragged bristly clumps out from the upper part of his head, but lying close and firm lower down, especially about the ears. Altogether it is picturesque, and adds to the effect of the visage. The mouth is the most expressive part of his face, as I believe it is of every face. The lips are very firm, but they tremble and vibrate, even when brought close together, in such a way as to give the idea of an intense, never-ceasing play of mind. There is a delicate kind of sneer almost always upon them, which has not the least appearance of ill-temper about it, but seems to belong entirely to the speculative understanding of the man. I have said, that the mouth is the most expressive part of his face — and, in one sense, this is the truth, for it is certainly the seat of all its rapid and transitory expression. But what speaking things are bis eyes ! They disdain to be agitated with those lesser emotions which pass over the lips ; they reserve their fierce and dark energies for matters of more moment ; once kindled with the heat of any passion, how they beam, flash upon flash ! The scintillation of a star is not more fervid. Perhaps, notwithstanding of this, their repose is even more worthy of attention. With the capacity of emitting such a flood of radiance, they seem to take a pleasure in banishing every ray from their black, inscrutable, glazed, tarn-like cir- cles. I think their prevailing language is, after all, rather a melancholy than a merry one — it is, at least, very full of re- flection. Such is a faint outline of this countenance, the fea- tures of which (to say nothing at all of their expression,) have, as yet, baffled every attempt of the portrait-painters; PETER ? S LETTERS. 37 and which, indeed, bids very fair, in ray opinion, to leave no image behind it either on canvass or on copper. A sharp, and, at the same time, very deep-toned voice — a very bad pronunciation, but accompanied with very little of the Scotch accent-— a light and careless manner, exchanged now and then for an infinite variety of more earnest expression and ad- dress — this is as much as I could carry away from my first visit to " the wee rekit deil," as the Inferno of Altesidora has happily called him. I have since seen a great deal more of him, and have a great deal more to tell you, but my paper is done. P. M. P. S. I am to dine with Jeffrey to-morrow at his country house, about three miles from Edinburgh, and shall give you a full account of the party in my next. LETTER VN. to the same. Dear David, Since I came to this town the weather has in general been of a very unpleasant kind. When you look out from the windows of your apartment, nothing can be finer than the appearance every thing presents. The air is as clear as am- ber overhead, and the sun shines with so much power, that in these splendid streets, the division of the bright from the sha- dowy part, reminds one of the richest effects of a Cuyp, or a Sachtleeven. But when you come out, in the full trust in- spired by this brilliant serenity of aspect, you find yourself wofully disappointed. The action of the sun and air upon the nerves, is indeed delightfully stimulant ; but the whole charm is destroyed before you have time to enjoy it, by some odious squall of wind which cuts you to the teeth — and what is worse, comes loaded with a whole cloud of flying dust and gravel, which is sure to leave its traces behind it, on still more delicate parts of your physiognomy. As for myself, I am often obliged to walk with a handkerchief held before my eyes — and in spite of all my precautions, I have been several times in such a state, that I have absolutely rubbed myself 38 peter's letters. blind. The whole of this arises from the want of watering the streets — a thing which might surely be accomplished without the least difficulty, by a subscription among the in- habitants. If this evil be so severe at present, what must it be in the dog-days ? — and yet the people submit to it all qui- etly, in streets, below every one of which they know water is flowing in pipes, ready to be scattered ad libitum, and at an expense not worthy of being mentioned. — " O / cascas homi- num mcntes !" Yesterday, however, there was an unusual degree of qui- etness in the state of the atmosphere. A slight shower, which fell in the morning, had laid the most offensive part of the dust, without giving the least appearance of damp to the roads — and I drove to C k, Mr. Jeffrey's villa, molto gus- tosamente — the expectation of the manifold luxuries I hoped to enjoy there — the prospective delights both of palate and intellect — being heightened and improved by the preliminary gratification I tasted, while the shandrydan rolled along be- tween the refreshed green of the meadows and corn-fields* His house is an old turretted mansion, much patched in the whole mass of its structure, and, I believe, much increased in its accommodations since he entered upon possession of it. The situation is extremely beautiful. There are very few trees immediately about the house; but the windows open upon the side of a charming hill, which, in all its extent, as far as the eye can reach, is wooded most luxuriantly to the very summit. There cannot be a more delicious rest for the eyes, than such an Arcadian height in this bright and budding time of the year ; but, indeed, where, or at what time, can a line wood be looked upon without delight? Between the wood and the house, there is a good garden, and some fields 3 in the cultivation of which Mr. Jeffrey seems to take much pleasure ; for I had no^sooner arrived, than he insisted upon carrying me over his ditches and hedges to show me his me- thod of farming ; and, indeed, talked of Swedish turnip, and Fiorin grass, and red blossomed potatoes, in a style that would have done no dishonour to your friend Curwen himself. I had come, thanks to my rustic ignorance, exactly at the hour appointed for dinner, (five o'clock,) so that I had three parts of an hour of the great man entirely to myself — during the whole of which space he continued to talk about rural affairs, and to trot me up one field and down another, till I was weary. JPETER 7 S LETTERS. 39 without [credite posteri !) making one single allusion to law, politics, or literature. We were joined toward six o'clock by professors Playfair and Lesslie, and one or two young advocates, who had walk- ed out with them. Then came R Morehead, whom you remember at Balliol, a relation and intimate friend of Jeffrey's* He and the celebrated orator Alison officiate together in one of the Episcopalian chapels in Edinburgh. Although we never knew each other at Oxford, yet we immediately re- cognized each other's old High-Street faces, and began to claim a sort of acquaintance on that score, as all Oxonian contemporaries, 1 believe, are accustomed to do, when they meet at a distance from their alma mater. There were several other gentlemen, mostly of grave years, so that I was not a little astonished, when somebody proposed a trial of strength in leaping. Nor was my astonishment at all dimin- ished, when Mr. Playfair began to throw off his coat and waist- coat, and to prepare himself for taking his part in the contest. When he did so much, I could have no apology, so I also stripped; and, indeed, the whole party did the same, except Jeffrey alone, who was dressed in a short green jacket, with scarcely any skirts, and, therefore, seemed to consider himself as already sufficiently " accinctus ludo" I used to be a good leaper in my day — witness the thou- sands of times I have beat you in the Port Meadow, and elsewhere — but I cut a very poor figure among these sinewy Caledonians. With the exception of Lesslie, they all jump- ed wonderfully ; and Jeffrey was quite miraculous, consider- ing his brevity of stride. But the greatest wonder of the whole was Mr. Playfair. He also is a short man, and he cannot be less than seventy, yet he took his stand with the as- surance of an athletic, and positively beat every one of us — the very best of us, at least half a heel's breadth. I was quite thunderstruck, never having heard the least hint of his being so great a geometrician — in this sense of the word. I was, however, I must own, agreeably surprised by such a speci- men of buoyant spirit and muscular strength in so venerable an old gentleman, and could not forbear from compliment- ing him on his revival of the ancient peripatetic ideas, about the necessity of cultivating the external as well as the inter- nal energies, and of mixing the activity of the practical with that of the contemplative life. He took what I said with great suavity ; and, indeed, I have never seen a better speci- 40 TETER^ LETTERS. men of that easy hilarity and good humour, which sits with so much gracefulness on an honoured old age. I wish I couid give you a notion of his face. It is not marked by any very striking features ; but the unison of mildness of disposition, and strength of intellect in the expression, is too remarkable to be unnoticed even by a casual observer. His habits of profound thought have drawn some deep lines about his mouth, and given him a custom of holding his lips very closely shut, otherwise I suspect the whole countenance would have been nothing more than an amiable one ; although the light eyes have certainly at times something very piercing in their glance, even through his spectacles. The forehead is very nneiy developed — singularly broad across the temples, as, according to Spurzheim, ail mathematical foreheads must be ; but the beauty in that quarter is rather of an ad clerum character, or as Pindar hath it, 1 E^uTjnco)/ %ec}i£et. I, however, who really, in good earnest, began to believe a little of the system, could not help remarking this circum- stance ; and more particularly so, because I found Mr. Lesslie's skull to possess many of the same features — above all, that of the breadth between the temples. This other great ma- thematician is a much younger man than Playfair ; but his hair is already beginning to be grey. He is a very fat heavy figure of a man, without much more appearance of strength than of activity ; and yet, although a bad leaper, by no means a slothful looking person neither. He has very- large eyes, in shape not unlike Coleridge's, but without the least of the same mysterious depth of expression. Altogether, his face is one which, at first sight, you would pronounce to be merely a coarse one ; but in which, once informed to whom it belongs, you are at no loss to discover a thousand marks of vigorous intellect and fancy too. Of this last quality, indeed, his eyes are at all times full to overflowing. In the midst of the sombre gravity of his usual: look, there are always little flashes of enthusiasm breaking through the cloud, and, I think, adorning it ; and, in this respect, he forms a striking contrast to the calm, tranquil uniformity of Mr. Play fair's physiognomy and deportment. In thinking of this afterwards, I could not kelp recollecting a great many pas- peter's letters. 41 sages of richly-coloured writing in his scientific Essays in the Edinburgh Review, which, I remember, struck me at the time I first read them, as being rather misplaced. But this, perhaps, may be merely the effect of the sterile way of writ- ing employed by almost all the philosophers of these late times, to which we have now become so much accustomed, that we with difficulty approve of any thing in a warmer taste, introduced into such kinds of disquisition. They managed these things better in Greece. By and bye, we were* summoned to the drawing-room, where we found several-ladies with Mrs. J . She, you know, is an American, and Jeffrey went across the Atlantic for her a few years ago, while we were at war with her coun- try. She is a very pleasing person ; and they have one ex- tremely interesting little girl. Jeffrev made no alteration in his dress, but joined the ladies exactly in his morning cos- tume, — the little green jacket aforesaid, grey worsted panta- loons, and Hessian boots, and a black silk handkerchief. How had Grub-street stared to see the prince of reviewers in such a garb ! The dinner was excellent — a glorious turbot and oyster-sauce for one thing ; and (sitesco referens) there was no want of champaigne — the very wine, by the way, which I should have guessed to be Jeffrey's favourite. It is impossible to conceive of him as being a lover of the genuine old black-strap, or even of the quiet balminess of Burgun- dy. The true reviewing diet is certainly champaigne, and devilled biscuit. Had there been any blue-stocking lady present, she would have been sadly shocked with the material cast of the conversation during dinner — not a single word about " The sweet new poem !" Most of the company, though all men of literary habits, seem- ed to be as alive to the delights of the table, as if they had been "let in" (to use Dandie's phrase) by Monsieur Viard, — knowing m sauces, and delightfully reviewing every glass before they would suffer it to go down. It put me in mind of some lines of my friend W . 5 Tis a bookseller that speaks — " The days of Tonson, Lintot, Curll, are over, Tis now your author's time to live on clover. 6 42' peter's letters. The time"s gone by when we our coaches kepf, And authors were contented with umbrellas— When pairs of epic bards in hay-lofts slept, Too glad if cantos two could fill two bellies — When we could always dinner intercept, Unless the quire was covered — Happy fellows ! When first a champaigne cork was taught to fly At a reviewer's touch — our reign was by."* The introduction of the claret and desert made, for a long time, very little alteration in the subject matter of discourse ; but by degrees the natural feelings and interests of the com- pany did begin to shine through the cloud of bohillage^ and various matters, in which I was much better pleased to hear their opinions, were successively tabled — none of them, how- ever, with the least appearance of what the Scotch very ex- pressively call for e-thoitght. Every thing went on with the utmost possible facility, and, in general, with a very graceful kind of lightness. The whole tone of Mr. Jeffrey's own con- versation, indeed, was so pitched, that zproser, or a person at all ambitious, in the green-room phrase, to make an effect, would undoubtedly have found himself most grievously out of place. Amidst all this absence of "preparation, 11 how- ever, (for it is impossible to talk of conversation without using French words,) — I nave never, I believe, heard so many ideas thrown out by any man in so short a space of time, and ap- parently with such entire negation of exertion. His conver- sation acted upon me like the first delightful hour after taking opium. The thoughts he scattered so readily about him (his words, rapid, and wonderfully rapid as they are, appearing to be continually panting after his conceptions)- — histhoughts^ I say, were at once so striking, and so just, that they took in succession entire possession of my imagination, and yet with so felicitous a tact did he forbear from expressing any one of these too fully, that the reason was always kept in a pleasing kind of excitement, by the endeavour more thoroughly to ex- amine their bearings. It is quite impossible to listen to him for a moment, without recalling all the best qualities of his composition — and yet I suspect his conversation is calculated to leave one with even a higher idea of his mind, at least of its fertility, than the best of his writings. I have heard some men display more profoundness of reflection, and others a. much greater command of the conversational picturesque— * Modern Dunciad, Canto If. feter's letters. 43 "but I never before witnessed any thing to be compared with the blending together of apparently little consistent powers in the whole strain of his discourse. Such a power, in the first place, of throwing away at once every useless part of the idea to be discussed, and then such a happy redundancy of imagination to present the essential and reserved part in its every possible relation, and point of view — and all this connected with so much of the plain scavoir faire of actual existence, and such a thorough scorn of mystificatioa, it is really a very wonderful intellectual coalition. The largeness of the views suggested by his speculative understanding, and the shrewdness with which his sound and close judgment seems to scrutinize them after they are suggested — these alone would be sufficient to make his conversation one of the most re- markable things in the world. But then he invests all this ground-work with such a play of fancy, wit, sarcasm, persi- flage, every thing in that way except humour — which again, were they united in any person entirely devoid either of the depth or the justness of Jeffrey's intellect, would unquestion- ably render that person one of the most facinating of all possible companions. The Stagyrite, who places his summum. ■bonum in having one's faculties kept at work, would certainly have thought himself in Elysium, had he been so fortunate as to discuss a flask of Chian in company with Mr. Jeffrey. The mere animal spirits of the man are absolutely miracu- lous. When one considers what a life of exertion he has led ibr these last twenty years ; how his powers have been kept on the rack such a length of time with writing, and concocting, and editing reviews on the one hand, and briefs, and speeches, ■and journeys, and trials, and cross-questionings, and the whole labyrinth of barristership on the other — one cannot help be- ing quite thunderstruck on finding that he has still reserved such a large fund of energy which he can afford and delight to lavish, when even the comparative repose of his mind would be more than enough to please and satisfy every one. His vigour seems to be a perfect widow^s cruise, bubbling for ever upwards, and refusing to be exhausted — swelling and spreading till all the vessels of the neighbourhood are satu- rated, and more than saturated, with the endless unwearied irrigation of its superfluous richness. Mr. Playfair was the only other person whose conversation made any very striking impression on me— but indeed this might well be the case, without the least reflection on the 44 peter's LETTERS. talents of those present. This gentleman's mode of talking is just as different as possible from his friend's — it is quietly, simply, unaffectedly sensible, and that is all one thinks of it at first— but by degrees he says things, which although at the moment he utters them, they do not produce any very start- ling effect, have the power to keep one musing on them for a long time after he stops — so that, even if one were not told who he is, I believe one would have no difficulty in discover- ing him to be a great man. The gravity of his years—the sweet unassuming gentleness of his behaviour — and the calm way in which he gave utterance to thoughts, about which almost any other person would have made so much bustle — every thing about the appearance and manners of this serene and venerable old man has left a feeling of quiet, respectful, and affectionate admiration upon my mind. I brought him into town in the shandrydan, and he has asked me to dine with him in the beginning of next week. I mean before the time, to go and hear him deliver one of his lectures, and shall tell you what I think of it — although, considering the subject of which he treats, you may perhaps feel no great anxiety to hear my opinion. I declare the wine here is superb. I think some of Jeffrey's Chateau-Margout beats the lot you bought at Colonel Johnes's all to nothing — don't take this in dudgeon. Ever yours P.M. LETTER VIII. TO THE REV. D. W. Oman's, Tuesday Evening. Dear David, I am rather surprised that you should already begin to call upon me for disquisition, when you may well suppose I have still so many interesting descriptions to give you. I have now seen, not one or two, but a great number of those eminent persons who confer so much honour upon the pre- sent condition of Scotland, and of whom you yourself have so often talked to me in terms of ardent curiosity. I assure peter's letters. 45 you, but, indeed, why should I waste words to do so, that the extraordinary talents of these men are as far as possible from losing by a close inspection of their manners. The tone of that society, which they have necessarily had so great a share in forming, is as free as possible from the in- fluence of that spirit of jealousy and constraint which I have observed operating in some other cities, in such a way as to prevent men of genius from doing justice to themselves, else- where than in their writings. Hereafter, indeed, I shall have occasion to say something of the spirit of party in Scotland, and to show with what destructive violence it attacks the very essence of cordial communion among some of the less considerable classes of society. Nay, I fear, from what I al- ready see, that I shall find some little occasion to lament the insidious and half unsuspected influences of the same spirit among those who should be more above its working. But in the social intercourse of most of the men of literary emi- nence whom I have as yet seen, the absence of all feeling of party appears to be quite as entire as that of some other, and yet more offensive feelings which are elsewhere sufficiently manifest in their effects ; and the principles, as well as the reputation of the one of such men, appear to act in no other way upon the other, than as gentle stimulants of his intellect, and of his courtesy. My friend W , as I have already whispered, not only forms, but glories in forming, an exception to this sort of be- haviour. He utterly hates a Whig and a Calvinist, and he has no scruple about saying as much upon every occasion. He abominates the style of complaisant smoothness, with which some, who entertain many of his own opinions, are accustomed to treat those whom he calls by no better name than the Adversaries ; and complains, indeed, with an air of gravity, which I should not have expected in any man of his understanding, that by this species of conduct, the Great Cause itself, (by which he means the cause of true religion and true patriotism, as united and inseparable,) has sustain- ed, is sustaining, and is likely to sustain injuries of a more dangerous character than its unassisted enemies alone could have any power of inflicting. He has a two-fold argument on this head. "In the first place," says he, " the utterly ig- norant and uninformed, who must constitute the great ma- it> peter's letters. jority of every nation, and the half ignorant and conceited, who constitute an infinitely larger proportion of the Scotch than of any other nation under heaven — and who, wherever they may be found, are a far more despicable, though no doubt, a more dangerous class than that upon which they think themselves entitled to look down— all these people, 6 thick as the leaves in Vallambrosa,' are, in spite of them- selves, mightily influenced in all things by the example of the few men of true genius and learning their country does contain. They see the external kindness with which these men treat the persons of their enemies, and it is no wonder that they care not to make nice distinctions between persons and principles for themselves. In the second place, says he, the good cavalier himself cannot keep company with round- heads — no, nor the good son of the true church cannot con- sort in familiarity with the relics of the cold-blooded cove- nanters on the one hand, or with those of the equally cold- blooded sceptic and infidel tribe on the other, without losing somewhat of the original purity of his affectionate faith. For my part, he concludes, I will do no harm to others or to my- self, by such rash and unworthy obsequiences." The plain English of all which is, perhaps, nothing more than that my good friend is too great a bigot to be capable of feeling much happiness in the presence of men who differ from him on points which he considers as of so much importance, and that he is willing, in avoiding their company, to cover his true motives from his acquaintance, in part it may be from himself, by the assumption of others, to which, in truth, he has little legitimate pretensions. Be all this as it may, W is, without doubt, the keenest Tory in Scotland ; indeed, I believe I should not go far from the truth, should I say, that his Toryism both far more smells of the old cavalier school, and is far more keen and intole- rant, than that of any man of superior attainments, I ever met with on either side of the Tweed. A Scotsman of genu- ine talents, who sincerely entertains such opinions, may per- haps claim no inconsiderable indulgence, although the pre- sent condition of his country should affect him with feelings of aversion, almost of loathing, toward politicians of another kind, such as would be altogether unpardonable in an English Tory. In our part of the island, thank God, the pedigree of right thoughts has at no period been interrupted ; and never*, peter's letters. 47 I fiFmly believe, did the venerable tree present a more im- posing spectacle of bloom and vigour than at the present. In literature, as in every other walk of exertion and depart- ment of life, the Tories have, at least, their equal share of power and of honour. In the church, their principles are maintained by a mighty majority of a clergy, whom even their enemies will acknowledge to be the most learned in the world, and who, whatever may be their comparative deficien* cies in some other respects, are certainly far more intimately connected with the thoughts and feelings of the most important classes of society, than any clerical body in Europe ever was ; and therefore, it may be presumed, more likely to exert a continued and effectual influence upon the public mind of their country. In the law, where the encouragement for talent alone is such, that no man of high talents can be suspected of easily sacrificing his judgment for the hopes of favour, the superiority is almost as apparent as in the church, and Shep- herd stands as much alone among the younger, as our excel- lent Chancellor does among the elder part of the profession. In literature, they have no lack of splendid names. They have an equal proportion of those who carry on the imme- diate and more noisy conflict ; and a far over-balancing array of such as are likely to be remembered hereafter for the stable and enduring triumphs of their genius. They have Canning and Frere among the wits — they have Wordsworth and Cole- ridge in poetry — and they have the unwearied and inexhausti- ble Southey in every thing. They have no reason either to be ashamed of their front, or apprehensive of their success - ? and therefore they can have no excuse for carrying farther than is absolutely necessary, the measure of their hostility toward those who do not muster beneath their banner. 1 before suspected in part, and I now have seen enough tho- roughly to convince me, that in each and all of these points, this quarter of the island presents unhappily a contrast as striking as possible to the condition of our own. I shall not at present enter upon any thing like a review of the past history of political feeling in Scotland, because I expect ere long to find myself better enabled than I now am to attempt something of this kind ; and, at the same time, by laying before you the results of my inquiries into the nature both of the religion and the education of Scotland, to afford you somewhat of a key to its interpretation. In the mean- 48 peter's letters. time, however, nothing can be more certain than the superi- ority of the Whigs in the Scottish literature of the present day ; nor is their superiority a whit less decisive in the law, the only profession which, in Scotland, exerts any great or general authority over the opinions of the higher classes of society. As for the church, of which I propose to give you a full account hereafter, and of which, in regard to its influ- ence among the mass of the people, I am inclined to entertain a very high respect — the truth is, the clergy of Scotland are, at the present day, possessed of comparatively little power over the opinions of the best educated classes of their coun- trymen. One very efficient cause of this want of influence is, without doubt, the insignificant part they have of late taken in general literature; their neglect, in other words, their strange and unprecedented neglect of an engine, which, among a people whose habits at all resemble those of the pre- sent Scots, must ever be, of all others, the most extensive in its sway. Such as the influence of the churchmen is, they are all Presbyterians and Calvinists, and so, in spile of them- selves, they are, and must be Whigs. A few, indeed, may endeavour to persuade themselves and others they are Tories; but they wear the cloak of Geneva, and they are the de- scendants of John Knox — and that is sufficient. They may, if they choose, attempt to depart from the views of their pre- decessors, but the whole history of their sect is against them ; and the shrewd sagacity of those to whom they address them- selves, will at all times find a pleasing exercise in drawing in- vidious comparisons at their expense. But my business now is with the literati, and I am wandering from my text. There never was any man more fitted, by the general struc- ture of his genius, for seizing and possessing an extensive dominion over Scottish intellect, than David Hume. He was very nearly the beau ideal of the national understanding, and had he stood in any thing like the same relation to some other parts of the national character, without all question he might have produced works which would have been recog- nized by them as complete pictures of their mode of think- ing and feeling, and which would, therefore, have obtained a measure of influence exactly coincident with the extent of their national existence. The defect of feeling in his compo- sition, which has prevented his books from attaining the power which their genius might otherwise have commanded, was by no means hostile to the early diffusion of his celebrity ; 49 but it has acted with the force of a terrible lever, in pulling him down from that height of authority to which the spring of his originality at first elevated him. The empire which he at once framed to himself in the region of the speculative un- derstanding of his countrymen, has not, indeed, been taken away ; but the tyrannous interference, by which this empire at first contrived' almost to swallow up every authority in its vicinity, has now received many checks, and, I should hope, bids fair to be ere long entirely discontinued. The only point on which David's character seems to have found any room for ardent feeling, were the ideas of ancient loyal- ty and attachment to the blood of bis native princes. This was a strange anomaly in the composition of so frigid an observer of human affairs. We bear it usually said, that it could have arisen only from the influence of early education; but even so, the wonder remains undiminished, how he, who threw off all other youthful prejudices with so much facility, should have continued to embalm this alone in the very re- cesses of his heart. I am rather inclined to be of opinion, that David had really persuaded himself, by the exercise of his speculative understanding, that the greatest danger to which his country was likely to be exposed, would be no- thing else than a too great dereliction of those ideas, on which the national character and constitution had been form- ed, and determined, in his capacity of philosopher, to make use of his powers as a historian to controvert, and, if possible, counterbalance this perilous tendency of his times. In the mysteries of Revealed Religion, there was something so very offensive to the unsatiable inquisitiveness of his mind, that he could not so far overcome his aversion as to allow of any free use of his judgment, in regard to the impropriety and impolicy of attacking ideas so interwoven with the essence of the national character both of Englishmen and Scotsmen. He, therefore, continued to write against Christianity, and, if his conscience visited him with any passing touches of contri- tion, as, indeed, I think, his writings prove abundantly to have been the case, it is probable he contrived to re-instate himself in his own good graces, by reflecting on the zeal with which he had fought the good fight of loyalty. But the truth is, that his consolation, if such there might be, was a very deceitful thing; for David Hume had spared no pains in convulsing the whole soil, wherein feelings both religious and national had taken root ; and others saw well enough, although he himself might 7 ill* PETER' S LETTERS* not, the absurdity of his undertaking to preserve, in the midst* of the ruin occasioned by his own exertions, any particular item of that produce, for the sum total of which he had mani- fested so little reverence. In spite, therefore, of all his mas- terly genius — in spite of his style, unrivalled in English, or, perhaps, in any modern literature — and in spite, above all, of the attachment felt by a vast number of his readers, for the very notions whose advocate he is — in spite of all that nature and art could do, the Devil has been too strong for David j and the Prince of Sceptics has himself been found the most potent instrument for diminishing, almost for neutralizing, the true and grave influence of the Prince of Historians. The doctrine of trying every thing by the standard of mere utility, which was set on foot anew with so much success by David Hume, Adam Smith, and the other philosophers of their sect, was undoubtedly the most dangerous present ever conferred by men of high and powerful intellects upon the herd of the species. It is no wonder that a doctrine, so flattering to the mean compass of every coarse understanding, should have been received with the utmost readiness by the whole crowd of Scioli. But it is to my mind a very great wonder, that a person of such fine acumen as David Hume, should not have foreseen what a sad misapplication of his theory must be the infallible result of the weak and limited nature of those, for whose reception it was so admirably fit- ted. Hume himself, indeed, furnished many examples (such we conceive them to be) of the danger which must attend the application of that theory, even in the hands of the ablest of men — enough to convince those capable of examining him and his disciples, that the doctrine may, indeed, be a true one, but that it would require intellects of a very different construction from ours, to make any satisfactory use of it It might have been forgiven to David, had he overlooked his own incapacities only; but it is no easy matter to discover by what strange mist his clear and piercing eye has bee* blinded to those of a species, of whose nature he was, in other instances, so far from over-rating the excellencies. — There can be little doubt, however, that what he wanted power to foresee and guard against, had he lived to taste the experience of a few succeeding years, he would have un- derstood abundantly, and repented, too, in the retrospect But, as Faustus says, peter's letters. m * O what is intellect ?— a strange, strange web- How bright the embroidery— -but how dark the woof |M Could we be permitted to correct our errors, we should no longer be men ; nay, (he poet, you know, has gone even far !her than this 3 when he says, E» rwith the tangles of Necsra's hair." Or with But it would be quite silly to trouble you with such minutcc as these ; the true defect lay in selecting, to preside in such an assembly, upon such an occasion, any other than a man of great reputation and rank in literature. Had such a person been selected, and had he, as it might have happened, committed the very same faults which Mr. Murray did com mit, the impression of his general character would still have been sufficient to prevent the company from regarding, other- wise than with a favourable eye, even the defects of one in whom, they would have been eager and proud to recognize the intel- t>4 PETER'S LETTER 5. lectual kinsman of their great poet. But, in the tirst place, it is not easy to understand why a man should be chosen to direct and guide the enthusiasm of a meeting in honour of Robert Burns, merely because he, himself, enjoys a tolerable degree of reputation as a Scottish barrister ; and, in the second place, every point in which such a person so chosen fails in the discharge of his duties, has the effect of making men re- cur to this original difficulty, with an increasing and a most unpleasant pertinacity. There was, perhaps, an injudicious degree of courage in Mr. Murray's attempt ; but " eventus docuit." It is a much easier thing, however, to say who should not, than who should have presided on this occasion. It seems that, among others, Mr. Jeffrey had been talked of; but he had the good sense to reject the proposal without hesitation And with what face, indeed, could he, the author of the long- est, and most deliberate, and most elaborate attack that ever assailed the character of Burns — an attack of which, with all my tolerance for Jeffrey's failings, I cannot help thinking the whole spirit and tone are radically and essentially abomina- ble — with what face could he have presumed to occupy the first place in an assembly of men, whose sole bond of union could be nothing 3lse than that feeling of deep, tender, and reverential admiration of poor Burn's memory, his own want of which had been so decidedly, or rather, so ostentatiously held forth T Many people can see some excuse — and I myself can imagine some explanation of the irreverent way in which Mr. Jeffrey has accustomed himself to treat his own great, po- etical contemporaries. But I know not, neither can I ima- gine, upon what principle a man of his fine understanding, and fine feeling too, should have esteemed himself justifi- able in concentrating the whole pitiless vigour of his satire upon the memory of one, whose failings, whatever they might be, were entitled to so much compassion as those of Robert Burns — in exhausting his quiver of poisoned shafts in pierc- ing and lacerating the resting-place of one, whose Jiving name must always be amonji; the dearest and most sacred posses- sions of his countrymen. I cannot help thinking, that Jeffrey displayed in that attack a very lamentable defect, not merely of nationality of feeling, but of humanity of feeling. If the pride of being the countryman of Burns was not enough to make Jeffrey a lenient observer of his errors, there were abun PETER 5 S LETTERS. 65 dance of other considerations of a yet higher kind, which should not have come vainly to the aid of that honourable pride. Alas! how easy a thing is it for us, who have been educated in the atmosphere of ease — who have " been clothed in fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day" — how easy a thing is it for such as we are, to despise and deride the power of temptations, that might be enough, and more than enough, to unhinge all the resolutions, and darken all the destinies of one who had been accustomed, in good earnest, to drink the ivater of bitterness, and eat his bread in the sweat of his brow I It is an easy thing for those who have comfort- able homes, and congenial occupations, to rail against the dissipated habits of a poor wandering poet, compelled to waste his best days in degrading druggeries, and night after night to find himself surrounded in his own narrow dwelling by ail the depressing and contracting squalors of penury. The rule of judging as we would be judged, although an excellent one, surely, in the main, must be taken, I think, with a great sequela of exceptions. It is the besetting tempta- tion of many natures, and honest natures too, to " Compound for sins they are inclined to, By damning those they have no mind to." And perhaps few sins are more " damned" upon this prin- ciple than those of the bottle. You might as well attempt to make a deaf man comprehend the excellencies of Mozart, as to convince some people that it is a venial thing to be fond of an extra glass of claret. Many even of those who take great pleasure in society, can never be brought to understand why people should get tipsy when they meet together round a table. The delight which they experience in company, is purely rational — derived from nothing but the animated and invigorated collision of contending and sporting intellects. They have wit and wisdom for their share, and they have little reason to complain ; but what do they know about the full, hearty, glorious swing of jollity? How can they ever sympathise with the misty felicity of a man singing " It is the moon — I ken her horn !" I think no man should be allowed to say any thing about Burns, who has not joined in this chorus, although timber- tuned, and sat till day-light, although married. (56 peter's letters. The first healths (after some of mere formality) were those of the mother of Burns — far she, it seems, is still alive, in ex- treme old age ; his widow, the " Jean," of his poetry — and his sons. A gentleman who proposed one of these toasts, mentioned a little anecdote, which gave infinite delight to all present, and which will do so to you. After the last of these triennial meetings, a pension of £50 per annum was settled on Mrs. Burns, by a Scottish gentleman of large fortune, Mr. Maule of Panmure. One of the sons of the poet, how- ever, has since that time gone out to India in a medical capa- city ; and being fortunate enough to obtain a situation of some little emolument, the first use he made of his success was to provide for his mother, in such a way as enabled her to decline any farther continuance of Mr. Maule's bounty — conduct, as was well said, " worthy of the wife and son of the high-souled Burns" — one who, in spite of all his faults, and all his difficulties, contrived, in the true spirit of proud independence, to owe no man any thing when he died. By the way, the person who mentioned this was the same George Thomson, whose name is so intimately associated with that of Burns, in the great collection of Scots Music. The health of Mr. Scott was then proposed, in terms of such warmth as might fit the occasion, by the Chairman. That of Mr. McKenzie was given by Mr. Clerk, a cele- brated advocate, and prefaced by some very elegant sentences respecting the early and effectual patronage extended by him to Burns in the Mirror. Mr. Jeffrey then rose and proposed the health of Thomas Campbell, with a, neat allusion to his late exquisite sketch of the character of Burns in the " Spe- cimens." I assure you, nothing could be more appropriate ? or more delightful, than the way in which all these toasts were received by the company. But you will see well enough by the paper I have sent you, what toasts were given. I am sorry to say, that those which were not given, occupied not a little of my attention. It was obvious from the way in which things went on, that Mr. Murray, Mr. Jeffrey, Mr. Clerk, and one or two of their friends among the stewards, had previously arranged among themselves what toasts should be proposed, and in what order; nor could the business of such a meeting be well conducted without some such preparation. I well knew before I went, that, as it happened, those gentlemen who took the chief direction in this affair, were all keen Whigs. But I never considered this as a circumstance of the slightest peter's letters. 67 importance, nor expected, most assuredly, that it would at all show itself in the conduct of the assembly. I regarded poli- tics and patties as things that had not the least connexion with the purposes of the meeting, and expected, indeed, that they would have been most studiously kept out of view, for the very purpose of rendering the meeting as universally and genially delightful as possible. I was, however, sadly disap- pointed. It is needless to multiply examples. It is sufficient to mention, that not one of these Edinburgh Reviewers had the common candour or manliness, in a meeting, the object of which was so purely to do honour to poetical genius, to propose the health either of Wordsworth, or of Southey, or of Coleridge. I could not have believed that the influence of paltry prejudices could ever be allowed to control in such a way the conduct of men so well entitled to be above their sphere. Even by the confession of the Edinburgh Review itself, these men are three of the greatest poetical geniuses our island ever has produced. Their choice of subjects, their style of versification, and various other particulars, are ridi- culed ; but it is no where denied, that even their errors are entitled to derive some little shelter from the originality, power, and beauty, of the productions in which they make their ap- pearance. I am indeed very much at a loss to comprehend, how any man of intelligence could satisfy his conscience, that he did right in proposing, on such an occasion as this, the healths of Crabbe, Rogers, nay even of Montgomery, (for such was the case) and omitting to do the same honour to the great names I have mentioned. Surely here was a sad descent from that pure elevation on which the true critic, and the true philosopher, must ever stand. I had no concep- tion previously of the real extent to which, in this country of political strife, the absurdities of party spleen are carried, even by men of eminence and virtue. I had no suspicion, that such a man as Mr. Jeffrey, or even as Mr. Murray, would have dared to show, almost to confess himself, incapable of overlooking the petty discrepancies of political opinion, in forming his estimate of a great English poet's character. It is not thus that a man can hope to anticipate the judgment of posterity, or to exert a permanent sway over that of his con- temporaries. In regard to Jeffrey, above all, 1 confess I was grieved to detect so much littleness, where I had been willing to look for very different things. I was grieved, indeed, to discover that he also, even out of his Review., is in a great measure one that 68 PETER'S LETTERS. narrows his mind, And to party gives up what was meant for mankind." That Mr. Jeffrey had found reason to change some of the opinions he had once expressed concerning Robert Burns, was, in part at least, admitted by himself, in one of the speeches he delivered on this very occasion. Nay, had it not been so, I am inclined to think it might have been better for him to have kept altogether away from the assembly. Haviug laid aside the worst of his prejudices against poor Burns, why- should he not have been proud and joyful in finding and em- ploying such an opportunity for doing justice to a great poet, who — himself the purest of men, and leading and having ever led the holiest and most dignified of lives — had not dis- dained to come forward at an earlier and a less triumphant period, as the defender and guardian of the reputation of his frailer brother ? What had parties, and systems, and schools, and nicknames, to do with such a matter as this ? Are there no healing moments in which men can afford to be free from the fetters of their petty self-love ? Is the hour of genial and cor- dial tenderness, when man meets man to celebrate the memory of one who has conferred honour on their common nature — is even that sacred hour to be polluted and profaned by any poi- sonous sprinklings of the week-day paltriness of life ? — My displeasure, in regard to this affair, has very little to do with my displeasure in regard to the general treatment of Mr. Wordsworth, in the Edinburgh Review. That the poems of this man should be little read and little admired by the ma- jority of those who claim for themselves the character of taste and intelligence — that they should furnish little, except sub- jects of mirth and scorn, to those who, by their own writings, would direct the judgment of others — these are things which affect some of his admirers with astonishment — they affect me with no sentiments but those of humility and grief. The de- light which is conferred by vivid descriptions of stranger events and stronger impulses than we ourselves experience, is adapted for all men, and is an universal delight. That part of our nature to which they address themselves, not only exists in every man originally, but has its existence fostered and cherished by the incidents of every life. To find a man who has no relish for the poetry of Love or of War, is almost as impossible as to find one that does not enjoy the brightness of the sun, or the softness of moon-light. The poetry of peter's letters. 69 ambition, hatred, revenge, pleases masculine minds in the name manner as the flashing of lightnings and the roaring of cataracts. But there are other tbings in man and in nature, besides tumultuous passions and tempestuous scenes — and he that is a very great poet, may be by no means a very popu- lar one. The critics who ridicule Mr. Wordsworth, for choosing the themes of his poetry among a set of objects new and uninte- resting to their minds, would have seen, had they been suffi- ciently acute, or would have confessed, had they been suffi- ciently candid, that, had he so willed it, he might have been among the best and most powerful masters in other branches of his art, more adapted to the generality of mankind and for themselves. The martial music in the hall of Clifford was neglected by the Shepherd Lord, for the same reasons which have rendered the poet that celebrates him such a poet as he is. " Love had he seen in huts where poor men lie, His daily teachers had heen woods and rills ; The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills." Before a man can understand and relish his poems, his mind must, in some measure, pass through the same sober disci- pline — a discipline that calms, but does not weaken the spirit — that blends together the understanding and the affections, and improves both by the mixture. The busy life of cities, the ordinary collisions of sarcasm and indifference, steel the mind against the emotions that are bred and nourished among those quiet valleys, so dear to the Shepherd Lord and his poet. What we cannot understand, it is a very common, and, indeed, a very natural thing, for us to undervalue ; and it may be suspected, that some of the merriest witticisms which have heen uttered against Mr. Wordsworth, have had their origin in the pettishness and dissatisfaction of minds unaccustomed and unwilling to make, cither to others or to themselves, any confessions of incapacity. But I am wandering sadly from him, who, as Wordsworth has beautifully expressed it, walked in glory and in joy, ain side. v next. P.M. Following his plough along the mountain side. ' -However. I shall come back to him in my next. HI peter's letters, LETTER XIL to the same. Dear David, In order to catch the post a few days ago, I sent oft' my letter before my subject was half concluded ; which, doubtless, you will attribute chiefly, or entirely, to my old passion for parentheses and episodes. To return to my epos • — the Burn's dinner. One of the best speeches, perhaps the very best, delivered during the whole of the evening, was that of Mr. J Wilson, in proposing the health of the Ettrick Shepherd. I had heard a great deal of Wilson from W , but he had been out of Edinburgh ever since my arrival, and in- deed had walked only fifty miles that very morning, in order to be present on this occasion. He showed no symptoms, however, of being fatigued with his journey, and his style of eloquence, above all, whatever faults it might have, dis- played certainly no deficiency of freshness and vigour. As I know you admire some of his verses very much, you will be pleased with a sketch of his appearance. He is, I imagine, (but I guess principally from the date of his Oxford prize poem) some ten years your junior and mine — a very robust athletic man, broad across the back — firm set upon his limbs — and having altogether very much of that sort of air which is inseparable from the consciousness of great bodily energies. I suppose in leaping, wrestling, or boxing, he might easily beat any of the poets, his contemporaries — and I rather sus- pect, that in speaking, he would have as easy a triumph over the whole of them, except Coleridge. In complexion, he is the best specimen I have ever seen of the genuine or ideal Goth. His hair is of the true Sicambrian yellow ; his eyes are of the lightest, and at the same time of the clearest blue ; and the blood glows in his cheek with as firm a fervour as it did, according to the description of Jornandes, in those of the " Bello gaudentes praelio ridentes Teutones" of Attila. I had never suspected before I saw him, that such extreme fair- ness and freshness of complexion could be compatible with so much variety and tenderness, but above all, with so much depth PETER'S LETTERS, 71 of expression. His forehead is finely, but strangely shaped , the regions of pure fancy, and of pure wit being both develo- ped in a very striking manner — which is but seldom the case in any one individual — and the organ of observation having projected the sinus frontalis to a degree that is altogether un- common. I have never seen a physiognomy which could pass with so much rapidity from the serious to the most ludi- crous of effects. It is more eloquent, both in its gravity and in its levity, than almost any countenance I am acquainted with is in any one cast of expression ; and yet I am not with- out my suspicions, that the versatility of its language may, in the end, take away from its power. In a convivial meeting — more particularly after the first two hours are over — the beauty to which men are most alive in any piece of eloquence is that which depends on its being impregnated and instinct with feeling. Of this beauty, no eloquence can be more full than that of Mr. J Wilson, His declamation is often loose and irregular to an extent that is not quite worthy of a man of his fine education and mascu- line powers ; but all is redeemed, and niore than redeemed, by his rich abundance of quick, generous, and expansive feeling. The flashing brightness, and now and then the still more expressive dimness of his eye — and the tremulous music of a voice that is equally at home in the highest and the lowest of notes — and the attitude bent forward with an earnestness to which the graces could make no valuable addition — all together compose an index which they that run may read — a rod of communication to whose electricity no heart is bar red. Inaccuracies of language are small matters when the ear is fed with the wild and mysterious cadences of the most na- tural of all melodies, and the mind filled to overflowing with the bright suggestions of an imagination, whose only fault lies in the uncontrollable profusion with which it scatters forth its fruits. With such gifts as these, and with the noblest of themes to excite and adorn them, I have no doubt, that Mr, Wilson, had he been in the church, would have left all the impassioned preachers I have ever heard, many thousand leagues behind him. Nor do I at all question, that even in some departments of his own profession of the law, had he in good earnest devoted his energies to its service, his success might have been equally brilliant. But his ambition had probably taken too decidedly another turn; nor, perhaps. 72 PETER ? 8 LETTERS. would it be quite fair, either to him or to ourselves, to wish that the thing had been otherwise. As Mr. Wilson has not only a great admiration, but a great private friendship for Mr. Hogg, his eloquence dis- played, it is probable, upon the present occasion, a large share of every feeling that might most happily inspire it. His theme was, indeed, the very best that the occasion rould have thrown in his way ; for what homage could be so appro- priate, or so grateful to the manes of Burns, as that which sought to attain its object by welcoming and honouring the only worthy successor of his genius ? I wish I could recall for your delight any portion of those glowing words in which this enthusiastic speaker strove to embody his own ideas — and indeed those of his audience — concerning the high and boly connexion which exists between the dead and the living peasant — both " sprung from the very bosom of the people," both identifying themselves in all things with the spirit of their station, and endeavouring to ennoble themselves only by elevating it. It was thus, indeed, that a national assembly might most effectually do honour to a national poet. This was the true spirit for a commemoration of Robert Burns. The effect which Mr. Wilson's speech produced on Hogg himself, was, to my mind, by far the most delightful thing that happened during the whole of the night. The Shep- herd was one of the stewards, and in every point of view he must have expected some particular notice to be taken of his name ; but either he had not been prepared for being spoken of at so early an hour, or was entirely thrown off his balance by the extraordinary flood of eloquence which Mr. Wilson poured out to do honour to his genius; for nothing could be more visibly unaffected than the air of utter blank amaze- ment with which he rose to return his thanks. He rose, by the way, long before the time came. He had listened to Mr. Wilson for some minutes, without comprehending the drift of his discourse ; but when once he fairly discovered that he himself was the theme, he started to his feet, and with a face flushed all over deeper than scarlet, and eyes brimful of tears, devoured the words of the speaker, " Like hungry Jew in wilderness, Rejoicing o'er his manna." His voice, when he essayed to address the company, seemed at first entirely to fail him ; but he found means to make us peter's letters. 7:) hear a very few words, which told better than any speecli could have done : " Pre aye been vera proud, gentlemen" (said he) " to be a Scot's poet — and I was never sae proud oH <>s I am just noo. I beiieve there was no one there who did not s\ mpathize heartily with this most honest pride. For my part, I began to be quite in love with the Ettrick Shepherd. In process of time, the less jovial members of the company began to effect their retreat, and W and I, espying some vacant places at the table where Mr. Wilson and the Eitrick Shepherd were seated, were induced to shift our situation, for the sake of being nearer these celebrated characters. I was placed within a few feet of Hogg, and introduced to Wilson across the table, and soon found, from the way in which the bottle circulated in this quarter, that bolh of them inherited, in perfection, the old feud of Burns against the " aquai po- tores" As to the bottle, indeed, I should exclude Hogg ; for he, long before I came into his neighbourhood, had finished the bottle of port al!ov\ed by our traiteur, and was deep in a huge jug of whiskey toddy — in the manufacture of which he is supposed to excel almost as much as Burns did — and in its consumption too, although happily in rather a more moderate degree. After this time, I suspect the prescribed order of toasts be- gan to be sadly neglected, for long speeches were uttered from remote corners, nobody knew by whom or about what ; song after song was volunteer'd ; and, all the cold re- straints of sobriety being gradually thawed by the sun of festive cheer, " Wit walked the rounds, and music filled the air."' The inimitable " Jolly Beggais" of the poet, which has lately been set to music, was got up in high style, the songs being exquisitely sung by Messrs. Swift, Templeton, and Lees, and the recitative read wiih much effect by Mr. B . But even this entertainment, with all its inherent variety, was too regular for the taste of the assembly. The chairman himself broke in upon it the first, by proposing a very appropriate toast, which I shall attempt to naturalize in Cardiganshire ; this again called up a very old gentleman, who conceived that some compliment had been intended for a club of which he is pre- sident ; in short, compliments and toasts became so interlaced and interlarded, that nobody could think of taking up the thread of "The .Tollv Beggars" again. Bv the way, this 10 ?4 peter's letters. inimitable Cantata is not to be found in Currie's edition, and I suspect you are a stranger even to its name ; and yet, had Burns left nothing more than this behind him, I think he wouJd still have left enuugh to justify all the honour in which his genius is held. There does not exist, in any one piece throughout the whole range of English poetry, such a col- lection of true, fresh, and characteristic lyrics. Here we have nothing, indeed, that is very high, but we have much that is very tender. What can be better in its way, than the fine song; i?f the Highland Widow, " wha had in money a well been douked ?" " A Highland lad my love was born, The Lowland laws he held in scorn ; But he still was faithful to his clan, My gallant bra w John Highlandman. With his philabeg and tartan plaid, And good claymore down by his side, The ladies' hearts he did trepan, My gallant braw John Highlandman. Sing, hey, my braw John Highlandman. Sing, ho, my braw John Highlandman, There'' snot a lad in a' the Tan 1 Was match for my John Highlandman^ J And that fine Penseroso close, " But oh ! they catch'd him at the last, And bound him in a dungeon fast; My curse upon them every one, They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman And now, a widow, I must mourn Departed joys that ne'er return ; No comfort — but a hearty can, When 1 think on John Highlandman^" The Little Fiddler, who (in vaia, alas I) offers his services tc* console her, is conceived in the most happy taste. " A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, Wha used at trysts and fairs to driddle, Her strapping limb and gausy middle, (He reached nae higher,) Had holed his heartie like a riddle, And blawnt on fire. Wi' hand on haunch, and upward ee, He crooned his gamut, one, two, three. Then in an Arioso key, The wee Apollo Set off with allegretto glee, His giga solo" - i peter's letters. -33 But the finest part of the whole, is the old Scottish Sol- dier's ditty. Indeed, I think there is no question, that half of tiie best ballads Campbell has written are the legitimate progeny of some of these lines. u I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, And shew my cuts and s -ars wherever I come ; This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. My prenticeship I passed where my leader breathed his last. When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram : 1 served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the arum. •• I lastly was with Curtis among the floating batt'ries, And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of the drum. What though with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks. Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home ! When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum.*' "What different ideas of low life one forms even from read- ing the works of men who paint it admirably. Had Crabbe, for instance, undertaken to represent the carousal of a troop of beggars in a hedge alehouse, how unlike would his production have been to this Cantata ? He would have painted their rags and their dirt with the accuracy of a person who is not used to see rags and dirt very often ; he would have seized the light careless swing of their easy code of morality, with the penetration of one who has long been a Master-Anatomist of the manners and the hearts of men. But I doubt very much, whether any one could enter into the true spirit of such a meeting, who had not been, at some period of his life, a partaker in propria persond, and almost par cum paribus, in the rude merriment of its constituents. I have no doubt that Burns sat for his own picture in the Bard of the Cantata, and had often enough in some such scene as Poosie JVan- jstfs — " Rising, rejoicing Between his twa Deborahs, Looked round him, and found them Impatient for hi= chorus,." 76 PETER'S LETTERS. It is by such familiarity alone that the secret and essence of that charm, which no group of human companions en- tirely want?, can be fixed and preserved even by the greatest of poets — Mr. Ciabbe would have described the Beggars like a firm, though humane, Justice of the Peace — poor Ro- bert Burns did not think himself entitled to assume any such airs of superiority. The consequence is, that we should have understood and pitied the one group, but that we sympathize even with the joys of the other. We would have thrown a few shillings to Mr. Crabbe's Mendicants, but we are more than half inclined to sit down and drink them ourselves along with the " orra duds" of those of Burns. I myself — will you believe it? — was one of those who in- sisted upon disturbing the performance of this glorious Can- tata with my own dissonant voice. In plain truth, I was so happy, that I could not keep silence, and such was the buoy- ancy of my enthusiasm, that nothing could please me but singing a Scottish song. I believe, after all, I got through with it pretty well ; at least, I did well enough to delight my neighbours. My song was that old favourite of yours — " My name it is Donald Macdonald, I live in the Hielands sae grand." One of the best songs, I must think, that our times has pro- duced; and, indeed, it was for many years one of the most popular. I had no idea who wrote the words of my song, and had selected it merely for its own merit, and my own convenience; but I had no sooner finished, than Mr. Hogg stretched his hand to me, across two or three that sat between us, and cried out with an air of infinite delight, " Od', sir — 'Doctor Morris' — (for he had heard my name) — " od', sir — I wrote that sang when I was a herd on Yarrow — and little did I think ever to live to hear an English gentleman sing it." From this moment there was no bound to the warmth of our affection for each other; in order to convince you of which, in so far as I myself was concerned, I fairly deserted my claret for the sake of joining in the jug-party of the Shepherd. Nor, after all, was this quite so mighty a sacrifice as you may be inclined to imagine. I assure you, there are worse things in life than whisky toddy; although I cannot go the same length with Mr. Hogg, who declared over and over that there is nothing so good. peter's letters. 77 A man ifoay, now and then, adopt a change of liquor with .advantage ; but, upon the whole, I like better to see people " stick to their vocation." I think nothing can be a more pitiable sight than a French count on his travels, striving to look pleased over a bumper of strong port ; and an Ox- ford doctor of divinity looks almost as much like a fish out of water, when he is constrained to put up with the best claret in the world. In like manner, it would have tended verv much to have disturbed my notions of propriety, had I found the Ettrick Shepherd drinking Champaigne or Hock, It would have been a sin against keeping with such a face as he has. Although for some time past he has spent a con- siderable portion of every year in excellent, even in refined society, the external appearance of the man can have under- gone but very little change since he was " a herd on Yarrow." His face and hands are still as brown as if he lived entirely sub die His very hair has a coarse stringiness about it, which proves beyond dispute its utter ignorance of all the arts of the friseur; and hangs in playful whips and cords about his ears, in a style of the most perfect innocence ima- ginable. His mouth, which, when he smiles, nearly cuts the totality of his face in twain, is an object that would make the Chevalier Ruspini die with indignation; for his teeth have been allowed to grow where they listed, and as they list- ed, presenting more resemblance, in arrangement (and colour too), to a body of crouching sharp-shooters, than to any more regular species of array. The effect of a forehead, towering with a true poetic grandeur above such features as these, and of an eye that illuminates their surface with the genuine lightnings of genius, — " an eye that, under brows Shaggy and deep, has meanings which are brought From years of youth. " these are things which I cannot so easily transfer to my paper. Upon the whole, his exterior reminded me very much of some of Wordsworth's descriptions of his pedlar: — -" plain his garb, Such as might suit a rustic sire, prepared For Sabbath duties ; yet he is a man Whom no one could have passed without remark, Active and nervous in his gait. His limbs A$d his whole figure breathe intelligence." 78 meter's letters. Indeed, I can scarcely help suspecting, that that great poet, who was himself thought so much " On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude" must have thought more than once of the intellectual history of the Ettrick Shepherd when he drew that noble sketch, which no man can ridicule, unless from a vicious want of faith in the greatness of human nature. Neither is there any thing unlikely in the supposition in another point of view, for W tells me the two poets have often met, and always expressed the highest admiration for each other. He says> " From his sixth year, the boy of whom I speak, In summer tended cattle on the hills." I believe poor Hogg tended them in winter also. -" From that bleak tenement, He many an evening to his distant home In solitude returning, saw the hills Grow larger in the darkness, all alone Beheld the stars come out above his head, And travelled through the wood, with no one near To whom he might confess the things he saw. So the foundations of his mind were laid. In such communion not from terror free, While yet a child and long before his time, He had perceived the presence and the power Of greatness ; and deep feeling had impressed Great objects on his mind, with portraiture And colour so distinct, that on his mind They lay like substances, and almost seemed To haunt the bodily sense." Those who have read the Shepherd's latest writings, as I fear you have not done, would find still stronger confirma- tion of my idea in what follows : -" Thus informed, He had small need of books ; for many a tale, Traditionary round the mountains hung, And many a legend, peopling the dark woods. Nourished imagination in her youth. The life and death of Martyrs, who sustained, With will inflexible, those fearful pangs, feter's letters* 79 Triumphantly displayed in records left, Of persecution and the Covenant — Times Whose echo rings through Scotland to this hour." But I must not think of discussing the Ettrick Shepherd in $ single letter. As for the Burns's dinner, I really cannot m honesty pretend to give you any very exact history of the latter part of its occurrences. As the night kept advancing;, the company kept diminishing, till about one o'clock in the morning, when we found ourselves reduced to a small staunch party of some five-and-twenty, men not to be shaken from their allegiance to King jBacchus, by any changes in his administration — in other words, men who by no means considered it as necessary to leave the room, because one, or even because two presidents had set them such an example. The last of these presidents, Mr. P. R , a young coun- sellor of very rising reputation and most pleasant manners, made his approach to the chair amidst such a thunder of acclamation as seems to be issuing from the cheeks of the Bacchantes, when Silenus gels astride on hi3 ass, in the fa- mous picture of Rubens. Once in the chair, there was no fear of his quitting it while any remained to pay homage due to his authority. He made speeches, one chief merit of which consisted (unlike Epic poems) in their having neither begin- ning, middle, nor end — He sung songs in which music was not — He proposed toasts in which meaning was not — But over every thing that he said there was flung such a radiance of sheer mother-wit, that there was no difficulty in seeing the want of meaning was no involuntary want. By the perpe- tual dazzle of his wit, by the cordial flow of his good hu- mour, but above all, by the cheering influence of his broad happy face, seen through its halo of punch-steam, (for even the chair had by this time got enough of the justice of the grape,) he contrived to diffuse over tfs all, for a longtime, one genial atmosphere of unmingled mirth. How we got out of that atmosphere I cannot say I remember ; but am, not- withstanding, Ever yours, P. M. 8Q pkteb's letters. LETTER XIII. to the same. Dear David, When you reproach me with being" so long at the seat of a celebrated University, and yet preserving the most pro- found silence concerning tutors, professors, examinations, de- grees, and all the other mighty items of academical life, \ou do no more than I might have expected from one, who has derived his only ideas of a university from Oxford and Cambridge. In these places, the university is every thing ; the houses of the town seem merely to be the appendages of the colleges, and the townsmen themselves only a better sort of menials to the gownsmen. If you hear a bell ring there, you may be sure it is meant to call together those whose duty it is to attend in some chapel, hall, or lecture-room ; if you see a man pull off his hat in the street, you may be sure it is in honour of some tuft, sleeve, or scarf, well accustomed to such obeisances. Here the case is very different. The aca- demical buildings, instead of forming the bulk and centre of every prospect — instead of shootingup lowers and domes and battlements in every direction, far above, not only the com- mon dwellings of the citizens, but the more ancient and more lofty groves of oak and elm, in which, for centuries, they have been embosomed — instead of all this proud and sweep- ing extent of venerable magnificence, the academical build- ings of Edinburgh are piled together in one rather obscure corner of a splendid city, which would scarcely be less splen- did than it is, although they were removed altogether from its precincts. In the society among which I have lived since my arrival here, (and I assure you its circle has been by no means a very contined one,) I am convinced there are few subjects about which so little is said or thought, as the Uni- versity of Edinburgh. I rather think, that a well-educated stranger, who had no previous knowledge that a university had its seat in this place, (if we can suppose the existence of such a person,) might sojourn in Edinburgh for many weeks, without making the discovery for himself. And yet, from all I can hear, the number of resident members of this university peter's letters. 81 is seldom below two thousand, and among those by whom their education is conducted, there are unquestionably some, whose names, in whatever European university they might be placed, could not fail to be regarded as among the most illus- trious of if s ornamenls. The first and most obvious cause of the smallness of atten- tion attracted to the University of Edinburgh, is evidently the want of any academical dress. There are no gownsmen here, and this circumstance is one which, with our Oxford id«as, would alone be almost sufficient to prove the non-existence of a university. This, however, is a small matter after all, and rather an effect than a cause. The members of the uni- versily do not reside, as ours do, within the walls of colleges ; they go once or twice every day, as it may happen, to hear a discourse pronounced by one of their professors ; but beyond this, they have little connexion of any kind with the locale of the academical buildings; and it follows very naturally, that (hey feel themselves to have comparatively a very slight connexion with academical life. They live in their fathers' houses, (for a great proportion of them belong to the city itself,) or they inhabit lodgings in whatever part of the city they please ; and they dine alone or together, just as it suits them ; they are never compelled to think of each other beyond the brief space of the day in which they are seated in the same lecture-room ; in short, the whole course and tenor of their existence is unacademical, and by persons thinking and living in a way so independent of each other, and so dispersed among the crowds of a city such as Edinburgh, any such badges of perpetual distinction as our cap and gown, could scarcely fail to be regarded as very absurd and disagreeable incumbrances. The want of these, however, has its disad- vantages as well as its advantages, even in regard to their own individual comfort. So far as I comprehend the first part of the general system of University education in this place, it is as follows. The students enter at fourteen, fifteen, or even much earlier — ex- actly as used to be the case in our own universities two cen- turies ago ; for I remember it is mentioned in Lord Herbert of Cherbury's Memoirs, (and that, too, as a matter by no means out of the common course,) that he was not twelve years old when he came to reside at Oxford. When they en- ter, they are far 1p«s skilled in Latin than bovs of the same 11 82 J'ETER'S LETTERS. nge at any of our great schools ; and with the exception of those educated at one particular school in Edinburgh, they have no Greek. Their acquisition of these languages is not likely to be very rapid under the professors of Greek and Latin, to whose care the University entrusts them ; for each of these gentlemen has to do with a class of at least two hun- dred pupils; and in such a class, it would be impossible to adopt, with the least effect, any other method of teaching than that by formal projections. Now, of all ways, this is the least adapted for seizing and commanding the attention of a set of giddy urchins, who, although addressed by the name of " Gentlemen," are in fact, as full of the spirit of boyish romping, as at any previous period of their lives. A slight at- tempt is sometimes made to keep alive their attention, by ex- amining them the one day concerning what they had heard on the other; and this plan, I understand, begins to be carried into execution, in a more regular way than heretofore. But it is not possible to examine so great a number of boys, either very largely or very closely; and I should be very appre- hensive, that their many temptations to idleness must in ge- neral overcome, with little difficulty, this one slender stimu- lus to exertion. As for the professors of these languages, the nature of the duties which they perform, of course reduces them to some- thing quite different from what we should understand by the name they bear. They are not employed in assisting young men to study with greater facility or /advantage, the poets, the historians, or the philosophers of antiquity ; nay, it car. scarcely be said, in any proper meaning of the term, thai they are employed in teaching the principles of language. — They are schoolmasters in the strictest sense of the word — for their time is spent in laying the very lowest part of the foundation, on which a superstructure of erudition must be reared. A profound and accomplished scholar may, at times^ be found discharging these duties; but most assuredly there is no need either of depth or of elegance, to enable him to discharge them as well as the occasion requires. The truth is, however, that very few men give themselves the trouble to become fine scholars, without being pushed on by many kinds of stimulus, and I know of no very powerful stimulus within the action of which these gentlemen are placed They have not the ambition and delight of making their pupils fine scholars, — feelings, which, in England, are pro 83 Juctive of so many admirable results — because the system of the University is such, that their pupils are hurried out of ;heir hands long before they could hope to inspire them with any thing like a permanent love for studies attended with so many difficulties. Nay, they have not the ambition and de- light of elevating themselves to a high and honourable rank in public estimation, by their own proficiency in classical lore; for this is the only country in civilized Europe (what- ever may be the cause of the phenomenon) wherein attain- ments of that kind are regarded with a very slender degree of admiration. How this may have happened, I know not; but the fact is certain, that for these two hundred years, Scotland has produced no man of high reputation, whose fame rested, or rests, upon what we call classical learning; nor, at the present day, does she possess any one who might be entitled to form an exception to this rule of barrenness. Before these boys, therefore, have learned Latin enough to be able to read any Latin author with facility, and before they have learned ■Greek enough to enable them to under- stand thoroughly any one line in any one Greek book in existence, they are handed over to the professor of Logic, Rhetoric, and Belles-lettres, qttan jam linguaram satis periti. You and I know well enough it is no trifling matter to acquire any thing like a mastery, a true and effectual command, over the great languages of antiquity; we well remember how many years of busy exertion it cost us in boyhood — yes, and in manhood too — before we found ourselves in a condition to make any complete use of the treasures of wit and wisdom to which these glorious languages are the keys. When we then are told that the whole of the classical part of Scottish aca- demical education is completed within the space of two years, and this with boys of the age I have mentioned, there is no occasion for saying one word more about the matter. We see and know, as well as if we had examined every lad in Edinburgh, that not one of them who has enjoyed no better means of instruction than these, can possibly know any thing more than the merest and narrowest rudiments of classical learning. This one simple fact is a sufficient explanation, not only of the small advances made by the individuals of this nation in the paths of erudition, strictly so called — but of much that is peculiar, and, if one may be permitted to say so, of much that is highly disagreeable too, in the general tone of the literature wherein the national mind is and has 84 meter's letters. been expressed. It shows, at once, the origin of much that distinguishes the authors of Scotland, not from those of Eng- land alone, hut from those of all the other nations of Europe. I do not mean that which honourably distinguishes them, (for of such distinction also they have much,) but that which distinguishes them in a distressing and degrading manner — their ignorance of the great models of antiquity — nay, the irreverent spirit in which they have the audacity to speak con- cerning men and works, whom (considered as a class) modern times have as yet in vain attempted to equal. This is a subject of which it would require a bolder man than I am to say so much, to almost any Scotchman whose education has been entirely conducted in his own country. If you venture only to tread upon the hem of that garment of self-sufficiency, in which the true Scotchman wraps him- self, he is sure to turn round upon you as if you had aimed a dagger at his vitals; and as to this particular point of attack, he thinks he has most completely punished you for your presumption, (in the first place,) and checked your cou- rage for the future, (in the second,) when he has launched out against you one or two of those sarcasms about ■' longs and shorts," and " the superiority of things to words," with which we have, till of la.e, been familiar in the pages of the Edin- burgh Review. A single arrow from that redoubtable quiver, is hurled against you, and the archer turns away with a smile, nothing doubting that your business is done — nor, indeed, is it necessary to prolong the contest ; for although you may not feel yourself to be entirely conquered, you must, at least, have seen enough to convince you, that you have no chance of making your adversary yield. If he have not justice on his side, he is, at least, tenacious of his purpose, and it would be a waste of trouble to attempt shaking his opinions either of you or of himself. The rest of the world, however, may be excused, if, absents reo, they venture to think and to speak a little more pertina- ciously concerning the absurdity of this neglect of classical learning, which the Scotch do not deny or palliate, but ac- knowledge and defend. We may be excused, if we hesitate a little to admit the weight of reasons from which the univer- sal intellect of Christendom has always dissented, and at this moment dissents as firmly as ever, and to doubt whether the results of the system adopted in Scotland have been so very splendid as to authorize the tone of satisfied assurance, in peter's letters. 85 which Scotchmen conceive themselves entitled to deride those who adhere to the older and moregeneral style of discipline. It would be very useless to address to one, who has not given to the writers of antiquity some portion of such study as they deserve, any description of the chaste and delightful feelings with which the labours of such ^study are rewarded — far more to demand his assent to conclusions derived from descriptions which he would not fail to treat as so purely fan- tastical. The incredulus odi sort of disdain, with which seve- ral intelligent and well-educated men in this place have treated me, when I ventured in their presence to say a few words concerning that absurd kind of self-denial, abstinence, and mort Jicatio spirilus, which seems to be practised by the gen- tlemen of Scotland, in regard to this most rational and most enduring species of pleasures — the air of mingled scorn and pity, with which they listened to me, and the condescending kind of mock assent which they expressed in reply, have sufficiently convinced me that the countrymen of David Hume are not over-fond of taking any thing upon trust. The lan- guage of their looks being interpreted, is, " Yes — yes — it is all very well to speak about feelings, and so forth ; but is it not sad folly to waste so many years upon mere words r" Of all the illogical, irrational sorts of delusion, with which ignorance ever came to the consolation of self-love, surely this is the most palpably absurd — The darkness of it may be felt. — During the few short and hasty months in which the young gentlemen of Scotland go through the ceremonious quackery which they are pleased to call learning Greek, it is very true that they are occupied with mere words, and that, too, in the meanest sense of the phrase. They are seldom very sure whether any one word be a noun or a verb, and therefore they are occupied about words. The few books, or fragments of books, which they read, are comprehended vi-ith a vast expense of labour, if they be comprehended at all — with continual recurrence to some wretched translation, Eng- lish or Latin, or still more laborious recurrence to the un- manageable bulk and unreadable types of a Lexicon. It is no wonder that they tell you all their time was spent upon mere vmrds, and it would be a mighty wonder if the time so spent were recollected by them with any considerable feeling of kindliness. I must own, I am somewhat of my Lord By- ron's opinion concerning the absurdity of allowing boys to learn the ancient languages, from books the charm of which $6 JPETER'S LETTERS. consists in any very delicate and evanescent beauties — any mriosa felicitas either of ideas or expressions. I also remem- ber the time when I complained to myself (to others I durst not) that I was occupied with mere words — and to this hour, I feel, as the noble Childe does, the miserable effects of that most painful kind of exercise, which with us is soon happily changed for something of a very different nature — but which here in Scotland gives birth to almost the only idea connected with the phrase studying Greek. But that a people so fond of the exercise of reason as the Scotch, should really think and speak as if it were possible for those who spend many years in the study of the classics, to be all the while occupied about mere words, this, 1 confess, is a thing that strikes me as being what Mr. Coleridge would call, " One of the voonders above voonders." — How can the thing be done? It is not in the power of the greatest index- making or bibliographical genius in the world to do so, were he to make the endeavour with all the zeal of bis vocation. It is not possible, in the first place, to acquire any knowledge of the mere words — the vocables — of any ancient language, without reading very largely in the books which remain to us out of the ruins of its literature. Rich above all example as the literature of Greece once was, and rich as the pure literature of Greece is even at this moment, when compared with that of the Romans, it so happens that all the classical Greek works in the world occupy but a trifling space in any man's library; and were it possible to read philosophers and historians as quickly as novelists or tourists, they might all be read through in no very alarming space of time by any circulating-library glutton who might please to attack thera. Without reading, and being familiar with the whole of these books, or at least without doing something little short of this, it is absolutely impossible for any man to acquire even a good verbal knowledge of Greek. Now, that any man should make himself familiar with these books, without at the same time forming some pretty tolerable acquaintance with the sub- jects of which they treat — not even a Scotsman, I think, will venture to assert. And that any man can make himself ac- quainted with these books (in this sense of the phrase ^.with- out having learned something that is worthy of being knowp — over and above the words submitted to his eyes in their pages — I am quite surp, no person of tolerable education m Christendom will assert, unless he be a Scotchman. peter's letters. 87 To follow the history of great and remarkable nations, as narrated by the clear and graphic genius of their own writers — and so to become acquainted with human nature as display- ing itself under the guise of manners very different from our own — learning, thereby, of necessity, to understand both our own manners, and our own nature, better than we could other- wise have done — this is one of the first exercises in which the mind of the classical student must be engaged, and this alone, were this all, might be more than enough to redeem him from the reproach of being a mere hunter of words. There are only three great objects which can ever draw to them in a powerful manner the spirits of enlightened men, and occupy with inexhaustible resources the leisure that is left to them by the State of which they are members, and the Society with which their days are linked — the Philosophy of life, the en- joyment arising from the Fine Arts, and the study of History. All the three are well fitted to exalt and enrich, in many ways, the internal and external parts of our nature. But nei- ther of the two first-mentioned can be compared in this respect with the study of history, the only study which presents to all our endeavours and aspirations after higher intellectual cultivation, a fast middle-point, and grappling-place — the ef- fects, namely, the outward and visible effects, which the va- rious modifications of society and education have already produced upon man, his destinies, and his powers. Without the knowledge of this great and mighty past, the philosophy of life r with whatever wit she may enchant, with whatever eloquence she may charm us, can never effectually lift our view from the ground on which our feet tread — the present — from the narrow and limited circle of our own customs, and those of our immediate neighbours and contemporaries. Even the higher philosophy, the boldest, and in a certain- measure, therefore, the most remarkable of ail the exertions of human intellect, would in vain, without the aid of history,, attempt to explain to us the formation and development of our own faculties and feelings ; because without it, she could not fail to present us with more of dark and inexplicable enig- mas, than of clear and intelligible results. History, on the other hand, when she is not confined to the mere chronicling of names, years, and external events, but seizes and expands before us the spirit of great men, great times, and great actions, is in herself alone a true and entire philosophy, in- telligible in all things, and sure in all things : and above all 38 Peter's letters. other kinds of philosophy, rich both in the materials and the means of application. The value of the fine arts, in regard to the higher species of mental cultivation, is admitted bv all whose opinion is of any avail. But even these, without that earnestness of intention, and gravity of power, which they derive from their connexion with the actual experience of man. his destiny, and his history — would be in danger of de- generating into an empty sport, a mere plaything of the ima- gination. The true sense and purpose of the highest and most admirable productions of the imitative arts, (and of po- etry among the rest,) are then only clearly and powerfully revealed to us, when we are able to transport ourselves into the air and spirit of the times in which they were produced, or whose image it is their object to represent. If Philosophy (strictly so called) grapples chiefly with our reason, and the Fine Arts with our feelings and imagination. History, on the other hand, claims a more universal posses- sion of us, and considers the whole man, and all the powers of his soul, as alike within her control. So, at least, she should do, when she does what is worthy of her high desti- nation — and thus it is that History occupies, in and by her- self, in that glorious circle which embraces all the higher cul- tivation of man, if not the most splendid place, at least the most necessary. Without her, we should want the link and bond of connexion which fastens the whole mighty structure together. One great, and, above all others, most interesting field, is opened for the study of history, by the extraordinary and unforseen events which characterize the present. The remembrance of the great past — the knowledge of its occur- rences and its spirit, is the only thing which can furnish us with a fair and quiet point of view from which to survey the present — a standard by which to form just conclusions respect- ing the comparative greatness or littleness of that which passes before our eyes. Here, then, there is another instance of a co- incidence which may often enough be observed in human affairs. The simplest of things is also the highest. History forms the apparently light and easy commencement of the education of the boy; and yet the more the mind of the man is informed and accomplished, the more manifold occasion will be found to make use of the stores of history — the more will he find himself called upon to exert all his power, in or- der to penetrate and comprehend the deep sense of history. For, as there is no man of reflection so acute, that he can peter's letters. 89 suppose himself to have thoroughly understood the scope of history, and no man of research so diligent, that he can sup- pose himself to have obtained possession of all the materials of history, so neither is there any man so low or so high, that he can suppose himself to be placed in a situation, wherein his own examination of that which is recorded may not be of essential benefit to himself, in regard to that which is and is to come. Now, where and how is History to be studied ? I answer, first and best in the great historians of antiquity. The men whom these present to our view, have embodied, in their lives and persons, almost all that we can think of as forming the true greatness and true honour of our nature. The events which they describe, however small the apparent sphere of their influence may sometimes be, were those which decided the fate of nations which for ages ruled and disciplined the world, and the influence of whose rule and discipline is still preserved, and likely to be preserved, even in parts of the earth to which their actual and corporeal sway never found access. The thoughts, and feelings, and actions of these men and these nations, must for ever be regarded, by all who can understand them, as the best examples or patterns of us, our nature, our powers, and our destinies. We are the intellectual progeny of these men. Even their blood flows in our veins — at least some tincture — but without them what had our Spi- rits been 1 That question cannot be answered — but, at least, they bad not been what they are. In everything which we see, hear, and do, some knowledge of them and their nature is taken for granted — that is a postulate in all communication between men who can read and write in Christendom. For what reason, therefore, should we be satisfied with a super- ficial knowledge of that, whereof knowledge is practically admitted to be not only an ornament, but a necessary 1 For what reason should we neglect to store our minds, when they are most open for impressions, with full, clear, and indelible memorials of the mighty past ? It is possible, it is often said, to know all that is to be known about the ancients, without being acquainted with their lan- guages. The assertion is a contradiction in terms. The most true, the most lasting, the most noble creation by which an independent nation seeks to manifest her spirit and her in- dependence, is her formation and cultivation of an indepen^ 12 yt) FETER J S LETTERS. dent speech. And it is impossible to know such a nation as she deserves to be known, without knowing also, and that thoroughly, this is the first and best of her production?. Her language is her history. What, after all, are battles, and sieges, and kings, and consuls, and conquerors, to the pro- cesses of thought, and the developments of feeling ? Wherein does the essence of a nation exist, if it be not in the charac- ter of her mind ? and how is that mind to be penetrated or understood, if we neglect the pure and faithful mirror in which of old it has stamped its likeness — her language 1 Men may- talk as they choose about translations ; there is, in brevity and in truth, no such thing as a translation. The bold out- fine is, indeed, preserved, but the gentle, delicate, minute shadings vanish. And if our study be man, is it not clear enough that the more delicate and minute these may be, the more likely are they to reveal the true springs of his work- The advantages to he derived from a more patient and ac- curate course of classical study than prevails in Scotland, might be explained in a way that, to every rational person^ could not have less than the power of demonstration. Of the poetry, and, above all, of the philosophy of antiquity, it would be easy to speak even at more length than of her history. But the truth is, that the whole of these things hang together in indissoluble union, and no man could, if he would, under- stand any one of them well, without understanding a very great deal of the others also. In Scotland, they understand, they care about none of the three. I have conversed with a very great number of her literary men — and surely it is not necessary to say any thing in praise of their manifold gene- ral attainments — -but I honestly tell you, that I have not yet conversed with any one, who seemed to me ever to have gone through any thing like a complete course, either of Greek poetry, or Greek history. As for Greek philosophy, beyond Xenophon's Memorabilia, the Phaedon, and Aristotle's Po- etick, I have never heard any allusion made to the existence of any books connected with that subject ; and I am con- vinced, that a man who had read through Plato or Aristotle, or even who was entitled to say that he had any tolerable ac- quaintance with the works of either of these great authors, would be scarcely more of a wonder at Otaheite than in Edin- burgh. Butthis indeed it is extremely unnecessary to explain PETER'S LETTERS. 91 10 you, who have read and admired so much of the works of Dugald Stewart; for nothing can be more clear to the eyes of the initiated, than that this great and enlightened man has been throughout contented to derive his ideas of the Greek philosophy from very secondary sources. When he dies, there will not, most assuredly, be found among his books, as there was anions; those of David Hume, an interleaved copy of Duvall's Aristotle. And if such be his ignorance, (which, I doubt no<, he himself would be candid enough to acknow- ledge without hesitation,) what may we not suppose to be the Cimmerian obscurity which hangs over his worshippers and disciples? — Without the genius, w r hich often suggests to him much of what kindred genius had suggested to the philoso- phers of antiquity, and which still more often enables him to pass, by different steps, to the same point at which these had arrived — the pupils of this illustrious man are destitute of the only qualities which could have procured any pardon for the errors of their master. The darkness is with them " total eclipse." I have wandered, you will say, even more widely than is my custom. But you must keep in recollection the terms on which I agreed to write to you during this my great northern tour. As for the subject from which I have wandered., viz. the Greek and Latin Muses of the University of Edinburgh, I assure you I feel very easy under the idea of having treated these ladies with slender courtesy. Their reputation is ex- tremely low, and I verily believe they deserve no better. They are of the very worst and most contemptible of all kinds of coquettes ; for they give a little to every body, and much to no one. The Professors of the two languages here are both, how- ever, very respectable men in their way ; that is, they would both of them do admirable things, if they had any call upon their ambition. Mr. Christian, the Professor of Latin, or, as their style is, of humanity, is a very great reader of all kinds of books, and, what is rather singular in one fond of ex- cursive reading, is a very diligent and delighted student of the higher mathematics. I went to hear his preelection the other day, and after the boys were sent away, began to ask him a few questions about the system adopted in their tuition, but in vain. He insisted upon talking of fluxions, and flux- ions only ; and, as I know nothing of fluxions, I was gM 92 peter's letters. to break up the conference. With him, if a pun may be al- lowed, " labitur et labetur, in omne volubilis aevum." Mr. Dunbar, the professor of Greek, has published several little things in the Cambridge Classical Researches, and is certainly very much above the common run of scholars. I observe, by the way, that in one of his Latin title-pages, he subjoins to his name a set of English initials. # P. M. LETTER XIV. TO THE SAME. A* tek Mr. Christian and Mr. Dunbar are supposed to have given their pupils as much Latin and Greek as people of sense ought to be troubled with, they are transferred to the Profes- sor of Logic, and recorded in the books of the University, as students of philosophy. The style used by their new pro- fessor would, however, convey to a stranger a very errone- ous notion of the duties in reality allotted to him. Logic, according to our acceptation of the word, is one of the least and last of the things which he is supposed to teach. His true business is to inform the minds of his pupils with some first faint ideas of the Scotch systems of metaphysics and morals — to explain to them the rudiments of the great voca- bulary of Reid and Stewart, and fit them, in some measure, for plunging next year into the midst of all the light and all the darkness scattered over the favourite science of this coun- try, by the Professor of Moral Philosophy, Dr. Thomas Brown. I could not find leisure for attending the praelections of all the Edinburgh professors ; but I was resolved to hear, at least, one discourse of the last mentioned celebrated person. So I peter's letters. 93 went one morning in good time, and took my place in a con- venient corner of that class-room, to which the rising meta- physicians of the north resort with so much eagerness. Be- fore the professor arrived, I amused myself with surveying the well-covered rows of benches with which the area of the large room was occupied. 1 thought I could distinguish the various descriptions of speculative young men come thither from the different quarters of Scotland, fresh from the first •zealous study of Hume, Berkeley, and Locke, and quite scep- tical whether the timber upon which they sat bad any real exist- ence, or whether there was such a thing as heat in the grate which was blazing before them. On one side might be seen, perhaps, a Pyrrhonist from Inverness-shire, deeply marked with the small-pox, and ruminating upon our not seeing dou- ble with two eyes. The gaunt and sinewy frame of this me- ditative mountaineer — his hard legs set wide asunder, as if to take full advantage of their more usual integument, the phi- labeg — his features, bearing so many marks of the imperfect civilization and nomadic existence of his progenitors — all to- gether could not fail to strike me as rather out of place in such a situation as this. On the other side might be remarked one, who seemed to be an embryo clergyman, waiting anxi- ously for some new lights, which he expected the coming lec- ture would throw upon the great system of Cause and Effect, and feeling rather qualmish after having read that morning Hume's Sceptical Solution of Sceptical Doubts. Nearer the professor's table was probably a crack member of some crack debating-club, with a grin of incorrigible self-complacency shining through his assumed frown of profound reflection — looking, as the French say, as grave as a pot-de-chambre — and longing, above all things, for seven o'clock in the even- ing, when he hoped himself to assume a conspicuous position behind a green table, with a couple of candles upon it, and fully refute the objections of his honourable and eloquent friend who spoke last. A little farther to the right might be observed a fine, healthy, well-thriven lad from Haddington- shire, but without the slightest trace of metaphysics in his countenance — one who would have thought himself much better employed in shooting crows on Leith sands, and in whom the distinction between Sensation and Volition excited nothing but chagrin and disgust. Throughout the whole of this motley assemblage, there was a prodigious mending of pens, and folding of paper; £4 PETER 5 LETTERS. every one, as it appeared, having arrived with the determi- nation to carry away the Dicta Magistri, not in his head only, but in his note-book. Some, after having completed their preparations for the business of this day, seemed to be con- ning over the monuments of their yesterday's exertion, and getting as firm a grapple as possible of the last links of the chain, whereof a new series was about to be expanded before them. There was a very care-worn kind of hollowness in many of their eyes, as if they had been rather over-worked in the business of staring upon stenography; and not a few of their noses were pinched and sharpened, as it were, with the habitual throes and agonies of extreme hesitation. As the hour began to strike, there arose a simultaneous clamour of coughing and spitting, and blowing of noses, as if all were prepared for listening long to the lecturer, without disturbing him or their neighbours ; and such was the infectiousness of their zeal, that I caught myself fidgetting on my seat, and clearing out for action like the rest. At last, in came the professor, with a pleasant smile upon his face, arrayed in a black Geneva cloak, over a snuff-coloured coal and buff "waistcoat. He mounted to his elbow-chair, and laid bis pa- pers on the desk before him, and in a moment all was still as the Tomb of the Cupulets — every eye filled with earnestness, and every pen filled with ink. Doctor Brown has a physiognomy very expressive of mild* ness and quiet contemplativeness ; but when he got fairly into the middle of his subject, his features kindled amazingly, and he went through some very subtle and abstruse disquisitions, with great keenness and animation. I have seen few persons who pursued the intellectual chase with so much ardour; but, as I observed before, it did not appear as if all his pupils were sufficiently well mounted or equipped to be able to keep up with him. His elocution is distinct and elegant, and in those parts of his subject which admitted of being tastefully bandied, there was a flow of beautiful language, as finely de- livered as it was finely conceived. It is very much his prac- tice to introduce quotations from the poets, which not only afford the best illustrations of bis own speculations, but are, at the same time, valuable, as furnishing a pleasing relaxation to the mind of the hearer in the midst of the toils of abstract thought. The variety of delightful images which he thus %rings before the view, refreshes the mental eye, and enables it to preserve its power of examination much longer than it peter's letters. $& oould do, were it condemned to experience no relief from the dry mazes of abstract disquisition. Dr. Brown, in this re- spect, imitates with great wisdom and success, the example of Harris, whose intimate knowledge of Sbakspeare has done more good to his books, and arforded more delight to his readers, than perhaps any one of all his manifold accom- plishments. Nay, I might have quoted the still higher ex- ample of the Stagyrite himself, who produces an effect equally delightful by bis perpetual citations from Homer, or, as he calls him, 'O uoiyrns. The immediate predecessor of Dr. Brown, in this impor- tant chair, was no less a person than Dugald Stewart; and it was easy to observe, in the midst of many lesser deviations, that the general system of this great man's philosophy is ad- hered to by his successor, and thai he is, in truth, one of his intellectual children. I have seen Mr. Scott once since I came to Edinburgh, but it was in a very hasty manner, so that I shall not attempt to describe him to you at present. I intend, before I leave Scotland, to pass very near the place of his residence, (for he now very seldom leaves the country,) and shall perhaps find an opportunity to become better ac- quainted with him. Of the style of philosophizing adopted by him and his successor, 1 need not say any thing to you, who are so much better acquainted with the works of both than I am. I may just venture to hint, however, that their mode of studying the human mind, is perhaps better adapted for throwing light upon the intellectual faculties, and upon the association of ideas, than upon human nature in general. There can be no doubt that the mind is, like physical nature, a theatre of causes and effects; but it appears extremely doubtful whether the same mechanical mode of observation, which enables us to understand the qualities of material ob- jects, and the effects which they are capable of producing on each other, will be equally successful in elucidating the gene- ration of human thoughts and feelings. In observing the man- ner in which a train of ideas passes through the mind, is it possible to notice and understand all that is really going or: within us ? Can every thing which appears, be referred to its true source f From the mode in which images and concep- tions succeed each other, we may perhaps infer some laws of suggestion — and from observing the sequence of propositions, we may arrive at the principles according to which intellectual operations take place— but s-ucb. probably, will be the mo^ r 9G PETER 5 S LETTERS. important results of intellectual operations, conducted ac- cording to Mr. Stewart's method. The scope and tendency of the different affections can never be gathered from the ana- lyses of particular trains of thought, or by such a microscopic and divided mode of observation, as that which consists in watching the succession of ideas as they arise in the mind. It seems, indeed, quite improbable, that the affections ever can be made an object of science, or that their qualities and relations can ever be properly expressed in abstract proposi- tions. Poetry and eloquence are alone capable of exem- plifying them ; and one may gather more true knowledge of all that most valuable, and perhaps most divine part of our nature, by studying one of Mr. Words vorth's small pieces, such as Michael, the Brothers, or the Idiot Boy — or follow- ing the broken catches of multitudinous feelings, in the speeches of one such character as Madge Wildfire, than by a whole life-time spent in studying and imitating the style of observation exemplified by Mr. Stewart. In regard to intellectual operations, it may be said, that a knowledge of their laws confers power, because it teaches method in conducting them. In regard to the laws of asso- ciation, it may also be said, that knowledge is powe^, be- ca'ise it enables us to continue the succession of our ideas. But it appears very questionable, whether the empire of sci- ence can be extended much farther in this quarter. The power which is conferred by knowledge, is always of a merely calculating and mechanical sort, and consists in nothing higher than the adaptation of means to ends — and to suppose that man's m^ral being can ever be subjected to, or swayed by, a power so much lower than itself, is almost as revolting as the theory which refers all ideas and emotions to the past impres- sions upon the senses. In studying the nature of the human affections, one object nhould be — to obtain repose and satisfaction for the moral feelings, by discriminating between good and evil. Know- ledge is nothing in a scientific point of view, unless it can be accumulated and transferred from individual to individual, and unless it be as valid in one person's hand as in those of another ; but this could never be the case with regard to a knowledge of the moral feelings. I do not throw out these little remarks with a view to dis- parage the usefulness or excellence of Uugald Stewart's mode of philosophizing, so far as it goes. But it would be a very peter's letters. 97 cold and barren way of thinking, to suppose, that through the medium of that species of observation which he rhiefly makes use of, we have it in our power lo become completely acquainted with human nature. And again, the habit of re- posing too much confidence in the powers resulting from science, would have a tendency to terminate in utter supine- ness and lethargy of character among mankind ; for, if it were expected that every thing could be forced to spring up as the mechanical and necessary result of scientific calcula- tions, the internal springs of the mind would no longer be of the same consequence as before, and the accomplishment of a great many things might then be devolved upon, and intrust- ed to, an extraneous power, lodged in the hands of speculative men. The true characteristic of science consists in this — that it is a thing which can be communicated to, and made use of by, all men who are endowed with an adequate share of mere intellect. The philosophy of moral feeling must always, on the other hand, approach nearer to the nature of poetry, whose influence varies according as it is perused by indivi- duals of this or that character or taste. The finest opening to any book of psychology and ethics in the world, is that of Wordsworth's Excursion. That great poet, whojs undoubt- edly the great master that has for a long time appeared in the walks of the highest philosophy in England, has better notions than any Scotch metaphysician is likely to have, of the true sources, as well as the true effects, of the knowledge of man. " Urania, I shall need Thy guidance, or a greater muse, if such Descend to earth, or dwell in highest Heaven ! For 1 must tread on shadowy ground, must sink Deep — and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds, To which the Heaven of Heavens is but a veil.— All strength — all terror, single or in bands, That ever was put forth in personal form ; Jehovah — with his thunder, and the choir Of shouting angels, and the empyreal thrones, I pass them, unalarmed. Not chaos, not The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, Nor aught of blinder vacancy scooped out By help of dreams, can breed such fear and awe As fall upon us often, when we look Into our Minds — into the Mind of Man, My haunt, and the main region of mv sons; ' 13 98 peter's letters. After such words as these, I durst not venture upon any thins of a lowlier kind. Farewell. P. M. LETTER XV. TO THE SAME. # * * * * Next day I went to hear Professor Playfair's lecture. I found him already engaged in addressing his class when I entered, but took my seat close by the door, so quietly as not to attract any notice from him. It was a very pleasing thing to see this fine old Archimedes with his reposed demeanour — (such as I have already described it to you) — standing beside his table covered with models, which he was making use of in some demonstrations relative to mechanical forces. There is something in the certainty and precision of the exact sci- ences, which communicates a stillness to the mind, and which, by calling in our thoughts from their own giddy and often harassing rounds, harmonizes our nature with the serenity of intellectual pleasure. The influence of such studies is very well exemplified in the deportment of this professor. In lec- turing, he expresses himself in an easy and leisurely manner, highly agreeable to the listener, although he does not seem to study continuity or flow of diction, and although his de- livery is sometimes a good deal impeded by hesitation with regard to the words he is to employ. I have already de- scribed his features to you ; but perhaps their effect was finer while he was engaged in this way, than I had before been prepared to find. I think one may trace in his physiognomy a great deal of that fine intellectual taste, which dictated the illustrations of the Huttonian Theory. I waited to pay my respects to the professor, after the dis- mission of his class, and he invited me to walk with him to the New Observatory upon the Calton Hill. This building. peter's letters. 9*9 which is not yet completed, owes its existence entirely to the liberality of a few private lovers of astronomy, and promises to form a beautiful and lasting monument of their taste. Mr. Playfair himself laid the foundation-stone of it last year, and already it presents to the eye, what is, in my humble judg- ment, the finest architectural outline in the whole of this city. The building is not a large one ; but its situation is such, as to render that a matter of comparatively trivial moment. Jt;; fine portico, with a single range of Doric pillars supporting a graceful pediment, shaped exactly like that of the Parthe- non — and over that again, its dome lifting itself lightly and airily in the clear mountain sky — and the situation itself, on the brink of that magnificent eminence, which I have already described to you, just where it looks towards the sea — alto- gether remind one of the best days of Grecian art and Gre- cian science, when the mariner knew Athens afar off from the #£gean, by the chaste splendour of pillars and temples that crowned the original rock of Theseus. If a few elms and plantains could be made to grow to their full dimensions around this rising structure, the effect would be the nearest thing in the world to that of the glorious scene which Plato has painted so divinely at the opening of his Republic. After surveying the new building both without and within at great length, we quitted the summit of the hilJ, and began our descent. About half way down, there is a church-yard, which I had not before remarked particularly, and which, indeed, as Mr. Playfair mentioned, has of late been much abridged in its dimensions, by the improvements that have taken place in this quarter of the city. He proposed that we should enter the burying-ground, in order to see the place where David Hume is laid. There are few things in which I take a more true delight, than in visiting the graves of the truly illustrious dead, and I therefore .embraced the proposal with eagerness. The philosopher reposes on the very margin of the rock, and above him his friends have erected a round tower, which, although in itself not very large, derives, like the Observatory on the other side, an infinite advantage from the nature of the ground on which it is placed, and is, in fact, one of the chief land-marks in every view of the city. In its form it is quite simple, and the flat roof and single urn in front give it a very classical effect. Already lichens and ferns and wall-flowers begin to creep over the surface, and a solitary willow-bush drops its long slender leaves over tire 100 PETEirS LETTER a. edge of the roof, and breaks the outline in the air with a de- solate softness. There is no inscription, except the words David Hume; and this is just as it ought to be. One cannot turn from them, and the thoughts to which they of necessity give birth, to the more humble names (hat cover the more humble tombs below and around, without experiencing a strange revulsion of ideas. The simple citizen that went through the world in a course of plain and quiet existence, getting children, and accumulating money to provide for them, occupies a near section of the same sod which covers the dust of him, who left no progeny behind him, except that of his intellect — and whose name must survive, in that progeny, so long as man retains any portion of the infirmity, or of the nobility of his nature. The poor man, the peasant, or the mechanic, whose laborious days provided him scantily with meat and raiment, and abundantly with sound sleep — he also has mingled his ashes with him, whose body had very little share either in ihis wants or his wishes — whose spirit alone was restless and sleepless, the Prince of Doubters. The poor homely partner of some such lowly liver, the wife and the mother and the widow, whose existence was devoted to soothing and sharing the asperities of adversity — who lived, and thought, and breathed in the affections alone, and, perhaps, yet lives some- where in the affections of her children, or her children's chil- dren — she too, whose only hope and confidence were derived from the expectation of another life — she sleeps close beside one who walked upon the earth,«iot to feel, but to speculate, and was content to descend into her bosom, with scarcely one ray of hope beyond the dark and enduring sleep of nothing- ness. " These grassy heaps lie amicably close, Said 1, like surges heaving in the wind, Upon the surface of a mountains pool." — Death, like misery, " makes us acquainted with strange bed- fellows. " But surely never was a scene of strange juxta- position more pregnant with lessons of thoughtfulness than this. Adieu. P.M. peter's eetters, 101 LETTER XVI. TO THE SAME. A person whose eyes had been accustomed only to such places as the schools of Oxford, or Sir Christopher Pegge's lecture-room, would certainly be very much struck with the 'prima facie mean condition of the majority of the students assembled at the praslections of these Edinburgh professors. Here and there one sees some small scattered remnant of the great flock of Dandies, trying to keep each other's high col- Jars and stays in countenance, in a corner of the class-room ; but these only heighten, by the contrast of their presence, the general effect of the slovenly and dirty mass which on every -side surrounds them with its contaminating atmosphere; and upon the whole, nothing can be more distinct and visible, than that the greater part of the company are persons whose situation in life, had they been born in England, must have left them no chance of being able to share the advantages of our academical education. I could not help taking notice of this circumstance the other day to my friend W ; who not only admitted the justice of my observation, but went on to utter his comments on the fact I had observed, in a tone of opinion and senti- ment, for which, I must confess, my own private reflection* had by no means prepared me. So far from proceeding, as I had supposed every Scotchman in like circumstances would do, to point out the advantages which might be expected to arise, and which, in Scotland itself, had already, in fact, arisen, out of so liberal and extensive diffusion of the higher spe- cies of education, my friend seemed to have no hesitation in condemning the whole system as being not friendly, but emi- nently hostile, to the true interests both of science in general, and of his country. Without at all understanding him in the literal sense of his words, I think it is possible that the result of his reflections may have really led him to doubt, whether the system which takes in so much may not be somewhat weakened and debased through the very extension of its surface. I can easily be- lieve that he may be a little doubtful whether the obvious and IQ&' PETER'S LETTEUSi distinct advantages which must spring out of such ft system, may not be counterbalanced, upon the whole, by the disad- vantages which I should suppose must be equally inseparable from the mode of carrying it into practical effect ; in other words, whether the result of good may not be less consider- able in the great issue than that of evil, both to the individu- als themselves, and to the community, of whose general character so much must directly and indirectly be dependent upon theirs. For myself, I say even so much with great he- sitation, concerning a subject of which I cannot imagine my- self to have had time or opportunity for any adequate exami- nation ; and of which, even had I possessed more of time and opportunity than I have done, I am still suspicious that my own early prejudices might render it impossible I should form a fair and impartial judgment. The expenses of University education, in the first place 7 amount in Scotland to no more than a very inconsiderable fraction of what they are in England. With us, we all know, a father of a family seldom thinks of sending his son to col- lege, unless he can afford to give him an allowance of some .£300 per annum, or thereabouts. It is, no doubt, quite pos- sible, to have apartments in a college, to attend prayers in chapel, and eat commons in hall, and to arrive, after four years' residence, at the style and dignity of a Bachelor of Arts, without having disposal of so large an income. But, taking young men as they are, and as they always have been, it is needless to expect, that any one of them will easily sub- mit to lie under any broad and distinct mark of inferiority to his fellows ; and therefore it is, that we in common parlance speak of it as being impossible to live at Oxford or Cam- bridge, on less expensive terms than those I have mentioned. So long as our church retains her privileges and possessions, (which, thank God, I see no likelihood of her losing,) the be- nefices she has in her gift will always be enough to create a regular demand for a very large number of graduates born in the higher classes of society — so large a number, indeed, that even they alone would be able to give the tone in any Univer- sity, and any College in England. And while this is so, young men of generous dispositions, who cannot afford to keep up with the tone thus given, would much rather be excused from entering upon a course of life, which must bring their incapacity of doing so continually before the eyes df other LETTERS. 108 people, and of themselves. It would take along time, more- over, to satisfy the great majority of English fathers of fami- lies, even in the more elevated walks of society, that a Uni- versity education is a matter of so very great importance as to warrant them in running the risk of injuring the feelings and comfort of their children, by compelling them to submit to residing in college on inadequate means. I believe it is well, that, in England, character is generally regarded as a far more important thing than mere intellect : and I consider the aversion I have just described, as one very honourable manifestation of this way of thisking. In Scotland, feelings of an equally honourable kind have led to a very opposite way of thinking and acting. The poverty of the colleges themselves, or at least of most of them, has prevented the adoption of any such regular and formal style of academical existence, as that which prevails in other countries, and most of all in our own. Instead of-' being possessed of large and ancient landed estates, and ex- tensive rights of patronage in the church, and elsewhere, and so of forming in itself a very great and formidable corporate body in the state, as the University of Oxford or Cambridge does with us; the University of Edinburgh, for example, is a very recent and contracted institution, which possesses scarcely any property or patronage of any kind beyond the money paid annually in fees by pupils to their professors, and the ne- cessary influence which the high character of some of these individual professors must at times give to their favour and recommendation. The want of public or corporate splen- dour has taken away all occasion or pretence for large expen- diture in private among the members of the University ; and both the corporation, and the individuals, have long since learned to consider their honour as not in the least degree affected by the absence of all those external " shows and forms," which, with us, long habit has rendered such essen- tial parts of every academical exercise and prospect. The barriers which prevent English parents and English sons from thinking of academical education, are thus entirely removed. Any young man who can afford to wear a decent coat, and live in a garret upon porridge or herrings, may, if he pleases, come to Edinburgh, and pass through his academical career, just as creditably as is required or expected. I am assured, that the great majority of the students here, have seldom move than «£30 or ^40 per annum, and that very many most 104 feter's letters. respectable students contrive to do with little more than hall so much money. Whatever may be thought of the results of this plan, there is no possibility that any man of good feeling should refuse his warmest admiration to the zeal both of the children and the parents by whose exertions it is carried into effect. The author of the Scotch novels has several times alluded, in a very moving way, to the hardships to which a poor man's family in Scotland will submit, for the sake of affording to one of its members even those scanty means which a Scottish University education demands. You must remember the touches of pathos which he has thrown over the otherwise lu- dicrous enough exertions made in this way by the parents of the redoubtable Dominie Sampson; and those of Reuben Butler, in the last Tales of My Landlord, are represented in much the same kind. I have seen a little book of Memoirs, lately written, and very well written, by a soldier of the 71st regiment, in which there occurs a still more affecting, because a real picture, of circumstances exactly similar. I question whether there can be imagined a finer display of the quiet heroism of affection and principle, than is afforded in the long and resolute struggle which the poor parents maintain — the pinching penury and self-denial to which they voluntarily submit, in order that their child may be enabled to procure advantages of which themselves are destitute, and which, when obtained, cannot fail to give him thoughts and ideas such as must, in spite of nature, draw some line of separation between him and them. There cannot be a nobler instance of the neglect of self — a more striking exemplification of the sublimity of the affections. Nor can the conduct of the son himself be regarded as much less admirable. The solitary and secluded life to which he devotes so many youthful years — the hard battle which he, too, must maintain against pover- ty, without any near voice of love to whisper courage into his bosom — the grief which he must feel when compelled to ask that which he well knows will freely, but which, he too much fears, will be painfully given ; — all these sorrows of poverty, united with those many sorrows and depressions which the merely-intellectual part of a young student's ex- istence must always be sufficient to create — the doubts and fears which must at times overcloud and darken the brightest intellect that ever expanded before the influence of exertion — the watching and tossing of over-excitement — the self-reproach of languor— the tightening of the heart-strings — and the FETER ? S LETTERS. 10£ blank wanderings of the brain — these things are enough to complete the gloomy fore-ground of a picture which would indeed require radiance in the distance to give it any mea- sure of captivation. And yet these things are not more, un- less books and men alike deceive us, than are actually ope- rating at this moment in the persons of a very great propor- tion of the young men whom I have seen at work in the class-rooms of Brown and Playfair. Truly, I think there was too much of lightness in the remarks I made to you, a few days ago, concerning the first impressions of their external appearance and demeanour. The worst view of the subject, however, still remains to be given. To what end does all this exertion — this noble and heroic exertion, lead ? That is a question which nothing can hinder from crossing us every now and then, in the midst 01 all our most enthusiastic admiration. It is one which it is perhaps a wrong thing to attempt answering in any way ; and I much fear it is one which will not admit of being an- swered in a satisfactory manner, either by you or by me. There are few splendid rewards of worldly honour held up before the eyes of the Scottish student. The same circum- stances which enable him to aspire, enable hundreds and thousands to do as much as he does ; and the hope of ot> taining any of the few prizes which do exist, is divided among so many, that no man would venture to count his own individual chance as worthy of much consideration. The style of education and exertion to which he submits, are ad- mirably fitted for sharpening and quickening the keenness of his understanding, but do not much tend to fill his mind with a store of thoughts, feelings, and images, on which it might repose itself, and in which he might possess for ever the means of a quiet and contemplative happiness. He is made a keen doubter, and a keen disputer ; and in both of these qualities there is no doubt he will at first have pleasure. But in neither is he furnished with the elements of such pleasure as may en- dure with him, and increase with him throughout a laborious, and, above all, it may be, a solitary life. He is not provided with such an armoury of recollections as that which the scho- lar (properly so called) presents against the pressure of cor- poreal and mental evils. Without much prospect, then, of any great increase of wordly goods, and without procuring to himself any very va- luable stronghold of peaceful meditation, the Scottish student 14 106 PETERS LETTERS. submits to a life of such penury and difficulty, as would al- most be sufficient to counterbalance the possession even ol the advantages which he has not. At the end of his acade- mical career, he probably finds himself either a burden upon his relations, or providing for himself by the discharge of some duties, which might have been as well discharged with- out su expensive a preparation. Is it worth while to bear so much, in order to have a chance of gaining so little ? As Mr. Macleod says in Miss Edgeworth's novel — " It may be doubt- ed ;" and yet perhaps it cannot be doubted without somewhat of a sin against the higher parts of our nature. But suck sins we all commit often enough* but consciously and un- consciously. P. M Letter xvii. TO THE SAME. I regard, then, the academical institutions of England and Scotland, as things specifically distinct, both in their structure and in their effects. The Universities, here, educate, in pro- portion to the size and wealth of the two countries, twenty times a larger number than ours in England educate. They educate these persons in a very different way, and for totally different purposes — in reality at least, if not in profession. They diffuse over every part of the kingdom, and over many parts of the neighbouring kingdoms, a mighty population of men, who have received a kind and measure of education which fits them for taking a keen and active management in the affairs of ordinary life. But they seldom send forth men wht are so thoroughly accomplished in any one branch of learn- ing, as to be likely to possess, through that alone, the means of attaining to eminence ; and, what is worse, the course of the studies which have been pursued under their direction, has been so irregular and multifarious, that it is a great chance whether any one branch of occupation may have made such a powerful and commanding impression on the imagination of the student, as might induce him afterwards to perfect and com- plete for himself what the University can only be said to have begun. peter's letters. 107 In England, the object of the Universities is not, at pre- sent, at all of this kind. In order to prepare men for dis- charging the duties of ordinary life, or even for discharging the duties of professions requiring more education than is quite common in any country, it is not thought necessary that the University should ever be resorted to. Those great and venerable institutions have both existed from the very commencement of the English monarchy, and have been gra- dually strengthened and enriched into their present condition, by the piety and the munificence of many successive gene- rations of kings and nobles. They are frequented by those only who may be called upon at some future period 4o dis- charge the most sacred and most elevated duties of English citizenship; and the magnificence of the establishments them- selves carries down a portion of its spirit into the humblest individual who connects himself with them. The student is lodged in a palace ; and when he walks abroad, his eyes are fed on every side with the most splendid assemblages of archi- tectural pomp and majesty which our island can display. He dines in a hall whose lofty compartments are occupied with the portraitures of illustrious men, who, of old, underwent the same discipline in which he is now engaged, amidst the same appropriate and impressive accompaniments of scene and observance. He studies in his closet the same books which have, for a thousand year?, formed the foundation of the intellectual character of Englishmen. Ln the same chapel wherein the great and good men of England were wont to assemble, he listens, every evening and every morning, to the same sublime music and sublimer words, by which their de- votion was kindled, and their faith sustained. He walks un- der the shadow of the same elms, plantains, and sycamores, beneath whose branches the thoughtful steps of Newton, or Bacon, Locke, and Milton, have sounded. These old oaks, which can no longer give shade or shelter, but which still present their bare and gnarled limbs to the elements around him — they were the contemporaries of Alfred. Here the me- mories of kings and heroes, and saints and martyrs, are mingled for ever with those of poets and philosophers ; and the Spirit of the Place walks visible, shedding all around one calm and lofty influence, alike refreshing to the affections and to the intellect — an influence which blends together, in indis- soluble union, all the finest elements of patriotism, and loyalty, tmd religion. 108 F£TER 5 S LETTERS. That tbe practical usefulness of these institutions would be in any respect improved by any considerable change in their course of studies, I am far from believing ; even were I certain that it would be so, I should still be very far from wish- ing to see such a change adopted. 1 am satisfied abundantly that they should continue as they are ; and, not having much faith in the new doctrine of the perfectibility of human nature, I doubt whether, let them be altered as they might, the men of their production would be much altered for the better. I do not think that at our time of day in national existence, it is at all wise or desirable to begin learning new fashions. The world is not in its infancy : and where is the nation the world has produced, which can present a more glorious array of great and holy names than ours ? To me, this is a suffi- cient proof, that, we have not all the while been stumbling in the dark, without the rays of the true lamp lo enlighten us in our progress. The steady and enduring radiance of our na- tional Past, cannot be the mere delusion of our self-love ; for even the voice of our enemies is for ever lifted up in its praise. What future limes may judge of the Present, and what our national Future may be, it is a little out of our power to de- cide. But I, for my part, have no fear that they who peruse in distant years the records of this age, will reproach us with having been a degenerate people. Neither do I expect that at any future period the national character can be greatly changed, without, at the same time, being greatly degenerate. Even in regard to many of those peculiarities of our system, which are the most easy and the most favoured marks of the wit of its enemies, I am persuaded that a compliance with what at first sight seems to be the most liberal spirit^ would, in the end, be found productive of any thing but fortunate effects. It is very easy, for example, to stigmatize the rules which exclude, from more or less of our privileges, all who are not members of our national church, with the names of bigotry, intolerance, and superstition. It should be remembered, however, that these regulations were the work of men, whom even our bitterest revilers would not dare to insult with such language; and till we see some good reason to be ashamed of them, we may be pardoned, at least, if we refuse to be entirely ashamed of their work. If it be fitting that we should have a National Church, I think it is equally fitting that the Church should have the National Universities. feter's letters. 109 These do not profess to monopolize all the means of instruc- tion ; the number of great names, in all departments, which have grown up without their sphere of protection, would be more than enough to give such pretensions the lie, were they so audacious as to set them forth. But they profess to edu- cate a certain number of persons, of a certain class, in a cer- tain set of principles, which have been connected with that class throughout all the best years of our history — and which, through the persons of that class in former times, have be- come identified with our national existence, and must every- where be recognized as entering largely and powerfully into the formation of our national character. In a word, they are designed to keep up the race of English gentlemen, imbued with those thoughts and feelings, with that illumination and that belief, which, as exemplified both in the words and in the actions of preceding years, having rendered the name which they bear second to none, perhaps, superior to any which the world has ever witnessed. Instead then of joining in with that senseless spirit of rail- ing, wherewith Scotchmen are too often accustomed to talk of the English, and Englishmen of the Scottish Universities, I please myself in thinking that the two institutions have differ- ent objects, and that they are both excellent in their different ways. That each sj^stem might borrow something with ad- vantage from the other, is very possible, but I respect both of them too much to be fond of hasty and rash experiments, In our great empire we have need of many kinds of men ; it is necessary that we should possess, within our own bounds, the means of giving to each kind that sort of preparation which may best fit them for the life to which tbey are des- tined. So there be no want of unity in the general character and feeling of the whole nation, considered as acting to- gether, the more ways the intellect of the nation has, in which to shoot itself out and display its energies, the belter will it be : — the greater the variety of walks of exertion and species of success, the greater the variety of stimulus applied ; and the greater that spirit of universal activity, without which minds become stagnant like fish pools, the greater is our hope of long and proudly preserving our high place in the estima- tion of the world. I shall return to the Universities in my next. P. M. 11$ peter's letters. LETTER XVIII. TO LADY JOHNES. »EAR AUNT, If you meet with Mr. David Williams, of Yris, be will tell you that I send him a long letter, every other day, filled with histories of dinner parties, and sketches of the Edinburgh Literati ; and yet, such is my diligence in my vocation of tourist, I am laying up stores of anecdotes about the northern beau monde, and making drawings in crayon, of the north- ern beauties, which, I flatter myself, will be enough to amuse your ladyship half the Autumn, after I return to you. There is a very old rule, to do like the Romans when you are in Rome ; and the only merit I lay claim to on the present oc- casion, resolves itself into a rigid observance of this sage pre- cept. It is the fashion here for every man to lead two or three different kinds of lives all at once, and I have made shift to do somewhat like my neighbours. In London, a lawyer is a lawyer, and he is nothing more ; for going to the play or the House of Commons, now and then, can scarcely be con- sidered as any serious interruption of his professional habits and existence. In London, in like manner, a gay man is no- thing but a gay man ; for, however he may attempt to disguise the matter, whatever he does out of the world of gaiety is in- tended only to increase his consequence in it. But here I am living in a city, which thrives both by law and by gaieties, and, would you believe it . ? — a very great share of the prac- tice of both of these mysteries lies in the very same hands. It is this, so far as I can judge, which constitutes what the logi- cians would call the differential quality of the society of Edin- burgh. It is at this time of the year at least, a kind of me- lange of London, Bath, and Cheltenham; and I am inclined to think, that, upon due examination, you would find it to be in several particulars, a more agreeable place than any of these. In many other particulars, I think any rational per- son would pronounce it, without difficulty, to be more absurd than any of them. The removal of the residence of the sovereign has had thfc effect of rendering the great nobility of Scotland very indif- ferent about the capital. There is scarcely one of the Pre- peter's letters. Ill miere Noblesse, I am told, that retains even the appearance of supporting a house in Edinburgh ; and by far the greater part of them are quite as ignorant of it, as of any other provincial town in the island. The Scotch courts of law, however, are all established in this place, and this has been sufficient to enable Edinburgh to keep the first rank among the cities of Scotland, which, but for them, it seems extreme- ly unlikely she should have been able to accomplish. For the more the commercial towns thrive, the more business is created for this legal one; and the lawyers of Edinburgh may be said to levy a kind of custom upon every bale of goods that is manufactured in this part of the island, and a no less regular excise upon every article of merchandize that is brought into it from abroad. In this way, (to such won- derful exactness has the matter been brought,) it may be said, that every great merchant in Glasgow pays large salaries to some two or three members of the law in Edinburgh, who conduct the numerous litigations that arise out of a flourish- ing business with great civility ; and with greater civility stilly the more numerous litigations which attend the untwisting and dissevering of the Gordian knot of mercantile difficul- ties and embarrassments. And so, indeed, there is scarcely much exaggeration in the common saying, that every house which a man, not a lawyer, builds out of Edinburgh, enables a man, who is a lawyer, to build another equally comfort- able in Edinburgh. A very small share of the profits set apart for the nourish- ment of this profession falls into the hands of the first branch of it — the Barristers. These are still, in general, although not so uniformly as in former times, younger sons of good families, who have their fortunes to make, but who have been brought up in away more calculated to make them adepts in spending than in getting. The greater part of them, more- over seldom have any opportunity of realizing much mo- ney, were they inclined to do so ; for, with the exception of some six or eight, who monopolize the whole of the large fees, and the far greater share of the small ones, the most of the advocates may think themselves extremely fortunate, if, after passing eight or ten years at the bar, they are able to make as much by their profession as may suffice for the sup- port of a family, in the most quiet and moderate style of living;. A vast number of those who come to the bar have no chance, almost no hope, of getting into any tolerable peter j s letters. practice ; but as there are a great number of offices of vari- ous degrees of honour and emolument, which can only be filled by members of the Faculty of Advocates, they are contented to wear the gown year after year, in the expecta- tion of at last being able to step into the possession of one of these births, by means of some connexions of blood, or mar- riage, or patronage. One should at first sight say, that this must be rather a heartless kind of drudgery ; but, such as it is, it is submitted to by a very great number of well-educated and accomplished gentlemen, who not only keep each other in countenance with the rest of the world, but, what is much better, render this mode of life highly agreeable in itself. These persons constitute the chief community ofloungers and talkers in Edinburgh ; and such is the natural effect of their own family connexions, and the conventional kind of respect accorded to the name of their profession, that their influence may be considered as extending over almost the whole of the northern part of the island. They make the nearest ap- proach, of any class of men now existing, to the modes of Templar-life described by Audison and Steele ; for, as to the Temple wits and critics of our day, you know they are now sadly " shorn of their beams," and are, indeed, regarded by the ruling powers of the West-end — the oi £V r£ xet, of Albe- niarle-street, &c. — as forming little better than a sort of upper form of the Cockney-school. The chief wealth of the profession, however, if not the chief honour, is lodged with the attorneys, or, as they are here called, the Writers. Of these there is such an abund- ance in this city, that I cannot for my life understand by what means they all contrive to live ; and those of them with whom I have become acquainted, I do assure you live well. They are sub-divided into various classes, of which the highest is that of the Writers or Clerks to the Signet, so called because they alone have the privilege of drawing particular kinds of deeds, to which the king's signet is affixed. Even of these there are many hundreds in actual practice at this moment, and many of them have realized large fortunes, and retired from business to enjoy the otium cum dignitate. It may be said, that almost every foot of land in Scotland pays some- thing to the Writers to the Signet ; for there is scarcely an estate in Scotland, the proprietor of which does not entrust the management of the whole of his affairs to one of their peter's letters. 113 older. The connexion which exists between them and the landed interest is thus of the most intimate nature. The country gentlemen of Scotland, from whatever causes, are generally very much in debt. Their writers, or, as they call them, their agents or doers, are of necessity acquainted with?! the many secrets which men in debt must have ; they are themselves the bankers and creditors of their clients. In short, when a gentleman changes his man of business, his whole af- fairs must undergo a complete revolution and convulsion ; and in Scotland, it is a much easier thing to get rid of one's wife, than of one's doer. These advocates and rich writers may be considered as forming the nucleus of the society of Edinburgh. Their con- nexions of birth and business bind thern so closely with the landed gentry, that these last come to Edinburgh principally in order to be in their neighbourhood ; these again draw with them a part of the minor noblesse, and the whole of the idle military men who can afford it. Of late years also, the gentry of some of the northern English counties have begun to come hither, in preference to going to York as they used to do ; and out of all this medley of materials, the actual mass of the society of Edinburgh is formed. I mean the winter society of Edinburgh ; for, in the summer months — that is from April till Christmas — the town is commonly de- serted by all, except those who have ties of real business to connect them with it. Nay, during a considerable portion of that time, it loses, as I am informed, the greater part even of its eminent lawyers, and has quite as green and desolate an appearance, as the fashionable squares in London have about the falling of the leaf. The medley of people, thus brought together for a few months every year to inhabit a few streets in this city, cannot afford to yplit their forces very minutely, so as to form many different spheres of society, according to their opinions of their relative rank and importance. It is now admitted every- where, that no party is worth the going to, unless it be a crowded one ; now, it is not possible to form a party here that shall be at once select and crowded. The dough and the leaven must go togetiier to make up the loaf, and the wives of the lords and lairds, and advocates, and writers, must be contented to club their forces, if they are to produce any thing that deserves the honourable name of a squeeze. Now 15 il4 peter's letters. and then, indeed, a person of the very highest importance, may, by great exertion succeed in forming one exception to this" rule. But the rule is in general a safe one ; and the Edinburgh parties are in the main mixed parties. I do not mean that they are mixed in a way that renders them at all disagreeable, even to those who have been accustomed to the style of society in much greater capitals, but that they are mixed in a way of which no example is to be found in the parties of London, or indeed of any European capital, ex- cept the Paris of the present time. People visit each other ia Edinburgh with all the appearance of cordial familiarity, who, if they lived in London, would imagine their difference of rank to form an impassable barrier against such inter- course. Now, although the effect may not amount to any thing absolutely unpleasant, there is no question that this ad- mission of persons not educated in the true circles, must be seen and felt upon the general aspect of the society of Edin- burgh, and that, upon the whole, this society is, in conse- quence of their admission, less elegant than might otherwise have been expected in the capital of such a country as Scot- land. * * * * Yours very affectionately, P. M LETTER XIX. to the same. Dear Aunt, However composed and arranged, the routs and balls of this place are, during their season, piled upon each other with quite as much bustle and pomp as those even of Lon- don. Every night, some half a dozen ladies are at home, and every thing that is in the wheel of fashion, is carried round, and thrown out in due course at the door of each of them. There is at least one regular ball every evening, and beside this, half of the routs are in their waning hours transformed into carpet-dances, wherein quadrilles are performed in a very penseroso method to the music of the piano-forte. Upon the whole, however, I am inclined to be of opinion, that even those who most assiduously frequent these miscellaneous as PETER 5 S LETTERS'. 11,6 ^emblages are soon sickened, if they durst but confess the truth, of the eternal repetition of the same identical crowd displaying its noise and pressure under so many different roofs. Far be it from me to suspect, that there are not some faces, of which no eye can grow weary ; but, in spite of all their loveliness, I am certainly of opinion, that the impression made by the belles of Edinburgh would be more powerful, were it less frequently reiterated. Among the hundred young ladies, whose faces are exhibited in these parties, a very small proportion, of course, can have any claims to that higher kind of beauty, which, like the beauty of painting or sculp- ture, must be gazed on for months or years before the whole of its charm is understood and felt as it ought to be. To see every evening, for months in succession, the same merely pretty, or merely pleasing faces, is at the best a fatiguing bu- siness. One must soon become as familiar with the conlour of every cheek, and the sweep of every ringlet, as one is with the beauties or defects of one's own near relatives. And if it be true, that defects in this way come to be less disagree- able, it is no less true, per contra, that beauties come to have less of the natural power of their fascination. The effects of this unceasing flood of gaiety, then, are not perhaps so very favourable as might be expected to the great object of all gaieties — the entrapping of the unfortunate lords of the creation. But this is not the worst of the matter. J am really very free from any very puritanical notions, in regard to the pleasures of human life ; but I do sincere- ly, and in honest earnestness doubt, whether any good is gained to the respectable citizens of this town, by hav- ing their wives and daughters immersed, for so consider- able a portion of the year, in a perpetual round of amuse- ments, so fatiguing to their bodies and their minds, and so destructive, I should fear, of much of that quiet and innocent love of home and simple pleasures, in which the true charm of the female character ought to consist, and in which its only true charm does at this moment consist, in the opinion of all men of sense and feeling. It is a very pretty thing, no doubt, to see a young lady dressed with Parisian flowers and Pari- sian gauzes, and silk slippers and an Indian fan, and the whole &c. of fashionable array : But I question whether this be, after ail, the style in which a young man of any under- standing sees a young lady with most danger to his peace. It is very well that people in the more quiet walks of life 116 FETEK 7 S LETTERS, should not be ignorant of what goes on among those that are pleased to style themselves their betters : But, I do think that this is rather too entire and bona fide an initiation into a train of existence, which is, luckily, as inconsistent with the per- manent happiness, as it is with the permanent duties, of those who cannot afford all their lives to be mere fine ladies. For myself, after living so quietly in Cardigan, I have been on the whole much pleased with the full and leisurely view I have now had even of this out-skirt of the beau-monde. I do not think matters have undergone any improvement since I last peeped into its precincts. The ladies are undoubtedly by no means so well-dressed as they were a few years ago, before these short waists and enormous tetes of flowers and ringlets were introduced from Paris. There is, perhaps, no one line in the whole of the female form, in which there lies so much gracefulness as in the outline of the back. Now. that was seen as it ought to be a few years ago ; but novv every woman in Britain looks as if her clothes were hung about her neck by a peg. And then the truly Spartan exposure of the leg, which seems now to be in fashion, is, in my judgment, the most unwise thing in the whole world ; for any person can tell well enough from the shape of the foot and ancle, whether the limb be or be not handsome; and what more would the ladies have? Moreover, the fashion has not been allowed to obtain its ascendancy without evident detriment to the interests of the majority; for I have never yet been in any place where there were not more limbs that would gain by being concealed, than by being exposed. But, in truth, even those who have the shape of a Diana, may be assured that they are not, in the main, gainers by attracting too much at- tention to some of their beauties. 1 wonder that they do not recollect and profit by the exquisite description of the Bride, in Sir John Suckling's poem of the Wedding : — — " Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice stole in and out, As if they fear'd the light." As for those, who, with bad shapes, make a useless display of their legs, I must own, I have no excuse for their folly. I know well enough, that it is a very difficult thing to form any proper opinion about one's own face; because it is univer- sally admitted that faces, which have no regularity of fea- peter's letters. 117 ture, may often be far more charming than those which have, and, of course, those who are sensible enough to perceive, that their heads could not stand the test of sculpture, may be very easily pardoned for believing, that their expressiveness might still render them admirable studies for a painter. But as to limbs — I really am quite at a loss to conceive how any person should labour under the least difficulty in ascertain- ing, in the most exact way, whether handsomeness may, or may not, be predicated concerning any given pair of legs or arms in existence. Their beauty is entirely that of Form. and by looking over a few books of prints, or a few plaster- of-Paris casts, the dullest eye in the world may learn, in the course of a single forenoon, to be almost as good a critic in calves and ancles as Canova himself. Yet nothing can be more evident, than that the great majority of young ladies are most entirely devoid of any ideas concerning the beauty of Form, either in themselves, or in others; they never take the trouble to examine any such matters minutely, but satisfy themselves with judging by the general air and result. In regard to other people, this may do very well ; but it is a very bad plan with respect to themselves. Even you, my dear lady .lohnes, are a perfect tyro in this branch of knowledge. I remember, only the last time I saw you, you were praising, with all your might, the legs of Colo- nel B , those flimsy worthless things, that looked as if they were bandaged with linen rollers from the heel to the knee. I beg you would look at the Apollo Belvidere, the Fighting Gladiator, and the Farnese Hercules. There are only three handsome kinds of legs in the world, and in these, you have a specimen of each of the three — I speak of gentle- men. As for your own sex, the Venus is the only true modfj of female form in existence, and yet such is your culpable ignorance of yourselves, that I devoutly believe she would be pronounced a very clumsy person, were she to come into the Aberystwith ball room. You may say what you will, but I still assert, and I will prove it if you please, by pen and pen- cil, that, with one pair of exceptions, the best legs in Cardi- gan are Mrs. P 's. As for Miss J D 's, 1 think they are frightful # # # # # f ■f- A great part of this letter is omitted in the second edition, in const- ?uence of the displeasure its publication gave to certain individuals in •ardiganshire. I hope I need not say how much I was grieved, when 1 118' PETlSlVS LETTER'S. It is a great mistake under which the Scotch people lie, in supposing themselves to be excellent dancers; and yet one hears the mistake re-echoed by the most sensible, sedate, and dance-abhorring Presbyterians one meets with. If the test of good dancing were activity , there is indeed no question, the northern beaux and belles might justly claim the pre-eminence over their brethern and sisters of the south. In an Edinburgh ball room there appears to be the same pride of bustle, the same glorying in muscular agitation and alertness — the same " sudor immanis" to use the poets phrase, which used of old to distinguish the sports of the Circus or the Campus Martius. But this is all ; — the want of grace is as conspicuous in their performances, as the abundance of vigour. We desiderate the conscious towerlike poise — the easy, slow, unfatiguing glide of the fair pupils of D'Estainville. To say the truth, the ladies in Scotland dance in common pretty much like our country lasses at a harvest home. They kick and pant as if the devil were in them ; and, when they are young and pretty, it is undoubtedly no disagreeable thing to be a spec- tator of their athletic display ; but I think they are very ignorant of dancing as a science. Comparatively few of them manage their feet well, and of these ^e\\ what a very insignificant portion know any thing about that equally im- portant part of the art — the management of the arms. And then how absurdly they thrust out their shoulder blades : How they neglect the undulation of the back ! One may com- pare them to fine masses of silver, the little awkward work- manship bestowed on which rather takes from, than adds to the natural beauty of the materials. As for the gentlemen, they seldom display even vigour and animation, unless they be half cut — and they never display any thing else. It is fair, however, to mention, that in the true indigenous dances of the country, above all in the reel (the few times I have seen it,) these defects seem in a great measure to vanish, so that ambition and affectation are, after all, at the bottom of their bad dancing, in the present day, as well as of their bad writing. The quadrille, notwithstanding, begins to take learned in what way some of the passages had been regarded by several ladies, who have not a more sincere admirer than myself. As for the gentleman, who chose to take what I said of him in so much dudgeon, he will observe, that I have allowed what I said to remain exactly!/? statu quo, which I certainly should not have done, had he expressed hi?' ■resentment in the proper manner. jteter's letters. 119 with the soil, and the girls can already go through most of its manoeuvres without having recourse to their fans. But their beaux continue, certainly, to perform these new fangled evolutions in a way that would move the utmost spleen of a Parisian butcher. What big, lazy, clumsy fellows one sees lumbering cautiously, on toes that should not be called light and fantastic, but rather heavy and syllogistic. It seems that there goes a vast deal of ratiocination to decide upon the moves of their game. The automaton does not play chess with such an air of lugubrious gravity. Of a surety, Terpsichore was never before worshipped by such a solemn set of devo- tees. One of our own gloomy Welsh Jumpers, could he be suddenly transported among some sets that I have seen, would undoubtedly imagine himself to be in a saltatory prayer meeting ; and yet these good people, put them fairly into a reel, can frisk it about with all possible demonstrations of hilarity. They prefer the quadrille, I imagine, upon some- thing of the same principle which leads a maid servant to- spend her two shillings on a tragedy rather than on a comedy. I could not help in my own mind likening these dolorous pas seuls performed in rotation by each of the quadrillers, and then succeeded by the more clamorous display of sadness in their chaine Angloise, &c. to the account which Miss Edge worth gives us of the Irish lyke wake, wherein each of the cousins chants a stave of lamentation, solo, and then the whole generation of them join in the screaming treble of the choral ulululuh ! hit ! " Why did you leave the potatoes ? 5 ' "What ailed thee, Pat, with the buttermilk!" &c. &c. &c. The waits has been even more unfortunate than the quad rille ; it is still entirely an exotic in the North. Nor, in truth, am I much inclined to find fault with the prejudices which have checked the progress of this fascinating dance among the disciples of John Knox and Andrew Melville. I really am of opinion, that it might have been as well, had we of the South been equally shy of the importation. As for myself, I assure you, that ever since I spent a week at Lady L 's, and saw those great fat girls of her's wall/ ing every night with that odious Dr. B , I cannot endure the very name of the thing. By the way, I met the other day with a very nice poem, entitled, " Waltz — an Apostrophic Hymn, by Francis Hornem, Esq. ;" and as I think you have, never seen it, I shall transcribe a few lines for your amuse menk ^ 120 peter's letters, " Borne on the breath of Hyperborean gales, From Hamburgh's port (while Hamburgh yet had Mails,) Ere yet unlucky Fame — compelled to creep To snowy Gottenburgh — was chilled to sleep ; Or, starting from her slumbers, deigned arise, Heligoland ! to stock thy mart with lies ; While unburnt Moscow yet had news to send, Nor owed her fiery exit to a friend : She came — Waltz came — and with her certain sets Of true despatches, and as true Gazettes: Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest despatch, Which Moniteur nor Morning Post can match ; And — almost crushed beneath the glorious news, Ten plays — and forty tales of Kotzebue's ; One envoy's letters, six composers' airs, And loads from Frankfort and from Leipsig fairs : Meiner's four volumes upon woman kind, Like Lapland witches, to ensure a wind ; Brunk's heaviest tome for ballast, and, to back it, Of Heyne, such as should not sink the packet. " Fraught with this cargo — and her fairest freight, Delightful Waltz, on tiptoe for a mate, The welcome vessel reached the genial strand, And round her flocked the daughters of the land. •* * * * * Not lovelorn Quixote — when his Sancho thought The knight's fandango friskier than it ought ; Not soft HerodLs, when, with winning tread, Her nimble feet danced off another's head ; Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck, Displayed so mnch of/eg, or more of neck, Than thou, ambrosial VValtz, when first the moon Beheld thee twirling to a Saxon tune! " To you — ye husbands often years ! whose brow.-; Ache with the annual tribute of a spouse ; To you, of nine years less — who only bear The budding sprouts of those that you shall wear, With added ornaments aroud them rolled, Of native brass, or law awarded gold ; To you — ye matrons, ever on the watch To mar a son's, or make a daughter's match ; To you — ye children of — whom chance accords, Always the ladies' and sometimes their lords ; To you — ye single gentlemen ! who seek Torments for life, or pleasures for a week ; As Love or Hymen your endeavours guide, To gain your own, or snatch another's bride ; To one and all the lovely stranger came, And every ball-room echoes with her name. " Endearing Waltz — to thy more melting tune Bow Irish jig — and ancient rigadoon ; Scotch reels avaunt ! — and country dance forego Your future claims to each fantastic toe : PETER^S LETTERS. • 121 Waltz — AValtz — alone both arms and legs demands, Liberal of feet — and lavish of her hands; Hands which may freely range in public sight, Where ne'er before — but — pray ' put out the light.' Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier Shines much too far — or 1 am much too near ; Vnd true, though strange — Waltz whispers this remark. 'My slippery steps are safest in the dark.' But here the Muse with due decorum halts, And Sends her longest petticoat to ' Waltz.' r " Observant travellers ! of every time, Ye quartos ! published upon every clime ; O say, shall dull Romaika's heavy round, Fandango's wriggle, or Bolero's bound ; Can Egypt's Almas — tantalizing groupe — Columbia's caperers to the warlike whoop — Can aught from cold Kamschatka to Cape Horn, With Waltz compare, or after Waltz be borne? Ah no ! from M oner's pages up to Gait's, Each tourist pens a paragraph for ' Waltz.' " Shades of those belles, whose reigns began of yore, With George the Third's — and ended long before ; Though in your daughters' daughters yet you thrive, Burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive ! Back to the ball-room speed yourspectred host; Fools' paradise is dull to that you lost ; No treacherous powder bids Conjecture quake, No stiff-starched stays make meddling fingers ache (Transferred to those ambiguous things that ape Goats in their visage, women in their shape ;) No damsel faints when rather closely pressed, But more caressing seems when most caressed ; Superfluous hartshorn and reviving salts, Both banished by the sovereign cordial, ' Waltz." # # # # # Though gentle Genlis, in her strife with Stael, Would e'en proscribe thee from a Paris ball ; Thee fashion hails — from Countesses to Queens, And maids and valets waltz behind the scenes ; Wide and more wide thy witching circle spreads, And turns — if nothing else — at least our heads ; With thee e'en clumsy cits attempt to bounce, And cockneys practise what they can't pronounce. Gods ! how the glorious theme my strain exalts, And rhyme finds partner rhyme in praise of ' Waltz.' " And now, my dear aunt, I have surely written to you, at the least, with most dutiful fullness. P. M 16 122 peter's letters. L E T T E R XX to the rev. david williams. Dear Williams, The life I have led here has been such a strange mixture of all sorts of occupations, that were 1 to send you a literal diary of my transactions, I believe you would not fail to dis- cover abundant room for doubting the authenticity of the MS. I shall therefore reserve the full and entire history of this part of my existence, till I may have opportunity of com- municating it to you viva voce over a bottle of Binn D, and proceed in the meantime, as I have been doing, to give you little glimpses and fragments of it, exactly in the order that pleases to suggest itself. In Smollet's time, according to the inimitable and unques- tionable authority of our cousin, Matthew Bramble, ne stranger could sleep more than a single night in Edinburgh., with the preservation of any thing like an effectual incognito. In those days, as I have already told you, the people all in- habited in the Old Town of Edinburgh — packed together, family above family, for aught I know, clan above clan, in little more than one street, the bouses of which may, upon an average, be some dozen stories in height. The aerial ele- vation, at which an immense proportion of these people had fixed their abodes, rendered it a matter of no trifling moment to ascend to them ; and a person in the leasj; degree affected with asthma, might as soon have thought of mounting the Jungfrau, as of paying regular devoirs to any of the fait cynosures of these vk^txtcc PapccTot. The difficulty of access, which thus prevented many from undertaking any ascents of the kind, was sufficient to prevent all those who did under- take them, from entering rashly on their pilgrimages. No man thought of mounting one of those gigantic staircases, without previously ascertaining that the object of his intended visit was at home — unless it might be some Hannibal fresli from the Highlands, and accustomed, from his youth upwards, to dance all his minuets on Argyll's bowling-green. To seek out a stranger among a hundred or two such staircases, was of course an undertaking beyond the patience even of a per- son who had enjoyed such an education as this; and so it be- came a matter of absolute necessity, that Edinburgh should peter's letters. 128 possess some body of citizens set apart, and destined ah ova, for climbing staircases, and carrying messages. From this necessity, sprung the high lineage of '• the Ca- dies of Auld Reekie." When I use the word lineage, I do not mean to say that their trade ran in their blood, or that the cadies, as the Lake poet sings, " To sire from grandsire, and from sire to sofij Throughout their generations, did pursue With purpose, and hereditary love, Most stedfast and unwavering, the same course Of labour, not unpleasant, nor unpaid." The cadies bore more resemblance in this respect to the Ja nissaries and Mamelukes of Modern, than to the hereditary hammermen, cooks, physicians, and priests of Ancient Egypt, The breed of them was not kept up in the usual way, " By ordinance of matrimonial love ;" but by continued levies of fresh recruits from the same rug- ged wilds, wherein alone, the Ganus Iapeti was supposed to retain sufficient vigour for the production of individuals, adapted for so aspiring a course of life. Every year brought from the fastnesses of Lochaber and Braemar, a new supply of scions to be engrafted upon the stock rooted immoveably in the heart of Auld Reekie — so that season after season, the tree of the cadies, like that of Virgil, might be said, " Mirari novas frondes et non sua poma." However produced and sustained — whatever might be the ■beauties or the blemishes of their pedigree — this race con- tinued for many generations, to perform with the same zeal and success the same large variety of good offices to the citi- zens of Edinburgh. The cadie preserved amidst all his func- tions not a litlle of the air and aspect natural to him in hiV own paternal wilderness ; u A savage wildness round him hung, As of a dweller out of doors ; In his whole figure and his mien \ savage character was seen, Of mountains and of dreary moor*. 124 PETER'S LETTERS. He climbed staircases with the same light and elastic spring which had been wont to carry him unfatigued to the brow of Cairngorm or Ben-Nevis ; and he executed the commands of his employer pro tempore, whatever they might be, in the same spirit of unquestioning submission and thorough-going zeal, with which he had been taught from his infancy to obey the orders of Maccallamore, Glengarry, Gordon, Grant, or whosoever the chieftain of his clan might be. ■ In order to qualify him for the exercise of this laborious profession, it was necessary that the apprentice-cadie should make himself mi- nutely familiar with every stair-case, every house, every fami- ly, and every individual in the city, and to one who had laid in this way a sound and accurate foundation of information, it could be no difficult matter to keep on a level with the slight flood of mutation, which the city and its population was at that period accustomed to. The moment a stranger arrived in Edinburgh, his face was sure to attract the observation of some of this indefatigable tribe, and they knew no rest till they had ascertained his name, residence, and condition — considering it, indeed, as a sort of insult upon their body, that, any man should presume to live within the bounds of their jurisdiction, and yet remain unpenetrated by the perspicacity of their unwearied espionage. But why should I say any more of this race ? — They are now gathered to their fathers ; and their deeds, are they not written in the Book of the Ex- pedition of Humphrey Clinker ? Although, however, the original and regular fraternity no longer exists, and although, indeed, the change which has taken place, both in the residence and in the manners of the inhabitants, has removed almost all shadow of pretence for the existence of any such fraternity — Edinburgh is still pos- sessed of a species of men who retain the name, and, in so far as the times permit, the functions of the cadies. At the corner of every street is usually to be seen a knot of these fellows lounging on a wooden bench in expectation of em- ployment. They are very busy in the evenings during the gay season of the year ; for they are exclusively the bearers of the chairs which convey the beaux and belles from one rout and ball to another ; but even at that season, their morn- ings, for the most part, are passed in a state of complete in- action. A pack of sorely blackened cards, or an old rotten backgammon board, furnishes a small proportion with some- PKTER } 3 LETTERS. 125 thing like occupation ; but the greater part are contented with an indefatigable diligence in ihe use of tobacco, which they seem to consume indifferently in all its shapes — smoking, chewing, and snuffing, with apparently the same intensity of satisfaction. Whenever I pass one of these groupes, my ears are saluted with accents, which the persons I usually walk with talk of as coarse and disgusting, but which are interesting at least, if not delightful, to me, because they remind me most strongly of those of our own native dialect. At first, indeed, the only resemblance I was sensible to, lay in the general music and rythm of their speech ; but, by dint of listening attentively on all occasions, I soon began to pick up a few of their words, and am now able, I flatter myself, to understand a great part of their discourse. With a few varieties in the inflections, and some more striking variations in the vowel sounds, the Gaelic is evidently in the same language with our own. I do not mean merely, that it is sprung remotely from the same Celtic stem ; but that it is entirely of the same struc- ture in all essential respects, and bears, so far as I can judge, a much nearer resemblance to our tongue, than is any where else to be traced between the languages of people that have lived so long asunder. I shall pay particular attention to this subject during my stay in Scotland, and doubt not I shall be able to give you some very interesting details when we meet. In the mean time, I have already begun to read a little of the Gaelic Ossian. not, you may believe out of any reverence for its authenticity, but with a view to see what the written Gaelic is. Nothing can be more evident than its total inferiority to the Welsh. It is vastly inferior in perspicuity, and immea- surably inferior in melody j in short, it bears no marks of having undergone, as our language has done, the correcting, condensing, and polishing labour of a set of great poets and historians. These defects are still more apparent in a collec- tion of Gaelic songs which I have seen, and which I believe to be really antique. The wild and empassioned tone of sen- timent, however, and the cold melancholy imagery of these compositions render them well worthy of being translated; and, indeed, Walter Scott has already done this service for some of the best of them. But I have seen nothing that should entitle them to share any thing like the high and de- vout admiration which we justly give, and which all Europe would give, had they the opportunity, to the sublime and pa- thetic masterpieces of our own great bards* I trust, David, 126 peter's letters. you are not neglecting your truly grand and important un dertaking. Go on, and prosper; and I doubt not, you will confer the highest honour both on your country and yourself.* The cadies, from whom I have made this digression, have furnished me with another, and almost as interesting field of study, in quite a different way. Their physiognomies are to me an inexhaustable fund of observation and entertainment. They are for the most part, as I have said, Highlanders by frirth, but the experience of their Lowland lives has had the merit of tempering, in a very wonderful manner, the mere mountaineer parts of their aspect. A kind of wild stare, which the eyes retain from the keen and bracing atmosphere of their native glens, is softened with an infusion of quiet ur- bane shrewdness, often productive of a most diverting incon- sistency in the general effect of their countenances. I should certainly have supposed them, prima facie, to be the most unprincipled set of men in the world ; but I am told their character for honesty, fidelity, and discretion, is such as to justify the most implicit reliance in them. This, however, I by no means take as a complete proof of my being in the wrong. Honesty, fidelity, and discretion, are necessary to their employment, and success; and therefore I doubt not they are honest, faithful, and discreet, in all their dealings with their employers. But I think it is not possible for fel- lows with such faces as these, to have any idea of moral ob- ligation, beyond what is inspired in this way by the imme- diate feeling of self-interest; and I have no doubt, that with proper management, one might find on occasion an assassin, almost as easily as a pimp, among such a crew of grinning, smiling, cringing savages, as are at this moment assembled beneath my window. I am making a collection of drawings of all the most noted of these cadies, and I assure you, my sketch-book does not contain a richer section than this will afford. You will be quite thunderstruck to find what unifor- mity prevails in the development of some of the leading or- gans of these topping cadies. They are almost all remarkable for projection of their eye-brows — the consequence of the luxuriant manner in which their organs of observation have expanded themselves. At the top of their heads, the symbols * This refers to a great work on Welsh Poetry and History, in which Mr. Williams has been engaged for some years, and which, when it is published, will, I doubt not, create a greater sensation in Wales, than any thing that has occurred since the death of Llewellyn. LETTERS. 121 of ambition, and love of praise, are singularly prominent. A kind of dogged pertinacity of character may be inferred from the knotty structure of the region behind their ears ; and the choleric temperament betrayed in their gestures, when among themselves, may probably be accounted for by the ex- traordinary development of the organ of self-love, just above the nape of the neck — which circumstance again is, no doubt, somewhat connected with the continual friction of burthens upon that delicate region. It is very ungrateful of me, however, to be saying any thing disrespectful about a class of men, from whom I have derived so much advantage since my arrival in this place. Whenever a stranger does arrive, it is the custom that he en- ters into a kind of tacit compact with some of the body, who is to perform all little offices he may require during the con- tinuance of his visit. I, myself, was particularly fortunate in falling into the hands of one whom I should take to be the cleverest cadie that at present treads the streets of Auld Reekie* His name is D d M'N , and, if one may take his word for it, he has gentle blood in his veins, being no less than " a bairn o' our chief himsell." Nor, indeed, do I see any reason to call this account of his pedigree in question* for Donald is broad of back, and stout of limb, and has, I think, not a little of the barbarian kind of pride about the top of his forehead ; and I hear, the Phylarchus with whom he claims kindred, led, in more respects than one, a very patri' arehal sort of life. P. M, 128 peter's letters, LETTER XXL TO THE REV. DAVID WILLIAMS. # # # * * I spent an afternoon very pleasantly the other day at Dr, Brewster's, the same who is so celebrated for his discoveries concerning light — his many inventions of optical instru- ments — and his masterly conduct of that best of all works of the kind, the Edinburgh Encyclopedia. Dr. Brewster is still a young man, although one would scarcely suppose this to be the case, who, never having seen him, should form his guess from considering what he has done. He cannot, I should think, be above forty, if so much. Like most of the scientific men in Edinburgh, the doctor is quite a man of the world in his manners ; his countenance is a very mild and agreeable one, and in his eyes, in particular, there is a wonder- ful union of penetration and tenderness of expression. From his conversation, one would scarcely suspect that he had gone so deep into the hidden parts of science, for he displays a vast deal of information concerning the lighter kinds of lite- rature, although, indeed, he does all this with a hesitative sort of manner, which probably belongs to him as a man of ab- struse science. It is, no doubt, maiuly owing to this happy combination of accomplishments, that he has been able to render his great work so much more truly of an Encyclo- paedic character, than any other which has been published under the same name in our island. In a work of that kind, which cannot be finished without the co-operation of a vast variety of contributors continued throughout many successive years, it is quite obvious how much must depend on the su- perintending and arranging skill and judgment of the editor. Now, it is a very rare thing indeed, to meet with a person of fine talents, who is alike a man of science, and a man of literature ; and unless under the care of such a person, I do not see how an Encyclopaedia can be conducted in such a way as to give equal satisfaction to both the great classes into which readers of Encyclopaedias must necessarily be di- vided. All the other Encyclopaedias published in this coun- i>ETER 5 3 LETTERS. 129 fry, have been edited either by persons possessed of skill in one department only, and negligent of the rest, or, what is still worse, by persons alike destitute of skill In all depart- ments whatever — in other words, members of the great cor- poration of charlatans. There were several very pleasant men of the party, and the conversation, both during dinner, and afterwards, was ex- tremely lively and agreeable, as well as instructive ; but from the time we sat down, there was one face which attracted my attention in a way that I was quite at a loss to account for. I experienced, in looking at it, a strange and somewhat un- comfortable sort of feeling — of which you must often have been sensible — as if I had seen the countenance before, where, when, or how, it was impossible for me to recollect. At last, the gentleman who thus occupied my attention, happened, in talking to Dr. Brewster, to utter the word Freyberg, and the whole affair flashed across me as swift as lightning. That single sound had opened a key to the whole mystery, and a moment after, I could not help wondering how I should have been at a loss. Some years ago, (I shall not say how many,) when I was stronger, and more active than I now am, and ca- pable of making longer excursions in ruder vehicles than I now venture upon in my shandrydan, I remember to have travelled in the common post-wagon from Dresden to Leip- sig. I had gone on horseback quite through the Hartz, and passed from thence in the same manner all up the delightful banks of the Elbe, from Magdeburg to the Saxon Switzer- land. I then sold my horse, (much the worse for the wear 1 had given him,) and was making the best of my way toward the west, in that most coarse, and most jumbling of all ma- chines, 11 The neat post-wagon trotting in." We had got as far as within a single stage of Leipsig, when a little adventure befel us. which, till this face recalled it, 1 had, for years, as utterly forgotten as if it never had occur- red. We were just about to enter a village, (I cannot recol- lect its name,) when our vehicle was surrounded by a party of mounted gens-d'armes, and a fierce looking fellow, thrust- ing his mustachio and his pipe into the window, commanded the whole party to come out and' show ourselves. A terrible murder, he said, had been committed somewhere bv a Jew- 17 130 PETER'S LETTERS. a watchman, I think, of Koeningsberg, and he had every oc- casion to believe, that the murderer had left Dresden that morning in one of the post-wagons. After we had all com- plied with his order, and dislodged ourselves from the pillar of tobacco smoke in which we sat enveloped, there were two of the company on whom our keeper seemed to look with eyes of peculiar suspicion. I myself was one, and the other was a thin, dark-complexioned, and melancholy looking young man, whom, till this moment, I had not remarked ; for of the six benches swung across the wagon, I had sate upon the one nearest the front, and he on that nearest the rear. I had al- lowed my beard to grow upon my upper lip, and I believe looked as swarthy as any Jew ever did ; but my scanty allow- ance of nose would have alone satisfied a more skilful physi- ognomist, that I could not be the guilty man. The other had somewhat the same cast in that feature, and he wore no mus- lach'ro, but his hair seemed to be of the genuine Israelitish jet — and the gens-d'armes were positive that one or othei. of us must be the murderer. I spoke German with fluency,- and with a pretty just accent, and made a statement for my- self, which seemed to remove something of the suspicion from me. The other delivered himself with more hesitation, and with an accent, which, whatever it might be, was evidently not Saxon, and therefore the Hussar seemed to take it for. granted that it was Jewish, imperfectly concealed. At last after a good deal of discussion, we were both taken to the Amt-house, where the magistrate of the village sat in readi- ness to decide on the merits of our case. The circumstance^ which had determined the chief suspicion of the officers, ap- peared to weigh in the same manner on the mind of the ma- gistrate, and, at the end of the examination which ensued oi our persons and our papers, it was announced, that I might proceed on my journey, but that the other must be contented to remain where he was, till his passport should be sent back to Dresden for the examination of the police. Upon this, my fellow-traveller lost temper, and began to complain most bit- terly of the inconvenience to which such a delay would expose him. He was on his way, he said, to Freyberg, where he had already studied one year under the celebrated Werner, as his passport testified, and he had particular reasons for being anxious to reach his university before a certain day in the following week. The magistrate, who was a very mild looking person, seemed to consider with himself for a moment, ana •peter's letters. 131 chen said, " A. thought strikes me— the son of our clergyman has studied at Freyberg, and if you have really been there, sir, it is probable he may recognize you." My companion had no objections to an experiment, which at least couid not place him in a worse situation than that in which he was — and in a few minutes the son of the clergyman made his appear- ance. I remember as distinctly as if the thing had occurred only yesterday, the expression of delight which illuminated the countenance of the accused, when this person declared that he recollected him perfectly at Freyberg, and that he had heard Professor Werner speak of him as a young Scotchman who gave infinite promise of being distinguished in the study of mineralogy. This removed every difficulty, and the ma- gistrate, with many apologies, gave us permission to take our seats in the post-wagon. The distance of our positions in the vehicle rendered it impossible for me to exchange more than a very few words with my fellow-sufferer, after we began to move, although, having discovered him to be my country- man, I was sufficiently inclined to enter into conversation. It was late at night before we arrived at Leipsig; and, as I remained there for a day or two, while he passed on, without stopping, to Freyberg, we had no further opportunity of com- munication. In short, I had never seen the face from that time till now; but I felt assured, that, in spite of the years which had intervened, I could not be mistaken, and here was the very gentleman at the table of Dr. Brewster. In the course of a few minutes, I heard him addressed by the name of Jameson, and immediately conjectured that he might probably be the well-known Professor of Natural His- tory, whose System of Mineralogy you have often seen on my table. This turned out to be the case; and, after a se- cond bottle had somewhat diminished our ceremony, I had a pleasure in recalling to him the story of the murderous Jew, and so of commencing (for it could scarcely be called re- newing) an acquaintance with one from whose works I had received so much information and advantage. After the Doctor's company dispersed themselves, I walked along Prince's-Street with Professor Jameson, and he invited me to call on him next day, and see his museum — an invitation which you, who know my propensities, will not suspect me of declining. He also offered to show me the collection of mineralogy belonging to the University, of which I had heard a great deal. I went yesterday, and it is, undoubtedly, 132 PETER 5 S LETTERS. a very superb collection. It is of great value, and admi- rably arranged; and the external characters of minerals, par- ticularly those derived from colours, are finely illustrated by an extensive series of the most valuable specimens, arranged according to the system made use of by Werner. Professor Jameson is chietiy known to the world as a mine- ralogist, and in this character he certainly stands entirely without a rival in his own country; and when we consider that his system of mineralogy has been adopted by a cele- brated Frenchman, as the text-book to his own lectures in Paris, we may fairly conclude, from the preference shown by so competent a judge, that the knowledge and ability dis- played in that work, render it at least equal to the most ap- proved publications of the continental authors. But it is not liis intimate acquaintance with mineralogy alone, which renders Mr. Jameson so capable of doing honour to the chair which he holds. He is also greatly versed in zoology, and, what is of great importance in these times, seems much in- clined to indulge in those more general and philosophical views of that science, which the study of nomenclature and classification has welUnigh banished from the remembrance of most of his brethren in the south. A residence of many years in different parts of the continent, and, in particular, a perfect knowledge of the German tongue, which he ac- quired during his stay at Freyberg, have opened to him many sources of information, from which he continues to de- rive infinite advantage ; and, at a time when, from the ex- tent and multiplicity of his labours in mineralogy, one might naturally suppose his attention to be entirely engrossed by that study, his pupils, I am assured, find him on every occasion both able and willing to instruct them regarding all the re- cent and most important discoveries and improvements in the other branches of natural science. The professor delivers his lectures both during the winter and summer season, and he divides his course into five great branches : Meteorology, Hydrography, Mineralogy, a Sketch of the Philosophy of Botany, sufficient to enable his pupils to understand Ufe relations which subsist between that science and a complete history of the inorganic parts of the globe— and, lastly, Zoology. The first of these divisions is rendered particularly interesting, by the number and variety of curious facts which are collected, and the more so, as there are scarcely any good books written professedly on the subject peter's letters. 138 in trulb, I should think the whole science of Natural His- tory, as a popular branch of education, is likely to assume a new aspect under the auspices of this ingenious and inde- fatigable man. Now, tbat all the known facts of Minera- logy are to him " familiar as household words," he will have it in his power to devote more of his attention to the various branches of Zoology, which hitherto, as he says very can- didly, he has not had either leisure or opportunity to discuss and illustrate, as his inclinations would lead him to do. The same acuteness which has enabled him so completely to over- come all the difficulties of his own favourite department, will ere long, I doubt not, elevate him to the first rank among the zoologists of Britain ; and he will soon have the honourable satisfaction of instituting a school of Natural History in the northern metropolis, which may long remain unrivalled in any other country. This desirable object, I am happy to learn, he is now likely to accomplish more easily and speedily than he could before have expected, by means of a most va- luable and interesting acquisition, which is about to be ob- tained by the University. The fine cabinet of M. Dufresne of the Jardin des Plantes, so well known and deservedly ad- mired by all the Parisian sgavants, has just been purchased for the public Museum. This, with certain additions to be procured at the approaching sale of Mr. Bullock's extensive collections, when combined with the great treasures v. hich the University already possesses, will certainly form by far the most magnificent Museum of Natural History in Britain. Such is the general view I have been able to form of the actual slate of the science, under this celebrated profes- sor. From various conversations, however, with him, Dr- Brewster, and some of the young gentlemen who attend the professor's lectures, I am sorry to hear, that, on the whole, the science of Natural History neither has been, nor is, cul- tivated throughout Scotland, with any degree of zeal cor- responding to tlie opportunity which the country affords. Its natural advantages are far superior, in most respects, to those of the sister kingdom ; and the situation of Edinburgh, in particular, may be justly regarded as more favourable than any in the island for the pursuit of this delightful study. In- deed, it would not be easy to determine, why a higher state of advancement has not been attained; and the difficulty is much increased when we consider, that, in addition to the great facility which this most picturesque district afford? 134 PETER'S LETTERS. for the practical pursuit of the science, the Professorship of Natural History has already been held for several years by the assiduous and intelligent gentleman, of whom I have spoken so much. I am inclined to attribute this to the joint operation of a great number of causes ; but I observe, that Professor Jameson himself considers the too engrossing influence of the law as "being the most immediate and effectual of all the dampers under which his favourite study has so long languished. Most of the young men of this city are trained up either as bar- risters or attorneys ; and it very unfortunately happens, that all more liberal pursuits, (both classical and scientific,) so far from being much respected or held in estimation by these claases of men, are, for the most part, regarded as quite in- consistent with a diligent discharge of their professional du- ties and functions. Professor Jameson informs me, that three- fourths of the students who attend his lectures, are strangers and students of medicine, chiefly English. Those of the last mentioned faculty, who are indigenous to Scotland, have, till very lately at least, either procured appointments in regiments stationed in foreign quarters, or retired to distant corners of the country, where the entire absence of books, and the la- borious and unsettled life enjoyed, or rather endured, by ru- ral practitioners, have been more than sufficient to extinguish every spark of science, which might have been kindled in their bosoms during their attendance at the University. And thus, though very great and increasing benefits are derived by the students of this science in Edinburgh, from the zeal and talents of Professor Jameson, and other causes, it would seem that the science must, for a considerable time, look for its best fruits in the south. I rejoice to find that the English students who resort to this place, are duly impressed with a sense of the advantages which they enjoy. I dined with Professor Jameson yesterday, with a small party of his most distinguished pupils. Among these there was one whom the professor particular introduced me to-^a Mr. James Wilson, brother to the poet. This young gentle- man follows the profession of a writer to the Signet, (which, as I have told you, is the name for the highest class of attorntes in Edinburgh,) but forms, as Mr. Jameson assured me a bril liant exception to the neglect with which matters of science are commonly treated by the members of the profession. He peter's letters:. 135 is very young — many years junior to his more celebrated brother, and no casual observer would suspect them to be of the same family. I have already described to you the exte- rior of the poet; James is a thin, pale, slender, contemplative- looking person, with hair of rather a dark colour, and extreme- ly short-sighted. In his manners also, he is as different as possible from his brother ; his voice is low, and his whole de- meanour as still as can be imagined. In conversation he at- tempts no kind of display ; but seems to possess a very pecu- liar vein of dry humour, which renders him extremely divert- ing. Notwithstanding all these differences, however, I could easily trace a great similarity in the construction of the bones of their two faces ; and, indeed, there is nothing more easy to imagine, than that, with much of the same original powers and propensities, some casual enough circumstances may have been sufficient to decide, that the one of the brothers should be a poet, and the other a naturalist. The parts of the sci- ence of which Mr. James Wilson is fondest, are Ornithology and Entomology — studies so delightful to every true lover of nature, that, I suspect, they are, in some measure, practically familiar to every poet who excels in depicting the manifesta- tions, and in tracing the spirit of beauty in the external uni- verse. Professor Jameson, indeed, informed me, that his young friend is, in truth, no less a poet than a naturalist — that he possesses a fine genius for versification, and has already pub lished several little pieces of exquisite beauty, although he has not ventured to give his name along with them. On leaving the professor's, Mr. Wilson and I adjourned to this house, (where by the way, Mr. Oman enjoys very little of my company,) and had a quiet bowl of punch to- gether, and a great deal of conversation respecting subjects connected with the science in which he so greatly excels, and for which I myself, albeit nothing of an adept, have long entertained a special partiality. Among other topics, the brumal retreat of the swallow was handled at considerable length. Mr. Wilson I find rather inclined to that theory, which would represent Africa as the principal winter-depot of at least several of the species- — the Hirundo, Apus, and Rus- tica, in particular ; and he adduced, in confirmation of this, a passage from Herodotus, which I had never before heard pointed out with a view to this subject— according to which, one kind of swallow (Trom the description^ he seemed to sup- 13(3 PETERS LEI I £&■$. pose it must be (he Swift,) remains in Egypt throughout the whole year— St erect eovres &c eucoXwrovTi. I have never, in- deed, met with any man who seemed to possess a greater power of illustrating subjects of natural history, by quota- tions from writers of all kinds, and in particular from the poets. Milton and Wordsworth, above all, he appears to have completely by heart ; and it was wonderfully delightful to me to hear matters, which are commonly discussed in the driest of all possible methods, treated of in so graceful a manner by one who is so much skilled in them. Nothing could be more refreshing than to hear some minute details about birds and insects, interrupted and illuminated by a fragment of grand melancholy music from the Paradise Lost, or the Excursion. I shall have occasion to say a great deal more to you, both about Professor Jameson and his young friend. Meantime, believe me ever Most affectionately yours, P.M. LETTER XXII. to the rev. david. williams. Dear David, I believe I have already hinted to you, that the students in this University are very fond of Debating Societies, and, indeed, the nature of their favourite studies might prepare one abundantly to find it so. They inhale the very atmos- phere of doubt, and it is in the course of nature that they should exhale the very breath of disputation. They are al- ways either actually struggling, vi et armis, to get over some quagmire or another, or, after establishing themselves once more on what they conceive to be a portion of the Terra Firma, falling out among themselves, which of the troop had picked his way along the neatest set of stepping-stones, or made his leap from the firmest knot of rushes. Before they have settled this mighty quarrel, it is possible they may begin to feel the ground giving way beneath their feet, and are al! 137 equally reduced once again to hop, stride, and scramble, as lhey best may for themselves. The first of the institutions, however, which I visited, is supposed to be frequented by persons who have already some- what allayed their early fervour for disputation, by two or three years' attendance upon Debating Societies, of an inferior and of a far ephemeral character. While he attends the preelections of the Professor of Logic, the student aspires to distinguish himself in a club, constituted chiefly or entirely of members of that class. The students of Ethics and of Phy- sics are, in like manner, provided with separate rooms, in which they canvass at night the doctrines they have heard promulgated in the lecture of the morning. It is not till all this apprenticeship of discipline has been regularly gone through, that the juvenile philosopher ventures to draw up a petition, addressed to the president and members of the Spe- culative Society of Edinburgh, which humbly sboweth forth, that he would fain be permitted to give to his polemical and oratorial faculties the last finish of sharpness and elegance, under the high auspices of their venerable body. Without sending in such a petition as this, and being ad- mitted formally a member of the society, it is not possible to be present at one of their meetings. These sages will scarcely allow a poor passing stranger to catch even one sidelong odour of their wisdom. No — it is necessary to assume the regular garb of the initiated, before these Hierophants will expand the gates of their Adytus, and reveal to you the in- spiring glories of their mysteries. Although I could not help feeling some qualmish suspicions, that this arrangement might, in part at least, have been dictated by a due reverence for the old maxim, omne ignotum pro magnifico, yet the way in which I heard the society spoken of, by persons for whose opinion I could not but entertain a high respect, and the cu- riosity which I certainly felt, to witness for myself all possi- ble manifestation of the rising genius of Scotland, were enough to counterbalance any little scruples I might have, and I re- solved, since less might not avail, to affix the name of Peter Morris, M. D. to the regular formula of supplication. It was attested by Mr. , who is an honorary member of the so- ciety, and by his nephew, a young man of considerable prom- ise, that the said Peter Morris, M. D. was, in their judgment, possessed of such a measure of learning and ability, as might 18 138 PETER'S letters. justify the society in admitting him into their bosom ; and after the usual ceremonies of doubt, delay, examination, and panegyric, the said Peter was ballotted for and admitted as aforesaid. I rather grudged a fee of three guineas, which, I was given to understand, formed an essential preliminary to my taking my seat ; but, however, as I had been pretty for- tunate at loo the evening before, I did not allow this to form any lasting impediment to my honours. As the poet sings — " I prize not treasure for itself, But what it can procure ; Go hang, said I, the paltry pelf Would keep the spirit poor." So I paid my three guineas, and prepared to make my ap- pearance next Tuesday evening. For the sake of being near the scene of action, I agreed to the proposal of the gentlemen who had recommended me to the society, viz. to having a snug dinner with one or two friends in addition, in a tavern immediately adjoining. The name of the house is the Lord Nelson, and it is kept by an Englishman, one Barclay. We went at half past four, in order that we might have time to drink our bottle comfortably before the meeting ; and I assure you, I have very seldom enjoyed either a better dinner or a better bottle. There is an ordinary in the house every day at that very hour, which is attended, as I was informed, by a considerable number of students, besides a host of bagmen, and other travellers oi all descriptions, and many half-pay officers of the naval, mi- litary, and, above all, of the medical establishments. We had a glimpse of them and their dinner, en passant, and ! promise you both made a very joyous appearance. As for us, we dined apart in a room of very magnificent propor- tions, which, of old, it seems, had been the dining-room oi a celebrated President of the Court of Session; a lofty hall, with a rich ceiling in the French style of stucco woik, and decorated at one extremity with a huge portrait of the Hero whose name the tavern bears — evidently a genuine produc- tion of the sign-post school. The princely size of the room, however, and elevation of the roof, were sufficient to give the whole affair an air of gentility, and even of splendour, such as is not often to be met with in a house of this descrip- tion. I don't know whether your comfort is so much affected 139 by accessaries of this sort as mine are ; but I do at all times enjoy a dinner tenfold, when it is served up in a room of airy and stately dimensions. The fare in itself was very excel- lent. We had a dish of Mullicalawny, and some cod's- head and shrimp-sauce — superior corned beef, and a boiled turkey — a haricot — a pigeon-pie and macaroni — all for half- a-crown a-head, being only a sixpence more than the charge at the ordinary. But to me, the greatest luxury was some very fine draught-porter, the first 1 have met with since I came to Scotland, for the people of this place in general drink ail their malt-liquor bottled — but the landlord of the Nelson is an Englishman, and knows better. After finishing a bottle of Madeira, we had some very fair Port, which we chose to drink mulled, being assured that Mrs. Barclay piques herself upon her scientific use of spices in that kind of pre- paration. The skill of our hostess gave us entire satisfac- tion, and we kept her at work pretty closely till seven o'clock. Being so very agreeably seated and entertained, I could scarcely think of removing at so very extraordinary an hour, and dropped a modest hint that the Speculative might be ad- vantageously deferred till another opportunity ; but my ob- jections were over-ruled by my companions. I insisted, how- ever, that we should, at least, come back after the debate, to enjoy an epilogue in the same taste with our prologue, — an idea which appeared to meet the wishes of the company, and was indeed agreed to per acclamationem. The Speculative Society is the only institution of the kind, whose existence is acknowledged in a formal manner by the University. It forms a part of the system, and, as such, is provided with chambers within the College — advantages which are, no doubt, owing to the high reputation the Soci- ety has at particular times enjoyed. At the present time, as it happens, the alterations and improvements which are going on with the University buildings, have dislodged the So- ciety from their old chambers, and the new and more splendid accommodations designed for them, are not quite in readi- ness for their reception. Their temporary place of meeting is in the hall of the Theological Professor — a low-roofed, dark, mean-looking place, surrounded with shelves groaning under Dutch and Puritanical Divinity ; and here it was that I had the honour of being introduced to them. Right opposite to the door at which we entered, in a huge elbow-chair, or rather pulpit— from which the Professor of 140 PETERS LETTERS Divinity is, ilo doubt, accustomed to expound the mysteries of Galvanism, — and, with an air of grave dignity, which any professor might be happy to equal, sate a pale snub- nosed young gentleman, with a hammer in his hand, the Pre- sident (prima facie) of the speculative Society. His eyes half-shut, as if to exclude the distracting dazzle of the tallow candles that blazed close before him ; his right hand on his hammer, and his left supporting with two of its fingers the weight of meditation lodged within his forehead ; his lips compressed with the firmness of conscious authority, and his whole attidude, as it were, instinct with the very spirit of his station, completed a picture, which, I should suppose, might have produced no trifling effect on the nerves of an intrant more juvenile than myself. Even on me, the " Vultus seden- tis tyranni" was not entirely lost ; and 1 confess I was glad when J found that I had fair.'y seated myself in a dark and remote corner of the room, without attracting any of his at- tention. Immediately under this imposing figure might be descried the less awful, but no less important face and figure of the secretary, who was employed at this moment in calling over the names of the roombertr, according to their position in the xnuster-roll of the Society. Around a green table, at the head of which Mr. Secretary was placed, a few of the more grave and dignified-looking members were accommodated with cane-backed chairs ; while, on either side, the humilior caterva occupied some rows of narrow wooden benches, which rise one above another out of the aera of the apartment. AH together there was an appearance of expectation and prepa- ration, both in their arrangement and in their countenances, which could not fail to excite a considerable degree of atten- tion and respect. In general, they seemed to be very young men, the majo- rity of them, I dare say, not above twenty ; but here and there might be seen a few persons of somewhat maturer age in the midst of them. These, as Mr. informed me, are, for the most part, incipient advocates— willing, I presume, to exercise their lungs here, because tbey have less opportu- nity than they could wish of exercising them elsewhere — and not, peradventure, without hope, that the fame acquired and sustained by them among their brethren of the Speculative, may tend to procure them readier access to a more lucrative species of reputation elsewhere, I thought I could see in peter's letters. 141 florae of the faces of these gentlemen, an air of peculiar sua- vity and graciousness, as if they were willing to have some- thing of the credit of condescension to keep them in counte- nance with themselves and their neighbours. One gentleman much older than any of these, occupied a place close by the table, with a mild and paternal look of protection. On ask- ing Mr. w ho this was, I learned that Mr. Waugh (for that is his name) had long been treasurer of the Society, and had, in the course of his life, conferred upon its members, both in their individual and corporate capacity, so many im- portant favours, that it is no wonder he should have formed a warm attachment to all their interests, and should take a sincere pleasure in coming regularly to be a witness of their exertions. It is easy to imagine the impression, which long custom, and the consciousness of having done good, may- have been sufficient to make upon a person of benevolent dispositions, such, as I am informed, are those of Mr. Waugh. By and by, the catalogue being finished, and some minor ceremonies duly performed, one of the young gentlemen step- ped from his place, and ascending to a small tribune on the left hand of the President, began to read aloud from a MS. which he held in his hand. It is the custom, it seems, that the business of the society is always opened by an essay from one of the members, and the person whose turn it was to minister in this way to their edification, had already announc- ed, as the title of his discourse — " A few Considerations on the Policy of the Corn-Bill." I listened for some minutes- to what he said; but soon perceived, that the whole of his merits amounted to nothing more than having translated from bad into worse English, a treatise on the same subject in the Edinburgh Review; so I amused myself during the rest of the performance with some hearty sighs, for having so easily been induced to distrust my own inclinations, and quit Mrs. Barclay for the Speculative. After the essayist had brought his labours to a close, the President opened his eyes, (which as yet he had never found leisure to do,) and began to ask the members, if they had any remarks to offer in regard to the performance they bad heard. A pause of several minutes ensued — during which the funeral silence of expectation was only disturbed by a few faint hems from those who intended to be most critical on the occasion, and the rustling of the leavr? of the MSV 3 which the author 142 PETERS LETTERS. was restoring to bis pocket, with a look that spoke as plain as look could speak it — " Jamque opus exegi !" At last, one of the gentlemen I have mentioned, stood up in his place, and observed, that " considering it as a very improper thing, that an essay of so much brilliancy should be allowed to pass unnoticed, he could not help rising to express his astonish- ment at the delay which had just occurred. The essay," he said, " displayed every quality which could render an essay honourable to its writer, and agreeable to the society. Its matter was not, indeed, new ; but in its arrangement, a very extraordinary degree of skill had certainly been exemplified. The language he could not help considering as still more worthy of ad miration-- it was simple, concise, and elegant, where matters of detail were treated of; but rose to a pitch of splendour and majesty in the more impassioned parts of the subject, such as he could not say he had often met with in any authors of our age. On the whole, when he reflected on the weight and importance of the subject, and the difficulty of treating such a subject in a way at once popular and sci- entific, he could not help saying, he looked upon the essay which the honourable gentleman had just delivered, as one of the most wonderfnl productions to which, in his long — his very long experience, even the Speculative Society of Edin- burgh had ever had the honour of giving birth. (Hear! hear!) He begged to sit down with returning his warmest acknowledgments to the honourable essayist, for the instruc- tion and delight which his genius had afforded to himself in- dividually, and had no doubt the society would concur in the propriety of expressing similar sentiments, in a way more consistent with their dignity, and more gratifying to the honourable essayist, through the mouth of his honourable friend — their President." (Hear ! hear !) The applauses with which the termination of this address was greeted, yielded in a few seconds to the sharp, shrill, dis- cordant accents of a stout young man, who had started up with an air of much vehemence, from a very aerial and dis- tant part of the room, and descended into the centre of the assembly. " Mr. President," (said he — for the energy of his style would be lost, were I to make use of the third person,) — " Mr. President, I rise under such a mixture of feelings, as at no former period of my life ever agitated, overwhelmed, confounded, oppressed, and disturbed this struggling bosom. Mr. President, I rise, I say, under the pressure and influence PETER ? S LETTERS. 143 -under the weight, burden, and impending imperativeness of a host of feelings, in which, notwithstanding all their re- spect for the honourable and learned member who has just sat down, I am confident, and proudly confident, the great ma- jority, the great and enlightened majority of this great and enlightened society, will have no difficulty in expressing their entire, and hearty, and cordial concurrence. Mr. President, I rise, in a word, to give vent to the conflicting tumults which, at this moment, are displaying all their might in rending asun- der the repose of a mind, which, whatever in other respects it may be entitled to, will be acknowledged, by all the mem- bers who hear me, to have at no period displayed any measure of lukewarmness, coldness, or indifference, to the high, endur- ing, and important interests of the Speculative Society of Edinburgh. (Hear! hear!) Mr. President, I have been for seven years a member — I hope you will bear me witness, a faithful, diligent, and attentive member (more, my humble na- tural faculties will not permit me to be,) of the Speculative So- ciety of Edinburgh. (Hear! hear ! Mr. President, on my legs as I now am, in the presence of this society, a body, for whom, so long as life stirs within my bosom, or consciousness within my brain, I shall always retain the warmest, and most affec tionate, and most filinl, and most fraternal admiration, grati- tude, and respect — (Hear ! hear ! — Bravo ! — hear ! hear /) Mr. President, on my legs as I now feel myself to be," (by the way, the orator stood only upon one of them, and kept the other extended behind him, as if to assist the effect of his ma- nual gesticulations) — « Mr. President, it is absolutely impos- sible that I should refrain from expressing my feeling of pain, horror, contempt, disgust, and indignation, that the Specula- tive Society of Edinburgh should ever have been subjected to listen to such an essay as has just been delivered, from any of its members. Mr. President, the essay which you have just heard, possesses no one iota of such merit as an essay delivered in the Speculative Society of Edinburgh ought to possess — meagre in matter, cold in conception, impotent in illustration, false in facts, absurd in argument, and barren in basis, it would scarcely have been better than it is, though it had wanted its supernumerary sins, and blazing blemishes, of dark diction, farragoed phraseology, lame language, and offensive figurativeness. (Hear ! hear !) Mr. President^ I shall not stop at present to enlarge upon defa';t>, which my 144 rET£R*S LETTERS, mind tells me have excited the same sensations in almost every bosom that beats around this table. Mr. President, I shall not waste breath in the vain endeavour to express an indignation, which is too big- for utterance, too full for words, I shall sit down, with proposing, that the gentleman who de- livered this essay receive from the chair a warning to consider better with himself before he again presumes to insult the Speculative Society of Edinburgh, with the crude and hasty suggestions of a mind, that, I am sorry to say, does not seem to be filled with proper ideas concerning the nature, the ob- jects, and the duties of the Speculative Society of Edin- burgh." (Hear! hear! hear!) A small creaking voice arose from the right side of the President, on the conclusion of this harangue, and its pro- prietor proceeded in a tone of quiet, feeble, and querulous hesitation, (which afforded an irresistibly ludicrous contrast to the manner of his fiery and foaming predecessor,) to " re- probate the idea of the warmth — the unnecessary — the im- proper — and, he must add, the disagreeable warmth, with which his honourable and learned friend, who had just sat down, had expressed himself. The merits of an essay, such as his honourable rind learned friend on the opposite side of the house had this evening delivered, were not to be annihi- lated by such an effusion of invective as that which his ho- nourable and learned friend in his eye had thought proper to make use of. The essay of his honourable friend had proba- bly been produced at the expense of very great labour and exertion of body and mind. The midnight oil had been wasted in the composition of his honourable friend's essay. His honourable friend had, to his certain knowledge, absented himself from all parties of pleasure to which he had been in- vited during the greater part of this spring, in order to col- lect materials, and facts, and illustrations, for the essay, which they had that night heard from his friend. The honourable gentleman in his eye should have recollected, that it is not to be expected that every member of this society should possess the same rapidity of genius as he (the gentleman in his eye) possessed. He should have considered, that the question of the corn bill is one attended with infinite difficulty in all its branches ; that it is necessary, in order to write an essay on this subject, to undergo the fatigue of examining into a vast variety of documents and treatises, and to study what all the peter's letters, 145 great authors on political economy, from Adam Smith down- wards, have written concerning the nature of the sources of national wealth and prosperity, and to decide among the con- flicting opinions of a vast variety of the most eminent per- sons who were at this moment occupied with the study of the whole question, both within and without the pale of the Spe- culative Society of Edinburgh. For himself, he had not come to this house with the view of merely criticising the pro- duction of his honourable and learned friend, the Essayist, but rather of laying before the society the results of his own investigations on the same highly interesting topic ; and the first of these results, to which he begged to call the attention of the house, was a view of the effects which were produced on Hamburgh, by the occupation of that port and city by Marshal Davoust. It would be found, that no subject could be attended with greater difficulties than that now upon the table of the society ; they ought to enter upon the inquiry with all the calmness which subjects of that imperative in- terest demand ; and he must say, that he expected, after they should have gone over the thirteen heads of argument which he had marked out for the subject of his present address, he expected the society would come te the conclusion, that the question of the corn-bill was one, which at least required to be studied before it could be expected to be solved. " The first topic to which I shall call the notice of this house," said he, " is that of the true nature of corn — corn, Mr. President — 3Jp ^p ^5 3JP ^C ^t ^jS corn — is not to be regarded," &c. &c. &c. — But I think it would be rather too much, were I to trouble you with the rest of the silly, confused, unintelligible string of hackneyed facts, and hackneyed conclusions, with which this young gentle- man troubled his audience for at least an hour and a half. — At the end of that period, one half of the company were fast asleep ; the rest yawning and fidgetting, and now and then shuffling with their feet. No hints, however, could produce the least effect on the unwearied indefatigable listlessness of their apathetic orator. Whole pages from the Parliamentary Debates, mixed up with whole pages from Malthns* and these a^ain intermingled with endless trite disquisitions, stolen from 19 {46 PETER'S LETTERS. Reviews, Magazines, and Weekly Papers— the whole mighty mass of dullness intermingled, with not one ray either of novelty or ingenuity — power or elegance — the dose proved too much even for my iron nerves. My uneasiness was such, that at last I fairly lost temper, and seizing my hat, escaped, as best I might, from the Speculative Society of Edinburgh. My companions on each side of me had been asleep for an hour, but my removal awakened them ; and, after rubbing: their eyes, and looking round them for a moment, they both had the good sense to follow my example. On looking at my watch, I found it was eleven o'clock, and I could not help reproaching myself a good deal for the time I had been wasting. The transition from this scene of solemn and stupid drivelling, to the warm fire side of Mrs Barclay — her broiled haddocks, her scolloped oysters, and her foaming tankards, was one of the most refreshing things I have ever experienced. But I see it is now late ; so adieu for the present. P. M. LETTER XXIII. to the same. Dear David, I am extremely delighted to observe how much effect the craniological remarks, so liberally, yet so modestly, distribu ted over the surface of my correspondence, have been able to produce upon you. I once thought you had the organ of stubborness and corabativeness very luxuriantly brought out. but shall from henceforth be inclined to think I had been mistaken in my observation of your head. My best advice to you in the mean time is, to read daily with diligence, but $ot with blind credulity, in Dr. Spurzheim's book, which I rejoice to hear you have purchased. Pass your fingers gently around the region of your head, whenever any new idea is suggested to you by his remarks, and I doubt not you will soon be a firm believer, that " there are more things in heaven and earth than we once dreamt of in our philosophy." The aversion which you say you at first felt for the science meter's letters. 14? is, however, a natural, and therefore I cannot help regard- ing it as a very excusable sort of prejudice. The very names which have been bestowed upon the science — Cranioscopy and Craniology — to say nothing of the still coarser Schadellehre (or skull-doctrine) of its first doctor and professor, are dis- agreeable terms, on account of their too direct and distinct reference to the bones. They bring at once before the ima- gination a naked skull, and in persons who have not been trained to the callousness of the dissecting-room, conceptions o( a nature so strictly anatomical, can never fail to excite a certain feeling of horror and disgust. I am glad to find that this feeling had been sanctioned by antiquity; for, in some quotations from Athenzeus, which fell casually into my hands the other day, it is expressly mentioned, that the Greeks con- sidered it as " improper to speak of the physical substances of the head." I perfectly enter into the spirit of taste fulness and wisdom, which suggested such a maxim to that most in- tellectual people. Among them the doctrine of pure material- ism had not merely been whispered in mystery in the contem- plative gardens of Epicurus ; it had gone abroad over the surface of the people, and contaminated and debased their spirit. The frail fabric of their superstitious faith presented but too obvious a mark for the shafts of infidel wit, and it was no wonder that they who were wise enough to feel the necessity of guarding this fabric, should have possessed no very accurate notions concerning the true limits of its bul- warks. In our days, however, there is assuredly no reason for being so very timorous; and I think a philosophical per- son like you should, bona jide, set yoursell to get rid of a prejudice which is no longer entitled to be regarded as either a necessary or a convenient one. It is much to be wished, notwithstanding, that some name could be found for this admirable science, which would give less offence even to those who are rather disposed than other- wise to give it its fair chance of thriving in the world. I have been thinking a great while on this subject, and have balanced in my own mind the merits of more oscopies and ologies, than I care to trouble you with repeating. Crani- ology itself, over and above the general and natural prejudice 1 have already talked of, labours under a secondary, an ad- ventitious, and a merely vulgar prejudice, derived from the ignorant and blundering jokes which have been connected with it by the writers of Reviews and Magazines. It is won- 148 PETETt's LETTERS. derful how long such trifling things retain their influence , but I would hope this noble science is not to be utterly hanged (like a dog,) because an ill name has been given to it. Some- times, after the essence of a man's opinion has been proved to be false and absurd, even to his own satisfaction, it is ne- cessary, before he can be quite persuaded to give it up, that we should allow a few words to be sacrificed. These are the scape-goats which are tossed relentlessly over the rock, after they are supposed to be sufficiently imbued and burthened with the sins of the blundering intellect that dictated them. And such, I doubt not, will, in the issue, be the fortune of poor, derided, despised, but innocent, although certainly somewhat rude and intractable Craniology. — Cranioscopy, (particularly since Dr. Roget has undertaken to blacken its reputation in the Supplement to the Encyclopaedia Britannica,) may be pretty sure of sharing the same melancholy fate. There is no doubt that Jack and Gill must tumble down the hill in company. Anthropology pleased me very much for a few days ; but it is certainly too vague. It does not sit close enough to show the true shape and character of that which it would clothe, Cephalology and Cephaloscopy would sound uncouth, and neither of them would much improve the original bargain with which we are quarrelling. Organology shares in some- thing of the same defect with Anthropology. In short, as yet, I have not been able to hit on any thing which exactly pleases on reflection. Although a worse cranioscopist, you are a bet- ter linguist than I am ; so I beg you to try your hand at the coining of a phrase. A comparatively unconcerned person may perhaps be more fortunate than a zealous lover like myself; for it is not in one respect only that women are like words. In the mean time, when it is necessary to mention any person's brain, it may be best to call it his Organization. It is per- haps impossible altogether to avoid employing expressions of an anatomical cast ; but the more these can be avoided, the better chance there will most assuredly be of rendering the science popular. It is one in which the ladies have quite as much interest as we have ; and I think every thing should be done, therefore, that may tend to smooth and soften their reception of it. In its essence, it possesses many, very many, points of captivation, which I should think were likely to ope- rate with wonderful success on the imagination of the female sex. The best and the wisest of the sex, with whom I ever JPETER 3 S LETTERS. 149 conversed in a confidential manner, confessed to me, that the great and constantly besetting plague of women, is their sus- picion thattbey are not permitted to see inio the true depths of the character of men. And indeed, when one considers what an overbalancing proportion of the allusions made in any conversation between two men of education, must be entirely unintelligible to almost any woman who might chance to overhear them, it is impossible to wonder that the matter should stand as it does. It is not to be expected, that she should be able to understand the exact relation which the in- telligible part of their talk may bear to the unintelligible. She sees a line tossed into a depth, which is to her as black as night, and how should she be able to guess, how far down may be the measure of its descent ? Now, what a charming thing must it appear in the eyes of one who is habitually tormented in this way, to hear of a science that professes to furnish a key, not indeed to the actual truth of the whole characters of men, but to that of many- important parts in their characters? I can conceive of nothing more ecstatic than the transport of some bitter unsatisfied Blue-Stocking, on the first hearing that there is such a sci- ence in the world as Craniology. " Ha !" she will say to herself — " we shall now see the bottom of all this mystery. The men will no longer dare to treat us with this conde- scending sort of concealment. We shall be able to look at their skulls, and tell them a little plain truth, whenever they begin to give themselves airs." Now, I am for making the science as popular as possible — indeed, I think, if kept to a fe\v t it would be the basest and most cruel kind of monopoly the world ever witnessed — and, therefore, I should like to see my craniological brethren adapt their modes of expression and explanation, as much as possi- ble, to the common prejudices of this great division of disci- ples. It is well known, what excellent proselyte-makers they are in all respects; and I am decidedly for having all their zeal on our side. One plain and obvious rule, I think, is, that the head should always be talked of and considered in the light of a Form — an object having certain proportions from which certain inferences may be drawn. Besides, in ad- hering to this rule, we shall only be keeping to the practice of the only great Craniologists the world ever produced — the Greeks. I do not mean to their practice in regard to ex- pressing themselves alone ; but to their practice, in gathering 150 PETER'S LETTERS. and perfecting those ideas concerning this science, which they have expressed in a far more lasting way than words can ever rival. As dissection of human bodies was entirely unknown among the ancients, it is obvious, that their sculptors and painters must have derived all their knowledge from the ex- terior of the human form. The external aspect of the head is all that nature exhibits to us, or intends we should see. It is there that expression appears and speaks a natural lan- guage to our minds — a language of which our knowledge is vague and imperfect, and almost unconscious ; but of which a few simple precepts and remarks are enough to recall to our recollection the great outlines, and to convince me at least, that a very little perseverance might suffice to render us masters of much of the practical detail. You will smile, perhaps, when you hear me talk in so satis- fied a tone about the craniological skill of the Greeks ; and yet there is nothing of which I am more thoroughly con- vinced, than that they did, practically at least, understand in- finitely more of the science than any of the disciples of Gall and Spurzbeim are likely to rival even a century hence. There is one circumstance — a small one, you will say — which sug- gested itself to me yesterday, for the first time, when I was sitting after dinner, in a room where several large plaster-of- Paris busts were placed on the extremities of a sideboard. What is called Grace, is chiefly to be found in those move- ments which result from organs on the top of the head. In women, there is more of it than in men, because their animal faculties are smaller. Now, in all paintings of Madonnas, particularly of the Matres Amabiles, the attitude evidently results from the faculties in the region above the forehead. The chin is drawn in, and the upper fore-part of the head leans forward. This is not done with a view to represent modesty and humility alone ; which, by suspending the action of pride and self-love in the back part of the head, take away what kept it upright. The attitude of humility, therefore, results from a negative cause. But the Madonnas have often a look quite dignified and assured, of unquestioning adora- ble divine serenity; and the leaning forward of the brow in them, is accompanied with an air which denotes the activity of a positive cause — namely, the principle of love in the up- per parts of the forehead. This was suggested to me, how- ever, not by a picture of the Madonna, but by a Grecian kist— and I think you will scarcely suspect which this was- PETER ? S LETTERS.. J lol It was one of which the whole character is, I apprehend, mistaken in modern times — one which is looked at by fine Jadies with a shudder — and by fine gentlemen with a sneer, Artists alone study and love it — their eyes are too much trained to permit of any thing else. But even they seem to me entirely to overlook the true character of that which, with a view to quite different qualities, they fervently admire. In the Hercules Farnese (for this is the bust) no person who looks on the form and attitude with a truly scientific eye, can possibly believe that he sees only the image of brute strength. There are few heads on the contrary more human in their expression — more eloquent with the manly virtue of a mild and generous hero. And how indeed could a Grecian sculptor have dared to represent the glorious Alcides in any other way ? — How do the poets represent him ? — As the image of divine strength and confidence, struggling with and van- quishing the evils of humanity — as the emanation of divine benevolence, careless of all, but doing good — purifying the earth from the foulness of polluting monsters — avenging the cause of the just and the unfortunate — plunging into hell in order to restore to an inconsolable husband the pale face of his wife, who had died a sacrifice to save him — himself at last expiring on the hoary summit of Athos, amidst the blaze of a funeral pile which had been built indeed with his own hands, but which he had been compelled to ascend by the malignant cruelty of a disappointed savage. The being who was hal- lowed with all these high attributes in the strains of Sopho- cles, Euripides, and Pindar — would any sculptor have dared to select him for the object in which to embody his ideas of the mere animal power of man— the exuberance of corporeal strength ? so far from this, the Hercules has not only one of the most intellectual heads that are to be found among the monuments of Greek sculpture, but also one of the most graceful. With the majesty which he inherits from the em- brace of Jupiter, there is mingled a mild and tender expres- sion of gentleness, which tells that he has also his share in the blood, and in the miseries of our own lower nature. The stooping reflective attitude may be that of a hero weary with combat, but is one that speaks, as if his combatting had been in a noble cause — as if high thoughts had nerved his arm more than the mere exultations of corporeal vigour. His head is bent from the same quarter as that of the Madonnas ; and whoever takes the trouble to examine it, will find, that in this 152 peter' s letters. particular point is to be found the chief expansion and promi- nence of his organization. P. M LETTER XXIV. TO THE SAME. Oman's, Tuesday Evening, Dear Baviu, In a place where education is so much diffused among the men, it is natural to suppose, that the women also must, in no inconsiderable degree, be imbued with some passion for literature. The kinds of information most in request here, (and, indeed, necessarily so, when we reflect on the means of education which the place affords,) are evidently much more within the reach of the Fair Sex, than in most other cities of the same importance. To be able to talk with fluency about the Politics and Belles Lettres of the day, is all that is re- quired of an accomplished man in Edinburgh, and these are accomplishments which the ladies, modest as they are, would require more modesty than is either natural or proper to sup- pose themselves incapable of acquiring. That ignorance of the learned languages and ancient literature, which the men have not the assurance to attempt disguising, has broken down effectually the first and most insurmountable barrier which separates the intellectual pretensions of the two sexes in England, and, indeed, in almost all the capitals of Eu- rope. The universal neglect with which the more ancient and massy literature, even of our own island, seems to be treated, has removed another mighty, although not quite so insurmountable barrier; and, in short, between the men and the women, for aught I can see, there is no " gulf fixed.'' The men, indeed, seem still to be anxious to prolong, in then feter's letters. 153 §wn favour, the existence of something of that old prestige^ which owes the decay of its vigour entirely to themselves. But the greatest Mysogynists in the world have never accused the sex of being deficient in acuteness of discernment, and the ladies of Edinburgh are quite sufficiently quick-sighted, not to allow the advantages which have been given them, to slip unused through their fingers. So far as I may judge from my own short experience, how- ever, the Scottish ladies, in general, are very far from push- ing these advantages to any undue extent. It is not neces- sary to enter minutely into the causes of their forbearance in this respect ; for a much slower person than Mr. David Wil- liams would have no great difficulty in forming a pretty fair guess, as to the most efficient of them. The merit which they do certainly possess and exemplify in this part of their conduct, may perhaps be divided into pretty equal shares be- tween the influences of Nature and those of Art. Those gentler and more delicate feelings of our nature, which all their modes of life — their hopes, fears, pleasures, and sor- rows, render them better able to appreciate, are alone, I should think, more than enough to weaken with the best of them the influence of those lighter and more transitory feel- ings, which derive gratification or uneasiness from the con- scious possession or conscious want of such a measure of lite- rary information, as is common among either the men or the women with whom they can be called upon to associate. With those of a less feminine and less just character, in point of mere feeling, there cannot be wanting enough of penetration to teach them, that the confession of inferiority is one of the most cunning treacheries with which to bait the hook of fe- male fascination ; and thus it is that the highest and most sacred of inspirations, on the one hand, co-operate with not a few less lofty and generous suggestions on the other, to keep within limits the infection of blue-stockingism — the one set of motives, as might befit their origin, attacking the secret root and essence of the mania for insignificant acquisition — the other no less appropriately, and no less powerfully, chill- ing and repressing the mania for insignificant display. There are, however, abundant exceptions to this rule even here. Innate and incorrigible vanity in some; particular in- cidents in the early history of others, too minute to be ex 1 - plained in anv general terms of description ; and in a few 20 cases, without doubt, the consciousness of capacity of a really extraordinary nature, have been sufficient to create a certain number of characters, which are somewhat inaccu- rately and unjustly classed together by the gentlemen of Ed- inburgh, under the appellation of "our Blue-stockinga." With the chief and most prominent persons of this class, it has as yet been my good or evil fortune to come very little in contact. My introductions into society in this place have been mostly through the intervention of the men of high lite- rary character, and these are here, a* everywhere, the great- est, that is to say, the most contemptuous enemies the Blue- stocking tribe has to encounter. Last night, however, I was present at a small rout, or conver sat ione, which, although the fady of the house is by no means a Blue-stocking, had not a little of the appearance of a Blue-stocking party about it, A number of the principal Bas-bleus were there, and a con- siderable proportion of the literati, small and great, were, of course, in attendance. In short, I suspect it was as near an approach to the true and genuine scene, as I am likely to have an opportunity of observing. I was ushered mto a room decently crowded with very well- drest petepfe, and net having any suspicion that much amuse- ment was ftkely to be had, I privately intended to make my bow to Mrs* y ami retire as soon as possible — for I had left a very snug party over their claret at my friend W— *s, and certainly thought I could spend the rest of the evening more agreeably with them, than at any such rout as I had yet met with in Edinburgh. I had not been long in the room, however, when 1 heard Mr. Jeffrey announced, and as I had not seen him for some time, I resolved to stay, and, if possible, enjoy a little of his conversation in some corner- When he entered, I confess I was a good deal struck with the different figure he made from what 1 had seen at C g C k. Instead of the slovenly set-out which he then sported — the green jacket, black neckcloth, and grey panta- loons — I have seldom seen a man more nice in his exterior than Mr. Jeffrey now seemed to be. His little person looked very neat in the way he had now adorned it. He had a very well-cut blue-coat — evidently not after the design of any Edinburgh artist — light kerseymere breeches, and ribbed silk stockings — a pair of elegant buckles— -white kid gloves, and a tricolor watch-ribbon. He held his hat under his arm in feter's letters. 15^> i very degagee manner — and altogether he was certainly one of the last men in the assembly, whom a stranger would have guessed to be either a great lawyer or a great reviewer. In short, he was more of a Dandy than any great author I ever saw — always excepting Tom Moore and David Williams. Immediately after him, Dr. Brown came into the room, equipped in an equally fashionable, though not quite so splendid manner, and smtfing on all around with the same mild, gentle air, which I had observed on his entrance to his lecture-room. Close upon his heels followed Professor Lesslie, with a large moss-rose in his bosom. The Professor made his obeisance to one or two ladies that stood near him, and then fixing himself close by the fire-place, assumed an aspect of blank abstraction, which lasted for many minutes without the least alteration. The expression of his massy features and large grey eyes, rolling about while he stood in this attitude, was so solemn, that nothing could have formed a more amusing contrast to the light and smiling physiogno- mies of the less contemplative persons around him. I saw that Mr. Jeffrey was eyeing him all the while with a very quizzical air, and indeed heard him whisper something about heat, to Lady , with w-hom he was conversing, which I fear could have been nothing more innocent than some sar- casm against the ruminating philosopher. For my part, I now perceived plainly, that I was in a rout of no ordinary character, and, rubbing my spectacles, prepared to make the best use of my time. While I was studying very attentively the fine hemisphe- rical development of the organ of Casuality, in the superior part of Mr. Lesslie's head, I heard the name of the Earl of Buchan, travelling up the stair-case, from the mouth of one lackey to that of another, and looked round with some curio- sity to see the brother of the celebrated Chancellor Erskine. His lordship came into the room with a quick and hurried step, which one would not have expected from the venerable appearance of his white hairs — the finest white hairs, by the way, I ever saw, and curling in beautiful ringlets all down his shoulders. I could easily trace a strong family resem- blance to his brother, although the Earl has much the ad- vantage, in so far as mere beauty of lineament is concerned. I do not remember to have seen a more exquisite old head., and think it is no. wonder that so many portraits have been 156 petek's letters. painted of him by the artists of Edinburgh. The features are all perfect ; but the greatest beauty is in his clear blue eyes, which are chased in his head in a way that might teach something to the best sculptor in the world. Neither is there any want of expression in these fine features ; although, in- deed, they are very far from conveying any thing like the same ideas of power and penetration, which fall from the overhanging shaggy eye-brows of his brother. The person of the old Earl is also very good ; his legs, in particular, are well shaped, and wonderiully muscular in their appearance, considering their length of service. He ran up immediately to professor Lesslie, with whom he seemed to be on terms of infinite familiarity, and began to talk about the new plan for a Grand National Monument in Scotland, in honour of the conclusion of the late war. " My dear Professor," said he, "you must really subscribe — your name, you know, merely your name.' As the Duke of Sus- sex says to myself in a letter I received from his Royal High- ness only this morning, upon this very subject — Lady B 's nephew is aid-de-camp to his Royal Highness, and he is par- ticularly kind and attentive on my account— His Royal High- ness says, he has just taken the liberty (he does me too much honour) to put me down as one of the committee. My dear Lord B , are his Royal Highness's words, we positively can't go on without you — you must give us your name — Now do, Professor, do give us your name." And then, without looking or waiting for the worthy professor's reply, his Lord- ship passed across the room to Mr. Jeffrey, and seizing him by the button, and whispering close into his ear, began mak- ing the very same request (for I could catch the words " Duke of Sussex,") in, I doubt not, the same phrase. But he stop- ped not for the reply of Mr. Jeffrey any more than for that of Professor Lesslie ; and after looking round the room for a single moment, he vanished through a folding-door into an inner apartment, where, from some preparatory screams of a violin that reached my ear, I had no doubt there was about to be an interlude of concert, to break the intense seriousness of thought, supposed to be inseparable from the keen intel- lectual collisions of a conversazione. On looking info the room which had just received Lord Buchan, I observed him to take his place among a row of mu^ sical cognoscenti, male and female,, who already occupied a peter's letters. 157 i»et of chairs disposed formally all around the centre of en- chantment. By and bye, a young lady began thumping on the piano-forte, and I guessed, from the exquisite accompani- ment of Mr. Yaniewicz, that it was her design to treat us with some beautiful airs in the Don Giovanni of Mozart. Nothing, however, could be more utterly distressing, than the mode in which the whole of her performance murdered that divine master-piece, unless, indeed, it might be the nauseous sing-song of compliments, which the ignorance or the po- liteness of the audience thundered out upon its conclusion. After this blessed consummation had restored to us the free use of our limbs and tongues, (I say free — for in spite of nods, and whispers of rebuke, administered by some of the Dow- agers, our silence had never been much more complete than the music merited,) I joined a small party, which had gradu- ally clustered around Mr. Jeffrey, and soon found that the re- doubtable critic had been so unfortunate as to fall into an ambush laid to entrap him by a skilful party of blue-stocking tlrailleures. There he was pinioned up against the wall, and listening, with a greater expression of misery than I should have supposed to be compatible with his Pococurante disposi- tion, to the hints of one, the remarks of another, the sugges- tion of a third, the rebuke of a fourth, the dissertation of a fifth, and last, not least, in this cruel catalogue of inflictions, to the questions of a sixth. u Well now, Mr. Jeffrey, don't you agree with me, in being decidedly of opinion, that Mr. Scott is the true author of the Tales of my Landlord? O Lord ! — they're so like Mr. Scott, some of the stories — one could almost believe one beard him telling them. Could not you do the same, Mr. Jeffrey?" — The shrug of ineffable de- rision which Mr. Jeffrey vainly endeavoured to keep down, in making some inaudible reply of two syllables to this, did not a whit dismay another, who forthwith began to ply him with query upon query, about the conduct of Lord Buchan, in deserting his wife — and whether or not, he (Mr. J ) con- sidered it likely, that Lord Buchan had had himself, (Lord Buchan,) in his eye, in drawing the character of the Corsair — " and oh, now, Mr. Jeffrey, don't you think Gulnare so ro- mantic/ a name? I wish I had been christened Gulnare. Can people change their names, Mr. Jeffrey, without an estate ?" — " Why, yes, ma'am," replied the critic — after a most mali- cious pause, le by being married." — **** " Mr. Jeffrey," exclaimed a fierce-looking damsel with a mop head — " I in- 158 PETER'S LETTERS. sist upon hearing if you have read Peter Bell — will you ever be convinced ? Shall I ever be able to persuade you ? Can you deny the beauty of the white sapling — * as white as cream ? Can you be blind to the pathetic incident of the poor ass kneeling under the blows of the cruel, hard-hearted, odious Peter? Can you be blind to the charm of the boat?" " Why — oh — the laker has made a good deal of his tub—* * Twin sister to ike Crescent-Moon.' " " A.h! — naughty man, you are incorrigible — I'll go speak to Mr. Wilson." I looked round, and saw Mr. Wilson. He had a little book of fishing flies in his hand, and was loudly and sono- rously explaining the beauty of a bit of grizzled hackle on the wings of one of them to Mr. McKenzie. My venerable friend seemed to be listening with the deepest interest to what he said, but the young lady broke in upon their conversation with the utmost intrepidity. I could just hear enough of what passed, to be satisfied, that the brother poet made as light of the matter as the adverse critic. I suspect, that from the cru- elty of Peter Bell's bludgeon, she made a transition to the cruelty of killing poor innocent trouts; but before that sub- ject had time to be adequately discussed, supper was announ- ced, and I descended close behind Mr. Jeffrey, who had a lady upon each arm, one all the way down discussing the Bank Restriction Bill, and the other displaying equal eloquence in praise of u that delightful — that luminous article in the last number upon the Corn Laws." Ever yours. P.M, LETTER XXV. TO THE SAME. # # # # # # : . - * * I was never a lover of Blue-Stockings either at home or abroad ; but of all that I have met with, I think the French are the most tolerable, and the Scotch the most tormenting. J?ETER ? S LETTERS* io$ In France, the genuine power and authority which the wo- men exert, and have long exerted, in swaying the course of public opinion in regard to a vast variety of subjects, are sufficient, were there nothing more, to make one excuse a great deal of their petulance and presumption. And then there is a light graceful ease about the manner of their tres- passes, which would carry off the indignation of a Diogenes himself. How is it possible to feel any serious displeasure against a pretty creature that comes tripping up to you with a fan in her hand, and seems quite indifferent whether you ask her to dance a quadrille with you, or sit down by her side, and discuss the merits of the last roman ? The truth is^ however, that the French ladies in general talk about things they do understand something about — or at least, which it is easy and natural to imagine, may be interesting to their feel- ings. But what say you to the Scottish Blue-Stockings a whose favourite topics are the Resumption of Cash-payments, the great question of Borough Reform, and Corn-Bill? They are certainly the very flour of their sex. " Ohe ! jam satis est" — I would not be badgered as Mr. Jeffrey is for a moiety of his reputation. I was at another party of somewhat the same kind last night, where, however, I had the satisfaction of seeing se- veral more characters of some note, and, therefore, I re- pented not my going. Among others, I was introduced to Mrs. Grant of Loggan, the author of the Letters from the Mountains, and other well-known works. Mrs. Grant is really a woman of great talents and acquirements, and might, without offence to any one, talk upon any subject she pleases* But I assure you, any person that hopes to meet with a Blue- Stocking, in the common sense of the term, in this lady, will feel sadly disappointed. She is as plain, modest, and unas- suming, as she could have been had she never stepped from the village, whose name she has rendered so celebrated. In- stead of entering on any long common-place discussions, either about politics, or political economy, or any other of the hackneyed subjects of tea-table talk in Edinburgh, Mrs. Grant had the good sense to perceive, that a stranger, such as I was, came not to hear disquisitions, but to gather useful information; and she therefore directed her conversation en- tirely to the subject which she herself best understands — which, in all probability, she understands better than almost anyone else — and which was precisely one of the subject?, ir {GO FETERS LETTER?.. regard to which I felt the greatest inclination to hear a sensi ble person speak — namely, the Highlands. She related, in a very simple, but very graphic manner, a variety of little anec- dotes aud traits of character, with my recollections of which I shall always have a pleasure in connecting my recollections of herself. "The sound and rational enjoyment I derived from my conversation with this excellent person, would, indeed, atone for much more than all the Biue Stocking sisterhood have ever been able to inflict upon my patience. Ever yours, P. M, LETTER XXVI. TO THE SAME. t remember when Kean, in the first flush of his reputa- tion, announced his intention of spending Passion-week in Edinburgh, to have seen a paragraph extracted from a Scots newspaper, in which this circumstance was commented on in a way that I could scarcely help regarding as a little ridi^ culous. I cannot recall the exact words ; but the northern editor expressed himself somewhat in this style — " We are happy to hear it rumoured, that the celebrated new actor, xWr. Kean, proposes making his first appearance on our boards during the approaching holidays. He no doubt feels much anxiety to have the favourable opinion of the London public confirmed and sanctioned by the more fastidious and delicate discrimination, which, as all the sons of Thespis are well aware, belongs to the enlightened and refined, although Gandid and generous, audience of our metropolis." What the measure of Mr. Kean's anxiety on this occasion might really have been, I possess no means of learning ; but from all that I have seen and heard of the Edinburgh audience, I must confess I do not think, were I myself an actor, their favourable verdict would be exactly the crowning and finish- ing grace, for which I should wait with any very supernatural timidity of expectation. That they should for a moment dream of themselves as being entitled to claim weight and authority, equal (to say nothing of superior) to what is claimed and received by the great audience of the British peter's letters. 161 capital — this is a thing, at the first glance, so superabounding in absurdity, t&at I could scarcely have believed it to be ac- tually the case, unless, from innumerable little circumstances and expressions which have fallen under my own observation, I had been compelled to do so. How old this ridiculous pre- judice of self-complacency may be, I know not; but I sus- pect that it, like many other ridiculous prejudices of the place, has been fostered and pampered into its present luxu- riant growth by the clamorous and triumphant success of the Edinburgh Review. Accustomed to see one or two of their fellow citizens sitting in undisputed pre-eminence above all the authors of England, it must have seemed a small matter that they themselves should claim equal awe from the actors of England, when these ventured to think of strutting their hour on this side of the " Ideal Line." — However this may be, there is no doubt the notion does exist, and the Edinburgh audience bona fide consider themselves as the most polite as- semblage of theatrical critics that the world has produced since the days of Athens. I think Aristophanes, could he look up and see them, would observe a very sad change from his own favourite g-cQotcctoi Bexrctt. There is no doubt, that the size of such a theatre as the Edinburgh one is much more favourable to accuracy of cri- ticism, than a house of larger dimensions can be. It is some- what larger than the Hay-Market ; but it is quite possible to observe the minutest workings of an actor's face from the re- motest parts of the pit or the boxes; and the advantages, in point of hearing, are, of course, in somewhat the same mea- sure. The house, however, has newly been lighted up in a most brilliant manner with gas ; and this, I should think, must be any thing rather than an improvement, in so far as pur- poses, truly theatrical, are concerned. Nothing, indeed, can be more beautiful than the dazzling effect exhibited, when one first enters the house — before, perhaps, the curtain is drawn up. The whole light proceeds from the centre of the roof, where one large sun of crystal hangs in a blazing atmosphere, that defies you to look up to it — circle within circle of white flame, all blended and glowing into one huge orb of intolera- ble splendour. Beneath this flood of radiance, every lace in the audience, from the gallery to the orchestra, is seen as dis- tinctly as if all were seated in the open light of noon-day. And the unaccustomed spectator feels, when his box-door is 21 162 PETER'S LETTERS. opened to him, as if be were stepping into a brilliant ball- room, much more than as if he were entering a theatre. But the more complete the illumination of the whole house, the more difficult it of course must be to throw any concen- trating and commanding degree of light upon the stage ; and the consequence, I should think, is, that the pleasure which this audience now derive from looking at each other, is just so much taken from the pleasure which, in former times, they might have had in looking at the performers. There is no- thing more evident, than that the stage should always be made to wear an appearance in all respects as different as possible from the rest of the theatre. The spectator should be encou- raged by all possible arts to imagine himself a complete eaves- dropper, a peeper, and a listener, who is hearing and seeing things that he has no proper right to hear and see. And it is for this reason, that I approve so much of the arrangement usually observed in the French, the German, but most of all, in the Italian theatres, which, while it leaves the whole audi- ence enveloped in one sheet of dim and softened gloom, spreads upon the stage and those that tread it, a flood of glory, which makes it comparatively an easy matter to suppose, that the curtain which has been drawn up was a part of the veil that separates one world of existence from another. In such a theatre, the natural inclination every one feels is to be as silent as possible — as if it were not to betray the secret of an ambush. The attention, when it is drawn at all to the stage, is drawn thither entirely ; and one feels as if he were guilty of a piece of foolish negligence every moment he removes hi? ease from the only point of light on which he has the power to rest it. # '* * In such a theatre as that of Edinburgh, on the contrary, all is alike dazzle and splendour. The Dandy of the Green-room is not a whit more ridiculous, or a whit better seen, than his double close by your side ; and every blaze of rouge or pearl-powder displayed by the Pseudo- Belles of the distance, finds its counterpart or rival on the cheek or shoulder of some real goddess on your fore-ground. In short, a poor innocent Partridge, introduced for the first time to theatrical spectacle in such a place as this, would, I think, be not a little at a loss to discover at what part of the house it should be his business to look. He would of course ioin in every burst of censure or applause ; but he might, perhaps, be mistaken in his idea of what had called for the PETER 5 S LETTERS. 163 clamour. He might take the ogle of Miss « for a too impudent clap-trap, or perhaps be caught sobbing his heart out in sympathy with some soft flirtation-scene in the back- row of Lady 's side box. Whatever other effects it might have, this mode of illumi- nation was at least very useful to me in my inspection of ihe redoubtable Edinburgh audience. These great bug-bears of criticism could not hide one of their heads from me, and there I was armed cap-a-pee with the whole proof of Cranioscopi- cal and Physiognomical acumen, to reconnoitre their points of strength and of weakness with equal facility and equal safety. I looked first, as in duty bound, to the gods; but could see nothing (here worthy of detaining my attention, ex- cept the innocent stare of a young country girl, who seemed to be devouring the drop-scene with both her eyes, and at the same time rewarding with an hysterical giggle, the soft things whispered into her ear by a smooth red-nosed, rather elderly serving-man, who appeared to have much the air of being at home on the brink of that Olympus. Neither did the boxes seem to present any very great field of observation ; but, in fact, most of the leading ph3^siognomies in that region of the house were already quite sufficiently familiar to me. It was in the pit that my eyes at once detected their richest promise of a regale. The light falling directly upon the skulls in that quarter, displayed, in all becoming splendour, every bump and hollow of every critical cranium below me. They belonged for the most part, as Mr. W whispered to me, to young attornies, and clerks, and apprentices of the same profession, who are all set free from their three-legged stools and fustian sleeves early every Saturday evening, and who commonly make use of this liberty to show their faces in the pit. A few lawyers of a higher order might be seen looking rather superciliously around them, sprinkled here and there over the surface of the crowd. Nor were there wanting some faces of more stable breadth, and more immov- able dulness, than are almost ever exhibited even by the dull- est of the legal tribe — a few quiet comfortable citizens I could see, who certainly looked very much like sheep among foxes, although I by no means take them to be positive simpletons neither. Perhaps the unquestioning looks of happy antici- pation with which these good people seemed to be waiting for the commencement of the play, gave quite as much pro- 164 peter's letters - mise of just criticism as the pert, peaked features, the impa- tient nasi aduncii and merciless pertinacity of grin displayed by the jurisprudential Zoili round about them. Such as the two elements were, I could perceive that they were to form between them, as best they might, the critical touch-stone of the evening. — Again I quote, omne ignotum pro magnijico. — The piece was the new Drama founded upon the novel of Rob Roy. I had promised myself much pleasure in seeing it, from the accounts I had heard of the two principal per- formers that make their appearance in it, and I was never less disappointed. The scenery, in the first place, was as splendid as possible; indeed, till within the*e very few years, London never could show any thing in the least capable of sustaining a comparison with it. Whether the stage was to represent the small snug parlour of Baillie Jarvie in the Salt- market of Glasgow, or the broad and romantic magnificence of Loch Katrine, winding and receding among groves of birch and mountains of heather, the manager had exerted equal liberality, and his artists equal skill, to complete the charm of their counterfeit. There is something very delight- ful in observing the progress which theatrical taste is making among us, in regard to this part of its objects at least. No- thing gratifies one more than to see that great pains have been taken to please them ; and a whole audience is sensible to this kind of pleasure, when they see a new play got up with a fine fresh stock of scenery, to salute their eyes with novelty at every turn of the story. Besides, in such a plaz- as this, it would have been quite intolerable to discover any want of inclination to give its heroes every possible advan- tage of visual accompaniment to their exertions. Every body was already as well acquainted as possible with Mattie, Ma- jor Galbraith, Andrew Fairservice, and the Dugald Creature — to say nothing of those noble kinsmen, Baillie Jarvie and Rob Roy; and every one would have looked upon it as a sort of insult to his own sense and discernment, had he seen any of these dear friends, otherwise than in the same dress and place in which they had already been introduced, and rendered familiar to him by the great Magician, whose wand had called them into being. I confess, however, that familiar as I had long been with these characters, and with that of the peter's letters. 165 Baillie, imprimis, I was perfectly refreshed and delighted when they stood before me, living and moving in actual bodily pre- sence. The illusion of theatrical deception cannot possiblv be carried farther than it was in the case of Baillie Jarvie 5 as personified on this occasion by Mr. Mackay. I could have sworn that every curl in bis neat brown periwig — every but- ton on his well-brushed, dark, purple coat — every wrinkle in his well-blacked, tall, tight boots, had been familiar to me from infancy. And then the face — what a fine characteristic leanness about the jaws — not the least appearance of starva- tion or feebleness, but the true horny firmness of texture that I had always pictured to myself in the physiognomy of a Common-council-man of the Land of Cakes ! And what truth of expression in the grey eyes of the worthy warm- hearted Baillie ! The high aerial notes at the ending of his sentences, and the fine circumnavigation of sound in his dipthongs, were quite new to my imagination, but I could not for a single moment suspect them of being any other than authentic. I could scarce believe him when he said, " a bodv canna carry the Saut-market upon his back." The " Dugald Creature" was quite as good in his way — indeed even better, for it must have required no trivial stretch of power to be able to embody so much rudeness without taking a single iota from so much poetry of character. Rob Roy himself made a glorious appearance in bis blazing tartans, eagle plume, target and broad-sword ; and nobody that saw him could question his right to levy " black mail" — a single glance was sufficient to show, that, in the opinion of such a personage as this which trod the stage before us, u Rents and Factors, Rights of Chace, Sheriffs, Lairds, and their domains, All had seemed but paltry things, Not worth a moment's pains." Mr. Murray (the manager) himself personated "the Saxon Captain," who is made prisoner by Roy's wife, in a style of perfect propriety, looking more like a soldier, and infinitely more like a gentleman, than almost any actor of the present day, that I have seen on either side of the Tweed. I admired particularly the strict attention which he had paid to his cos- tume ; for he made his appearance in a suit of uniform, which I suppose, must have been shaped exactly after the pattern of the Duke of Cumberland'? statue. The profuse flaps and skirts l<0& PETER 5 S LETTERS. of the coat, and the smart, ferocious cock of the small hat', perched on the top of several rows of beaiuiful stiff curls, carried one back at once to the heart of the days of Marl- borough and Bickerstaff. Perhaps the most purely delightful part of the whole play, was the opening of one of the acts, when I found myself sud- denly transported into the glen of Aberfoil, and heard the pibroch of the Macgregors stealing along the light breeze of the morning, among those very shores which had been spread before ray fancy in so many noes of Arcadian delight, by the novel itself, and the Lady of the Lake, its kindred prede- cessor. Already I feel that it is impossible I should leave Scotland without visiting, in good earnest, these romantic scenes. However, I must allow the season to be somewhat better advanced, ere 1 think of venturing upon that excur- sion. I am determined, indeed, to delay it as long as I can, in order that I may see it when adorned with its whole mid- summer garniture of leaves. Mr. Murray acts as manager in behalf of Mrs. Henry Siddons, whose husband had taken a long lease of the The- atre shortly before his death. I think you once told me that you had seen this charming actress play at Bath, therefore I need not say any thing about her style of performance. She is, I believe, appreciated here as she ought to be; indeed, I know not that it is possible for any audience, wherever as- sembled, or however composed, to be insensible to the chaste and delicate fascination of that most feminine sort of acting. In looking at her, one feels that there would be a want of gal- lantry in not being delighted with so pure a picture of every thing that renders the captivation of womanly gracefulness complete. I speak at present, of course, of her most favour- ite walk. But you probably are well aware that Mrs. Henry Siddons is scarcely less successful, when she goes down many steps in the scale of character. Nor do you need to be told, that in the highest walk of the art itself, she displays not unfrequently a power, and energy, and dignity of feeling, which are less talked of than they deserve to be, only because it is not possible to forget, when thinking of the daughter- in-law, the deeper and more majestic magic of the unrivalled mother. The birth of Mrs. Siddons and her brother, (for they are of an ancient Scottish family,) creates no inconsiderable feel- ing of interest in their favour, among this pedigree-revering peter's letters. 167 people. The uniform propriety, and indeed amiable and ex- emplary modesty of tbeir own character and deportment, in all the relations of private life, may well furnish them with vet better claims to the kindness of their fellow-citizens. P. M. LETTER XXVII. TO THE SAME. I should be very much at a loss, if I were obliged to say positively, either at what hour or from what point of view 7 the external appearance of this city is productive of the no- blest effect. I walk round and round it, and survey it from east, west, north, and south, and every where it assumes some new and glorious aspect, which delights me so much at the moment, that I am inclined to think I have at last hit upon the true station from whence to survey its beauties. A few steps bring me to some new eminence, from which some yet wider and more diversified picture of its magnificence opens itself to my eyes, or perhaps to some winding ravine, the dark and precipitous sides of which, while they shut out much of this imposing expanse of magnitude, form a deep and concentrating frame-work, in whose centre some one iso- lated fragment assumes a character of sublimity, that seems almost to throw the wider field of variety and splendour into temporary shade. I have at last given up the attempt ; and am contented to let my admiration be as impartial as the charm is universal. In every point of view, however, the main centre of attrac- tion is the Castle of Edinburgh. From whatever side you approach the city — whether by water or by land — whether your foreground consist of height or of plain, of heat)), of trees, or of the buildings of the city itself — this gigantic rock lifts itself high above all that surrounds it, and breaks upon 168 peter's letter^. the sky with the same commanding blackness of mingled crags, cliffs, buttresses, and battlements. These, indeed, shift and vary their outlines at every step, but every where there is the same unmoved effect of general expression — the same lofty and imposing image, to which the eye turns with the same unquestioning worship. Whether you pass on the southern side, close under the bare and shattered blocks of granite, where the crumbling turrets on the summit seem as if they had shot out of the kindred rock in some fantastic freak of Nature — and where, amidst the overhanging mass of darkness, you vainly endeavour to descry the track by which Wallace scaled — or whether you look from the north, where the rugged cliffs find room for some scanty patches of moss and broom, to diversify their barren grey — and where the whole mass is softened into beauty by the wild green glen which intervenes between the spectator and its foundations — wherever you are placed, and however it is viewed, you feel at once that here is the eye of the landscape, and the essence of the grandeur. Neither is ic possible to say under what sky or atmosphere all this appears to the greatest advantage. The heavens may put on what aspect they choose, they never fail to adorn it. Changes that elsewhere deform the face of nature, and rob her of half her beauty, seem to pass over this majestic sur- face only to dress out its majesty in some new apparel of magnificence. If the air is cloudless and serene, what can be finer than the calm reposing dignity of those old towers — every delicate angle of the fissured rock, every loop-hole and every lineament seen clearly and distinctly in all their mi- nuteness? or, if the mist be wreathed around the basis of the rock, and frowning fragments of the citadel emerge only here and there from out the racking clouds that envelope them, the mystery and the gloom only rivet the eye the faster, and half-baffled Imagination does more than the work of Sight. At times, the whole detail is lost to the eye — one murky tinge of impenetrable brown wraps rock and fortress from the root to the summit — all is lost but the outline ; but the outline atones abundantly for all that is lost. — The cold glare of the sun, plunging slowly down into a melancholy west beyond them, makes all the broken labyrinth of towers, batteries, and house-tops paint their heavy breadth in ten-fold sable magnitude upon that lurid canvass. — At break of day, how beautiful is the freshness with which the venera- PETER'S LETTERS. 169 ble pile appears to rouse itself from its sleep, and look up once more with a bright eye into the sharp and dewy air ! — At the " grim and sultry hour'* of noon, with what languid grandeur the broad flag seems to flap its long weight of folds above the glowing battlements ! When the day-light goes down in purple glory, what lines of gold creep along the hoary brow of its antique strength ! When the whole heaVen is deluged, and the winds are roaring fiercely, and "snow and hail, and stormy vapour," are let loose to make war upon his front, with what an air of pride does the veteran citadel brave all their well-known wrath, " cased in the un- feeling armour of old time !" The capitol itself is but a pigmy to this giant. But here, as every-where, moonlight is the best. Wher- ever I spend the evening, I must always walk homewards by the long line of Prince's-Slreet ; and along all that spacious line, the midnight shadows of the Castle-rock for ever spread themselves forth, and wrap the ground on which I tread in their broad repose of blackness. It is not possible to imagine a more majestic accompaniment for the deep pause of that hour. The uniform splendour of the habitations on the left opening every now and then broken glimpses up into the very heart of the modern city — the magnificent terrace itself, with its stable breadth of surface — the few dying lamps that here and there glimmer faintly— and no sound, but the heavy tread of some far-off watchman of the night— this alone might be enough, and it is more than almost any other city could afford. But turn to the right, and see what a glorious contrast is there. The eternal rock sleeping in the stillness of nature — its eliffs of granite— its tufts of verdure— all alike steeped in the same unvarying hue of mystery— its towers and pinnacles rising like a grove of quiet poplars on its crest— the whole as colourless as if the sun had never shone there, as silent as if no voice of man had ever disturbed the echoes of the solemn scene. Overhead, the sky is all one breathless canopy of lucid crystal blue— here and there a small bright star twink- ling in the depth of sether— and full in the midst, the moon walking in her vestal glory, pursuing, as from the bosom of eternity, her calm and destined way— and pouring down the silver of her smiles upon all of lovely and sublime that na- ture and art could heap together, to do homage to her radi- ance. How poor, how tame, how worthless, does the con- 22 179 PETER'S LETTERS, Terse even of the best and wisest of men appear, when faintly and dirnly remembered amidst the sober tranquillity of this heavenly hour ! How deep the gulph that divides the tongue from the heart— the communication of companionship from the solitude of man ! How soft, yet how awful, the beauty and the silence of the hour of spirits ! I think it was one of the noblest conceptions that ever en- tered into the breast of a poet, which made Goethe open his Faustus with a scene of moonlight. The restlessness of an intellect wearied with the vanity of knowledge, and tormented with the sleepless agonies of doubt— the sickness of a heart bruised and buffeted by all the demons of presumption— the wild and wandering throbs of a soul parched among plenty, by the blind cruelty of its own dead affections — these dark and depressing mysteries all maddening within the brain of the Hermit Student, might have suggested other accompani- ments to one who had looked less deeply into the nature of man — who had felt less in his own person of that which he might have been ambitious to describe. But this great master of intellect was well aware to what thoughts, and what feelings, the perplexed and the bewildered are most anxious to return. He well knew where it is, that Nature has placed the best balm for the wounds of the spirit — by what indisso- luble links she has twined her own eternal influences abound the dry and chafed heart-stings that have most neglected her tenderness. It is thus, that his weary and melancholy sceptic speaks — his phial of poison is not yet mingled on his table — but the temper is already listening at his ear, that would not allow him to leave the world until he should have plunged yet deeper into his snares, and added sins against his neigh- bour, to sins against God, and against himself. I wish I could do justice to his words in a translation— or rather that I had Coleridge nearer me. Would thou wert gazing now thy last Upon my troubles, glorious Harvest Moon ! Well canst thou tell how all my nights have past Wearing away, how slow, and yet how soon ! Alas ! alas ! sweet Queen of Stars, Through dreary dim monastic bars, To me thy silver radiance passes, Illuminating round me masses Of dusty books, and mouldy paper, That are not worthy of so fair a taper peter's letters. m Q might I once again go forth, To see the gliding through thy fields of blue,- Along ihe hill-tops of the north ; — O might I go, as when I nothing knew, Where meadows drink thy softening gleam, And happy spirits twinkle in the beam, To steep my heart in thy most healing dew, # LETTER XXVIII. TO THE REV. DAVID WILLIAMS. I have already told you, that the Bar is the great focus from which the rays of interest and animation are diffused throughout the whole mass of society, in this northern capi- tal. Compared with it, there is no object or congregation of objects, which can be said to have any wide and command- ing grasp of the general attention. The Church — the Uni- versity — even my own celebrated Faculty, in this its great seat of empire — all are no better than the " minora sidera," among which the luminaries of forensic authority and forensic reputation shine forth conspicuous and superior. Into what- ever company the stranger may enter, he is sure, ere he has been half an hour in the place, to meet with something to remind him of the predominance of this great jurisprudential aristocracy. The names of the eminent leaders of the pro- fession, pass through the lips of the ladies and gentlemen of Edinburgh, as frequently and as reverently as those of the great debaters of the House of Commons do through those of the ladies and gentlemen of London. In the absence of any other great centres of attraction, to dispute their pre- eminence in the general eye, the principal barristers are able to sustain and fix upon themselves, from month to month, and year to year, in this large and splendid city, something not unlike the same intensity of attention and admiration, which their brethren of the south may be too proud to com- mand over the public mind of York or Lancaster^ for two Assize-weeks in the vear. 172 peter's LETTEKS, I think the profession makes a very tyrannical use of all these advantages. Not contented with being first, it is ob- vious they would fain be alone in the eye of admiration ; and they seem to omit no opportunity of adding the smallest piece of acquisition to the already over-stretched verge of their empire. It is easy to see that they look upon the whole city as nothing more than one huge Inn of Court, set apart from end to end for the purposes of their own peculiar accommo- dation ; and they strut along the spacious and crowded streets of this metropolis, with the same air of conscious possession and conscious dignity, which one meets with in London among the green and shadowy alleys of the Temple Gardens. Such is their satisfied assurance of the unrivalled dignity and importance of their calling, that they hold themselves en- titled, wherever they are, to make free use not only of allu- sions, but of phrases, evidently borrowed from its concerns ; and such has been the length of time during which all these instruments of encroachment have been at work, that memory of their commencement and just sense of their tendency have alike vanished among the greater part of those in whose pre- sence the scene of their habitual operation is laid. Even the women appear to think it quite necessary to succumb to the prevailing spirit of the place ; and strive to acquire for them- selves some smattering of legal phrases, with which to garnish that texture of political, critical, and erotical common-places, which they share with the Masters and Misses of other cities, wherein the pretensions of the Gens Togata are kept some- what more within the limits of propriety. My friend W tells me, that, in the course of a love-correspondence, which once, by some unfortunate accident, got into general circu- lation in Edinburgh, among many other truly ludicrous ex- emplifications of the use of the legal style of courtship, there was one letter from the Strephon to the Phyllis, which began with, " Madam — in answer to your duplies, received of date as per margin." But this, no doubt, is one of W 's plea- sant exaggerations. Although, however, the whole of the city, and the whole of its society, be more than enough redolent of the influence of this profession, it is by no means to be denied, that a very great share of influence is most justly due to the eminent ser- vices which its members have rendered, and are at the present time rendering to their country. It is not to be denied, that the Scottish lawyers have done more than any other class of PETERS LETTERS. 173 their fellow-citizens, to keep alive the sorely threatened spirit of national independence in the thoughts and in the feelings of their countrymen. It is scarcely to be denied, that they have for a long time furnished, and are at this moment fur- nishing, the only example of high intellectual exertion, (be* yond the case of mere individuals,) in regard to which Scot- land may challenge a comparison with the great sister-state, which has drawn so much of her intellect and her exertion into the overwhelming and obscuring vortex of her superi- ority. It is a right and a proper thing, then, that Scotland should be proud of her Bar— and, indeed, when one reflects for a moment, what an immense overshadowing proportion of all the great men she has produced have belonged, or at this moment do belong to this profession, it is quite impossible to be surprised or displeased, because so just a feeling may have been carried a little beyond the limit of mere propriety. It is not necessary to go back into the remote history of the Bar of Scotland, although, I believe, there is in all that history no one period devoid of its appropriate honours. One gene- ration of illustrious men, connected with it throughout the whole, or throughout the greater part of their lives, has only just departed, and the memory of them and their exertions is yet fresh and unfaded. Others have succeeded to their ex- ertions and their honours, whom they that have seen both, admit to be well worthy of their predecessors. Indeed, it is not necessary to say one word more concerning the present state of the profession than this — that, in addition to many names which owe very great and splendid reputation to the Bar alone, the gown is worn at this moment by two persons, whom all the world must admit to have done more than all the rest of their contemporaries put together, for sustaining and extending the honours of tbe Scottish name — both at home and abroad. You need scarcely be told, that I speak of Mr. Walter Scott and Mr. Jeffrey. Tbe former of these has, indeed, retired from the practice of the Bar ; but he holds a high office in the Court of Session. The other is in the full tide of professional practice, and of a professional cele- brity, which could scarcely be obscured by any thing less splendid, than the extra-professional reputation which has been yet longer associated with his name--and which, indeed, is obviously of a much higher, as well as of a much more enduring character, than any reputation which any profession, properly so called, ever can have the power to bestow. 174 PETER 5 S LETTERS. The courts of justice with which all these eminent mea are so closely connected, are placed in and about the same range of buildings, which in former times were set apart for the ac- commodation of the Parliament of Scotland. The main ap- proach to these buildings lies through a small oblong square, which takes from this circumstance the name of " the Par- liament Close." On two sides this Close is surrounded by- houses of the same gigantic kind of elevation which I have already described to you, and in these, of old, were lodged a great proportion of the dignitaries and principal practition- ers of the adjacent courts. At present, however, they are dedicated, like most of the houses in the same quarter of the city, to the accommodation of trades-people, and the inferior persons^ttached to the Courts of Law. The western side of the quadrangle, is occupied in all its length by the Church of St. Giles's, which in the latter times of Scottish Episcopacy possessed the dignity of a Cathedral, and which, indeed, has been the scene of many of the most remarkable incidents in the ecclesiastical history of Scotland. In its general exte- rior, this church presents by no means a fine specimen of the Gothic architecture, although there are several individual parts about the structure which display great beauty — the tower, above ail, which rises out of the centre of the pile, and is capped with a very rich and splendid canopy in the shape of a Crown Imperial. This beautiful tower and canopy form a fine point in almost every view of the city of Edin- burgh ; but the effect of the whole building, when one hears and thinks of it as a Cathedral, is a thing of no great signi- ficance. The neighbourhood of the Castle would indeed take something from the impression produced by the greatest Ca- thedral I am acquaiated with, were it placed on the site of St. Giles's ; but nothing assuredly could have formed a finer accompaniment of softening and soothing interest to the haughty and imperious sway of that majestic fortress, than some large reposing mass of religious architecture, lifting it- self, as if under its protection, out o( the heart of the city which it commands. The only want, if want there be, in the whole aspect of this city, is, that of some such type of the grandeur of Religion rearing itself in the air, in somewhat of its due proportion of magnitude and magnificence. It is the only great city, the first impression of whose greatness is not blended with ideas suggested by the presence of some ^such edifice, piercing the sky in splendour or in gloom, far 2ETER ? S LETTERS* IW above the frailer and lowlier habitations of those that come to worship beneath its roof. You remember those fine lines of Wordsworth, when, talking of the general external aspect of England, he says — " Not wanting at wide intervals the bulk Of ancient Minister, lifted above the clouds Of the dense air, which town or city breeds. To intercept the suns glad beams."— I know not, indeed, that any advantages, even of natural grandeur of situation or scenery, can entirely make up for the want of some such effect as the poet would describe, in the general view of any city set apart for the dwelling-place of Men, and of Christians. It seems to be the most natural and proper of all things, that from whatever side the travel- ler approaches to a Christian city, his eye should be invited, nay, commanded, to repose on some majestic monument of its Faith and its Devotion. — Every one, for example, that has ever sailed up the Thames — the only avenue that is worthy of London — must recollect what a grand mixture of feelings arose within him, when — beyond forests of masts, and above one dark, impenetrable, and limitless ocean of smoke, — he saw for the first time the holy dome of St. Paul's, hung afar off, serene and golden among the clouds. What a calm radiance of sanctity and sublimity does that mighty temple appear to diffuse over the huge city, stretched out in endless pomp and endless darkness at its feet ! How that one su- preme presence sheds gracefulness and majesty over all that is done beneath its shadow ! There is a plan in agitation at present for erecting a splendid church in Edinburgh, as a great National Monument, in memory of the events of the late war, and already J find a large sum of money has been subscribed for carrying this plan into execution. I heartily wish it speedy and entire suc- cess. The sketch which I have seen of the intended edifice., appears to me to be one of the finest things that architectural genius has for many ages produced. In front, there is a portico, as grand as that of the Pantheon ; behind this, a dome of most majestic height and dimension is lifted above a hall, around the exterior of which, tier above tier, and line within line of massy columns, are seen swelling or diminish- ing in endless variety of classical splendour. This hall is destined for the reception of statues and inscriptions, and it 176 peter's letters. forms the entrance way into a stately church, which shoots out from the side opposite to the portico. Where it is pro- posed to place this fine edifice, I know not ; but wherever it is placed, so it be placed at all, it cannot fail to add immea- surably to the effect of the finest situation, and the finest city in the world. But I have wandered widely from St. Giles's and the Parliament Close. The southern side of the square, and a small part of the eastern side, are rilled with venerable Gothic buildings, which for many generations have been devoted to the accommoda- tion of the Courts of Law, but which are now entirely shut out from the eye of the public, by a very ill-conceived and tasteless front-work of modern device, including a sufficient allowance of staring square windows, and Ionic pillars and pilasters. What beauty the front of the structure may have possessed in its original state, I have no means of ascertain- ing ; but Mr. W sighs every time we pass through the Close, as pathetically as could be wished, over " the glory that hath departed." At all events, there can be no question, that the present frontispiece is every way detestable. It is heavy and clumsy in itself; and extremely ill chosen, more- over, whether one considers the character and appearance of the hall to which it gives access, or the aspect of the cathe- dral, and the old buildings in immediate juxta-position with- out. Had it been resolved to remove entirely the seat of the Courts of Law, and provide for them more convenient and more extensive accommodation in some more modern part of the city, I am informed the money that has been thrown away within the last thirty years upon repairs and alterations, none of which have added any thing to the beauty or much to the convenience of the old Courts, would have been abun- dantly sufficient to cover the expense of building the new. Right in front of the main entrance to the Courts as they stand, a fine equestrian statue of Charles II. enjoys a much more conspicuous situation than the merits of its original seem at all entitled to claim — more particularly from the peo- ple of Scotland. I think it rather unfortunate that this should be the only statue which salutes the public eye in the streets of Edinburgh. To say the truth, he is the only one of all our monarchs for whose character I think it impossible to feel one touch of sympathy or respect. Even his more unfortu- nate brother had honesty of principle, and something of the feelings of an Englishman. But why should the poor pen- peter's letters. 177 sioned profligate, whose wit only rendered his vices more cul- pable, and whose good temper only rendered them more dan- gerous — why should he be selected for such a mark of dis- tinguishing and hallowing remembrance as this ? I should have been better pleased to see Scotland atoning by some such symbol of reverence for her sad offences against his father. I shall conduct you into the interior of the Parliament-House in my next letter. P.M. LETTER XXIX. TO THE SAME. After passing through one or two dark and dungeon-like lobbies or anti-chambers, or by whatever more appropriate name they may be designated, one enters by a low pair of folding-doors, into what is called the Outer-House, wherein all civil cases are tried, in the first instance, by individual Judges, or Lords Ordinaries, before being submitted to the ultimate decision either of the whole Bench, or of one of its great Divisions. On being admitted, one sees a hall of very spacious dimensions, which, although not elegant in its finish- ing or decorations, has nevertheless an air of antique grandeur about it, that is altogether abundantly striking. The roof is very fine, being all of black oak, with the various arches of which it is composed resting one upon another, exactly as in Christ-Church Hall. The area of this hall is completely filled with law-prac- titioners, consisting of Solicitors and Advocates, who move in two different streams, along the respective places which immemorial custom has allotted to them on the floor. The crowd which is nearest the door, and in which I first found myself involved, is that of the Solicitors, Agents, Writers or Men of Business, (for by all these names are they called.) Here is a perfect whirl of eagerness and activity — every face alert, and sharpened into the acutest angles. Some I could see were darting about among the different bars, where plead- ings were going forward, like midshipmen in an engagement, furnishing powder to the combatants. They brought their •23 178 Peter's letters, great guns, the advocates, to bear sometimes upon one Judge^ and sometimes upon another ; while each Judge might be discovered sitting calmly, like a fine piece of stone-work amidst the hiss of bombs and the roar of forty-pounders. In the meantime, the " men of business," who were not immediately occupied in this way, paced rapidly along— each borne on his particular wave of this great tide of the aftairs of men, but all having their faces well turned up above the crowd, and keeping a sharp look-out. This was, I think, their general attitude. It reminded me of trouts bobbing near the surface of a stream, all equally sharp-set and anxious for a snap at whatever is going. Any staring or idle person must have appeared quite out of place among them, like a fixed point among Epicurus's concourse of atoms ; and in- deed I think, after I began to collect myself a little, I could easily observe that I myself, standing firm in the midst of the hubbub, with my arms folded at mos est, attracted some no- tice from a few of those that were hurrying past me, to and fro, and ever and anon. Whether I looked like a client either in esse or in posse, I know not, but " Some fell to such perusal of my face,. As they would draw me ;" while I, in the mean time, could begin to discover here and there a few persons of more quiescent demeanour, who looked like some of those unfortunates, at whose expense this superb scene of motion is maintained and kept in action. Money may be compared to a momentum or impetus, of which one body loses as much as it imparts to another. The client, after having transferred a certain impetus to his agent, loses part of his alacrity, and is apt to stand still in the Parliament-House, with a rather disconsolate air ; while he sees his agent (conso- latary spectacle !) inspired with the momentum of which he himself is devested, and spinning about in every sort of curve, ellipsis, aud parabola. The anxious gaze with which these individuals seemed to be contemplating the toss and tumult around them, formed a sufficient distinction between them and the cool, unconcerned, calmly perspicacious Dr. Morris. It was evident, that they could not at all enter, with any delight kindred to mine, into the sentiment of the luxurious Epicu re an, peter's letters. 179 " Suave mari magno turbantibus sequora ventis, E tuto alterius magnum spectare laborem." Such of these litigants, again, as had come from the coun- try, could be easily pointed out from among- the other clients. Here and there I noticed a far-travelled Gaffer, conspicuous for his farmer's coat of grey, or lightest caerulean tincture — his staff in his ungloved horny fingers — and his clouted shoon, or tall, straight, discoloured pair of top-boots, walking about without reflecting, — to judge from his aspect— that the per- sons by whom he was surrounded hod mouths which would make very little of demolishing a litigious farmer, with his whole stock and plenishing, and leaving no more vestige of him than remained of Actseon, after he fell in with those very instruments which he himself had been wont to employ in the chase. He need only look about him, and see the whole pack. Here are, " Pamphagus et Dorceus et Oribasus ; Arcades omnes ; Nebrophon usque valens et trux cum Lselape Thei-on, Et pedibus Pterelas et uaribus utilis Agre, Hylseusque fero nuper percussus ab apro, Deque lupo concepta IS ape, pecudesque secuta PcEmenis, et natis comitata Harpya duobus, Etsubstricta gerens Sicyonius ilia Ladon ; Et niveis Leucon, et villis Asbolus atris, Et patre Dictseo sed matre Laconide nati Labros et Agriodos, et acutee vocis Hylactor, Quosque referre mora est." If he had once fairly got into difficulties, and " a poinding" had gone out against him, the following would also apply ; " Ille fugit per qua? fuerat loca ssepe secutus Heu! famulos fugit ipse suos. Clamare libebat Action ego sum : Dominum cognoscite vestrum. Vota animo desunt : resonat latratibus aether." Neither Pamphagus, nor Labros, nor Ladon of the " sub- stricta ilia," nor Leucon with the white wig, nor Asbolus with the black hair, nor the swift feet of Pterelas, nor the keen nostrils of Agre, nor the sharp bark of Hylactor, will relax into quiescence at his bidding, whose petitions had so often been sufficient to set all their energies in motion. How little will the memory of all his fees avail ? how cruelly must he feel their fangs^ whose snarling threats and tearing 180 PETER'S LETTERS. onset had afforded to himself so much matter of gratulation and applause, when some other was the victim ! Contrasted with the elder and maturer " men of business," who are generally attired in sober hues, the rising generation of Dandy-Clerks make a very shining appearance. — The dust of a process newly awakened from its sleep of lustrums is- a sad thing on a snow-white pair of breeches ; but it is amaz- ing how clean and brilliant these young gentlemen contrive to look, and they deserve the utmost credit for it; for besides the venerable powder of resuscitated papers and documents, no trifling quantity of dust must be brought into the Parlia- ment-House by the shoes of the multitude resorting thither, and kept flying about by the stir of their tumultuous parade. They are really the finest beaux I have seen in this city, or so at least they appeared to be, under the favourable circum- stances of contrast in which I saw them. Their bright olive surtouts, with glossy collars of velvet— their smart green riding jackets, — their waistcoats beaming in all the diversified dazzle of stripe and spot, — their neckcloths a la Waterloo or a la Belcher — all these rainbows of glory could not fail to charm the eye with a delightful sense of splendour, among such an immense hazy atmosphere of rusty black broadcloth, and tattered bombazeens. The military swagger affected by some of these spruce scribes, and the ferocious audacity with which they seemed to be hurling their bunches of briefs from one desk to another, formed an equally striking contrast to the staid and measured step of the meditating pale-faced counsellors up to the ears in occupation on the one side,— and the careless pococurante lounge of their less busy juniors on the other. What a fine subject all this might have been for poor Bunbury ! I wonder what made your friend Rose say, " Your Dandy's at a discount out of London.'' The Advocates, in the midst of their peripatecism, receive their fair proportion of all the dust that is flying, and thus„ perhaps, some young men of their body may have an oppor- tunity of acquiring a fine sober brown, to which their com- plexions might not have been very likely to attain through the medium of hard study. Upon the whole, they are a well thriven looking race of juvenile jurisconsults ; but I certainly LETTERS. 181 could not see many heads among them which Dr. Spurzheim would think of setting down as belonging to so many future Voets and Poitiers. For the most part, however, they are at least so candid as to wear their own hair, and so to afford the initiated a fair opportunity of inspecting their various confor- mations of cranium. A few, indeed, bury all beauties and defects in that old bird's-nest of horse-hair and pomatum, which is in this place usually adhered to by the seniors alone ; for you must know the costume of the Scottish Bar is far from being regulated in the same uniform manner with that of Westminster-Hall ; and those advocates, who hold no offi- cial situation under the crown, are at liberty to pace the floor of the Parliament House with or without wigs, exactly as it may please their fancy. I confess I should think it were bet- ter, either that all had wigs, or that all wanted them ; for at present the mixture of bushy heads of hair, a la Berlin, or a la Cossack, with stiff rows of curls, toupees, and three tails, presents a broken and pyebald sort of aspect, to which rny southern optics cannot easily reconcile themselves. Per- haps it were best to reinstate the wig in its full rights, and make it a sine qua non in the wardrobe of every counsellor ; for if it be fairly allowed to disappear, the gown will proba- bly follow ; and in process of time, we may see the very Judges, like those Mr. Fearon saw in Connecticut, giving decisions in loose great coats, and black silk neckcloths. Another circumstance that offended me in the appearance of the barristers, is their total want of rule in regard to their nether integuments. I, that have been a Pro-proctor in my day, cannot away with boots, trowsers, and gaiters, worn un- der a gown. I think a gown implies dress, and that the ad- vocates should wear nothing but black breeches and stock- ings when in court, as is the case in the south. These are very small matters ; but it is astonishing how much effect such small matters produce in the general appearance of a Court of Justice — where, indeed, above all places in the world, pro- priety of appearance, in regard even to the most minute things, should always be studiously considered. Ever yours, P. M. 3 82 PETER 5 S LETTERS. LETTER XXX, TO THE SAME. Br degrees I won my way through several different cur- rents of the crowd, and established myself with my back to the wall, full in the centre of the Advocates' side of the house. Here I could find leisure arid opportunity to study the minu- tiae of the whole scene, and in particular to " fill in ray fore- ground," as the painter's phrase runs, much more accurately than when I was myself mingled with the central tumult of the place. My position resembled that of a person visiting a peristrephic panorama, who, himself immoveable in a dark- some corner, beholds the whole dust and glare of some fiery battle pass, cloud upon cloud, and flash upon flash, before his eyes. Here might be seen some of the " Magnanimi He- roes," cleaving into the mass, like furious wedges, in order to reach their appointed station — and traced in their ulterior progress only by the casual glimpses of " the proud horse- hair nodding on the crest" — while others, equally determined and keen en ^o^x^o^t ^eixerdcti, from their stature and agility, might be more properly compared to so many shuttles driven through the threads of an intricate web by some nimble- jointed weaver, M^oi fiev «aa« Mxmtoii. On one side might be observed some first-rate champion, pausing for a moment with a grin of bloody relaxation, to breathe after one fero- cious and triumphant charge — his plump Sancho Panza bu- sily arranging his harness for the next, no less ferocious. On another sits some less successful combatant, all his features screwed and twisted together, smarting under the lasb of a sarcasm — or gazing blankly about him, imperfectly recovered from the stun of a retort; while perhaps some young beard- less Esquire, burning for his spurs, may be discovered eyeing both of these askance, envious even of the cuts of the van- quished, and anxious, at ail hazards, like Uriah the Hittite, that some letter might reach the directors of the fray, saying, " Set ye this man in the front, of the battle." The elder and more employed advocates, to have done with my similitudes, seemed for the most part, when not actually engaged in pleading, to have the habit of seating themselves 5>n the benches, which extend along the whole rear of their peter's letters. 183 station. Here the veteran might be seen either poring over the materials of some future discussion, or contesting bitterly with some brother veteran the propriety of some late decision, or perhaps listening with sweet smiles to the talk of some un- covered Agent, whose hand in his fob seemed to give promise of a corning fee. The most of the younger ones seemed either to promenade with an air of utter nonchalance, or to collect into groups of four, five, or six, from whence the loud and husky cackle of some leading characters might be heard ever and anon rising triumphantly above the usual hum of the place. I could soon discover, that there are some half-dozen 3 perhaps, of professed wits and story-tellers, the droppings of whose inspiration are sufficient to attract round each of them,, when he sets himself on his legs in the middle of the floor, a proper allowance of eyes and mouths to glisten and gape over the morning's budget of good things — some new eccentricity of Lord H , or broad bon-mot of Mr. G . The side of the Hall frequented by these worthies, is heated by two or three large iron stoves ; and from the custom of lounging during the winter months in the immediate vicinity of these centres of comfort, the barristers of facetious disposition have been christened by one of their brethren, the " wits of the Stove-school." But, indeed, for aught I see, the journeyman- days of the whole of the young Scotch advocates might, with great propriety, be called by the simple collective — Stove- hood. What has a more striking effect, however, than even the glee and merriment of these young people close at hand, is the sound of pleaders pleading at a distance, the music of whose elocution, heard separate from its meaning, is not, for the most part, such as to tempt a near approach. At one Bar, the wig of the Judge is seen scarcely over-topping the mass of eager, bent-fonvard, listening admirers, assembled to do honour to some favourite speaker of the day — their faces already arrayed in an appropriate smile, wherewith to wel- come the expected joke — or fixed in the attitude of discern- ment and penetration, as if resolved that no link of his cun- ning chain of ratiocination should escape their scrutiny. At another extremity, the whole paraphernalia of the Judge's attire are exposed full to vision — all the benches around his tribunal deserted and tenantless, while some wearisome proser, to whom nobody listens except from necessity, is seen thumping the bar before him in all the agonies of unpartak'en earnest- 184 JPEiLr's LETTER.-. ness, his hoarse clamorous voice floating desolately into turn air, " like the voice of a man crying in the wilderness — whom no man heareth." The appearance of the Judges, or Lords Ordinaries, them- selves, next attracted my attention, and I walked round the hall to survey them, each in rotation, at his particular bar. Their dress is quite different from what we are accustomed to in our civil courts in England, and bears much more re- semblance to what I have seen in the portraits of the old Pre- sidents of the French parliaments. Indeed I believe it is not widely different from this; for the Court of session was ori- ginally formed upon the model of the Parliament of Paris, and its costume was borrowed from that illustrious court, as well as its constitution. The judges have wigs somewhat different from those of the Advocates, and larger in dimen- sion ; but their gowns are very splendid things, being com- posed of purple velvet and blue cloth and silk, with a great variety of knots and ornaments of all kinds. I could not see this vestment without much respect, when I reflected on the great number of men celebrated both for greatness and goodness that have worn it. It is the same gown in which the venerable Duncan Forbes of Culloden delivered judg~ ment — in which Kaimes, and Hailes, andBraxfield, and Mo n- boddo, and Woodhouselee — and later, perhaps greater than all, in which Blair was clothed. * * It struck me, that the Judges in the Outer Court were rather younger men than we commonly see on the Bench in an English Court of Law; but their physiognomies, and the manner in which they seemed to be listening to the pleaders before them, were in general quite as 1 could have wished to see them. At one end sat Lord G , brother to the excellent Historian of Greece, and Translator of Aristotle's Rhetorick and Ethics. He has at first sight an air of laziness about him, and seems as if he grudged the labour of lifting up his eyes to view the counte- nance of the person addressing him. But every now and then, he muttered some short question or remark, which show- ed abundantly that his intellect was awake to all the intrica- cies of the case ; and I could see, that when the Advocates "ere done, he had no difficulty in separating the essence of the plea from all the adventitious matter with which their briefs had instructed them to clog and embarrass it. He has a countenance very expressive of acumen, and a pair of the finest black eyes I ever saw ; although be commonly keeps PETER ? S LETTER*. 18a aieai half-shrouded under their lids — and I have no doubt, from the mode in which he delivered himself, that he must have been a most accomplished debater when at the Bar. At the other extremity, the greatest stream of business seemed to rush in the direction of Lord PittmiUf's tribunal. This Judge has the most delightful expression of suavity and patience in his look and manner, that I ever saw in any Judge, unless it be our own venerable old Chancellor Eldon. The calm con- scientious way in which he seemed to listen to every thing that was said, the mild good-tempered smile with which he showed every now and then that he was not to be deceived by any subtilty or quirk, and the clear and distinct manner in which he explained the grounds of his decision, left me at no loss to account for the extraordinary pressure of business with which this excellent judge appeared to be surrounded. Before these two Lords it was, that all the principal causes of the morning appeared to be argued. 1 happened to be standing close beside Lord Piltmilly's Bar, when a pleading was going on for aliment of a natural child, at the instance of a servant-wench against an Irish student, who had come to Edinburgh to attend the Medical Classes. The native of the Emerald Isle was personally present in rear of his Counsel, arrayed in a tarnished green great-coat, and muttering bitterly in his national ac- cent. I heard him say to one near him, that he had been prevented from getting out of the way in proper lime, by the harsh procedure of a grocer in Drummond-Street, whose ac- count was unpaid, and who had detained him by what be called a " meditatione fuga? warrant." The poor girl's case was set forth with great breadth of colouring and verity of detail by Mr. Clerk, (a fine sagacious-looking old gentleman, of whom I shall speak anon,) and the Bar was speedily sur- rounded by close ranks of listeners. Mr. Jeffrey, who was of counsel for the son of Erin, observed that the exceeding rapidity witb which the crowd clustered itself around did not escape my attention, and whispered to me, that cases of this kind are always honoured with an especial allowance of such honour — being regarded as elegant nugce, or tasteful relaxa- tions from the drier routine of ordinary practice — somewhat like snatches of the Belles-Lettres in the midst of a course of hard reading. I could perceive, that even the grimmest and most morose-looking Men of Business would, in passing, en- deavour to wedse their noses into the crowd, and after catch- 24 I #6 PETER'S LETTERS, ins; a few words of the pleading, would turn away grinding like satyrs, with the relish of what they had heard still mant- ling in their opaque imaginations. Jeffrey also told me, that Irish cases of the sort above-mentioned are extremely frequent even in the Scottish courts ; and, indeed, the great Phillips himself seems never to enjoy the full commaud and swing of his powers, unless on the subject of a seduction ; so that it may be said with truth of this wonderful man, and the gal- lant nation to which he belongs, that they mutually stand ic much need oi* each other. " 'Tis well that they should sin, so he may shine/' P. M LETTER XXXI to the same. Dear Williams, The walls of this Outer House are in general quite bare ; for the few old portraits hung here and there, are insufficient to produce any impression in the general view ; but the Hall has lately received one very important ornament — namely, a statue of the late Lord Melville by chantry, which has been placed on a pedestal of considerable elevation in the centre of the floor. As a piece of art, I cannot say that I consider this statue as at all equal to some others by the same masterly hand, which I have seen elsewhere. I am aware, however, that it is seen to very liltle advantage in the situation where it is placed ; and, moreover, that no statue can be seen fo/ts utmost advantage, when it is quite new from the chisel of the sculptor. It requires some time before the marble can be made to reconcile itself with the atmosphere around it ; and while the surface continues to offend the eye by its first cold glare of chalkj r whiteness, it is not quite easy for an ordinary connoisseur to form a proper idea of the lines and forms set forth in this unharmonieus mateual. Making allowance for ail this, however,- 1 can scarcely bring myself to imagine. that the statue of Melville will ever be thought to do honour PETER 7 S LETTERS. 187 \o the genius of Chantry. There is some skill displayed in the management of the viscount's robes ; and in the face it- self, there is a very considerable likeness of Lord Melvihe— which is enough, as your recollection musi well assure you, to save it from any want of expressiveness. But the effect of the whole is, I think, very trivial, compared with what such an artist might have been expected to produce, when he Nad so fine a subject as Dnndasto stimulate his energies. It >s not often, now-a-days, that an artist cun hope to meet with such a union of intellectual and corporeal grandeur, as were joined together in this Friend and Brother of William Pitt. This statue has been erected entirely ai the expense of the gentlemen of the Scottish Bar, and it is impossible not to ad- mire and honour the feelings, which called (oiih from them such a magnificent mark of respect for the memory of their illustrious Brother, Lord Melville walked the boards of the Parliament House during no less than twenty years, before he began to reside constantly in London as Treasurer of the Navy ; and during the whole of this period, his ha , tem- per and manners, and friendly open-hearted dispo ■ . , ren- dered him a universal favourite among all that foi Ion cd the same course of life'. By all true Scotchmen, indeed, of what- ever party in church or state, Melville was always regarded with an eye of kindliness and partialily. Whig and Tory agreed in loving him ; and how could it be otherwise, for al- though nobody surely could be more firm in his political prin- ciples than he himself was, he allowed no feelings, arising out of these principles, to affect bis behaviour in the inter- course of common life. He was always happy to drink his bottle of port with any worthy man of any party ; and he was always happy to oblige personally those, in common with whom he had any recollections of good-humoured festivi- ty. But the great course of his popularity was unquestionably nothing more than his intimate and most familiar acquaint ance with the actual state of Scotland, and its inhabitants, and all their affairs. Here in Edinburgh, unless Mr. W - exaggerates very much, there was no person of any consider ation, whose whole connexions and concerns were not per- fectly well known to him. And I already begin to see enough pfthe structure of Scottish society, to appreciate somewhaf of the advantages which this knowledge must have placed in ' the hands of so accomplished a statesman. The service 188 PETER S LETTER: which he had rendered to this part of the island were acknow- ledged by the greater part of those, who by no means ap- proved of the genera! system of policy in which he had so great a share ; and among the subscribers to his statue were very many, whose names no solicitation could have brought to appear under any similar proposals with regard to any other Tory in the world.* In the two Inner Houses, as they are called, (where causes are ultimately decided by the two great Divisions of the Court,) are placed statues of two of the most eminent per- sons that have ever presided over the administration of jus- tice in Scotland. In the hall of the Second Division, behind the chair of the Lord Justice Clerk, who presides on that bench, is placed the statue of Duncan Forbes of Culloden; and in a similar situation, in the First Division, that of the Lord President Blair, who died only a few years ago. The statue of Culloden is by Roubilliac, and executed quite in his usual styieasto its detail; but the earnest attitude of the Jud^e, stooping forward and extending his right hand, and the noble character of his physiognomy? are sufficient to re- deem many of those defects which all must perceive. The other statue— that of Blair, is another work of Chantry, and I think, a vastly superior one to the Melville. The drapery, indeed, is very faulty — it is narrow and scanty, and appears to cling to the limbs like the wet tunic of the Venus Anadyo- mene. But nothing can be grander than the attitude and whole air of the figure. The Judge is not represented as leaning forward, and speaking with eagerness like Forbes, but as bending his head towards the ground, and folded in the utmost depth of quiet meditation ; and this. I think, shows the conception of a much greater artist than the Frenchman. The head itself is one of the most superb things that either Nature or Art has produced in modern times. The forehead is totally bald, and shaped in a most heroic style of beauty — the nose springs from its arch with the firmness and breadth m * As one little trait, illustrative of Lord Melville's manner of conduct- ing himself to the people of Scotland, I may mention, that to the latest period of his life, whenever he came to Edinburgh, he made a point of calling in person on all the old ladies with whom he had been acquainted m the days of his youth. He might be seen going about, and climbing up to the most aerial habitacula of ancient maidens and widows ; and it is probable he gained more by this, than he could have gained by almost any other thing, even in the good opinion of people who might them- selves be vainly desirous of having an interview with the great statesman. 4 PETER'S LETTERS. 189 of a genuine antique — the lips are drawn together and com* pressed in a way that gives the idea of intensest abstraction — and the whole head is such, that it might almost be placed upon the bust of Theseus, without offence to the majesty of that inimitable torso. The most wonderful circumstance is, that, unless all my friends be deceived, the statue, in all these points, is a most faithful copy of the original. Nor, to judge from the style in which the memory of the man is spoken of by all with whom I have conversed on the subject of his merits, am I inclined to doubt that it may have been so. He died very suddenly, and in the same week with Lord Mel- ville, who had been through life his most dear and intimate friend ; and the sensation produced all over Scotland by this two-fold calamity, is represented to have been one of the most impressive and awful things in the world. In regard to the best interests of the Scottish nation, perhaps the Judge might be even a greater loss than the Statesman ; for there seems to be no reason to doubt, that he was cut off not far from the commencement of a judical career, which, if it had been continued through such a space of time as the ordi- nary course of nature might have promised, would have done more for perfecting the structure of the Civil Jurisprudence of Scotland, than is likely to be accomplished under many successive generations of less extraordinary men. It would appear as if the whole of his clear and commanding intellect had been framed and tempered in such a way, as to qualify him peculiarly and expressly for being what the Stagyrite has finely called " a living Equity" — one of the happiest, and perhaps one of the rarest, of all the combinations of mental powers. By all men of all parties, the merits of this great man also were alike acknowledged, and his memory is at this moment alike had in reverence by them all. Even the keenest of his now surviving political opponents, himself one of the greatest lawyers that Scotland ever has produced, is said to have contemplated the supreme intellect of Blair with a feeling of respectfulness not much akin to the common cast of his dis- position. After healing the President overturn, without an effort, in the course of a few clear and short sentences, a whole mass of ingenious sophistry, which it had cost himself much labour to erect, and which appeared to be regarded as insurmountable by all the rest of his audience, this great Bar- rister is said to have sat for a few seconds, ruminating with much bitterness on the discomfiture of his cause, and then to 190 PETER 5 S LETTERS, have muttered between his teeth, "My man! God Almighty spared nae pains when he made your brains." Those that have seen Mr. Clerk, and know his peculiarities, appreciate the value of this compliment, and do not think the less of if because o£ its coarseness. LETTER XXXII TO THE SAME. I believe I repeated to you, at the close of my last letter, a remark of Mr. Clerk concerning President Blair. This Mr. Clerk is unquestionably, at the present time, the greatest man among those who derive their chief fame from their ap- pearance at the Scottish Bar. His face and figure attracted my particular attention, before I had the least knowledge of his name, or suspicion of his surpassing celebrity. He has by some accident in infancy, been made lame in one of his limbs ; but he has, notwithstanding, every appearance of great bodily vigour and activity. I remember your instructions concerning the Barristers of Scotland, and after having visited their Courts with great as^ siduity, during the greater part of my stay in this place, shall now proceed to draw you portraits of the most eminent, as near as I can hit it, in the style you wish me to employ. I must begin with Mr. Clerk, for, by the unanimous consent of his brethren, and indeed of the whole of the profession, he is the present Coryphaeus of the Bar— Juris consultorum sui seculi faoile priaceps. Others there are that surpass him in a tew particular points, both of learning and of practice ; but, on the whole, his superiority is entirely unrivalled and undis- puted. Those who approach the nearest to him, are indeed so much his juniors, that be cannot fail to have an immense ascendancy over them, both from the actual advantages of his longer study and experience, and, without offence to him or them be it added, from the effects of their early admiration of him, while he was as y et far above their sphere. Do not sup- nose, however, that I mean to represent any part of the re- spect with which these gentlemen treat their senior, as the re- sult of empty prejudice. Never was anv man less of a quack PETER S LETTERS. m iban Mr. Clerk ; the very essence of his character is scorn of ornament, and utter loathing of affectation. He is the plainest, the shrewdest, and the most sarcastic of men; his sceptre owes the whole of its power to its weight—nothing to glitter. It is impossible to imagine a physiognomy more expressive of the character of a great lawyer and barrister. The fea lures are in themselves good— at least a painter would call them so ; and the upper part of the profile has as fine lines as could be wished. But then, how the habits of the mind have stamped their traces oh every part of the face ! What sharpness, what razor-like sharpness, has indented itself about the wrinkles of his eye-lids ; the eyes themselves so quick, so gray, such bafflers of scrutiny, such exquisite scrutinizes, how they change their expression— it seems almost, how they change their colour— shifting from contracted, concentrated blackness, through every shade of brown, blue, green, and hazel, back into their own open, gleaming gray again ! How they glisten into a smile of disdain !— Aristotle says, that all laughter springs from emotions of conscious superiority. I never saw the Stagyrite so well illustrated, as in the smile of this gentleman. He seems to be affected with the most de- lightful and balmy feelings, by the contemplation of some soft-headed, prosing driveller, racking his poor brain, or bel lowing his lungs out— all about something which he, the smiler, sees through so thoroughly, so distinctly. Blunder follows blunder ; the mist thickens about the brain ot the be- wildered hammerer ; and every plunge of the bog-trotter— every deepening shade of his confusron— is attested by some more copious infusion of Sardonic suavity, into the horrible, ghastly, grinning smile of the happy Mi. Clerk. How he chuckles over the solemn spoon whom he hath fairly got into his power! When he rises, at the conclusion of his display, he seems to collect himself like a kite above a covey of par- tridges; he is in no hurry to come down, but holds his victims " with his glittering eye," and smiles sweetly, and yet more sweetly, the bitter assurance of their coming fate j then out he stretches his arm, as the kite may his wing, and changing the smile by degrees into a frown, and drawing down his eye- brows from their altitude among the wrinkles of his forehead; and making them to hang like fringes quite over his diminish- ing and brightening cvas pointed out to me, I forget by whom, as standing at the head of this class. On talking over these matters with my friend Mr. VV , however, I found reason to doubt whether this person might not be well entitled to take his place among those of a higher order, and the result of my own subsequent observation and diligent attendance on these Courts of Jus- tice, has certainly been to confirm me in this notion of the matter. There is, indeed, something so very singular and characteristic in the whole appearance of Mr. Forsyth, that, even at first sight, I should scarcely have been persuaded, without some difficulty, to set him down as a mere ordinary drudge of his profession. I am so deeply imbued with the prejudices of a physiognomist and a craniologist, that I could not be easily brought to think there was nothing extraordi- nary in one on whom nature had stamped so very peculiar a signet. I have never seen a countenance that combined, in such a strange manner, originality of expression with features of common-place formation. His forehead is indeed massy and square, so far as it is seen ; but his wig comes so low down, as to conceal about the whole of its structure. His nose is large and firm, but shaped without the least approach to one beautiful line. His mouth is of the widest, and rudely-fashion- ed ; but whether he closes it entirely, or, what is more com- mon, holds it slightly open with a little twist to the left, it is impossible to mistake its intense sagacity of expression, for the common-place archness of a mere practised dealer in liti- gation. His cheeks are ponderous, and look as if they had peter's letters. 2\S been cast in brass, and his chin projects with an irresistible air of ungullibility. But the whole of this would be nothing without his eyes. The one of these is black as jet, and looks out clearly from among a tangled and ever-twinkling web of wrinkles. The other is light in hue, and glimmers through a large and watery surface, contracted by no wrinkles — (the lids on that side being large, smooth, and oily) — generally in a direction as opposite as possible from that which its more vivacious neighbour happens to be following for the moment. It has not, however, the appearance of being blind, to one who views it disconnected from the other, and nothing, in- deed, can be more striking than the total difference of effect which the countenance produces, according as it is viewed in sinistral or in dextral profile. On the one side, you have the large, glazed, grey eye, reflecting an air of unutterable inno- cence and suavity on all the features it seems to be illuminating. On the other, you have the small black iris, tipped in the centre with an unquenchable dazzling flame, and throwing on every thing above and below it a lustre of acumen, that Argus might have been proud to rival with all his ubiquity of glances. Such a face as this was never meant to be the index of any common mind. " Nihil inutile, nihil vanum, nihil supervacaneum in Natura," as the Prince of English, intellect has well expressed it. My friend W informs me, that the history of this gen- tleman has been no less peculiar than is his physiognomy. In his youth he was destined for the Kirk, and proceeded so far in that way as to be dubbed a licentiate, or preacher, which is the nearest approach in the Scottish Church to our deacon's orders. But — from causes, it is probable, of no un- common nature — he soon became disgusted with the idea of the Presbyterian career, and determined to become an Advo- cate. In those days, however, that was not quite so easy a matter of attainment as it has since come to be. The Advo- cates at that time were accustomed to exercise a discretionary right, of excluding from their Faculty whomsoever they chose to consider as unfit to enter — not merely on the score of learning or talent, (for, in regard to these, the pretence still lingers) — but, if it so pleased their fancy, on the score of want of birth, or status in society — a notion, the revival of which, if attempted now-a-days, would probably be scouted f ->v a very triumphant majority of their body. What Mr> 214 i'ETEft's LETTERS. Forsyth's birth might be, I know not ; but so it was, that the admission of the young licentiate, against whose character no one could say one word, was opposed most stiffly in the Fa- culty meetings, and he did not succeed in his object till after repeated applications had testified the firmness of his purpose, and time had produced its proper effect, in making his oppo- nents ashamed of contradicting it. He became an Advocate, therefore ; and, by degrees, the same inflexible pertinacity of will which had procured his ad- mission into the Faculty, elevated him to a considerable share of practice. Without making any one appearance that could ever be called splendid, and in the teeth of a great number of men that did make such appearances, Mr. Forsyth was re- solved that he should make a fortune at the Bar, and that was enough. From day to day, and from hour to hour, he was at his post. He came to the Court earlier than any one else, and he staid there later. His sagacious countenance was never amissing ; and they who saw that countenance perpetu- ally before them, could not fail to read its meaning. Other men laboured by fits and starts, and always with a view to some particular and immediate object of ambition ; this man laboured continually, because it was his principle and his be- lief that he could not be happy without labouring, and be- cause he knew and felt that it was impossible a man of his talents should labour long without being appreciated and re- warded in the end. If he had no brief, he did not care for that want, or allow himself to take advantage of any pretence for idleness. His strong intellect could no more do without work, than his ro- bust body could subsist without food. If he had not enough to occupy him in the affairs of individual men, he had always the species, and its concerns, on which to exercise his strength. And at a time when nobody suspected him of possessing either ambition or ability for any thing more than the drudg- ery of his profession, he published a book on the Principles of Moral Science, coarse indeed in many of its conceptions, and coarse in its language, but overflowing everywhere with the marks of most intense observation, and most masculine originality. From this time, the stamp of his intellect was ascertained, and those who had been most accustomed to speak slightingly of him, found themselves compelled to con- fess his power. .Jr. PETER'S LETTERS. 215 His natural want of high eloquence has prevented him from being the rival of the great lawyers I have described, in their finest field; and a certain impatience of all ornament, has prevented him from rivalling them in writing. Neither, as I am informed, has he ever been able to penetrate into the depths of legal arguments with the same clear felicity which some of those remarkable men have displayed. But he has been willing to task the vigour of an Herculean understanding to a species of work which these men would have thought them- selves entitled to despise, and to slur over, if it did come into their hands, with comparative inattention ; and it is thus that his fortune has been made. He cannot do what some of his brethren can do ; but whatever he can do, he will do. While they reserve the full exertion of their fine energies for occa- sions that catch their fancy, and promise opportunity of ex- traordinary display, he allows his fancy to have nothing to say in the matter ; and display is a thing of which he never dreams. He has not the magical sword that will shiver steel, nor the magical shield that will dazzle an advancing foe into blindness; but he is clothed cap-a-pee in harness of proof, and he has his mace always in his hand. He is contented to be ranged with the ordinary class of champions; but they who meet him, feel that his vigour might well entitle him to exchange thrusts with their superiors. It would surely argue a very strange degree of obstinacy, to deny that all this speaks of an intellect of no ordinary cast. There is no walk of exertion which may not be dignified ; and I imagine it is not often that such a walk as that of Mr. For- syth has found such an intellect as his willing to adorn it, "?P ^t* %f" ^ r «*^ There are still several of the Scottish Advocates whom J ought to describe to you ; but I reserve them, and their pe- culiarities, for matter of oral communication. My object was, in the mean time, to give you some general notion of those who at present make the most conspicuous figure among an order of men whose name is familiar to you, and celebrated everywhere, but of which very little is, in general, known, accurately by such as have not personally visited the scene 216 PETER 5 S LETTERS. of their exertions. I suppose I have already said enough to convince you that the high reputation enjoyed by the Scottish jurisconsults is far from being an unmerited reputation ; and that, taking the size and population of the country into view, Scotland has at least as much reason to be proud of her Bar as any country in Europe. P.M LETTER XXXVIII. TO THE SAME. Till within these few years, it was the custom for the whole of the judges of whom the Court of Session is com- posed, to sit together upon the same bench, and Scottish liti- gants had thus the advantage of submitting their causes to the joint decision of a much greater number of arbiters than those of England ever had tr do with. The enormous in- crease of litigation, however, which resulted from the extended population, and, above all from the extended commerce of Scotland, joined perhaps, with sufficient experience that this multitude of counselors brought disadvantages, as well as advantages, along with it, gave rise to a se- paration of the Civil Court into two divisions, each of which now exercises the full powers formerly vested in the whole body ; the Lord President of the Session retaining his place as President of the First, and the Lord Justice-Clerk, (who acts also, as his title denotes, as head of the Criminal Court,) being President of the Second of these Divisions. From all that I can hear, this arrangement has been productive of the happiest effects ; an infinitely greater quantity of business being of course discussed, and no business whatever being less thoroughly, or less satisfactorily discussed, than when each individual case was at once, as the popular phrase ran. IC fct'en before the Fifeteen." The nature of the causes with which these two courts have FETER 5 S LETTERS. 217 been chiefly occupied since I began to attend their sittings, has been such, that although I have had great amusement in hearing the particular sides of many questions set forth to the best advantage, by the ingenuity of the particular pleaders, there has been much Jess to amuse me, a stranger to the technicalities of the Scottish law, in the more concise and more abstruse disquisitions wherein the several Judges have delivered their opinions concerning the legal merits of the arguments employed in my hearing. The external appear- ance of the Courts, however, is abundantly dignified and im- pressive ; and, without being able to understand most of what was delivered from the Bench, I have heard more than enough to satisfy me that there is no want of talent in the Judges who take the principal direction and conduct of the business brought before them. The President of the Second Divi- sion in particular, seems to be possessed of all the discern- ment and diligence which it is pleasing to see a Judge dis- play ; and he possesses, moreover, all that dignity of presence and demeanour, which is scarcely less necessary, and which is infinitely more rare, in those to whom the high duties of such stations are entrusted. In his other Court, (the Crimi- nal, or Justiciary Court, of which also I have witnessed seve- ral sittings,) I could better understand what was going for- ward, and better appreciate the qualities by which this emi- nent Judge is universally acknowledged to confer honour upon his function. In his Division of the Civil Court, one of his most respected assessors is Lord Robertson, son to the great historian; nor could I see, without a very peculiar interest, the son of such a man occupying and adorning such a situation, in the midst of a people in whose minds his name must be associated with so many feelings of gratitude and admiration. It is perhaps the finest and most precious of all the rewards which a man of virtue and genius receives, from the nation to whose ser- vice his virtue and his genius have ministered, that be esta- blishes for his children a true and lofty species of nobility in the eyes of that people, and secures for all their exertions, (however these may differ in species from his own,) a watch- ful and a partial attention from generations long subsequent to that on which the first and immediate lustre of his own re- putation and his own presence may have been reflected.. The truth is, that a great national author connects himself for ever with all the better part of his nation, br the ties of an intel- 28 218 peter's letters. lectual kinsmanship — ties which, in his own age, are scarcely less powerful than those of the kinsmanship of blood, and which, instead of evaporating and being forgotten in the course of a few generations, as the bonds of blood must in- evitably be, aFe only rivetted the faster by every year that passes over them, ft is not possible to imagine that any lineal descendant of Shakspeare, or Milton, or Locke, or Claren- don, or any one of the great authors of England, should have borne, in the present day, the name of his illustrious progeni- tor, and seen himself, and his great name, treated with ne- glect by his countrymen. The son of such a man as the His- torian of Scotland, is vvell entitled to share in these honour- able feelings of hereditary attachment among the people of Scotland; — and he does share in them. Even to me, 1 must confess it afforded a very genuine delight, to be allowed to contemplate the features of the father, as reflected and pre- served in the living features of his son. A more careless ob- server would not, perhaps, be able to trace any very striking resemblance between the face of Lord Robertson and the common portraits of the historian; but I could easily do so. In those of the prints which represent him at an early period of bis life, the phvsijgnomy of Robertson is not seen to its best advantage. There is, indeed, an air of calmness and tasiefulness even in them, which cannot be overlooked or mis- taken ; but it is in those later portraits, which give the fea- tures, after they had been devested of their fulness and smooth- ness of outline, and filled with the deeper lines of age and comparative extenuation, that one traces, with most ease and satisfaction, the image of genius, and the impress of reflec- tion. And it is to those last portraits that I could perceive the strongest likeness in the general aspect of the Judge — but, most of all, in his grey and over-hanging eye-brows, and eyes, eloquent equally of sagacity of intellect, and gen- tleness of temper. In the other Division of the Court, I yesterday heard- without exception, the finest piece of judicial eloquence de- livered in the finest possible way by the Lord President Hope. The requisites for this kind of eloquence are of course total- ly different from those of accomplished barristership — and I think they are in the present clever age infinitely more un- common. When possessed in the degree of perfection in which this Judge possesses them, *hey are calculated assured- ly to produce a yet nobler species of effect, than even the peter's letters. 219 ftnest display of the eloquence of the Bar ever can command. They produce tnis effect the more powerfully, because there are comparatively very few occasions on which they can be called upon to attempt producing it; but besides this adven- titious circumstance, they are essentially higher in their qual- ity, and the feelings which they excite are proportionally deeper in their whole character and complexion. I confess I was struck with the whole scene, the more be- cause I had not heard any thing which might have prepared me to expect a scene of so much interest, or a display of so much power. But it is impossible, that the presence and air of aoy Judge should grace the judgment-seat more than those of the Lord President did upon this occasion. When I entered, the Court was completely crowded in every part of its area and galleries, and even the avenues and steps of the Bench were covered with persons who could not find accommodation for sitting. I looked to the Bar, naturally expecting to see it filled with some of the most favourite Advocates ; but was as- tonished to perceive, that not one gentleman in a gown was there, and, indeed, that the whole of the first row, commonly occupied by the barristers, was entirely deserted. An air of intense expectation, notwithstanding, was stamped upon all the innumerable faces around me, and from the direction in which most of them were turned, I soon gathered that the elo- quence they had come to hear, was to proceed from the Bench. The Judges, when I looked towards them, had none of those huge piles of papers before them, with which their desk is usually covered in all its breadth, and in all its length. Neither did they appear to be occupied among themselves with arranging the order or substance of opinions about to be delivered. Each Judge sat in silence, wrapt up in himself, but calm, and with the air of sharing in the general expecta- tion of the audience, rather than that of meditating on any thing which he himself might be about to utter. In the coun- tenance of the President alone, I fancied I could perceive the workings of anxious thought. He leaned back in his chair; his eyes were cast downwards; and his face seemed to be covered with a deadly paleness, which I had never before seen its masculine and commanding lines exhibit. At length he lifted up his eyes, and at a signal from his hand, a man clad respectably in black rose from the second row of seats behind the Bar. I could not at first see his face ; but from his air, I perceived at once that he was there in the £2k) feter's letters, capacity of an offender. A minute or more elapsed before a word was said, and 1 heard it whimpered behind me, that he was a well-known solicitor or agent of the Court, who had been detected in some piece of mean chicaner)-, and I com- prehended that the President was about to rebuke him for his transgression. A paiuful struggle of feelings seemed to keep the Judge silent, after he had put himself into the attitude of speaking, and the silence in the Court was as profound as midnight— 'but at last, after one or two ineffectual attempts, he seemed to subdue his feelings by one strong effort, and he named the man before him in a tone, that made my pulse quiver, and every cheek around me grow pale. Another pause followed — and then, all at once, the face of the Judge became flushed all over with crimson, and he be- gan to roll out the sentences of his rebuke with a fervour of indignation, that made me wonder by what emotions the tor- rent could have been so long withheld from flowing. His voice is the most hollow and sonorous I ever heard, and its grave wrath filled the whole circuit of the walls around, thrilling and piercing every nerve of every ear, like the near echo of an earthquake. The trumpet-note of an organ does not peal through the vaults of a cathedral with half so deep a majesty; and I thought within myself that the offence must indeed be great, which could deserve to call down upon any head, such a palsying sweep of terrors. It is impossible I should con- vey to you any idea of the power of this awful voice ; but, never till I myself heard it, did I appreciate the just mean- ing of Dante, where he says, " Even in the ivilderness, the Lion will tremble, if he hears the voice of ajuH Man" Had either the sentiments or the language of the Judge been other than worthy of such a vehicle, there is no ques- tion that the effect of its natural potency would soon have parsed away. But what sentiments can be more worthy of borrowing energy from the grandest music of Nature, than those with which an upright and generous soul contemplates, from its elevation of purity, the black and loathsome mazes of the tangled web of deceit ? The paltry caitiff that stood be- fore him, must have felt himself too much honoured, in at- tracting even indignation from one so far above his miserable sphere. With such feelings, and such a voice, it was impos- sible that the rebuke he uttered should not have been an elo- quent rebuke. But even the language in which the rebuke was clothed, would have been enough, of itself alone, to beat peter's letters, 221 into atoms the last lingering reed of self-complacency, on which detected meanness might have endeavoured to prop up the hour and agony of its humiliation. Mens est id quodfacit disertum ; and whatever harrowing words the haughtiness of insulted virtue, the scorn of honour, the coldness of disdain, the bitterness of pity might supply, came ready as flashes from a bursting thunder cloud, to scatter ten-fold dismay upon this poor wretch, and make bis flesh and his spirit creep chill within him like a bruised adder. His coward eye was fasci- nated by the glance that killed him, and he durst not look for a moment from the face of his chastiser. He did look for a moment ; at one terrible word he looked wildly round, as if to seek for some whisper of protection, or some den of shelter. But he found none. And even after the rebuke was at an end, he stood like the statue of Fear, frozen in the same attitude of immoveable desertedness. This Judge was formerly President of the Criminal Court : and after being present at this scene, I have no difficulty in believing what I hear from every one, that, in pronouncing sentence, he far surpassed every Judge whom the present time has witnessed, or of whom any memory survives. Had any gone before him, bis equal in the " terrible graces" of judicial eloquence, it is not possible that he should soon have been forgotten. Feelings such as this man possesses, when expressed as he expresses them, produce an effect, of which it is not easy to say whether the impression maybe likely to abide longest in the bosoms of the good, or in those of the wicked. As I came away through the crowd, I heard a pale, anxious looking old man, who, I doubt not, had a cause in Court, whisper to himself — " God be thanked — there's one true Gen- tleman at the head of them all." P. M. .,222 JETER'S LETTERS', LETTER XXXIX. TO THE SAME. I have endeavoured to give you some notion of the present* state of the Bar and Bench of Scotland — and I have done so, it may be, at greater length than you were prepared to expect. The individuals whom I have pourtrayed, are all, however, men of strong and peculiar intellectual con- formation ; and therefore, without taking their station or functions into view, they cannot be unworthy of detain- ing, as individuals, some considerable portion of a traveller's attention. In our age, when so much oil is poured upon the whole surface of the ocean of life, that one's eye can, for the most part, see nothing but the smoothness and the flatness of uniformity, it is a most refreshing thing to come upon some sequestered bay, where the breakers still gambol along the sands, and leap up against the rocks as they used to do. I fear that ere long such luxury will be rarer even in Scot- land than it now is; and, indeed, from all I hear, nothing can be more distinct and remarkable than the decrease in the quantum of it, which has occurred within the memory even of persons of my own time of life. The peculiarities, which ap- pear to me so strong and singular in the present worthies of the Parliament-House, are treated with infinite disdain by my friend W , for example, who ridicules them as being only the last feeble gleanings of a field, which he himself re- members to have seen bending beneath the load of its original fertility. The Bench of former days, he represents to have been a glorious harvest of character, and he deplores its present con- dition, as, with scarcely more than a single exception, one of Htter and desolate barrenness. He himself remembers the Lord Justice Clerk Macqueen of Braxfield, and he assures me, that, since his death, the whole exterior of judicial de- portment has been quite altered — and I verily believe he thinks it has been altered for the worse, although there are few of his opinions, piobably, in which he is more singular than in this. Over the mantlepiece of his study, he has a very fine print of this old Judge, in his full robes of office, which he seldom looks at without taking occasion to introduce some JETER'S LETTERS, 225 strange grotesque anecdote of its original. If the resemblance of the picture be exact, as he says it is, old Braxfield must indeed have been a person, whom nobody could for an instant suppose to be one of the ordinary race of mortals. His face is broad, and the whole of its muscles appear to be firm and ponderous in their texture — you cannot suppose that such were ever nourished upon kickshaws — they have obviously borrowed their substance from a stintless regimen of beef, brandy, and claret. His nose is set well into his forehead, as if Nature, in making him, had determined to grudge no ex- penditure of bone. His mouth wears a grin of ineffable sa- gacity, derision, and coarse uncontrollable humour, all min- gled with a copious allowance of sensuality. He must have had a most tyrannical quantity of Will, to judge from the way in which the wig sits on the top of his head ; and nothing, indeed, can be more expressive of determined resolution than the glance of his light eyes beneath their pent-house brows, although from the stile in which they are set, one sees that they must have been accustomed to roll about, more than the eyes of steadfast and masculine men are commonly used to do. 1 should think it impossible that any joke could have been too coarse for this man's digestion ; he must have expe- rienced sensations of paradisiacal delight in reading Swift's description of the dalliance between Gulliver and Glumdal- clitch. Even the Yahoos neighing by the river side, must have been contemplated by him with the most unmingled sua- vity. — It is, by the way, a strange enough thing, how many of our great English authors seem to have united the utmost ac- tivity and shrewdness of intellect, and commanding thorough- going pertinacity of character, with an intolerable relish for all the coarser kinds of Jests. The breed of such men was con- tinued uninterruptedly from Echard to Swift and his brethren, and from Swift to Warburton and his brethren. These were all churchmen ; had Braxfield been in the church, he must have been an author, and I doubt not he would have caught the falling mantle. I should like to see a portrait of the Car- dinal, for whose edification Poggio complied his Facetiiz ; I dare say, there must be a family likeness between it and this of Braxfield. In the days, when the strong talents of this original gave him a great ascendancy over the whole of his brethren of the coif, and a still greater over the gentlemen of the Bar, witk 7 a 28A PETERS LETTERS, many of whom he lived on terms of the most perfect farm liarify — the style of private life generally adopted by the principal Judges and Advocates, and the style in which the public intercourse between these two sets of worthies was car- ried on, were both, as might be conjectured, as remote as possible from the decorum at present in fashion. Not that there was in either any licence productive of seriously bad effects to the people of the country, but there certainly must have been something as different as possible from any thing that has been witnessed in our English Courts of Law for these many centuries past. Braxfield was very fond of cards and of claret, and it was no very unusual thing to see him take his seat upon the Bench, and some of his friends take theirs at the Bar, within not a great many minutes of the ier- ininalion of some tavern-scene of common devotion to either of these amusements I have never heard, that any excesses committed by Braxfield had the least power to disturb him in his use of his faculties ; but it is not to be supposed, that all his associates had heads as strong as his, nor to be wonder- ed at, although many extraordinary things may have occurred on such trying occasions. I have heard of an advocate com- ing to the Parliament-House fresh from the tavern, with one stocking white and the other black, and insisting upon ad- dressing the Judges, exactly as ten minutes before he had been addressing the chairman of his debauch. One yet living is said to have maintained a stout battle on one occasion with the late President Dundas, (father to Lord Melville,) who re- fused to listen to him when he made his appearance in this condition. The check given to him seemed to have the ef- fect of immediately restoring him to the possession of some moiety of his faculties ; and, without being able to obtain one glimpse of the true reason which made the Judge reluctant to listen, or the true nature of the cause on which he con- ceived himself entitled to expatiate, he commenced a long and most eloa t uent harangue upon the dignity of the Faculty of Advocates, ending with a formal protest against the manner in which he had been used, and interspersing every para- graph with copious repetitions of these words, — " It is our duty and our privilege to speak, my Lord ; and it is your duty and your privilege to hear." Another Advocate, also yet living, is said, in a similar state of haziness, to have for- gotten for which party, in a particular cause, he had been re ?ETER ? S LETTERS* 225 tained ; and, to the unutterable amazement of the agent that had fee'd him, and the absolute horror of the poor client be- hind, to have uttered a long and fervent speech exactly in the teeth of the interests he had been hired to defend. Such was the zeal of his eloqaence, that no whispered remonstrance from the rear, — no tugging at his elbow could stop him in me- dio gurgiie dicendi. But just as he was about to sit down, the trembling writer put a slip of paper into his hands, with these plain words, — " You have plead for the wrong party ;" where- upon, with an air of infinite composure, he resumed the thread of his oration, saying,- — " Such, my Lord, is the state- ment which you will probably hear from my brother on the opposite side of this case. I shall now beg leave, in a very few words, to show your Lordship how utterly unten- able are the principles, and how distorted are the facts, upon which this very specious statement has proceeded." And so he went once more over the same ground, and did not take his seat until he had most energetically refuted himself from one end of his former pleading to another. The race, however, of Judges, Advocates, and, of course, of Clients, among whom such things passed without remark or reproach, i3 now fast expiring. In spite of the authority of Blackstone, it seems to be generally believed now-a-days, that no man will study a point of law the better for drinking a bottle of port, while he is engaged at this work. The uni- form gravity of the Bench has communicated a suitable gra- vity to the Bar, — the greater number of practitioners at the Bar, having, indeed, necessarily very much diminished the familiarity with which the Bench and the Bar were of old accustomed to treat each other; while the general change that has every where occurred in the mode of life, has almost entirely done away with that fashion of high conviviality in private, for which of old, the members of the legal profession in this place were celebrated to a proverb. In short, ,it seems as if the business of all parties were now regarded in a much more serious point of view than formerly, and as if the practice of the Barristers, in particular, were every day setting more and more into a situation similar to that in which the practice of their southern brethren has long been,— a situation which, as you well know, admits of very little of such indulgences as these old Scotch Advocates seem to have considered quite in the light of indispensables, 29 } Z26 FETER'S LETTERS. There is still, however, one Judge upon the bench whon* W has a pleasure in bidding me look at, because in him, he assures me, may still be seen a genuine relic of the old school of Scottish Lawyers, and Scottish Judges. This old gentleman, who takes his title from an estate called Her- mand, is of the Ayrshire family of the Fergusons of Kilker- ran ; the same family of which mention is frequently made in Burns's Poems, one of whose ancestors, indeed, was the original winner of the celebrated " Whistle of Worth," about which the famous song was written. # # # # Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw : C?-aigctarroch,so famous for wit, worth, and law ; And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; And gallant Sir Robert, deep read in old wines. Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil. Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, And once more in claret, try which was the man &c. &c. in a strain equally delectable. He is now, I suppose, with one exception, the senior Judge of the whole Court, for I see he sits immediately on the left hand of the President in the First Division. There is some- thing so very striking in his appearance, that I wonder I did not take notice of it in an earlier letter. His face is quite thin and extenuated, and he has lost most of his teeth ; but instead of taking away from the vivacity of his countenance, these very circumstances seem to me to have given it a de- gree of power, and fire of expression, which I have very rarely seen rivalled in the countenance of any young man whatever. The absence of the teeth has planted lines of furrows about the lower part of his face, which convey an idea of determination and penetration too, that is not to be resisted; and the thin covering of flesh upon the bones of his cheeks, only gives additional effect to the fine, fresh, and healthful complexion which these still exhibit. As for his eyes, they are among the most powerful I have seen. While in a musing attitude, he keeps his eye-lids well over them, and they peep out with a swimming sort of languor; but the mo- ment he begins to speak, they dilate, and become full of ani- mation, each grey iris flashing as keenly as a flint. His fore- LETTERS. 227 head is full of wrinkles, and his eye-brows are luxuriant; and his voice has a hollow depth of tone about it, which all fur- nish a fine relief to the hot and choleric style in which he ex- presses himself, and, indeed, to the very lively way in which he seems to regard every circumstance of every case that is brought before him. Although very hasty and impatient at times in his temper and demeanour, and not over-scrupu- lous in regard to the limits of some of his sarcasms, this old Judge is a prodigious favourite with all classes who frequent the Courts, and, above all, with the Advocates, at whose expense most of his spleen effervesces. He is a capital lawyer, and he is the very soul of honour; and the goodness of his warm heart is so well understood, that not only is no offence taken with any thing he says, but every new sarcasm be ut- ters endears him more, even to the sufferer. As for the younger members of the profession, — when he goes a circuit, you may be sure, in whatever direction he moves, to meet with an extraordinary array of them in the train of Lord Herraand. His innocent peculiarities of manner afford an agreeable diversity to the surface of the causes carried on under his auspices, while the shrewdness and diligence of his intellect completely provide for the safety of their essential merits. And then, when the business of the Court is over, he is the very "prince of good- fellows, and king of old men ;" and you are well aware what high delight all young men take in the company of their seniors, when these are pleased to enter, bond fide, into the spirit of their conviviali- ties. He has an infinite fund of dry. caustic, original humour ; and, in addition to this, he cannot fail to possess an endless store of anecdotes; so that it is no wonder his company should be so fascinating to the young jurisconsults. In him they are no doubt too happy to have an opportunity of seeing a noble living specimen of a very fine old school, which has now left little behind it but the tradition of its vir- tues, and its talents, and its pleasantries; — a school, the de- parture of many of whose peculiarities was perhaps rendered necessary in a great measure by the spirit of the age, but of which it may be suspected not a little has been allowed to expire, which might have been better worth preserving than much that has come in its place. It is not, I assure you, from W alone that I hear lamentations over the decay of this antique spirit. It is sighed over by many that witnessed Us manifestations ere they had yet come to be rare, and w$ 228 PETER ? S LETTERS, long be remembered with perhaps still greater affection by those who have seen the last of its relics in the person of this accomplished gentleman and excellent judge. There would be no end of it, were I to begin telling you anecdotes about Lord Hermand. I hear a new one every day ; for he alone furnishes half the materials of conversation to the young groupes of stove-school wits, of which I have already said a word or two in describing the Outer-House. There is one, however, which I must venture upon. When Guy Mannering came out, the Judge was so much delighted with the picture of the life of the old Scottish lawyers in that most charming novel, that be could talk of nothing else but Pleydell,Dandie, and the High Jinks, for many weeks. He usu- ally carried one volume of the book about with him, and one morning, on the bench, his love for it so completely got the better of him, that he lugged in the subject, head and shoul- ders, into the midst of a speech about some most dry point of law; nay, getting warmer every moment he spoke of it, he at last fairly plucked the volume from his pocket, and, in spite of all the remonstrances of all his brethren, insisted upon reading aloud the whole passage for their edification. He went through the task with his wonted vivacity, gave great effect to every speech, and most appropriate expression to every joke ; and when it was done, I suppose the Court would have no difficulty in confessing that they had very seldom been so well entertained. During the whole scene, Mr. W S was present, seated, indeed, in his official capacity, close under the Judge. Like almost all the old Scottish lawyers, Lord Hermand is no less keen in farming than in law, and in the enjoyment of good company. Formerly it was looked upon as quite in- consistent with the proper character of an Advocate, to say nothing of a Judge, to want some piece of land, the super- intendance of the cultivation of which might afford an agreea- ble, no less than profitable relaxation, from the toils of the profession. In those d*ys, it was understood that every law- yer spent the Saturday and Sunday of every week, in the milder part of the year, not in Edinburgh, but at his farm, or villa ; — and the way they went about this was sufficiently characteristic. In order that no time might he lost in town after the business of the Court on Saturday, the lawyers had established themselves in the privilege of going to the Par- liament-House, on that morning, in a style of dress, which peter's letters. must have afforded a most picturesque contrast to the strictly- legal costume of full-dress black suits, in which, at that time, they made their appearance there on the other mornings of the week. They retained their gowns and wigs, but every other part of their equipment was in the very extreme of op- position to the usual integuments worn in company with these — riding-coats of all the splendid hues, not then as now aban- doned to livery-servants, bright mazarine blue, pea-green, drummers' yellow, &c. &c, but always buckskin breeches, and top-boots and spurs. The steeds to be forthwith mount- ed by these embryo cavaliers, were meantime drawn up in regular lines or circles, under the direction of serving-men and cadies in the Parliament-Close ; and no sooner did the Judges leave the bench, than the whole squadron got rid of their incumbrances, and were off in a twinkling — some to their own estates — others to the estates of their friends — but every one to some place or other out of Edinburgh. Al- though all this parade has long since dropt into disuse and oblivion, the passion for farming has by no means deserted its hold of the Scotch lawyers. Among many others, as I have said, Lord Hermand keeps up the old spirit with infinite zeal. It is not now in the power of professional people to leave Edinburgh at the end of every week; but the moment any session of the Court is over, and a few weeks of inter- mission are put in his power, he quits the city on the instant, and buries himself among his woods, an J corn-fields, and cattle, till necessity compels him once more to exchange these for the " pulvis, strepitusque Romae." k,ven in the city, there is in bis dress and gait a great deal that marks bis Lordship's rural attachments and habits. His stockings are always of the true farmer's sort, with broad stripes alternately of black and white worsted — and his shoes are evidently intended for harder work than pacing the smooth granite of the streets of Edinburgh. I confess that my eye lingers with very singular delight, even upon these little traits in the appearance of one, that may well be considered, and therefore cannot fail to be honoured, as the last representative of so fine a class. P.M. '280 peter's letters* LETTER XL. TO THE SAME. I think you will allow me no inconsiderable share of cre- dit for the cordial manner in which I have lauded the excel- lencies of the Scottish Barristers, when I tell you, that those whom I have particularly described to you, are each and all of them Whigs — most of them fervent, nay, bigotted Whigs, or, as Dr. Par would say, #wy»7*7«« Nor will it diminish the merits of my liberality, when I inform you that the friend, under whose auspices ray inspection of Edinburgh has been chiefly conducted, so far from regarding these emi- nent men with the same impartial eye of which I have made use, has well nigh persuaded himself into a thorough con- viction that their talents and attainments are most extrava- gantly over-rated in common opinion ; and has, moreover, omitted no opportunity of detracting from them in private, when he may have heard me expatiate upon their praises. There are only two exceptions to this — Mr. Cranstoun and Mr. Jeffrey. The former he cannot help admiring and loving for the beautifully classical style of his eloquence, and, in- deed, of all his attainments ; but I think it forms no small in- gredient both in his love and admiration, that Mr. Cranstoun happens to be sprung from one of the greatest of the old Border families, and so, it may be supposed, to have been nourished in infancy, with the same milk of romantic and chivalrous tradition, of which he himself imbibed so largely then, and with the influences of which even now his whole character and conversation are saturated and overflowing ; for I have already said enough to satisfy you, that few men can quote the words of the poet with more propriety than Mr. W " The Boy is Father of the Man, And I could wish my days to be Linked each to each in natural piety." In regard to Jeffrey, his mode of thinking may perhaps appear something still more peculiar. In the first place, in- deed, the talents of this remarkable man are of such an order, that it is quite impossible a man of such talents as Mr. W — ■—- meter's letters. 23i should not admire them. The direction which has been given to these great talents, is a thing which W contemplates, and has long contemplated, " more in sorrow than in anger." While nobody can more abominate the scope and tendency of the Edinburgh Review, than he does, he is very far from being one of those who extend the feeling of aversion due to the work, from it to its principal conductor, or, indeed, who feel any difficulty in sympathizing with some part, at least, of those early feelings and circumstances, to which, in all pro- bability, the worst things in the conduct of this celebrated Journal may be traced. He understands too much of poor human nature, to be an inexorable judge of the failings of a man, whose general power of intellect, and general rectitude of feeling and principle, he cannot but acknowledge. At times, it is true, on some new piece of provocation, bis tem- per deserts him for a moment ; but he soon recovers his tran- quillity, and, in common, the tone wherein he speaks of Mr. Jeffrey, is assuredly more nearly akin to that of affectionate regret, than to that of impatiennt spleen, far less of settled aversion and dislike. In truth, Mr. W 's views of literature are of so large a kind, and be has so much accustomed himself to trace the connexion which subsists between the manifestations of mind in one age, and those in ages preceding and following, that it would be a very inconsistent thing, where he to concentrate any overwhelming portion of the wrath excited in his breast by any particular direction of intellectual forces, upon the head of any individual author whatever. Besides, were he inclined to heap the coals of bis vengeance upon any one head, on account of the turn which literary and political cri- ticism has taken in our days, most assuredly it would be on no living head that he would think of laying such a burden. He regards the Scotch philosophers of the present day, and among, or above the rest, Mr. Jeffrey and the Edinburgh Reviewers, as the legitimate progeny of the sceptical philo- sophers of the last age ; and although he is far from having any sympathy with the feelings which the whole style of that philosophy most eminently and powerfully tends to nourish, he cannot for a moment permit himself to lay at the door of any one individual, a larger share in the common blame, that in strict, and yet in comprehensive justice, he thinks that in- dividual ought to sustain. There is only one point of view io which Mr. W^— is accustomed to talk of Mr. Jeffrey, as 232 peter j s letters. having initiated a bad and destructive species of mental ex- ertion among his countrymen, or, at L least, as having so far assisted the natural tendency towards some such species, as to have merited, in no inconsiderable measure, the dispraise, both present and future, with which the initiator of any such species must of necessity lay his account. One of the greatest curses of a sceptical philosophy, is that by leaving no object upon which the disinterested affections may exercise themselves ; it is apt to cause the minds of man- kind to be too exclusively taken up about the paltry gratifi- cations of the personal feelings. When the true ornaments of our nature are forgotten, Pride and Vanity must become the arbiters of human life. All those periods of history, which are looked back upon as the most splendid, were times when men cared most about principles, and least about themselves ; but when there are no longer any earnest notions about what is to be loved or respected, even the public Themselves be- come infected wi(h the delirium of wishing to despise every thing, and literature is made to assume a tone of petulance, which corresponds with this absurd and paltry passion, ex- actly in the same proportion in which it does violence to all the nobler thoughts and more delightful feelings, for whose nourishment the divine field of literature was originally in tended by the great Author of our being. It is chiefly in having led the way in giving this direction to the criticism, and through that to the whole literature of our day, that Mr. W feels himself constrained to regard Mr. Jeffrey as hav- ing been the enemy of his country, and as meriting, in all succeeding; generations, the displea&ure of high minded and generous Englishmen. A man of genius, like Mr. Jeffrey, must, indeed, have found it an easy matter to succeed in giving this turn to the pub- He mind, among a people where all are readers, and so few are scholars, as is the case here in Scotland. Endowed by nature with a keen talent for sarcasm, nothing could be more easy for him than to fasten, with destructive effect of non- chalance, upon a work which had perhaps been composed with much earnestness of thought on the part of the author, and with a most sincere anxiety after abstract truth, either of reasoning or of feeling. The object of the critic, however, is by no means to assist those, who read his critical lucubra- tions, to enter with more facility, or with better preparation- peter's letters. 233 mto the thoughts, or feelings, or truths, which his author en- deavours to inculcate or illustrate. His object is merely to make the author look foolish ; and he prostitutes his own fine talents, to enable the common herd of his readers to suppose themselves looking down from the vantage-ground of supe- rior intellect, upon the poor, blundering, deluded poet or phi- losopher, who is the subject of review. It is a pitiable thing to contemplate the extent to which these evil fashions have been introduced among us, and I have no doubt that their introduction has been far more owing to the prostitution of the exquisite talents of Mr. Jeffrey, than to any one cause what- ever ; neither do I at all doubt, after what I have seen of Scot- land, that the power of the unholy spells has been far great- est and far most effectual in the immediate centre of their ring. It is probable, I think, that if Mr. Jeffrey were at last to throw aside his character of Reviewer, and come before the world in a volume filled with continuous thoughts, and con- tinuous feelings, originating in his own mind, he would find that the public he has so well trained, would be very apt to turn upon himself, and think themselves called upon to laugh, more aolito, even at Mr. Jeffrey himself, when deprived of the blue and yellow panoply under which they have for so many- years been wont to regard bis blows as irresistible, and him- self as invulnerable. The most vulgar blockhead who takes up and reads an article in the Edinburgh Review, imagines for the time that he himself is quizzing the man of genius, whose labours are there sported with. His opaque features are illuminated with triumph, and, holding the journal fast in his hand, he pursues his fantastic victory to the last extremities. Month after month, or quarter after quarter, this most airy species of gra- tification is renewed, till, by long habit, our blockhead at last becomes bona fide satisfied and convinced, that he is quite su- perior to any thing the age can produce. Now and then, to be sure, some passing event or circumstance may dart a momentary disturbance into the sanctuary of his self-compla- cency; but this will only make him long the more fervently for the next number of the Review, to convince him that he was all in the 1 right — to rekindle the fluttering lamp of his vanity, and make the sanctum sanctorum of his conceit as bright a thing as ever. In the mean time, to talk in the plain way the subject deserves, whatever share of understanding or ±$± PETERS LETTERS. feeling has been allowed him by nature, remains totally un- cultivated in the mind of this reader of Reviews, and the fa- culties of his mind are absolutely lost and sunk in one blind brute wish to see every thing levelled before his self-love. Ot all human passions, that of vulgar and envious insolence h the one which least requires to be pampered and stimulated. It has been the moving principle in all the most disgusting scenes recorded in history. Caligula could not bear to see a man of a handsome person, or with a fine head of hair, in the Circus, or in the streets; and generally ordered such per- sons to be taken away and disfigured. During the direst periods of the French Revolution, the self-love of the people had been gratified with the downfall of so many kinds of dis- tinction, that at last it grew to be a blind, infuriate, un- governable impulse, which could not remain quiet, while any individual yet retained qualities which raised him above the multitude. Every species of merit was sure to be brought to the block, or hoisted up to the lanterne, in this night ol frenzy. The mad and ferocious scepticism also, which then prevailed, was only the principle of envy in disguise. It was envy which sought to extinguish every distinction between truth and falsehood, Tor fear it should be proved that any one thing was more excellent than any other. All was to be reduced to one dead level of uncertainty, and it was illiberal to consider a Greenlander as a less elegant or civilized per- son than an European. Such is the enthusiasm of the prin- cipal of popular self-love, when stimulated by a long series of indulgences, and pushed to the last extremity of its sloth- ful and unwieldy luxuriousness. That any man of genius should ever thoughtlessly or wantonly minister to it in litera- ture, must be a source of the utmost sorrow and regret to every one who has a love, and a love of intelligence, for those qualities which most distinguish man from the brutes Such a love (in spite of all his many little prejudices and pe- culiarities,) glows no where with a more fervent flame thar. in the breast of Mr. VV ; and such are the sorrowful feelings with which he is accustomed to contemplate the mak sin which has disfigured and debased the splendid literary career of Mr. Jeffrey. • That such, however, must inevitably be the course and tendency of popular criticism among a nation which had be- come at once very fond of scepticism, and very weary of ^earning, might, I think, have been foreseen long ago ; I bv peter's letters. 235 -no -means think it might have been effectually guarded against. To despise all the most divine emanations, of which the human mind can be made the vehicle, was a necessary ap- pendage to that system which despises the records of Divine Wisdom itself, and which would erect, in their stead, a structure built upon no more stable foundations than those of the self-sufficing, self-satisfied sagacity of the speculative in- tellect of man. It is a very easy thing to deny, that the doc- trines of Religious Scepticism have been ever openly and broadly promulgated in the pages of the Edinburgh Review; but I think no candid person can entertain the slightest doubt, that the tendency of the whole work has beeH uniformly and essentially infidel. Unless it had been so, it must have been continually at variance with itself — it must have been but one string of discords from beginning to end. The whole tone of the jeering, sarcastic criticisms, with which it has been ac- customed to salute the works of the more meditative and Christian authors of the time, would be enough to reveal to ibs the true purpose it has in view, even although it had never contained a single word expressly and distinctly bearing upon the subject of Religion. The truth is, moreover, that, in the present state of the world, all Christians are well entitled to say, that " they that are not with us are against us ;" and the coldness and silence of the Edinburgh Reviewers would have been enough to satisfy any good Christian what their tenets are, even although they had never broken upon their generaS rule of coldness and silence by one single audacious whisper of mockery. The negative would have been enough without the positive side of the proof ; but, alas ! those who have eyes to see, and ears to hear, can have little difficulty in acknow- ledging, that the Edinburgh Reviewers have furnished their adversaries abundantly with both. The system of political opinions, inculcated in the Edin- burgh Review, is, in like manner, as I honestly think, ad- mirably fitted to go hand in hand with a system of scepti- cism ; but entirely irreconcilable with the notion of any fervent love and attachment for a religion, which is, above all other things, the religion of feeling. The politicians of this Review are men of great shrewdness and sagacity, and many of them are men of much honesty ; but it is impossible to suppose, for a moment, that they are men either of very high or of very beautiful feeling. The whole of their views. 236 peter's letters. in regard to the most important series of political convulsions which modern times have ever witnessed, are at variance with deep or refined feeling — they appeal uniformly and unhesi- tatingly to ideas, which stand exactly in the opposite extre- mity from those which men inspired with such feelings would have inculcated upon such occasions. To submit to Buona- parte, for example, and to refuse aid to the young patriotism of Spain — these were advices which could only have been se- riously pressed upon the consideration of such a nation as England, by men who had banished from their own minds a very great part of that reverence for feeling, (as abstracted from mere questions of immediate and obvious utility,) in the strength and nourishment of which the true old character of England, and of English politicians grew. In a word, it is sufficiently manifest, that whatever faults the system of these Keviewers may have had, or may still have, it has at least had the merit of being a system uniform and consistent in it- self. To destroy in men's minds the lingering vestiges of love for a religion which is hated by self-love, becaua? its mysteries baffle and confound the scrutiny of the self-compla- cent — to reduce the high feeling of patriotism to a principle of arithmetical calculation of utility — and to counteract, by a continued series of sarcastic and merry antidotes, the im- pression likely to be produced by works appealing to the graver and more mysterious feelings of the human heart — these are purposes which I would by no means say the leaders of this celebrated Journal ever contemplated calmly and leisurely, as the prime objects of their endeavours ; but they are purposes which have been all alike firmly, although some of them perhaps unconsciously, pursued by them ; and, in- deed, to speak the plain truth of the whole matter, no one of which could have been firmly or effectually pursued, with- out being pursued in conjunction with the others. " A house divided against itself cannot stand. " I am happy to say, however, that from all I have now seen and heard of the state of Scotland, this Review, in spite of the fierce popularity it for some years enjoyed, is by no means likely to effect any such lasting, and, of course, miser- able change in the feelings and character of the people of Scotland, as might have been at one time expected by the Reviewers themselves, or dreaded by those who held sacred a very different set of feelings and principles, in all points. peter's letters. 237 from those of which they have been the champions. In spite of the infidelity of the Edinburgh Review, (for I really feel no scruple in using the word broadly,) and, indeed, in spite of the sceptical tendency of the whole body of Scotch philo- sophy — the Scotch are still a religious people, and likely, I trust, very long to continue so. In spite of the mean views of general polity, illustrated and exemplified in the Edin- burgh Review, and the still more offensive levity with which things nearer home have sometimes been treated by it, there is still an immense majority of the people of Scotland, who see things with the eyes, I do not say of sincere (for of no one do I question the sincerity,) but of enlightened patriots — men who understand the value of national experience, and venerate those feelings of loyalty and attachment to the more formal and external parts of the English constitution, with the general decay of which, I have very little doubt, the whole fabric to which they are fixed, would be found to have lost many of its firmest props, as well as of its finest orna- ments. In regard to literature, I think the success of the Edin- burgh Review has been far more triumphant than in any other department of its exertions. Here it had to encounter fewer obstacles in the previous character and habits of the Scottish people ; for the influence of the Sceptical Philosophy, intro- duced by the great men of the last age, had very much re- moved all feelings of intense admiration for any works be- side their own, from among almost the only class of people who in Scotland are much interested about such subjects. The Scottish education, too, as you have already seen in part, is not such as to oppose any very formidable barrier of re- pugnant feelings against the encroachment of the spirit of de- grading mockery. Ignorant, in a great measure, of the mighty spirits of antiquity, the Scottish student wants in truth the most powerful of all those feelings, which teach and prepare other men to regard with an eye of humility, as well as of admira- tion, those who in their own time seem to revive the greatness of the departed, and vindicate once more the innate greatness of our nature. It is, indeed, no uncommon thing to meet with men, calling themselves classical scholars, who seem to think it a part of their character as such to undervalue, on all occasions, the exertions of contemporary genius. But these are only your empty race of solemn pretenders, who read par- ticular books only because few other people read them— and 23tf fETEITS LETTERS. who, unable themselves to produce any thing worthy of the attention of their own age, are glad to shelter their imbecility under the shadow of over-strained exclusive reverence for ages that have gone by. It is not necessary to suppose, that libe- ral and enlightened scholarship has any thing in common with these reverend Tom Folios. The just and genuine effect of intimate acquaintance with the great authors of antiquity, is to make men love and reverence the great authors of their own time — the intellectual kinsmen and heirs of those whom they have so been wont to worship. It is, indeed, a very deplorable thing to observe, in what an absurd state of ignorance the majority of educated peo- ple in Scotland have been persuaded to keep themselves, con- cerning much of the best and truest literature of their own age, as well as of the ages that have gone by. Among the Whigs in Edinburgh, above all, a stranger from the south is every day thunderstruck, by some new mark of total and inconceivable ignorance concerning men and things, which, to every man of education with whom he has conversed in any other town of Britain, are " familiar as household words." The degree to which the intellectual subjection of these peo- ple has been carried, is a thing of which I am quite sure you cannot possibly have the smallest suspicion. The Edinburgh Reviewers have not checked or impeded only the influence of particular authors among their countrymen ; they have en- tirely prevented them from ever coming beyond the Tweed. They have willed them to be unknown, absolutely and lite- rally unknown, and so are they at this moment. I do not on my conscience believe, that there is one Whig in Edinburgh to whom the name of my friend Charles Lamb would con- vey any distinct or definite idea. His John Woodville was ndiculed in the Edinburgh Review, and the effect of this paltry ridicule has been not only to prevent the Scotch from leading John Woodville, (a tragedy which, although every way worthy of Lamb's exquisite genius, wants very many of the popular charms in which some of his other pieces are Aoh to overflowing)— -but almost to prevent them from re- membering that such a person as Charles Lamb exists, at least to prevent them most effectually from ever having re- course for delight and instruction to volumes, wherein as much delight and instruction may be found, as in any of si- milar size, which an English library possesses. Even the commanding, majestic intellect of Wordsworth has not been PEfER ? S LETTERS. 239 able to overcome the effect of the petty warfare kept up against it by a set of wits, one of whom only might have been expected to enter with some portion of intelligence into the spirit of so great and original a poet. To find fault with particular parts of Mr. Wordsworth's poems, or with parti- cular points in the Psycological system upon which the whole structure of his poetry is built, this might have been very well either for the Reviewers, or the readers of the Review. But the actual truth of the case is something very different indeed from this. The reading public of Edinburgh do not criti- cise Mr. Wordsworth ; they think him below their criticism ; they know nothing about what he has done, or what he is likely to do. They- think him a mere old sequestered hermit, eaten up with vanity and affection, who publishes every now and then some absurd poem about a Washing-Tub, or a Leech-Gatherer, or a Little Grey Cloak. They do not know even the names of some of the finest poems our age has produced. They never heard of Ruth, or Micheal, or the Brothers, or Heart-Leap Well, or the Recollections of Infancy, or the Sonnets to Buonaparte. They do not know that there is such a thing as a description of a Church-yard in the Excursion. Alas! how severely is their ignorance punished in itself. But after all, Mr. Wordsworth can have no very great right to complain. The same people who de- spise, and are ignorant of him, despise also, and are igno rant of all the majestic poets the world has ever produced 5 with no exceptions beyond two or three great names, ac- quaintance with which has been forced upon them by circum- stances entirely out of their controul. The fate of Homer, of iEschylus, of Dante — nay, of Milton— is his. The spirit of this facetious and rejoicing ignorance has be- come so habitual to the Scotchmen of the present day, that even they who have thrown off all allegiance to the Edin- burgh Review, cannot divest themselves of its influence* There is no work which has done so much to weaken the authority of the Edinburgh Review in such matters as Black- wood's Magazine ; and yet I saw an article in that work the other day, in which it seemed to be made matter of congra- tulatory reflection, that " if Mr. Coleridge should make his appearance suddenly among any company of well educated people on this side the Tweed, be would meet with some lit- tle difficulty in making them comprehend who be was,' 240 peter's letters. What a fine idea for a Scottish critic to hug himself upon How great is the blessing of a contented disposition ! P. M LETTER XLI. TO THE SAME. The Whigs are still lords of public opinion in Edinburgh, to an extent of which, before visiting Scotland, I could scarcely have formed any adequate notion. The Tories have all the political power, and have long had it ; but from whatever cause, (and I profess myself incapable of assigning any rational one,) their power does not appear to have given them command of much sway over the general opinions, even of those that think with them regarding political mat- ters. I confess that I, born and bred a Tory, and accustom- ed, in my part of the country, to see the principles I reve- rence supported by at least an equal share of talent, was not a little mortified by certain indications of faint-heartedness and absurd diffidence of themselves among the Scottish Tories, which met my eye ere I had been long in Edin- burgh. I am inclined, upon the whole, to attribute a good deal of this to the influence of the Edinburgh Review. That work was set on foot, and conducted for some years, with an as- tonishing degree of spirit ; and although it never did any thing to entitle it to much respect, either from English Scho- lars, or English Patriots, or English Christians, I can easily see how such a work, written by Scotchmen, and filled with all the national prejudices of Scotchmen, should have exerted a wonderful authority over the intellect of the city in which it was published. Very many of its faults (I mean those of the less serious kind — such as its faults in regard to litera- ture and taste,) were all adapted for the meridian of Scot- land ; and for a time, certainly, the whole country was" inclin- ed to take a pride in its success. The prestige of the Edin- burgh Review has now most undoubtedly vanished even there ; but there still remains a shadow of it sufficient to invest its old conductors with a kind of authority over the minds of those, who once were disposed to consider them as infallible PETER J 8 LETTERS. 241 judges, de omnibus rebus et guibusdam aliis ; and then the high eminence of some of these gentlemen in their profession of the law, gives them another kind of hold upon the great body of persons following that profession which is every thing in Edinburgh ; because the influence of those who follow it is not neutralized to any considerable extent, by the presence of any great aristocracy, or of any great intellectual cultiva- tion out of themselves. The Scotch are a people of talkers ; and among such a people, it is wonderful how far the influence of any one person may be carried around and below him, by mere second — third — ami fourth-hand babbling, ail derived from one trivial source. I am not, however, of opinion, that this kind of work will go on much longer. Jeffrey has evi- dently got sick of the Review — and, indeed, when I look back to what he has done, and compare that with what he might have done, I think this is no wonder ; Brougham has enough to do in Parliament — that is to say, he gives himself enough to do ; and even there you well know what a charlatan kind of reputation he has — Horner is dead — Walter Scott has long since left them. The Review is now a very sensible plain sort of book ; in its best parts, certainly not rising above the British Review — and in its inferior parts, there is often a dis- play of calm drivelling, much beyond what the British Re- view itself would admit. And then there is no point — no wit — no joke — no spirit, nothing of the glee of young existence about it. It is a very dull book, more proper to read be- tween sleeping and waking, among old, sober, cautious tradesmen, than to give any spring to the fancy or reason of the young, the active and the intelligent. The secret will out ere long — viz. That the Edinburgh Reviewers have not been able to get any effectual recruits among the young people about them. There is no infusion of fresh blood into the veins of the Review. When one visits Edinburgh, where one cannot stir a step without stumbling over troops of confident, comfortable, glib, smart young Whigs, one is at a loss to un- derstand the meaning of this dearth. One would suppose that every ball-room and tavern overflowed with gay Edin- burgh Reviewers. One bears a perpetual buzz about Jef- frey, Brougham, the Review, &c. &c, and would never doubt, that prime articles were undergoing the process of concoction in every corner. But, alas ! the fact is, that the voung Edinburgh Whigs are a set of very stupid fellows, and. 31 Z%& feter's letters. the Review must wait long enough, if it is never to be re- suscitated but by them. They are really a very disagreeable set of pretenders — I mean those of them that do make any pretensions at all to literary character. They are very ill educated in general j they have no classical learning ; few of them can construe two lines of any Latin poet ; and as for Greek, they scarcely know which end of the book should be held to their noses. They have never studied any philosophy of any kind — unless attending a course of lectures on metaphysics, delivered by a man far too ingenious to be comprehended for above five sentences at a time, by persons of their acquirements and ca- pacity, can be called studying philosophy. They know some- times a little about chemistry and geology, to be sure ; but these are studies in which the proficiency of mere amateurs can never be any great matter. They know a very little of English history and politics — enough to enable them to spin out a few half-hours of blarney in their debating societies. But, upon the whole, it may safely be asserted, that all they know, worthy of being known, upon any subject of general literature, politics, or philosophy, is derived from the Edin- burgh Review itself; and as they cannot do the Review any great service by giving it back its own materials, I conceive that this work is just in the act of falling a sacrifice to habits of superficial acquirement, and contented ignorance, which it was short sighted enough to encourage, if not to create, in order to serve its own temporary purposes among the rising generation of Scotland. One would imagine, however, that these young Whigs might have begun, long ere this time, to suspect somewhat of their own situation. They must be quite aware, that they have never written a single page in the Edinburgh Review, or that, if they have done so, their pages were universally looked upon as the mere lumber of the book; contrasting, too, their own unproductive petulance, with the laborious and fruitful early years of those whom they worship, and in whose walk they would fain be supposed to be following — it is diffi- cult to understand how they happen to keep themselves so free from the qualms of conscious imbecility. Perhaps, after all, they are au fond less conceited than they appear to be ; but certainly, to judge from externals, there never was a more self-satisfied crew of young ignoramuses. After being let a little into their real character and attainments, I cannot say Peter's letters :24c* but that I derived a considerable degree of amusement, from the contemplaiion of their manners. As for their talk, it is such utter drivelling, the moment they leave their text-hooks, (the moment they give over quoting.) that I must own 1 found no great entertainment in it. It is a pity to see a fine coun- try, like Scotland, a country so rich in recollections of glo- rious antiquity, so rich in the monuments of genius, at this moment adorned with not a few full-grown living trees of immortal fruit — it is a pity to see such a country so devoid of promise for her future harvest. It is a pity to see her soil wasting on the nurture of this unproductive pestilential un- derwood, juices which, under better direction, might give breadth to the oak, and elevation to the pine. The respectable elder Whigs must, of a surety, feel verv sore upon this; for it is not to be supposed, that they can be quite so easily satisfied with these young grcgarii, as the young gregarii are with themselves. I understand, accord- ingly, that nothing gives them so much visible delight, as the appearance of any thing like a revival of talent among their troops. When a young Whig makes a tolerable speech at the bar, or writes a tolerable law-paper, or adventures to confess himself author of a tolerable paragraph in a party print — in short, when he manifests any symptom of possessing better parts than the confessedly dull fellows around him, there is much rejoicing in the high places, a most remaikable crowing and clapping of wings in honour of the rising lumin- ary. The young genius is fei\ and fattened for a season with puffs and praises; and, in consequence of that kind of do- minion, or prestige, to which I have already alluded, the very Tories begin to contemplate him with a little awe and re- verence, as a future formidable antagonist, with whom it may be as well to be upon some tolerable terms in private. Well — a year or two goes over his head, and the genius has not visibly improved in any thing except conceit. He is now an established young Whig genius. If any situa- tion becomes empty, which it would be convenient for him to fill, and if, notwithstanding of this, he is not promoted to it by those, whom, on every occasion, he makes the object of *m FETER'S LETTERS. his ignorant abuse — this neglect of him is talked of by hiin^ self and his friends, as if it were virtually a neglect of genius in the abstract; — with so much readiness do these good peo- ple enter into the spirit of a personification. A Dutch pain- ter could not typify ideal Beauty under a more clumsy and heavy shape, than they sometimes do Genius ; nor are the languishing, coy? and conscious airs of some Venus over a lust-house at Scbedam, a whit more exquisite in their way, than the fat indignant fatuity of some of those neglected ge- niuses of Scotland. So many of these geniuses, however, have now been puffed up, and pushed up to a little temporary reputation, and then sunk under their own weight into their own mud, that one should suppose the elevators must now be a litlle weary of exerting their mechanical powers in that way. Their situa- tion is, indeed, almost as discouraging as that of Sisyphus, doomed for ever to struggle in vain against the obstinate, or, as Homer calls it, the " impudent" stone's alacrity in sinking. 'Ai/?ng things. They have whole shelves loaded with wisd om and if you want wit, they have drawer-fulls of it at every corner. Go in grave or merry, sweet or sour, sentimental or sarcastic, there is no fear these cunning merchants ran pro- duce an article perfectly to your mind. It is impossible that this noble traffick should not communicate something of its essential nobility to those continually engaged in it. Can a man put his name on the title-page of Marmion, or Waver- ley, or Old Mortality, or Childe Harold, without gaining something from this distinction— I do not mean in his purse merely, but in his person? The supposition is absurd. Your bookseller, however ignorant he may be in many respects, always smells of the shop — and that which is a sarcasm, when said of any other man, is the highest of compliments when applied to him. In the way of bis trade, moreover, he must continually come into contact with customers and em- ployers, of a class quite superior to those who frequent any other shop in the street — yes, or ware-bouse or counting- house either. His talk is not with the ignorant brute multi- tude, but with the elite of the Genu." Humanum, the Prima Virorum, as Lucretius hath it — the wise and the witty ones of the earth. Instead of haggling over the counter with a smooth-faced Miss or Master, about some piece of foppish finery, or disputing with some rude, boisterous, coarse-mind- ed dealer about casks or tuns, or ship-loads of rum, sugar, or timber — the bibliopole retires into some sequestered little speok-a-word nook, and seats himself beside some serious and refined author, or more serious and more refined author- ess, to decide or pronounce upon the merits of some infant tragedy, epic poem, sermon, or romance — or he takes his stand in the centre of bis outer court, and publishes to the Gentiles, with a loud voice, the praises of some new pub- lication gone forth, or about to go forth, from his penetralia, to the illumination of the world. What an air of intelligence is breathed upon this man, from the surface of the universe in which he moves ! It is as impossible for a bookseller to be de- void of taste and knowledge — some flavour at least — as it is for a collier to have a white skin or a miller to want one. And then their claim to our respect is hereditary as well as personal. " Noble of a noble stem," they are represen- tatives of worthies long since dead and sepulchred, whose names and achievements are still fresh in all men's recollec- tion. What a world of associations are clustered about the 252 I'L1ER : S LEITfcKS. bare name of any one of the great bibliopoles of days long since departed ! Curll — whom Swift tormented — the auda- cious, hooked-nosed Edmund Curil ! old Jacob Tonson, with bis squint and his " two left legs" — and Lintot, with his orange-tawney waistcoat, and his grey ambling poney, who hinted to Mr. Pope how easy a thing it would be for him to turn one of Horace's Odes, as they were walking their horses up a little hill on the Windsor road. How green is the me- mory of these old " Fathers of the Row !" They will flourish a hundred years hence as brightly as they do now, and not less brightly, because perhaps another group or two of descendants may have " climbed the ascent of that myste- rious tower," and have left kindred names behind them to bourgeon with kindred blossoms ! But the interest one feels about the person of a bookseller, is not sustained by fantasies and associations alone. I should like to know where it is that a man picks up so much in- teresting information about most interesting subjects, in so very easy a way, as by lounging for ha!f-an-hour in a book- seller's shop. It is in a city what the barber's shop is in a village — the centre and focus of all information concerning the affairs of men — the arena for all disputation — the stage for all display. It is there that the sybil Fame sits scattering her oracular leaves to all the winds of heaven ; but I cannot add with the poet, " Umile in tanta gloria, Coverta gia dello protetico nembo. ,f The bookseller is the confidant of his customers — he is the first to hear the rumour of the morning, and he watches it through all the stages of its swelling, till it bursts in the evening. He knows Mr. 's opinion of Lord 's speech, sooner than any man in town. He has the best in- formation upon all the in futuros of (he world of letters ; he has already had one or two peeps of the first canto of a poem not yet advertised — he has a proof sheet of the next new novel in his pocket ; and if you will but promise to be discreet, you may " walk backwards," or walk up stairs for a moment, and he will show it you. Are these things of no value ? They may seem so to you among the green hills of Cardigan ; but they are very much the reverse to me among the dusty streets of London — or here in Edinburgh. I do love, from my soul, to catch even the droppings of the pre cious cup of knowledge. peter's letters. 253 To read books when they are upon every table, and to talk of them when nobody is silent about them, are rather vulgar accomplishments, and objects of vulgar ambition. I like to be beforehand with the world- — I like both to see sooner and to see farther than my neighbours. While others are con- tented to sit in the pit, and gape and listen in wonder upon whatever is shown or uttered, I cannot be satisfied unless I am permitted to go behind the scenes — to see the actors be- fore they walk upon the stage, and examine the machinery of the thunder before its springs are set in motion. In my next I shall introduce you to the bookseller's shops of Edinburgh. P. M. LETTER XLIIL to the same. Dear Williams, The importance of the Whigs in Edinburgh, and the Edinburgh Review, added to the great enterprize and exten- sive general business of Mr. Constable, have, as mighthave been expected, rendered the shop of this bookseller by far the most busy scene in the Bibiiopolic world of the North. It is situated in the High-Street, in the midst of the Old Town, where, indeed, the greater part of the Edinburgh Booksellers are still to be found lingering (as the majority of their London brethren also do) in the neighbourhood of the same old haunts to which long custom has attached their predilections. On entering, one sees a place by no means answering, either in point of dimensions, or in point of ornament, to the notion one might have been apt to form of the shop from whi< h so many mighty works are every day issuing — a low dusky chamber, inhabited by a few clerks, and lined with an assort- ment of unbound books and stationery — entirely devoid of all those luxurious attractions of sofas and sofa-tables, and books of prints, &c. Sec. which one meets with in the superb nursery of the Quarterly Review in Albemarle-Streer. The Bookseller himself is seldom to be seen in this part of his premises ; he prefers to sit in a chamber immediately above, where he can proceed in his own work without being disturbed by the incessant cackle of the young Whigs who lounge be- low; and where few casual visiters are admitted to enter his 254 FETER r S LETTERS. presence, except the more important members of the great Whig corporation — Reviewers either in esse, or, at least, sup- posed to be so in passe — contributors to the Supplement of the Encyclopaedia Britannica — and the more obscure editors and supporters of the innumerable and more obscure periodi- cal works, of which Mr. Constable is the publisher. The bookseller is himself a good-looking man, apparently about foriy — very fat in his person, but with a face with good lines, and a fine healthy complexion. He is one of the most jolly- looking members of the trade I ever saw ; and moreover, one of the most pleasing and courtly in his address. One thing that is remarkable about him, and indeed very distinguish- ingly so, is — his total want of that sort of critical jabber, of which most of his brethren are so profuse, and of which cus* torn has rendered me rather fond than otherwise. Mr. Con- stable is too much of a bookseller, to think it at all necessary that he should appear to be knowing in the merits of books. His business is to publish books, and to sell them ; he leaves the work of examining them before they are published, and criticising them afterwards, to others, who have more leisure on their hands than he has. One sees in a moment that he has reduced his business to a most strictly business-like regu- larity of system; and that of this the usual cant of book" shop disquisition forms no part — like a great wholesale mer- chant, who does not by any means think it necessary to be^ the taster of his own wines. I am of opinion, that this may, perhaps, be in the end the wisest course a great publisher can pursue. Here, at least, is one sufficiently striking instance of its success. If one be inclined, however, for an elegant shop, and abundance of gossip, it is only necessary to cross the street, and enter the shop of Messrs. Manners and Miller — the true lounging-place of the blue-stockings, and literary beau- raonde of the Northern metropolis. Nothing, indeed, can be more inviting than the external appearance of this shop, or more amusing, if one is in the proper lounging humour, than the scene of elegant trifling which is exhibited within. At the door you are received by one or other of the partners, probably the second mentioned, who has perhaps been hand- ing some fine lady to her carriage, or is engaged in conver- sation with some fine gentleman, about to leave the shop after his daily half-hour's visit. You are then conducted through a light and spacious anti-room, full of clerks and peter's letters. &55 apprentices, and adorned with a few busts and prints, into the back-shop, which is a perfect bijou. Its walls are covered with all the most elegant books in fashionable request, ar- rayed in the most luxurious clothing of Turkey and Russia leather, red, blue, and green — and protected by glass fold- ing doors, from the intrusion even of the little dust which might be supposed to threaten them, in a place kept so deli- cately trim. The grate exhibits either a fine blazing fire, or, in its place, a beautiful fresh bush of hawthorn, stuck all over with roses and lilies, as gay as a Maypole. The centre of the room is occupied by a table, covered with the Maga- zines and Reviews of the month, the papers of the day, the last books of Voyages and Travels, and innumerable books of scenery — those beautiful books which transport one's eye in a moment into the heart of Savoy or Italy — or that still more beautiful one, which presents us with exquisite repre- sentations of the old castles and romantic skies of Scotland, over whose forms and hues of native majesty, a new atmos- phere of magical interest has just been diffused by the poeti- cal pencil of Turner — Thomson — or Wiijiams. Upon the leaves of these books, or such as these, a groupe ol the most elegant young ladies and gentlemen of the place may proba- bly be seen feasting, or seeming to feast their eyes; while encomiums due to their beauties are mingled .up in the same whisper with compliments still more interesting to beauties, no doubt, still more divine. In one corner, perhaps, some haughty blue-stocking, with a volume of Campbell's Speci- mens, or Dr. Clarke's Scandinavia, or the last number of the Edinburgh Review, or Blackwood's Magazine in her hand, may be observed launching ever and anon a look of inetFable disdain upon the less intellectual occupation of her neighbours, and then returning with a new knitting of her brows to her own paullo majora. In the midst of all this, the Bookseller himself moves about doing the honours of the place, with the same unwearied gallantry and politeness — now mingling his smiles with those of the triflers, and now- listening with earnest civility to the dissertation, commen- datory or reprobatory, of the more philosophic fair. One sees, in a moment, that this is not a great publishing shop ; such weighty and laborious business would put to flight all the loves and graces that hover in the perfumed atmosphere of the place. A novel, or a volume of pathetic sermons, or pretty poems, might be tolerated, but that is the utmost. Tv 256 PETER 5 S LETTERS. select tbe most delicate viands from the great feast of the Cadells, Murrays, Baldwins, Constables, and Blackwood*, and arrange and dispose them so as to excite the delieate ap- petite of the fine fastidious ^ew — such is the object and such the art of the great Hatchard of Edinburgh. This shop seems to have a prodigious flow of retail business, and is, no doubt, riot less lucrative to the bookseller than delightful to his guests. Mr. Miller is the successor of Provost Creech, in something of his wit, and many of his stories, and in all his love of good cheer and good humour, and may certainly be looked upon as the favourite bibliopole of almost all but the writers of books. He ought, however, to look to his dignity, for I can perceive that he is likely to have ere iong a dangerous rival in a more juvenile bookseller, whose shop is almost close to his own — Mr. Peter Hill. This young gen- tleman inhabits at present a long and dreary shop, where it is impossible to imagine any groupe of fine ladies or gentlemen could assemble, selon les regies ; but he talks of removing to the New Town, and hints, not obscurely, that Mr. Miller may soon see all the elegancies of his boudoir thrown into shade by an equally elegant salon. Mr. Hill and you, my good fellow, would hit it to a hair ; for, while his forenoons are past in the most sedulous atten- tion to the business of a flourishing concern, his genteel and agreeable manners have made him a universal favourite with every body, so that one frequently meets with him at evening parties, when " it is good to be merry and wise ;" and I de- clare to you, that you never heard a sweeter pipe. Our friend Tom Moore himself is no whit his superior. As for shops of old books, classics, black-letter, foreign literature, and the like, I was never in any great town which possesses so few of them as this. It might indeed be guessed, that her riches in this way would not be greal, after the ac- count I have given you of the state of scholarship among the liter ateurs of the North. There is, however, one shop of this sort, which might cut a very respectable figure, even in places where attainments of another kind are more in request ; and I confess I have visiled (his shop more frequently, and with more pleasure, than any of its more fashionable neighbours in Edinburgh. It is situated, as it ought to be, in the imme- diate vicinity of the College, and consequently quite out of the way of all the fashionable promenades and lounges ; buf^ PETER^S LETTERS. 257 r-ndeed, for any thing I have seen, it is not much frequented even by the young gentlemen of the University. The daily visiters of Mr. Laing, (for thai is the name of its proprietor,) seem rattier to be a few scattered individuals of various classes and professions, among whom, in spite of the prevailing spirit and customs of the place, some love of classical learn- ing is still found to linger — retired clergymen, and the like, who make no great noise in the world, and, indeed, are scarcely known to exist by ihe most part even of the literary people of Edinburgh. The shop, notwithstanding, is a re- markably neat and comfortable one, and even a lady might lounge in it, without having her eye offended, or her gown soiled. It consists of two apartments, which are both com- pletely furnished with valuable editions of old authors, and I assure you, the antique vellum bindings, or oak boards of these ponderous folios, are a very refreshing sight to me, after visiting the gaudy and brilliant stores of such a shop as that I have just described. Mr. Laing is a quiet, sedate looking old gentleman, who, although he has contrived to make himself very rich in his business, has stiil the air of being* somewhat dissatisfied, that so much more attention should be paid by his fellow-citizens to the flimsy novelties of the day, than to the solid and substantial articles which his magazine displays. But his son is the chief enthusiast — indeed, he is by far the most genuine specimen of the true old-fashioned bibliopole that I ever saw exhibited in the person of a young man. My friend W has a prodigious liking for him, which originated, I believe, in their once meeting casually in Rotterdam, and travelling together over most part of Hol- land in the Treckschuyt — and, indeed, this circumstance has been expressly alluded to by W in one of his poems. Here W commonly spends one or two hours every week he is in Edinburgh, turning over, in company with his young friend, all the Alduses, and Elzevirs, and VVynkin de Wordes, and Caxtons in the collection, nor does he often leave the shop, without being tempted to take some little specimen of its treasures home with him. I also, although my days of bibliomania are long since over, have been occasionally in- duced to transgress my self-denying rule. I have picked up various curious things at a pretty cheap rate — and on^ book in particular, of which I shall beg your acceptance when we meet ; but at present I won't tell you what it is. David Laing; 33 258 1»ETER ? S LETTERS. is still a very young man j but W tells me, (and so far as I have had occasion to see, he is quite correct in doing so,) that he possesses a truly wonderful degree of skill and know- ledge in almost all departments of bibliography. Since Lunn's death, he says, he does not think there is any of the booksellers in London superior to him in this ^\ay, and he often advises h : -m to transfer the shop and all its treasures thither. But 1 suppose Mr. Laing has very good reasons not to be in a hurry in adopting any such advice. He pub- lishes a catalogue almost every year, and thus carries on a very extensive trade with all parts of the island. Besides, miserable as is the general condition of old learning in Scot- land, there is still, I suppose, abundant occasion for one bookseller of this kind ; and, I believe, he has no rival in the whole country. For my part, if 1 lived in Edinburgh,, I uould go to his shop every now and then, were it only to be put so much in mind of the happy hours we used to spend together long ago at Mr. Parker's. This old gentleman and his son are distinguished by their classical taste, in regard to other things beside books — and among the rest, in regard to wines — a subject touching which it is fully more easy for them to excite the sympathy of the knowing ones of Edinburgh. They give an annual dinner to W , and he carried me with him the other day to one of these anniversaries. I have seldom seen a more luxurious display. We had claret of the most exquisite La-Fitte flavour, which foamed in the glass like the cream of straw-berries, and went down as cool as the nectar of Olympus. David and W entertained us with an infinite variety of stories about George Buchanan, the Admirable Cricbtonius, and all the more forgotten heroes of the Deliciae Poetarum Scotorum. What precise share of the pleasure might be due to the claret, and what to their stories, 1 shall not venture to inquire ; but I have rarely spent an evening more pleasantly. P. M. P. S. They are also very curious in sherry. peter's letters. 2q$ LETTER XL1V. to the same. Dear David, The only great lounging book-shop in the New Town of Edinburgh is Mr. Black .vood's. The prejudice in favour of sticking by the Old Town was so strong among the gentle- men of the trade, that when this bookseller intimated a lew years ago bis purpose of removing to the New, his ruin was immediately prophesied by not a few of his sagacious brethren. He persisted, however, in his intentions, and speedily took possession of a large and airy suite of rooms in Prince's Street, which had formerly been occupied by a notable con- fectioner, and whose thresh hold was therefore familiar enough to all the frequenters of that superb promenade. There it was ihat this enterprising bibliopole hoisted his standard, and prepared at once for anion. Stimulated, I suppose, by the example and success of John Murray, whose agent he is, he determined to make, if possible, Prince's Street to the High- Street, what the other has made Albemarle Street to the Row. This shop is situated very near my hotel ; so Mr. W carried me into it almost immediately after ray arrival in Edinburgh; indeed, I asked him to do so, for the noise made even in London about the Cbaldee MS., and some other things in the Magazine, had given me some curiosity to see the intrepid publisher of these things, and the probable scene of their concoction. W has contributed a variety of poems, chiefly ludicrous, to the pages of the New Miscellany ; so that he is of course a mighty favourite with the proprietor, and I could not have made my introduction under better aus- pices than his. The length of vista presented to one on entering the shop, has a very imposing effect ; for it is carried back, room after room, through various gradations of light and shadow, till the eye cannot trace distinctly the outline of any object in the furthest distance. First, there is as usual a spacious place set apart for retail business, and a numerous detachment of young clerks and apprentices to whose management that im- portant department of the concern is intrusted. Then you have an elegant oval saloon, lighted from the roof, where various groupes of loungers and literary dilettanti are en* 260 peter's letters. gaged in looking at, or criticising among themselves, the publications just arrived by that day's coach from town. In such critical colloquies, the voice of the bookseller him- self may ever and anon be heard mingling the broad and unadulterated notes of its Auld Reekie music ; for, unless occupied in the recesses of the premises with some other busi- ness, it is here that he has his usual station. He is a nimble active looking man of middle age, and moves about from one corner to another with great alacrity, and apparently under the influence of high animal spirits. His complexion is very sanguineous, but nothing can be more intelligent, keen, and sagacious, than the expression of the whole phy- siognomy ; above all, the grey eyes and eye-brows as full of loco-motion as those of Catalani. The remarks he makes, are, in general, extremely acute — much more so, indeed, than those of any members of the trade I ever heard speak upon such topics. The shrewdness and decision of the man can, however, stand in need of no testimony beyond what his own conduct has afforded — above all, in the establish- ment of his Magazine, (the coriception of which, I am as- sured, was entirely his own,) and the subsequent energy with which he has supported it through every variety of good and evil fortune. It would be very unfair to lay upon his shoul- ders any portion of the blame which particular parts of his book may have deserved ; but it is impossible to deny that he is well entitled to a large share in whatever merit may be sup- posed to be due to the erection of a work, founded, in the main, upon good principles both political and religious, in a city where a work upon such principles must have been more wanted, and, at the same time, more difficult, than in any other with which I am acquainted. After I had been introduced in due form, and we had stood for about a couple of minutes in this place, the bookseller drew Mr. W aside, and a whispering conversation commenced between them, in the course of which, although I had no in- tention of being a listener, I could not avoid noticing that my own name was frequently mentioned. On the conclusion of it, Mr. Blackwood approached me with a look of tenfold kindness, and requested me to walk with him into the interior of his premises — all of which, he was pleased to add, he was desirous of showing to me. I of course agreed, and followed him through various turnings and windings into a very small closet, furnished with nothing but a pair of chairs and a LETTERS. 261 writing-table. We had no sooner arrived in this place, which, by the way, had certainly something very mysterious in its aspect, than Mr. Blackwood began at once with these words : — " Well, Dr. Morris, have you seen our last Number ? Is it not perfectly glorious 1 — My stars ! Doctor ! there is nothing equal to it. We are beating the Reviews all to nothing — and, as to the other Magazines, they are such utter trash" To this 1 replied shortly, that I had seen and been very much amused with the last number of his Magazine — intimating, however, by tone of voice, as well as of louk, that I was by no means prepared to carry my admiration quite to the height he seemed to think reasonable and due. He observed nothing of this, however; or if he did, did not choose I should see that it was so — " Dr. Morris !" said he, "you must really be a con- tributor — We've a set of wild fellows about; we are much in want of a few sensible intelligent wi iters, like you, sir, to counterbalance them — and then what a fine field you would have in Wales — quite untouched — a perfect Potosi. But any thing you like, sir — only do contribute. It is a shame for any man that dislikes whiggery and infidelity not to assist us. Do give us an article, Doctor. " Such an appeal was not easily to be resisted : so, before coming away, I promised, bona fide, to comply with his re- qfteSt. I should be happy to do so, indeed, were it only to please my friend W 7 , who, although by no means a bigot- fed admirer of Mr. Blackwood's Magazine, is resolved to sup- port it as far as he conveniently can, — merely and simply, be- cause it opposes, on all occasions, what he calls the vile spi- rit of the Edinburgh Review. Besides, from every thing I have since seen or heard of Mr. Blackwood, I cannot but feel a most friendly disposition toward him. He has borne, without shrinking, much shameful abuse, heaped upon him by the lower members of the political party whose great organ his Magazine has so boldly, and, in general, so justly, attacked. But the public seem to be a good deal disgusted with the treatment he has received — a pretty strong re-action has been created — so that, while one hears bis name occasionally pro- iiounced contemptuously by some pahry Whig, the better class of the Whigs themselves mention him in very different terms, and the general conviction throughout this literary city is, that he is a clever, zealous, honest man, who has been made to answer occasionally for faults not his own, and that ^62 peter's letters. he possesses the essential qualities both of a bookseller and a publisher, in a degree, perhaps, not at all inferior to the most formidable of his rivals. Over and above all this, I must say, that I am fond of using my pen— witness my unconscionable epistles, David, past, present, and to come — and have long been seeking for an opportunity to try my hand in some of the periodical journals. In the present day, I look upon pe- riodical writing as by far the most agreeable species of author- ship. When a man sits down to write a history or a disserta- tion — to fill an octavo or quarto with Politics, Morals, Meta- physics, Theology, Physics, Physic, or Belles-Lettres, he writes only for a particular class of readers, and his book is bought only by a few of that particular class. But the hap- py man who is permitted to fill a sheet, or a half-sheet, of a monthly or quarterly journal with his lucubrations, is sure of coming into the hands of a vast number of persons more than he has any strict or even feasible claim upon, either from the subject-matter or execution of his work. The sharp and comical criticisms of one man are purchased by people who abhor the very name of it, because they are stitched under the same cover with ponderous masses of political economy, or foggy divinity, or statistics, or law, or algebra, more fitted for their plain or would be plain understandings; while, on the other hand, young ladies and gentlemen, who conceive the whole sum and substance of human accomplishment to consist in being able to gabble a little about new novels and poems, are compelled to become the proprietors of so many quires of lumber per quarter, in order that they may not be left in ignorance of the last merry things uttered by Mr. Jeffrey, or Mr. Southey, or Mr. GifFord, or Sir James Macin- tosh. It is thus — for that also should be taken into conside- ration — that these works pay so much better than any others ; or rather that, with the exception of a few very popular po- ems, or novels, or sermons, (which are sold off in a week or two,) they are the only works that pay at all. One might suppose, that as all the best authors of our day are extremely willing to pocket as much as they can by their productions, the periodical works all the world over, would be filled with the very best materials that living writers could furnish ; and in our country, there is no question a near approach to this has been made in the case of 'he two great Reviews, which, after all that has been said against them, must still be admit- I*ETER 9 S LETTER^. 363 ted to be, in the main, the most amusing and instructive works our time produces. But even these might be vastly improved, were it not for the vanity or ambition — (according to Gall and Spurzheyn, the two principles are quite the same,) — of some of our chief writers, who cannot, in spite of all their love for lucre, entirely devest themselves of the old-fashioned ideas they im- bibed in their youth, about the propriety and dignity of com- ing out, every now and then, with large tomes produced by one brain, and bearing one name on the title-page. In time, however, there is reason to hope people may become sensible of the absurdity of such ante-diluvian notions, and consent, for their own sakes, to keep all their best things for the periodicals. Indeed, 1 see no reason to doubt that this will be the case long before the National Bankruptcy occurs. I, for my part, have such a horror at the idea of writing a whole book, and putting my christian and surname at the beginning of it, that I am quite sure I should never be an author while I live, were these necessary conditions to the dignity. I could not endure to hear it whispered when I might come into a room — " Or. Morris— who is Dr. Morris ?" — " O, 'tis the same Dr. Morris that wrote the book on so and so — that was cut up so and so" — or even " that was prai- sed so and so, in such and such a Review." — I want nerves for this. I rejoice in the privilege of writing and printing incognito — 'tis the finest discovery of our age, for it was never practised to any extent in any age preceding. There is no question that the other way of doing must have its own agremensy when one happens to practise it with great success — but even so, I think the mask is better on the whole, and I think it looks as if the whole world were likely to be ere long of my opinion. I don't suppose the author of Waverley will ever think of confessing himself — were I in his place, I am sure I never should. What fine persuasive words are those which Venus makes use of in the ^neid, when she proposes to the Trojan hero to wrap his approach to the city with a copious garniture of cloud — multo nebulae, amictu. " Cernere ne quis te, neu quis contingere posset, Molirive moram, aut veniendi poscere causas." There could be no resisting of such arguments, even without the additional persuasiveness of a " rosea cervix" and " am- foosim coma} 'Jivinum vertice odorem spirantes." 264 peter's letters. Mr. W came into the sanctum sanctorum before tiie bookseller and his new author had quite made an end of their confabulation. He forthwith asked Mr Blackwood for his geifi : , upon which a silver snuff- box was produced, and I im- mediately recollected the inimitable description in the Chal- dee MS., which had given rise to the expression used by my friend. N >thing I think can be more exquisite. — " And he took from under his girdle a gem of curious workmanship, of silver, made by the hand of a cunning artificer, and over- laid within with pure gold ; and he took from thence some- thing in colour like unto the dint of the earth, or the ashes that remain of a furnace, and he snuffed it up like the east wind, and returned the gem again to its place." But I must reserve the famous Chaldee MS , and the character of this far- famed Magazine, for another letter. On coming away, W reminded me that I had said I would dine with him at any tavern he pleased, and proposed that we should honour with our company a house in the im- mediate neighbourhood of Mr. Blackwood's shop, and fre- quently alluded to in his Magazine, as the great haunt of its wits. Indeed, it is one of the localities taken notice of by the achaic jeu-d'esprit I have just quoted, — "as thou lookest to the road of Gabriel and the land of Ambrose" which last proper name is that of the keeper of this tavern. W had often supped, but never dined, here before, so that it was somewhat of an experiment; but our reception was such as to make us by no means repent of it. We had an excellent dinner, and port so superb, that my friend called it quite a discovery. I took particular notice of the salmon, which mine host assured us came from the Tay, but which I could scarcely have believed to be the real product of that river, unless W had confirmed the statement, and added, by way of explanation, that the Tay salmon one sees in London lo-es at least half its flavour in consequence of its being transported thither in ice. Here, it is certainly the finest salmon one meets with. The fish from the Tweed are quite poor in comparison. The fact is. I suppose, that be- fore any river can nourish salmon into their full perfection, it must flow through a long tract of rich country. The finest salmon in the whole world are those of the Thames and the Severn — those of the Rhine and the Loire come next; but, in spite of more exquisite cookery, their inferiority is still quite apparent. We made ourselves very happy in this Jeter's letters. 265 snug little tavern till nine o'clock, when we adjourned to Oman's, and concluded the evening with a little Al Echatn, and a cup of coffee. The street, or lane, in which Ambrose's tavern is situated, derives its name of Gabriel's Road, from a horrible murder which was committed there a great number of years ago. Any occurrence of that sort seems to make a prodigious lasting impression on the minds of the Scottish people. You remember Muschafs Cairn in the Heart of Mid-Lothian — I think GabrieVs Road is a more shocking name. Cairn is too fine a word to be coupled with the idea of a vulgar murder. But they both sound horribly enough. The story of Gabriel, however, is one that ought to be remembered, for it is one of the most striking illustrations, I have ever met with, of the effects of puritanical superstition in destroying the moral feelings, when carried to the extreme, in former days not uncommon in Scotland. Gabriel was a Preacher or Licentiate of the Kirk, employed as domestic tutor in a gentleman's family in Edinburgh, where be had for pupils two fine boys of eight or ten years of age. The tutor enter- tained, it seems, some partiality for the Abigail of the chil- dren's mother, and it so happened, that one of his pupils ob- served him kiss the girl one day in passing through an ante- room, where she was sitting. The little fellow carried this interesting piece of intelligence to his brother, and both of them mentioned it by way of a good joke to their mother the same evening. Whether the lady had dropped some hint of what she had heard to her maid, or whether she had done so to the Preacher himself, I have not learned ; but so it was, that he found he had been discovert d, and by what means also. The idea of having been detected in such a trivial trespass, was enough to poison for ever the spirit of this ju- venile presbyterian — his whole soul became filled with the blackest demons of rage, and be resolved to sacrifice to his indignation the instruments of what he conceived to be so deadly a disgrace. It was Sunday, and after going to church as usual with his pupils, he led them out to walk in the country — for the ground on which the New Town of Edinburgh now stands was then considered as the country by the people of Edinburgh. After passing calmly, to all appearance, through several of the green fields, which have now become streets and squares, he came to a place more lonelv than the rest, and there drawing a large clasp- 34 266 F£TER ? S LETTERS. knife from his pocket, he at once slabbed the elder of his pu- pils to the heart. The younger boy gazed on him for a mo- ment, and then Ced with shrieks of terror; but the murderer pursued him with the bloody knife in his hand, and slew him also as soon as he was overtaken. The whole of this shocking scene was observed distinctly from the Old Town, by innumerable crowds of people, who were near enough to see every motion of the murderer, and hear the cries of the infants, although the deep ravine between them and the place of blood, was far more than sufficient to prevent any possibility of rescue. The tutor sat down upon the spot, im- mediately after having concluded his butchery, as if in a stu- por of despair and madness, and was only roused to his re- collection by the touch of the hands that seized him. It so happened, that the Magistrates of the city were as- sembled together in their Council-Room, waiting till it should be time for them to walk to church in procession, (as is heir custom,) when the crowd drew near with their captive. The horror of the multitude was communicated to them, along with their intelligence, and they ordered the wretch to be brought at once into their presence. It is an old law in Scotland, that when a murderer is caught in the very act of guilt, (or, as they call it, red-hand) he may be immediately executed, without any formality or delay. Never surely could a more fitting occasion be found for carrying this old law into effect. Gabriel was banged within an hour after the deed was done, the red knife being suspended from his neck, and the blood of the innocents scarcely dry upon his fingers. Such is the terrible story from which the name of Gabriel's Roal is derived. I fear the spirit from which these horrors sprung, is not yet entirely extinct in Scotland ; but on this I shall have a better opportunity to make a iew remarks, when I come to speak at length of the present religious con- dition of the nation — the most important of all objects to every liberal traveller in every country — but to none so im- portant as to the traveller who visits Scotland, and studies the people of Scotland, as they deserve to be studied. Ever vour affectionate friend, P. M. -1 I **- PETERS LETTERS. ZO/ LETTER XLV. TO THE SAME. My dear David Williams, I take no offence whatever with any thing you have said, nor do I think it at all likely that I shall ever take any seri- ous offence from anything you can say. The truth is, that you are looking upon all these matters in far too serious a point of view. I care nothing about this book, of which you have taken up so evil a report; but I insist upon it, that you spend one or two evenings in looking over the copy I send you, before you give me any more of your solemn advices and ex- postulations. When I have given you time to do this, I shall write to you at greater length, and tell you my own mind all about the matter. Ever yours, P.M. LETTER XLVI. TO THE SAME. I presume you have now done as I requested ; and if so, I have no doubt you are prepared to listen to what I have to say with a more philosophic temper. The prejudices you had taken up without seeing the book, have, 1 make no ques- tion, made unto themselves wings and passed away — at least the most serious of them, — and you are probably quite a? capable of taking a calm and impartial view of the affair as I myself am ; for as to my allowing any partiality for W seriously to warp my judgment concerning a literary Joui- nal, in which he sometimes writes — this is, I assure you, a most absurd suspicion of yours — but, transeat cum aliis. The history of Blackwood's Magazine is very singular in itself, and i think must long continue to form an important epoch in the literary history of Scotland — above all, of Edin- burgh. The time of its first appearance was happily chosen, just when the decline of that intense and overmastering inter- est, formerly attracted to the Edinburgh Review, had fairly begun to be not only felt, but acknowledged on every hand ; and had it not appeared at that particular time, it is proba- ble that something, not widely different in spirit and purpose, ~68 i»ETER ? S LETTERS, must Lave ere long come forth; for there had already been formed in Scotland a considerable body of rebels to the long undisputed tyrannical sway of Mr. Jeffrey and his friends; and it was necessary that the sentiments of this class should iind some vehicle of convenient expression, In short, the diet of levity and sarcastic indifference, which had so long formed the stable nourishment of Scottish intellect, had by repetition lost, to not a few palates, the charming poignancy of its original flavour; and besides, the total failure of all the political prophecies of the Whig wits, and, indeed, the tri- umphant practical refutation given by the great events of the preceding years to all their enunciations of political princi- ples, had, without doubt, tended very powerfully to throw discredit upon their own opinions in regard to other matters. The Whigs themselves, indeed* were by no means inclined to acknowledge that the sceptre of their rulers had lost any por- tion of its power; but the continuance of their own firm alle- giance was by no means sufficient to prevent this from being actually the case; for, in preceding times, the authority of the critical sceptre had been acknowledged by Scottish Tories, no less humbly than by Scottish Whigs ; and it was too natural for these last to suspect, at this alarming crisis, that the former would now think themselves in possession of a favourable opportunity for throwing off a sway, which had always with them rested much more on the potency of fear than on that of love. The subjection of the antecedent period had, indeed, been as melancholy and profound, as any thing ever exemplified within the leaden circle of an eastern despot's domination. There was, for a long time, no more thought among the Scottish reading public of questioning the divine right, by which Mr. Jeffrey and his associates ruled over the whole realms of criticism, than there is in China of pulling down the cousin-german of the Moon, and all his bowing court of Mandarins. In many respects, there is no doubt the Scotch had been infinitely indebted to this government— it had done much to refine and polish their ideas and manners — it had given them an air of intelligence and breeding, to which they had been strangers before its erection among them. But these advantages were not of so deep a nature, as to fix them- selves with any very lasting sway in the souls of the wiser and better part of the people. They were counterbalanced peter's letters. 269 m the eyes of the simple and less meditative classes, by many circumstances of obvions character and obvious importance too, (after these had once been able to fix attention;)— and those who were accustomed or able to reflect in a more seri- ous and profound manner upon the condition of their country, could not, I suppose, be blind to another circumstance equal- ly true, and far more generally and enduringly important than any other— namely, that the influence acquired by the Edinburgh Reviewers over the associations of the great ma- jority of Scottish minds, was not an influence accompanied with any views of philosophy calculated to ennoble human nature, or with any genial or productive spirit of thought likely to draw out the genius and intellect of the country in which their Review was published. I The national mind of any country is not likely to be elicit- ed advantageously, if the reins of public association are man- aged with all the petulance of eager self-love, caring little for the investigation of any principle, or the expansion of any feeling, provided it can'in the mean time assume to itself the appearance of superior smartness and cleverness. Love, which " hopeth all things and believeth all things,'' is the true inventive principle. It is the true caloric, which calls out every sort of vegetation from the soil, which contains in its bosom the sleeping germs of national genius. Now, the Edin- burgh Review cared very little for what might be done, or might be hoped to be done, provided it could exercise a des- potic authority in deciding on the merits of what was done. Nobody could ever regard this work as a great fostenng- mother of the infant manifestations of intellectual and ima- ginative power. It was always sufficiently plain, that in all things its chief object was to support the credit of its own ap- pearance. It praised only where praise was extorted — and it never praised even the highest efforts of contemporary genius, in the spirit of true and genuine earnestness, which might have been becoming :— Even in the temple of their adoration, the Reviewers still carried with them the swell and strut of their own worldly vanity ; and, in the midst of their most fer- vent devotions, it was always easy to see that they conceived themselves to be conferring honour on the object of their worship. They never spoke out of the fullness of the heart, in praising any one of our great living poets, the majesty of whose genius would have been quite enough to take away all ideas. 270 peter's letters except those of prostrate respect, from the breasts of critics to whom any portion of the true mantle of an Aristotle, or a Lon- ginus, or a Quinctilian, might have descended. Looking back now after the lapse of several years, to their acccounts of many of those poems, (such as Mr. Scott's, for example,) which have now become so deeply interwoven with the most serious part of every man's mind, it is quite wonderful to find in what a light and trivial vein the first notices of them had been pre- sented to the public by the Edinburgh Reviewers. Till very lately, it may be doubted if there was any one critique on a contemporary poet, in the pages of the Edinburgh Review, which did not more or less partake of the nature of a quiz. Su ely this was very poor work, and such was the view of it which a very large proportion, even of the Scottish public, had at last begun to entertain. These faults — faults thus at last beginning to be seen by a considerable number of the old readers and admirers of the Edinburgh Review — seem to have been at the bottom of the aversion which the writers who established Blackwood's Ma- gazine had against it ; but their quarrel also included a very just disapprobation of the unpatriotic mode of considering' the political events of the times adopted all along by the Re- view, and also of its occasional irreligious mockeries, bor- rowed from the French philosophy, or soUdisante philosophy of the last age. Their great object seems to have been to break up the monopoly of influence which had long been possessed by a set of persons, guilty of perverting, in so many ways, talents on all hands acknowledged to be great. And had they gone about the execution of their design with a» much wisdom and good feeling as would seem to have at- tended the conception of it, I have little doubt they would very soon have procured a mighty host of readers to go along with them in all their conclusions. But the persons who are supposed to have taken the lead in directing the new forces, wanted many of those qualities which were most necessary to ensure success to their endeavours ; and they possessed others, which, although in themselves admirably qualified for enabling them to conduct their projects success- fully, tended, in the manner in which they made use of them, to throw many unnecessary obstacles in their way. In short, they were very young, or very inexperienced men, who, al- though passionately fond of literature, and even well skilled peter's letters. -271 in many of its finest branches, were by no means accurately acquainted with the structure and practice of literature, as it exists at this day in Britain. They saw well enough in what respects (he literature of the day had been allowed Jo fall into a condition unworthy of the old spirit of English literature, but they do not seem to have seen with equal perspicacity, in how many points the literary practice of our time has been improved, beyond that of the ages preceding. With theif minds full of love and veneration for the great serious authors of all nations and ages, and especially so for all the master- spirits of their own time, they appear to have entertained also a most singular warmth of sympathy for all the extravagan- cies, caprices, and madnesses of frolic humour that were ever in any age embodied in the vehicle of fine language, or made use of as the instruments of powerful intellect. Their veneration for intellectual power was too great — exactly as that of the Edinburgh Reviewers was too small; and they allowed this feeling, in the main a most excellent one, to shut from their eyes a thousand circumstances, both of agreement and disagreement, between the spirit of their own age, and the spirit of times antecedent, — all of which most especially and mdfet imperatively demanded the attention of the Institu- tors of a new Literary Journal, having such objects and such pretensions as theirs. In short, they were too fresh from their studies, to have been able to look back upon any particular period of literary history with the proper degree of coolness and calmness. They admired rather too indiscriminately, and whatever they admired they never thought it could be im- proper or unsafe for them to imitate. They approached the lists of literary warfare with the spirit at bottom of true knights ; but they had come from the woods and the cloisters, and not from the cities and haunts of active men, and they had armed themselves, in addition to their weapons of the right temper, with many other weapons of offence, which, although sanctioned in former times by the practice of the heroes in whose repositories they had found them rusting, had now become utterly exploded, and were regarded, and justly regarded, as entirely unjustifiable and disgraceful by all who surveyed, with modern eyes, the arena of their modern exertions. But even for this, there might have been some little excuse, had their weapons, such a? they were, been employed only in 272 Peter's letter^, behalf of the noble cause they had espoused. Such, iiow- ever, was by no means the case. These dangerous instru- ments were too powerful to be swayed easily by the hot hands into which they had come; and — as if intoxicated with the delight of feeling themselves furnished with unwonted ac- coutrements, and a spacious field, — the new combatants began at once to toss their darts about them in directions quite fo- reign to those they should have had in view. They stained, in plain language, the beginning of their career with the sins of many wanton and malicious personal satires, not immedi- ately subservient to the inculcation of any particular set of principles whatever, and in their necessary and ultimate ten- dencies quite hostile to the noble and generous set of princi- ples, religious and political, as well as literary, of which these persoHS had professed themselves to be tbe champions. Since that time, experience and reflection seem to have taught them many lessons concerning the folly and vice of this part of their giddy career — but they have still not a little to learn be- fore they can be made fully sensible of the true nature of some of their trespasses. And, in the mean time, after hav- ing been guilty of offences so manifest, they can have no right to complain, although those who witnessed thtir tfffences are slow in being made sensible to the sincerity of their re- pentance. They must take the consequences of their own audacious folly, in committing, or permitting, such gross out- rages upon all good feeling — and submit to go through the full penalties of the Purgatory of Suspicion, before they hope to approach that Paradise of perfect Forgiveness, of which, among many other points of its beatitude, Dante has taken eare to say, with a sagacity peculiar to himself, " Molto e licto la, che qui non lece." Great, however, as was the impropriety (to use the slightest phrase) of many of these early satires in this Magazine, I by no means would have you to believe, (as you seem to have done,) that the outcry raised against the Magazine among the Whigs of Edinburgh, and re-echoed by some of the minor oraeles of the same party in London, was really produced by any just and pure feeling of indignation against them. The eagerness manifested by the enemies of the new Journal to add, by all possible exaggerations and misrepre- sentations, to the already large enough sum of its iniquities, betrayed that there was at the bottom of their zeal a very dif- meter's letters* 213 ferent set of causes — causes which, although in their own breasts far more effectual than any others, did not so well admit of bein^ propounded in a way likely to captivate the popular assent. The true source of the clamour raised against by far the greater number of the articles in Black- wood's Magazine, was not their personality, (for of this, very many of those which excited most noise appear to me to be most perfectly guiltless,) but the nature of the spirit of thought which these articles exhibited — which was indeed, at bottom, utterly at variance with the old current upon which Mr. Constable's lawjers had, for so many years, floated with so little expenditure of reflection, and managed their helms with so little risk of being perplexed by any variety in the tides. As one instance of this, I may refer you to the Essay on the Periodical Criticism of Great Britain, which appeared towards the beginning of the Magazine, under the mask of a translation from some German author. This essay, as W informs me, was for many months a perfect text- book for vituperations of the work in which it made its ap- pearance. And yet, when you have read it, I have no doubt you will agree with me in thinking that it is an able and ex- cellent performance, which could only have excited so much clamour because it is too true and too effective. It was the first regular attack made with any striking degree of power of thought, or even with any display of nervous and manly language, against all the chit f sins of the Edinburgh Re- view. It is written in a style of such perfect courtesy and good-breeding to all parties, and it touches, with so much impartiality and independence, upon the quite opposite faults of the Quarterly Review, that I am mistaken if the Edin- burgh Reviewers, now that they have had more experience of being attacked, would not be ashamed to say any thing against any attack written as this was. They could not re- frain from crying out at the time, for it was the first caustic that had ever touched the centre of their sore ; and, indeed, however silent they might have been, there is no question it could not have been applied with so firm a hand without making them wince to the quick. Of the many subsequent attacks on the Review, SGine were equally well written, but ^ew so free of the faults with which the Magazine has been too often chargeable. The Letter to Dr. Chalmers, for example, was an improper and unwarrantable expostulation, when considered as addressed 35 274 PETER'S LETTERS. to that eminent individual, and no doubt attached far greater blame to his conduct in occasionally assisting the Edinburgh Review, than the bulk of mankind are ever likely to think it deserved ; it is probable, however, that the idea of writing such a letter might have been taken up rashly — merely as furnishing an occasion for more fully discussing the mode in which Religion bad been treated in the Edinburgh Review, and without any wish to give pain to Dr. Chalmers, who is indeed treated, throughout the whole of it, in a style of great personal respect. But if some apology might be offered for this letter, the other letter of the same series, ad- dressed to Mr. Flayfair, could certainly admit of none. This was, undoubtedly, one of the worst of all the offences of the Magazine. I cannot well express the pain with which I perused it a second time, after having seen the venerable per- son to whom it is addressed, and become acquainted with the true character of his mind and dispositions. It was calcu- lated to bring about no useful object whatever ; it was a cruel interference with the private history of a most unassuming and modest man of genius; and the force of declamation with which much of it is composed, can be regarded in no other light than an aggravation of the offence of composing it at all. Another letter, addressed about the same time to Lord Byron on the publication of his Beppo, was meanly and stupidly represented as a malignant attack on this great poet; whereas it is, in truth, filled, from beginning to end, with marks of the most devout admiration for his genius, and bears every appearance of having been written with the sincere desire to preserve that majestic genius from being de- graded, by wasting its inspirations on themes of an immoral or unworthy description. It is, to my mind, a complete proof, that this Magazine was vituperated not so much from good principle as from selfish spleen, that almost as great handle was made of this energetic letter, which, I doubt not, Lord Byron would peruse with any emotions rather than those of anger, as of the very offensive address to Professor Playfair — about which there cannot possibly be two opinions among people of just feeling. The attack upon Coleridge's Biographia Literaria, which appeared in one of the first numbers of the Magazine, was another sad offence — perhaps even worse than this on Mr. Playfair ; because it was not merely the pushing to extrava- gance and illiberality a right and proper subject of repre- feter's letters. 275. hension, but a total departure from the principles of the Ma- gazine itself, and almost, 1 think, a specimen of the very worst kind of spirit, which the Magazine professed to be fighting against, in the Edinburgh Review. This is, indeed, the only one of all the various sins of this Magazine for which I am at a loss to discover — not an apology — but a motive. If there be any man of grand and origins i genius alive at this moment in Europe, such a man is Mr. Coleridge. A certain rambling discursive style of writing, and a habit of mixing up, with ideas of great originality, the products of extensive observation and meditation, others of a very fan- tastic and mystical sort, borrowed from Fichte and the other German philosophers, with whose works he is familiar — these things have been sufficient to prevent his prose writings from becoming popular beyond a certain narrow class of readers,, who, when they see marks of great power, can never be per- suaded to treat lightly the works in which these appear, with whatever less attractive matter they may chance to be inter- mingled. Yet even his prose writings are at this moment furnishing most valuable materials to people who know, bet- ter than the author himself does, the art of writing for the British public; and it is impossible that they should much longer continue to be neglected, as they now are. But the poetry of Coleridge, in order to be understood perfectly and admired profoundly, requires no peculiar habits of mind be- yond those which all intelligent readers of poetry ought to have, and must have. Adopting much of the same psycho- logical system, which lies at the root of all the poetry of Wordsworth, and expressing, on all occasions, his reverence for the sublime intellect which Wordsworth has devoted to the illustration of this system. Coleridge himself has abstained from bringing his psychological notions forward in his poetry in the same open and uncourting way exemplified by his friend ; and, what is of far more importance in the present view of the subject, he has adopted nothing of his friend's peculiar notions concerning poetical diction. He is perhaps the most splendid versifier of our age ; he is certainly, to my ear, without exception, the most musical. Nothing can sur- pass the melodious richness of words which he heaps around his images — images which are neither glaring in themselves, nor set forth in any glaring framework of incident, but which are always affecting to the very verge of tears, because they have all been formed and nourished in the recesses of one 276 PETER'S LETTERS. of the most deeply musing spirits that ever breathed forth its inspirations in the majcctic language of England. Who that ever read his poem of Genevieve can doubt this ? That poem is known to all readers of poetry, although comparatively few of them are aware that it is the work of Coleridge. His love poetry is, throughout, the finest that has heen produced in England since the days of Shakspeare and the old drama- tists. Lord Byron represents the passion of love with a power and fervour every way worthy of his genius, but he does not seem to understand the nature of the feeling which these old English poets called by the name of Love. His love is entirely Oriental : the love of haughty warriors re- posing on the bosom of humble slaves, swallowed up in the unquestioning potency of a passion, imbibed in, and from the very sense of their perpetual inferiority. The old dramatists and Coleridge regard women in a way that implies far more reverence for them — far deeper insight into the true grandeur of their gentleness. I do not think there is any poet in the world who ever touched so truly the mystery of the passion as he has done in Genevieve, and in that other exquisite poem (I forget its name,) where he speaks of — Her voice — Her voice, that, even in its mirthful mood, Hath made me wish to steal away and weep.'''' Now, what could be the object proposed by a writer, in a work professing to hold the principles of this Magazine, when be adventured to descend from the elevation of bis habitual reverence, and minister among the many paltry priests who sacrifice at the shrine of paltry self-love, by endeavouring to heap new ridicule upon the character of a great genius, who had already been made so much the butt of ignorant ridicule as Mr. Coleridge ? I profess myself unable to solve the mys- tery of the motive. The result is bad — and, in truth, very pitiable. I think very differently indeed, concerning the series of at- tacks on Hunt, Hazlitt, and the whole of that pestiferous crew r on which Blackwood's Magazine has had the merit of fixing for ever that most just and expressive of all nick-names, " The Cockney School. 1 ' If the Magazine had done nothing more than giving these creatures the everlasting distinction of this bappy name, it would have deserved eternally well of the literature of our age. The extreme contempt and peter's letters, 277 loathing felt by the castigators for the subjects of their most just chastisement, was, indeed, able to make them overstep very absurdly the proper limits of critical language ; and this has, no doubt, tended in some measure to weaken the effect of the attack, because it has probably prevented it from beino- carried on and concluded as it deserved to be. But, indeed the name alone is enough— it has already been adopted by the Quarterly and almost all the minor Reviews, and the whole regiment of the Magazines — and from these it has been carried into the vocabulary of half the Newspaper editors in the United Kingdom. Such a fire of contumely, kept up on this most conceited knot of superficial coxcombs, cannot fail to produce ere long the salutary effect of entirely silencing their penny trumpets of sedition and blasphemy — to say nothing of their worthless poetry. They are all entirely made up of affectation, and the pompous stiffness of their fine attitudes merely required to be pointed out by one sharp finger in order to be laughed at by all that looked upon them. The Cockney School ! It would have required the shoulders of so many demigods to have been able to toss off such a load of ignominy ; but on theirs the burden sticks like the rope of the Satyr, and they cannot get quit of the incumbrance, except by giving themselves the coup-de- grace. Sentence of dumbness has gone forth against them, and ere long they must be executioners of it themselves.-— They are by far the vilest vermin that ever dared to creep upon the hem of the majestic garment of the English muse. They have not one idea that is worthy the name of English, in the whole circle of their minds. They talk for ever about Chaucer, and Shakspeare, and Spencer, but they know no more about the spirit of these divine beings, than the poor printer's devils, whose fingers are wearied with setting to- gether the types, which are degraded by being made the vehicles of their crude and contumelious fantasies. And yet with what an ineffable air of satisfaction these fellows speak of themselves as likely to go down to posterity among the great authors of England ! It is almost a pity to destroy so excellent a joke. Unless the salt of the nick-name they have got preserve them, they cannot possibly last twenty jears in the recollection even of the Cockneys. The faults of this Magazine have been very great ; the worst of thera wanton and useless departures from the set ot 278 peter's letters. principles, anil outrages upon Ihe set of feelings, it has all along professed to hold sacred. These faults, however, I ana inclined to attribute to nothing so much as to a total careless- ness, in regard to the management of the work. The idea seems to have been that a Magazine is not bound to maintain any one set of opinions, in regard to any one set of objects, throughout the whole of its pages ; but that it was quite suf- ficient to insert in every Number, a certain number of articles, full of the traces of proper feeling and thinking, and to fill up the rest with any thing that would amuse any class of Maga- zine readers, without the least concern about their agreement or disagreement with the main and presiding spirit of the book. Perhaps, after all, the truth may be, that the whole work was set about without any plan of any kind ; and that therefore, although the contributions of the chief wrilers, being through- out animated with the warmth of a particular set of feelings and principles, have been enough to create something like a presiding spirit, the contradictory effect of other contributions was never-considered, even by these persons, in the light of any serious infringement upon any serious rule. How all this may have been I know not; but, to my mind, the effect of the whole is such as I have endeavoured to depict to you. I Jook on the book as a sad farrago ; but I think the valuable part of the materials is so great, as to furnish no inconsidera- ble apology for the mixture of baser things. And yet how much better might it have been, had the same talents been exerted upon some more regular system, and, above all, un- der some more regular feeling of responsibility. This last, indeed, is an idea that seems never to have dis- turbed, for a moment, the minds of the writers of this Maga- zine. It is not known who the editor is — I do not see how that secret can ever be divulged, as things now stand ; but my friend W tells me that he is an obscure man, almost con- tinually confined to his apartment by rheumatism, whose labours extend to little more than correcting proof-sheets, and drawing up plans, which are mostly executed by other people. The efficient supporters, however, are well known — or, at least, universally suspected — although nobody seems to be able to say, with the least approach to certainty, what partic- ular articles are writen by any one individual among them. I have as yet seen little of any of them ; but now that I have agreed to be one of their coadjutors in a small way, I shall; PETER'S LETTERS. 279 no doubt, have opportunities of being better acquainted with them. W has promised to ask several of them to dine with him some day next week— and, as usual, I shall have mv eyes and ears about me. , ; m "The history of this Magazine may be considered in quite a different point of view— as the struggle, namely, of two rival booksellers, striving for their respective shares in the profits of periodical publications. Of the respective conduct of the persons who, in this point of view, might come to be taken into consideration, I cannot pretend to judge in any- way ; but 1 think it looks as if nothing could be more fair than that some division should take place here, as every where else, in that sort of spoil. Had the Magazine not appeared as it did, it is probable that the natural tendency, which a thriving trade has to split into competitions, would soon have given rise to something of the same sort among the biblio- poles of Edinburgh. As for the great bookseller against whom Mr. Blackwood seemed to have opened the war with so much vigour, I think he has shown less skilfulness than might have been expected in the forces which he has brought to act immediately in defence of the position attacked. I do not speak of the Edinburgh Review, for it is well able to take care of itself; but of the Scots Magazine, one of the oldest works of the kind in existence, which Mr. Constable has been endeavouring to revive, so as to render it a fit compe- titor with the new, and, indeed, audaciously original Maga- zine I have been talking about: It seems as if nothing could be more dull, trite, and heavy, than the bulk of this ancient work. The only enlivening things in it are a few articles now and then by Hazlitt, and a few better still by a gay writer of the name of Reynolds. But these are quite lost in the dull- ness all about them. In themselves, being all genuine gems .of the Cockney School, they are of little intrinsic value, and their glitter only makes the lead in which they are set look more heavy than ever. Mr. Reynolds, however, is certainly a very promising writer, and might surely do better things than copying the Cockneys. t ■ There is another circumstance about the writers ot BlacK- wood's Magazine, which cannot miss to catch your attention viz. that they have never been in any degree studious ot keeping up the imposing stateliness and guarded self-import- ance, usually made so much of by critics and reviewers 280 PETER'S LETTERS, They have presented themselves in all the different aspects which lively fancy and good-humoured caprice could sug- gest. They assume new disguises every month, and have a whole regiment of fictitious personages into whose mouths they have thrown so much matter, that they almost begin to be regarded as real personages by the readers of the Maga- zine ; for, to ask whether such or such a name be a real or fictitious one, is always some trouble — and trouble is of all things what Magazine readers in general hold in most cordial detestation. Had these young writers been more reserved, they might perhaps have enjoyed more consideration than they now do among the foolish part of the public. Probably the spirit in which they have written has been but imperfectly un- derstood by the majority. As Mr. Jeffrey says of the French Revolution — it is not easy to judge of the real scope of many movements and events, till a good while after they have taken place. Ever yours, P.M. LETTER XLVII. TO THE SAME. Another of the great morning lounges has its seat in a shop, the character of which would not at first sight lead one to expect any such thing— a clothier's shop, namelv, occu- pied by a father and son, both of the name of David Bridges, The cause and centre of the attraction, however, is entirely lodged in the person of the junior member of the firm, an active, intelligent, and warm-hearted fellow, who has a pro- digious love for the Fine Arts, and lives on familiar terms with all the artists of Edinburgh ; and around whom, in con- sequence of these circumstances, the whole connoisseurs and connoisseurshipof the North have by degrees become clustered and concentrated, like the meeting of the red and yellow stripes in the back of a tartan jacket. This shop is situated in the High-Street, not above a couple of hundred yards from the house of my friend W , who, as might be supposed, is one of its most frequent visit- ers. I had not been long in Edinburgh before 1 began to make some inquiries concerning the state of art in Scotland, and W immediately conducted me to this dilettanti peter ? s letters. 281 lounge, saying, that here was the only place where I might be furnished with every means of satisfying all my curiosity. On entering, one finds a very neat and tasteful-looking shop, well stocked with all the tempting diversities of broad-cloth and bombazeens, silk stockings, and spotted handkerchiefs. A few sedate-looking old fashioned cits are probably engaged in conning over the Edinburgh papers of the day, and per- haps discussing mordicus the great question of Burgh Re- form ; but there is nothing either in the place or the company that at all harmonizes with one's notions of a great (ppovrtrmgio* of Gusto. After waiting for a few minutes, however, the younger partner tips a sly wink across his counter, and beckons you to follow him through a narrow cut in its maho- gany surface, into the unseen recesses of the establishment* A few steps downwards, and in the dark, land you in a sort of cellar below the shop proper, and here by the dim and relig'ous light which enters through one or two well-grated peeping holes, your eyes soon discover enough of the furni- ture of the place to satisfy you that you have at last reached the Sanctum Sanctorum of the Fine Arts. Piaster of Paris ca^ts of the Had of the Farne>e Hercules, — the Dancing Faun, — the Laocoon, — and the Hermaphrodite, occupy con- spicuous stations on the counters ; one large table i^ entirely covered with a book of Canova's designs, Turner's Liber Studiorum, and such sort of manuals; and in those corners where the little light there is streams brightest, are placed upon huge piles of corduroy and kerseymere, various wooden boxes, black, brown, and blue, wherein are locked up from all eyes save those of the privileged and initiated frequenters of the scene, various pictures and sketches, chiefly by living artists, and presents to the proprietor. Mr. Bridges, when I asked him on my first visit, what might be the contents of these mysterious receptacles, made answer in a true technico- Caledonian strain, — " Oo, Doctor Morris, they're just a wheen bits — and (added he, with a most knowing compres- sion of his lips,) — let me tell you what, Dr. Morris, there's some no that ill bits amang them neither." The bit that attracted most of my admiration, was a small and exquisitely finished picture, by Wdliarn Allen — the sub- ject, Two Ta?tar Robbers dividing their Spoil. I shall not describe this piece, because 1 have since seen a masterly etching of it in an unfinished state, executed by a young Scotch engraver of the name of Steuart. which I have or 35 2t>2 PETER r S LETTERS. dered to be sent me as soon as it is completed, so that you will have an opportunity of judging for yourself. The ener- gy of the design, however, and the inimitable delicacy of the colouring made me very curious to see some of the larger productions of the same artist ; and I had no sooner hinted so much, than Bridges proposed to carry me at once to Mr. Allan's atelier. The artist, he said, was extremely unwell, and confined to his room ; but he could assure me of a kind reception. I needed very little pressing, so we proceeded im- mediately qua data via fuit. We had no great distance to walk, for Mr. Allan lives in the Parliament-Close, not a gun- shot from where we were. After climbing several flights of a stair- case, we were ushered into the house of the painter ; and Mr. Bridges being quite at home, conducted us straight into his painting room — the most picturesque painting room, I fancy, in Europe. Mr. Allan returned about two years ago to Edinburgh, (the place of his birth,) from a residence of many years in various regions of the East, and his apartment is decorated in a most splendid manner with the trophies of his wander- ings. The wainscot is completely covered with rich clusters of military accoutrements, Turkish scimitars, Circassian bows and quivers, hauberks of twisted mail from Caucasus, dag- gers, dirks, javelins, and all manner of long unweildy fowl- ing pieces — Georgian, Armenian, and Tartar. These are arranged, for the most part, in circles, having shields and tar- gets of bone, brass, and leather for their centres. Helmets of all kinds and sizes, are hung above these from the roof, and they are interspersed with most gorgeous draperies of shawls, turbans and saddle-cloths. Nothing can be more beautiful than the effect of the whole ; and indeed I suppose it is so far as it goes, a complete fac-simile of the barbaric magnificence of the interior decorations of an eastern palace. The exterior of the artfst himself harmonized a good deal with his furniture ; for he was arrayed by way of robe-de- chambre, in a dark Circassian vest, the breast of which was loaded with innumerable quilted lurking-places, originally, no doubt, intended for weapons of warfare, but now occupied with the harmless shafts of hair-pencils; while he held in his hand the smooth cherrywood stalk of a Turkish tobacco- pipe, apparently converted very happily into a pallet-guard. A swarthy complexion and a profusion of black hair, tufted "m a wild though not ungraceful manner, together with meter's letters. 283 a pair of large sparkling eyes, looking out from under strong shaggy brows, full of vivacious and ardent ex- pressiveness—were scarcely less speaking witnesses of the life of roaming and romantic adventure, which, 1 was told, this fine artist had led. In spite of his bad health, which was indeed but too evident, his manners seemed to be full of a light and playful sportiveness, which is by no means com- mon among the people of our nation, still less among the people of Scotland; and this again was, every now and then, exchanged for a depth of enthusiastic earnestness, still more evidently derived from a sojourn among men, whose blood flows through their veins with a heat and a rapidity to which the North is a stranger. The painter, being extremely busy, could not afford us much of his time upon this visit, but showed us, after a few minutes, into an adjoining apartment, the walls of which were covered with his works, and left us there to examine them by ourselves. For many years I have received no such fea?t as was now afforded me ; it was a feast of pure delight, — above all, it was a feast of perfect novelty, for the scenes in which Mr. Allan has lived has rendered the subjects of his paintings totally different, for the most part, from those of any other ar- tist, dead or alive ; and the manner in which he treats his subjects is scarcely less original and peculiar. The most striking of his pieces are all representations of human beings, living and moving under the influence of manners whereof we know little, but which the little we do know of thern has tended to render eminently interesting to our imaginations. His pencil transports us at once into the heart of the East — the Land of the myrtle, the rose, and the vine, "Where the flowers ever blossom, the skies ever shine, And all save the Spirit of Man is divine. On one side we see beautiful creatures— radiant in a style of beauty with which poetry alone has ever attempted to make us familiar; on another, dark and savage men, their faces stamped with the full and fervid impress of passions which the manners and the faith of Christendom teach men, if not to subdue within them, at least to conceal in their ex- terior. The skies, too, are burning every where in the bright- ness of their hot, unclouded, blue — and the trees that lift their heads among them, wear wild fantastic forms, no less true to nature than they are strange to us. The buildings also have all a new character of barbarian pomp about thera 284 PETER/S LETTERS. - — cities of flat-roofed bouses, mingling ever and anon with intervening gardens — fountains sparkling up with their fresh- ening spray among every shade of foliage — mosques break- ing the sky here and there with their huge white domes and gilded cupolas — turrets and minarets shooting from among the gorgeous mass of edifices — pale and slender forms, that Far and near, Pierce like reposing flames the tremulous atmosphere." The whole room might be considered as forming of itself one picture — for, wherever I looked, I found that my eyes were penetrating into a scene, of which the novelty was so universal, as to give it at first sight something of the effect of uniformity. The most celebrated of the pictures still in his possession, is the Sale of Circassian Captives to a Turkish Bashaw.* I think it is probable you must have read some account of this picture in the newspapers more than a year ago ; for it was one season in the London Exhibition, and attracted great ad- miration, as I hear, from all the critics who saw it there. You will find a pretty full description, however, in one of the Numbers of Blackwood's magazine, which I have lately sent you — although 1 cannot say that I think (his description quite so accurate as it might have been. The picture does not stand in need of the aid of fancy, in order to make it be admired ; and I cannot help thinking there has been a good deal of mere fancy gratuitously mixed up with the statement there given both of its composition and its expression. The essential interest of the piece, however — the groupe, name- ly, of the lover parted from its mistress, and the fine con- trast afforded to this groupe, by the cold, determined, brutal indifference in the countenance and attidude of the Bashaw, are given quite as they ought to be ; and the adjuncts, which have been somewhat misrepresented, are of comparatively trivial importance. I can scarcely conceive of a finer sub- ject for this kind of painting ; nor can I easily suppose, that it could have been treated in a more masterly manner. The great number of the figures does not in the least mar the har- mony of the general expression ; nay, in order to make us enter fully into the nature of the barbarian scene represented, it was absolutely necessary to show us, that it was a scene of * This picture has since been purchased by the Earl of Wemyss and JVIarch, PETER'S 'S LETTERS. 285 common occurrence, and every day gazed on by a thousand hard eyes, without the slightest touch of compassion or em- pathy. It was not necessary to represent the broken heart sufferers before us as bending under the weight of an) cala- mity peculiar to themselves alone.. They are bowed down, not with the touch of individual sorrow alone, but. with the despair, the familiar despair of a devoted and abandoned race — a race, among whose brightest gleams of felicity there must ever mingle the shadows of despondence— whose bride*- grooms can never go forth " rejoicing in their strength"— whose brides can never be " brought out of their palaces," without some darkening clouds of melancholy remembrances, and still more melancholy fears, to cast a gloom over the gay procession. Solitary sorrows are the privilege of freemen ; it is the darker lot 'of slaves to suffer in crowds, and before crowds. Their misery has no sanctuary ; they are not left alone even to die. They are cattle, not men ; they must be counted by the head before being led forth to the slaughter. The colouring of this picture is as charming as its concep- tion is profound. The fault found with it by some of the critics I mean the greyness and uniform sobriety of its hues , strikes me as being one of its greatest beauties. Without this, it was impossible that the artist could have given so fine an idea of the studious coolness and shadiness of an oriental palace— so different, so necessarily different, from any thing that luxury can ever demand in our northern climates. It harmonizes, too, in the happiest manner with (he melancholy character of the scene represented. It seems as if even the eastern sun had been willing to withdraw his beams from such a spectacle of misery. Where the light does stream through the narrow window at the back of the lordly Turk, nothing can be richer than the tones of the drapery— I he curtains that s ] ie Ker — above all, the embroidered cushions and carpets that support the luxurious Merchant of Blood. The cold, blue dampness of the marble-floor, on which the victims of his brutality are kneeling*, or staggering before him, contrasts, as it should do, with the golden pomp amidst which the op- pressor is seated. It is so, that they who drink the waters of bitterness, and are covered with sackcloth and ashes, should be contrasted with him, who « is clothed in fine linen, and fareth sumptuously every day." There are, however, many other pictures of the artist against which the same charge •might have been brought with greater justice, 286 peter's letters. There are several beautiful little pictures, the scene of which rs laid in the same region ; and I think they have an admirable effect as viewed in juxta-position with this splen- did master-piece. They afford little glimpses, as it were, into the week-day employments and amusements of the be- ings, who are represented in the larger picture as undergo- ing the last severity of their hard destiny. They prepare- the eye to shudder at the terrors of the captivity, by making it familiar with the scenes of mirth, and gayety, and inno- cence, which these terrors are fated so often to disturb. Such, above all, was the effect of a sweet little picture, which repre- sents a Circassian family seated at the door of their own cottage, beneath the shadow of their sycamore, while the golden sun is going down calmly behind them, amidst the rich quiet azure of their own paternal mountains. The old father and mother, with their children sporting about their knees, while the travelling musician is dancing before them in bis wild grotesque attitudes, to the sound of his rebeck — and the daughter just blushing into womanhood, that Eeeps, with that face of innocent delight, over the shoulder of er mother — how little do they think for the moment of any thing beyond the simple mirth of their sequestered home ( And yet such are the solitudes to which the foot of the spoiler may so easily find a path. Surely there is a fine feeling of poetry in the mind of this painter. He knows well, that there are two sides to the great picture of Human Life ; and he has imagination to feel how they reflect, mutually, in- terest, and passion, and tenderness upon each other. Another picture, delightfully characteristic of his genius, is that of a Jewish Family in Poland making merry before a Wedding. The piece is small, and the colouring, as usual with this artist, the reverse of glaring ; but the whole is suf- fused over with the quiet richness of twilight, and the effect is at once so powerful and so true, that we cannot sufficient- ly admire it, when we consider how studiously all the com- mon quackery of the art has been avoided in its production. The left of the canvass is covered with a cluster of happy faces, grouped above, below, and around their rustic musi- cian, and gazing on the evolutions of a dance, wild, yet grace- ful and stately in its wildness, like the melody which ac companies it. The bride has scarcely passed the years of ii$mcy ; for among the Jews of Poland, and we believe we peter's letters. '287 might add among the Jews of England too, the old oriental fashion of very early marriages is still religiously ad- hered to. Her hair is braided with jewels — another beauti- ful orientalism.; and she surveys the scene from her post of eminence with a truly eastern mixture of childish delight, womanly vanity, and virgin bashfulness. Apart from the young people, near a window, the light of which comes mel- lowed through tangled tresses of ivy and rose-leaves, is seen a grave small group of the Elders of Israel. These pa- triarchal figures pay no respect either to the music or the dance ; but they seem to make some atonement for this ne- glect by their close and assiduous attention to a certain tall picturesque flask, " Which leaves a glow like amethyst Upon the lips that it hath kissed." The whole picture makes us feel delightfully present in a scene very far removed from our manners, but true in every thing to nature, and, in spite of its geography, true in every thing to that well remembered East, which draws to itself the first morning-look and the last evening-look— which receives every hymn and prayer, and oath and vow — which is still the resting-place of the memory, the hope, and the faith of the expatriated Hebrew. The vile habits common among such of this exiled race as are to be met with in our country, have had the effect of rendering the associations connected by us with the name of Jew, very remote from pleasing — to say nothing of poetical j nor have the attempts of a few poets and novelists to counter- act these deep-rooted associations been at all successful in the main. In truth, they have not merited to be so, except- ing in regard to their intention alone. It is useless to waste wit in attempting to gild over the meanness of a despicable old Hunks, who starves himself and his cat, and spends his whole time in counting rouleaus. A sentimental old clothes- man or pawnbroker is a being; whom we can by no means admit into our world of imaginative existence. He is as completely and manifestly an ens merce rationis, as any of the new species to which the human naturalist is introduced in the dangerous and delusive horti sicci of the circulating library. But the Polish Jews are a very different kind of people from our ones. They form a population of several hundred 288 peter's letters. thousands, and occupy whole towns, villages, and tracts of territory by themselves. Here they live in a state of great simplicity and honesty, cultivating the soil, and discharging all the healthful duties of ordinary citizenship. Above all, they are distinguished from their brethren in Germany and elsewhere, by a rigid observance of the laws of their religion. In short, they are believers in the Old Testament, and still eg .ject, with sincere devotion, the coming of their Messiah. The respect which a Polish Jew meets with all over the con- tinent, so strongly contrasted with the utter contempt heaped upon all the other children of his race, is primarily, of course, the fruit of that long experience which has established the credit and honour of his dealings ; but it is certainly very muHi assisted and strengthened by that natural feeling of respect with which all men regard those who are sincere in what they seem The character of these Polish Jews, with th< ir quiet and laborious lives, with their firm attachment to the principles of honesty, with their benevolence and their hospitality, and, above all, with their fervid and melancholy love for their old Faith— a love which has outlived so many centuries of exile, disappointment, and wretchedness — this character, whatever may be thought of it in other respects, cannot surely be denied to be a highly poetical one. Mr. Allan, who has enjoyed so many opportunities of contem- plating the working of human thoughts and passions under so many different shapes, has seen this character, and the manners in which it is bodied forth, with the eye of a poet and a painter; and I would hope the Merry-Making may not be the only glimpse of both with which he may favour us. But there would be no end of it, were I to think of acting Cicerone through the whole of his gallery, in a letter such as this: And besides, these are not pictures whose merits can be even tolerably interpreted through the medium of words. They are every where radiant with an expression of pathos, that is entirely peculiar to the art of which they are speci- mens. They cannot be comprehended unless they be seen ; and it is worth while going a long journey, were it only to see them. It is not, on a first view, that the faults of pictures, possessing so much merit, can be at all felt by persons capa- ble of enjoying their beauties. But I shall enter upon these n my next ; I snail also say something of the pictures which peter's* letters. 289 Mr. Allan has painted more lately, and the scenes of which are laid nearer to ourselves. Wide as is the field of the East, and delicious as is the use he has made of thai untrodden field — I am glad to find that he does not mean to confine himself to it. Ttie pictures he has painted of oriental subjects, are rich in the expression of feelings, gathered during his wander- ings among the regions to which they belong. But there are other feelings, and more powerful ones, too, which ought to fix, and 1 think it probable they will do so, the matured and once more domesticated mind of such a painter as Mr. Allan. P. M. LETTER XLVIIL TO THE SAME. The largest and most finished picture, which Mr. Allan has painted upon any subject not oriental, (or at least not partaking of an oriental character,) is that of the Press- Gang. The second time that I went to his house, he was in the act of superintending the packing up of this fine piece, for being sent into the country ;* so that I was lucky in having a view of it at all — for I certainly was not allowed time to contemplate it in so leisurely a manner as I could have wished. It is of about the same dimensions as the Cir- cassian Slaves, and the canvass, as in it, is filled with a very large number of figures ; but I am not prepared to say, that I think the same happy effect is produced by this circumstance as in the other. I question, however, whether any scene of actual British Life could have been selected more happily calculated for such a pencil as Mr. Allans. The moment one sees the pic- ture, one cannot help being struck with wonder, that such a subject should have been left so long unhandled ; but where, after all, was ever the British artist that could have occupied it in such a manner, as to throw any difficulties in Mr. Allan's way, or even to take away the least of the originality which he has displayed in its management 1 The canvass represents *The picture belongs to Mr. Horrocks, of Tillihewan Castle, Dum- bartonshire. 37 290 pater's letters. the house of a fisherman by the sea-side— neat and cleanly, as the houses of respectable fishermen are always found — but more picturesque in its interior than the house of any other poor man can well be, from the mixture of suspended nets and fishing tackle every where diversifying the more usual kinds of peasant plenishing. It is supposed, that the son of the fisherman had just returned from a long voyage in a merchant ship — his parents are preparing to welcome the wanderer with their fatted calf — and his mistress, having beard the news of his arrival, has hurried, half-clothed as she was, in the eagerness of her unsuspecting love, to be folded in his arms. Scarcely are the first warm, tearful greetings over, ere a caitiff neighbour gives notice to the Press-Gang,— and the picture represents the moment when they have rushed into the house, and pinioned their prey. The agony of the Sailor-Boy is speechless, and he stands with his hand upon his face, as if stunned and insensible to the nature of his misery. His other hand, however, has not quitted the hand of his sweetheart, who has swooned a^ay, and is only prevented from lying like a corpse upon the floor, by this his unconscious support. His father looks on in de- spair ; but he has presence of mind enough to know, that re- sistance would be unavailing. The mother has seized the lieutenant by the hand, and is thrusting upon him all their little household store of guarded guineas, as if she had hoped to purchase her boy's safety by her bribe. In a chair by the fire, meanwhile, which even joy could not have enabled hirn to leave, the aged and infirm grandfather sits immoveable, and sick at heart— his eyes turned faintly upwards, his feeble hands clasped together, and the big drops coursing each other down the pale and furrowed cheeks of his half-bewilder- ed second childishness. The wife of the old man,— for she, too, is alive to partake in all this wretchedness,— is not so infirm as her partner, but she has moved from her chair only to give aid to him. Dear as are her children to her, her husband is dearer — he is every thing to her, and she thinks of nothing but him. She has a cup of water in her hand, of which she beseeches him to drink, and gazes on his emaciated features with an eye, that tells of the still potency of long years of wedded love — a love that has survived all the ardours of youthful blood, and acquired only a holier power from the lapse of all their life of hardships. Perhaps' this is the most PETER'S LETTERS. 2$1 iioble conception in the whole picture — it does not disturb the impression of the parting of the youthful lovers ; but reflects back a nobler sanctity upon all their sufferings, by bringing before us a fresh poetic vision of the eternal might of those ties, which that broken-hearted agony is bruising — " Ties that around the heart are spun, And will not, cannot, be undone." Even over the groupe of stubborn mariners around the cap- tive boy, the poetical soul of the painter has not disdained to lavish something of its redeeming softness; their hard and savage features are fixed, indeed, and resolute : but there is no cruelty, no wantonness, no derision, in their steadfast look. Like the officer who commands them, they do what they conceive to be their duty — and such it is— but they do no more. It was a delightful delicacy of conception, which made the painter dare to part with so much of the vulgar powers of contrast, and to make the rainbow of his tender- ness display its gentle radiance, even here in the thickest blackness of his human storm. The fainting girl is represented in a very difficult attitude, (I mean difficult for the painter,) her collapsed limbs, (as I have said, being prevented from falling prostrate on the floor only by the hand of her lover, which, even in the speechless agony of despair, refuses instinctively to let her hand go. Her head, however, almost touches the floor, and her long dishevelled tresses of raven black, sweep it already with their disconsolate richness. Her virgin bosom, but a moment be- fore bursting with the sudden swell of misery, is now calm and pale — all its throbbings over for a time, even as if the finger of death had been there to appease them. Her beau- tiful lips are tinged with an envious livid stain, and her sunken eye-lids are black with the rush of recoiling blood, amidst the melancholy marble of her cheeks and forehead. One cannot look upon her without remembering the story of Crazy Jane, and thinking that here too is a creature whose widowed heart can never hope for peace — one to whom some poet of love might hereafter breathe such words as those already breathed by one of the truest of poets : — " But oh ! when midnight wind careers, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed, Makes the cock shrilly in the rain-storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of wo. #$£ peter's letters. Baliad of ship- wrecked sailor floating dead, Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle Woman — for thy voice re-measures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures The things of Nature utter — birds or trees, Or moan of ocean gale in weedy caves, Or where the stiff grass 'mid the heath-plant waves, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze." As I am not one of those who walk round a whole gallery of pictures in a single morning, and think themselves entitled to say they have seen them — and even to make criticisms upon their merits and demerits, I by no means thought of perplex- ing my feeling of the power of the Press-Gang, by looking at any other of Mr. Allan's pictures on the same day ; I have often gone back since, however, and am now quite familiar with all the pictures still in his own possession. Those painted on domestic British subjects, are all filled with the same deep and tender tastefulness, which the Press-Gang so eminently discovers; but none of them are so happily conceived in point of arrangement, nor, perhaps, is the colouring of the artist seen to the same advantage in any one of tbem. In- deed, in comparing the Press-Gang itself with the Circassian Slaves, the Jewish Family, and some of the earliest pieces, I could not help entertaining a suspicion, that in this great de- partment the artist has rather retrograded than advanced, since his return to Britain. It may be that bisejes had been so long accustomed to light, shade, and colour, as exhibited in oriental regions, that his mode of painting had become jrnbued and penetrated with the idea of representing these effects alone — and that so the artist may not yet have entirely regained the eyes, without which, it is certain, he cannot pos- sess the hand, of a British painter. It is very obvious, that this is a failing which, considering what master-pieces of co- louring some of his older pictures are, cannot possibly con- tinue long to lessen the power and beauty of his performances, I speak of the general colouring of his pieces— I have no doubt they may have lesser and more particular faults offen- sive to more scientific eyes, and perhaps not quite so likely to be got rid of. Almost all the artists, with whom I have conversed on the subject of his pictures, seem to say, that they consider hioa somewhat defective in his representation o* peter's letters. 293 the colour of the naked flesb. And I do think, (although I should scarcely have made the discovery (or ritj-di,) that he does make it rather dead and opaque, and gives it too little relief. But, perhaps the small size of his pictures, and ihe multiplicity of figures which they contain, are circumstances unfavourable to this species of excellence. If his objects were less numerous, and presented larger surfaces, he would find it more easy to make them vivid, transparent, and beautiful, and to give them a stronger relief by finer gradations of shadow. A small canvass, occupied with so many figures, never has a broad and imposing effect at first sight. The first feeling it excites is curiosity about what they are engaged with, and we immediately go forward to pry into the subject, and spell out the story. A piece, with larger and fewer figures, if the subject be well chosen, is understood at once; and no- thing tells more strongly on the imagination, or strikes us with a more pleasing astonishment, than a bold effect of light and shadow, seen at a convenient distance. The execution of a picture, however, is a thing of which I cannot venture to speak, without a great feeling of diffidence. The choice oi subjects is a matter more within the reach of one tbat has never gone through any regular apprenticeship of Gusto; and much as I have been delighted with Mr. Al- lan's pictures, and much as I have been delighted with the subjects, too, — 1 by no means think, that hi- subjects are. in general, of a kind much cajculated to draw nut «he highest parts of his genius, or to affect mankind uith the same high and enduring measure of admiration and delight, which his genius, otherwise directed, might, 1 nothing question, enable him to command. In this respect, indeed he only errs (if error there be) along with almost all the great artists, his con- temporaries — nay, it is perhaps but too true, that he and they have alike been compelled to err by the frivolous spirit of the age in which they have been born. I fear, I greatly fear, that, in spite of all the genius which we see every day breaking out in different departments of this delightful art, the day of its loftiest and most lasting triumphs has gone by. However, to despair of the human mind in one of its branches of exertion, is a thing very repugnant to my usual feelings. P. M. P. S. Before quitting Mr. Allan's atelier, I must tell you, that I have seen an exquisite sketch of the murder of Arch- 294 peter's letters. bishop Sharpe, which he has just executed. The picture wilf, I doubt not, be his domestic masterpiece. The idea of paint- ing a picture on this subject may probably have been sug- gested to him by a piece of business in which he is just about to engage, viz. making designs for the illustration of Waver- ley, and the other novels of the same author. What a field is here ! I have seen none of his designs ; but he will doubt- less make them in a manner worthy of himself; and if he does so, his name will descend for ever in glorious companion- ship with that of the most original author of our days, and the most powerful author that Scotland ever has produced, Q. F. F. Q. S. quoth P. M, LETTER XLIX. TO THE SAME. I know of no painter, who shows more just reflection and good judgment in his way of conceiving a subject, and ar- ranging the parts of it, than Allan. His circumstances are always most happily chosen, and the characters introduced are so skilfully delineated, as to prove that the painter has been an excellent observer of life. His pictures are full of thought, and show a most active and intelligent mind. They display, most graphically, the fruits of observation ; and the whole of the world which tbey represent, is suffused over with a very rare and precious breathing of tenderness and delicacy of feeling. In short, were his subjects taken from the high- est field of his art, and had they any fundamental ideas of permanent and lofty interest at the bottom of them, I do not see why Mr. Allan should not be truly a Great Painter. But his genius has, as yet, been cramped and confined by a rather over-stretched compliance with the taste of the times. The highest purpose to which painting has ever been ap- plied, is that of expressing ideas connected with Religion ; and the decay of the interest attached by mankind to ideas of that class, is evinced by nothing in a more striking manner, than by the nature of the subjects now (in preference to them) commonly chosen for painting, and most relished by the ex- isting generation. It would seem, indeed, as if the decay of interest in great things and great ideas, had not shown itself "m regard to religion alone. Even subjects taken from na- meter's letters. 29S tional history, seem to be scarcely so familiar to the imagina- tions and associations of ordinary spectators, as to be much relished or deeply felt in any modern exhibition room. It is probable, that subjects like those chosen by Wilkie, (and, of late, by Allan also,) come most home now-a-days to the feel- ings of the multitude. They pre-suppose no knowledge of the past-~-no cherished ideas habitually dwelt on by the ima- gination — no deep feeling of religion— no deep feeling of pa- triotism — but merely a capacity for the most common sym- pathies and sensibilities of human nature. The picture makes no demand on the previous habits or ideas of the spectator- it tells its own story, and it tells it entirely — but exactly in proportion as it wants retrospective interest, I am inclined to think it wants endurance of interest. I think Wilkie's spe- cies of painting may be said to bear the same relation to the highest species, which sentimental comedies and farces bear to regular tragedies. But in all this, as I have already hinted, it is probable the public is most to blame — not the painter. Indeed, the very greatest artists, were they to go on myking creations either in painting, poetry, or any other art, with- out being guided by the responses of public enthusiasm, would run a sad risk of losing their way. The genius of a gifted individual — his power of inventing and conceiving — is an instrument which he himself may not always have the judgment to employ to the best advantage, and which is more safely directed to its mark by the aggregated feelings, I will not say, of the multitude, but at least of numbers. Even the scattered suffrages of amateurs, who, by artificial culture, have acquired habits of feeling different from those of the people about them, must always be a very trifling stimulus, when compared with the trumpet-notes of a whole nation, hailing an artist for having well expressed ideas alike interest- ing to them all. There is no popular sympathy in these days with those divinest feelings of the human soul, which formed the essence of interest in the works of the sculptors of Greece — still more in those of the painters of modern Italy — and the expression of which was rewarded in both cases by the enthusiasm, boundless and grateful, of those by whom these artists were habitually surrounded. I confess, there are very few things of which I am so de- sirous, as of seeing a true school of painting, in its highest form, established among the people of Britain. But this can never be, till the painters get rid of that passion for inventing 296 peter's letters;. subjects, which at present seems to predominate among tnem all. The object of a great painter should be, not to invent subjects, but to give a graphical form to ideas universally known, and contemplated with deep feeling. An Emtombing of Christ — a Madonna and Child — a Flight into Egypt, are worth all the larmoyant scenes which can ever be conceived out of the circumstances of modern life — circumslancos, which, although they may be treated with the utmost genius, can never cease to be, in the main, prosaic. Even the early his* tory of any modern nation, however replete it may be with remarkable events, can present no objects of which the ima- gination, set a musing by the contemplation of its likeness, does not speedily find the limits, and the barrenness — 'from which, in a word, it does not turn away as unpoetical, after the first movements of excited curiosity and week-day sympa- thies have ceased. How different from all this narrowness, is the endless and immeasurable depth of a Religious Allegory, wherein the whole mystery of man and his destiny is called up to breathe its solemn and unfading charm upon the crea- tion of the artist, and the mind of the spectator! When one talks to a painter of the present day about the propriety of taking to subjects of religious import — above all, to those of the simplest construction, and the most purely allegorical nature— there is nothing more common than to be told, that such subjects have been exhausted. If you are told, by way of confirmation of this, that the Scriptural pieces produced in this country are almost all very bad, you are, indeed, told nothing but the truth ; because they are made up of insipid centos and compilations from former painters, or absurd misapplications of the plastic antique. Having no real life or expression in them, they are universally regarded with indifference ; and probably the grossest violations of costume, and the most vulgar forms, are better than this. Rembrandt, in painting Scriptural subjects, took such forms and dresses as his own country supplied, and his compositions were esteemed, because, whatever might be their want of dig- nity, they were at least pregnant with traits of which his countrymen understood 'he meaning. The fundamental ideas conveyed, had a religious interest, and the vehicles made use of to express them, were, in a certain sense, good, because they were national, and not mere garbled recollections of an- cient pictures and statues, made up into new forms and peter's letters. 297 groupes, utterly destitute of coherence and truth. Paul Ve- ronese made use of Venetian figures and dresses in treating the most sacred subjects, and although these violations of costume may appear ridiculous at first sight, yet, if we reflect a little, we shall perhaps find that it was the most judicious course he could have pursued. To make use of such nature as is before us, is always to secure consistency and truth of expression. There is, besides, a noble sincerity and simplicity in each nation, making use of such physiogno- mies and scenery as it is best acquainted with, to serve as the means of expressing ideas eternally to be loved and ado- red, in whatever way they may be represented. If I were a painter, and were engaged in painting Scripture pieces, I would boldly make use of such physiognomies and scenery as my country affords, and would think the surest way of ex- citing an interest in such performances, would be, through the medium of common associations and well-known appear- ances, applied to subjects radically great and dignified in themselves. But all this poverty of modern artists, has no weight as an argument againsi the use of religious subjects. Any one who has gone through even a few of the great collections at home, must be satisfied that Christian subjects have been by no means exhausted by the Ancient Masters. Even in any one of the subjects, of which these were most fond, there is no ap- pearance, as if any one definite conception had ever ccme to be regarded as the truest or best way of treating it — far less as precluding the attempts of succeeding artists. It is the more lamentable, when one looks back upon this endless fer- tility of the old, to think of the narrow-minded prejudice which has barred the new painters from the same inexhausti- ble ranges of ideas and subjects. Hefore the imitation can. ever be imagined to have reached its limit, we must suppose that we have ascertained the limit of that which it proposes to imitate. Now where is the man, however ardent an ad- mirer of the genius of the great dead masters he may be — however deeply and passionately he may worship the divine spirit which animated their works, and immortalizes their me- mories — where is the man who can persuade himself for a moment, that, in expressing the gestures and features of di- vine being, or beings partaking of sanctity above the con- ception of ordinary men, any one of those roasters has gone 38 298 peter's letters. as far as it is possible to go ? The best of their productions only take us so far — there is always a deeper path, which the imagination must travel in its own light alone — and where is the certainty that this path may not be abridged — that some yet nearer approach may not be made to that, which, even by the greatest of men, seems to have been seen afar off at an immeasurable distance? At all events, the result would be so grand, that the attempt is well worthy of being made by every artist who feels in himself the stirrings and the consciousness of genius. How natural and how fine a thing for a painter to desire to follow in the same path wherein Raphael, and Lionardo, and Perugino have preceded him — to transplant himself anew into their ideas and their thoughts — to walk yet farther under the guidance of the same unwearied spirit which conducted them — and so to restore the broken links of connexion between the art of past ages and the art of the present! And then how rich — how comprehensive is their sphere in all beauty which painting can need, in all expres- sion after which the heart of man pants in its moments of re- flective earnestness! What a lamentable contrast is that which the present condition of the art affords— how insecurely and unsatisfied the artist seems to be wandering about from one set of unfortunate subjects to another set yet more unfortunate ! The old masters did not merely imagine themselves to pos- sess a sufficient field for all the rich inventiveness of then genius, within the story and allegory of the Bible — they seem to have been satisfied not unfrequently with a very small portion of the space which this mighty field afforded — nay, to have been contented, month after month, year after year, and life-time after life-time, with some one little fragment of the whole — sometimes such as we should scarcely suppose it possible for them to have esteemed the best or richest in their power. Instead of seeking about for new subjects, they seem often to have formed such a love for some one subject as ne- ver, or, at least, seldom to lnave it — unwearied in their admira- tion — in the intense fervour of their passionate love. It is thus that the divine Raphael seems to have delighted in mani- fold representations of the Madonna — each of them possessing an individual character — and yet each an aspiration of the same glorious spirit, after the same intangible evanescent di- vinity of conception. The far less lofty subject of the Hero- dias appears, in like manner, to have become a perfect com- mon place in all the schools of Lionardo ; while in the Cruci- peter's letters. 299 fixion the soul of the great. Durer seems to have found a more fitting theme on which to expend the ever unsatisfied, hut never despairing depth of its melancholy musing sublimity. If it be true, that these men have exhausted any thing, assur- edly this is a discovery which neither themselves, nor any of their immediate disciples and most intelligent admirers, ever dreamed of. Although, however, Religion and the aspiration after the Godlike, was always the great centre spring of the ideas and endeavours of the old Italian Masters, theie was another wide field upon which they moved with a grace and a freedom, no less superior to any thing that is ever exhibited by modern artists — a field which has been less deserted by modern artists. and which they never do pretend to speak of as having been exhausted by those who preceded them— the Mythology of the Greeks. So far as I have been able to form any ideas concerning the Spirit of Greek antiquity, I am of opinion that that Spirit — the internal being and essence of ancient Life and ancient Faith, was comprehended in a far more hap- py and more profound way by the old Italian painters — more, indeed, in all probability, from deep instinctive feeling of what is right and true, than from any great knowledge -or learning — than ever seems to be attained to by any modern painters either of Italy, or Germany, or England — least of all by those of the most would-be-classical school in the work! — the French. It might be reckoned unfair to draw any com- parisons, or expect that any should be drawn, between the gigantic genius of Michael Angelo, and the mind of any painter of our day, or, indeed, of any of the ages that have elapsed between Michael' Angelo's time and our own. The School of Athens of Raphael, in like manner, would be re- jected as beyond the fair limit of comparison. But it is not necessary to seek for the confirmation of what I have said, in the works of such men as Bounarotti and Raphael alone. The Roman power, fulness, and magnificence of Julio Ro- mano, and the fine voluptuousness in the Antiope of Coreggio, are things clearly derived from deeper sources than any which our modern painters ever dream of exploring. And yet all these painters considered the Christian Allegory as the only true subject on which to expend the full resources of their genius — This Greek Mythology, in which they found things so much deeper than any that modern painters 300 peter's letters. can find there — was only regarded by them as a by-field of relaxation^ — a mere Kcsgeyw of their art. They viewed the subject of antiquity far more profoundly than their suc- cessors do, but they always kept it in complete subjection to their own more serious and loftier faith. They sought in it only for allegories, conceptions, and images of a less overwhelming dignity than the Bible could afford, and they treated these pretty much as the old romantic poets did the fables of antiquity. The God Amur of the Provencals, is, perhaps, not much more different from the Eros of the Greeks, than the Mentegna is from the true Athenian Hermes. Per- haps one of the finest exemplifications of the success with -which modern art may make use of ancient mythology, is in the famous picture of the Contest of Virtue and Pleasure, by Perugino. It was in the Louvre a few years ago: I know not where it is now. The extremities of the fore-ground are occupied by two glorious trees, the one of bright and bloom- ing foliage, on which some Cupids are seen tangled amidst the blossoms and fruit — the other is a dark and melancholy cypress, on one of whose barest branches an owl is perched,, with its wings folded. Female figures with lances, the points of which terminate in flames, contend on the side of Love, others against him. Nothing can be finer than the diversity of attitudes among the combatants — the very soul of antique luxury, and the very soul of antique severity, seem to have been caught by the pencil of the artist. The detail of the picture I have in a great measure forgotten, but the general effect I never shall — above all, the grand blue mountains in the distance, seen on the one side, over woods and wilds, full of satyrs and nymphs, and, in the other, a magnificent land- scape of temples and towers, rising calmly out of solemn and orderly groves, such as we might imagine to have given shel- ter to the Plalos and the Ciceros. A modern painter would probably have confined himself, in handling such a subject, to some merely plastic groupe, in which form would have been almost every thing — expression little — and accompani- ment nothing. Above all Scottish artists with whose works I am acquaint- ed, I should like to see Mr. Allan deserting the narrow field of modern art, and merely vulgar interest — and attempting once more to paint Scripture subjects as they deserve to be painted. The gentle and delicate character of his genius, PETER 7 3 LETTERS,, 301 seems not unworthy of being applied to the divinely benevo- lent allegories of our faith — or, if these be too much tor him, to the simple, beautiful, unfailing situations of actual life, which the Bible history presents in such overflowing abun- dance. Should he be afraid of venturing so far from the or- dinary themes in which spectators are now accustomed to find interest — the history of his country affords a fine field, which may be looked upon as intermediate between that on which he has as yet trodden, and that on which I would fain have him feel the ambition to tread. In taking hold of religious subjects in Scotland, he would undoubtedly have to contend (over and above the prejudices of which I have already spoken) with another set of prejudices, scarcely less difficult to be overcome — those, I mean, of a tuition among whom Religion is commonly regarded in a way by far too specu- lative, and too little imbued with pure and beautiful feeling. It was worthy only of the savage soul of Knox, to banish all the most delightful of the arts from the house of God — to degrade for ever those arts from their proper purpose and destination, among the people whose faith and Worship he reformed, only because his own rude (though masculine) mind wanted grace to comprehend what their true purposes, and destinations, and capacities are. This was indeed the triumph of a bigot, who had neither an eye nor a heart for Beauty, The light of the man's virtues should not be forgotten ; but why should an enlightened nation continue to punish them- selves by walking in the cold shadow of his prejudices? But the old history of Scotland abounds in scenes of the most romantic and poetic interest ; and the self-love of the nation, debarred from any exclusive pride in achievements of later days, atones for this to itself by a more accurate know- ledge of the national past, and a more fervent interest in the men and actions the national history discloses, than are com- monly to be found among nations whose independent existence has continued unbroken, down to the present day. Here, then, is a rich field, to which Mr. Allan may turn, not only without prejudices to encounter, but with the whole prejudices of his nation eminently interested in his endeavours, and, if he suc- ceed, (as why should he not?) eminently and enthusiastically delighted in bis success. I hope the Murder of Archbishop Sharpe is designed as the first of a great and magnificent series of Scottish Paintings; but I think it would have been better to choose, as the subject of the first of such a series, 30^ i'XTEIVS LETTERS. some scene which the whole of the Scottish nation might have been more likely to contemplate with the same species ot* emotions. LETTERL TO THE SAME. The length to which I have extended my remarks on Sir. Allan's pictures, may, perhaps, appear a little extravagant ; but I think, upon the whole, that these pictures, and this artist, form one of the most interesting subjects which can, at the present time, attract the attention of a traveller in Scotland, and therefore I do not repent of the lengthiness of my obser- vations. I wish I had been able to treat the subject more as it deserves to be treated in some other respects. The truth is that till YVilkie and Allan arose, it can scarcely be said Scotland had ever given any promise of expressing her national thoughts and feelings, by means of the pencil, with any degree of power and felicity at all approaching to that in which she has already often made use of the vehicle of words — or even to that which she had displayed in her early music. Before this time, the poverty of Scotland, and the extreme difficulty of pictorial education, as contrasted with the extreme facility of almost every other kind of edu- cation, had been sufficient (o prevent the field of art from ever attracting the sympathies and ambition of the young men of genius in this country ; and the only exceptions to this rule are such as cannot fail to illustrate, in a very striking way, the general influence of its authority. Neither can f be persuaded to think, that the only exceptions which did exist, were at all very splendid ones. The only two Scottish painters of former times, of whom any of the Scotch con- noisseurs, with whom I have conversed, seem to speak with much exultation, are Gavin Hamilton and Runciman. The latter, although he was far inferior in the practice of art — although he knew nothing of colouring, and very little of drawing — yet, in my opinion, possessed much more of the true soul of a painter than the former. There is about hie often miserably drawn figures, and as often miserably arranged troupes, a certain rude character of grandeur, a certain in- describable majesty and originality of conception, which Peter's letters, 30S shows at once, that had he been better educated, he might have been a princely painter. The other possessed, in per- fection, all the manual part of his art — he made no mistakes - — he was sure so far as he went — he had the complete mastery of his tools. The subjects which he chose, too, were admi- rable, and in his treatment of many of them altogether, he has displayed a union of talents, which few, even of the very first artists the world has produced, could ever equal. But Gavin Hamilton was not a great painter. Nature never meant him to be one. He wanted soul to conceive, and therefore his hands, so ready and so skilful to execute, were of little avail. 1 have seen many of his works in Italy — as yet, none of them here ; for the artist always lived in Italy, and very few of his paintings have ever, I believe, reached the country of his birth. At a late period of his life, indeed, he came to Scotland, where he was possessed of a considerable paternal estate, had a painting-room fitted up in his house, and re- solved to spend the remainder of his days among his coun- trymen. But great as he really was, in many respects, and great above all comparison as he must have appeared, or, at least, was entitled to appear in Scotland then, he found little sympathy and little enthusiasm to sustain and reward his la- bours ; and, after painting a few large pictures for the Duke of Hamilton, (with whose family he was nearly connected,) Gavin returned once more to Rome — never to leave it again. There indeed he enjoyed a high and brilliant reputation. He was a kind of Mengs among the cognoscenti, and his name, like that of Mengs, was rendered celebrated throughout the continent by the praises of French travellers and Italian cice- roni. But Mengs has since been reduced to his due dimen- sions ; and Gavin Hamilton could have no reason to com- plain that he has suffered the same fate, although indeed it is very true, the dimensions to which he has been reduced, are yet smaller than those of Mengs. Such is the invariable des- tiny of all but the true demi-guds. For his own living hour* each may possess all the expansion of popular renown ; but, when they come to take their place among the great assembly *f the illustrious dead, •* Behold a wonder ! they but now who seemed In bigness to surpass Earth's giant sons, Now less than smallestdwarfs.it} narrow room. Throes uttHaberlessr'-— 304 Peter's letters- Even the raptures of Voltaire can no longer persuade men that either Mengs or Hamilton were worthy representatives of the great painters of the centuries preceding. It would seem, however, as if the first day-spring of art in Scotland had been enough to illuminate many regions besides those to which I have already alluded. For the first time is Scotland now possessed of admirable landscape painters, as well as of historical painters; and in the department of por- trait, the progress she has made has been no less remarkable. With regard to landscape painting, it is very true, that she has not yet equalled the present glories of the sister kingdom — but then the world has only one Turner, and Scotland comes far nearer to the country which has had the honour of producing that great genius, than any other country in Eu- rope. She ha^ reared many artists in this department, whose works are well known in England, and she has fixed the resi- dence and affections of a countryman of our own, whose works, were they known as they deserve to be, would, I am persuaded, confer more pure delight on all that are capable of understanding and feeling their beauties, than it has almost ever fallen to the lot of any one artist to bestow upon his con- temporaries. I owe my first acquaintance with this painter to my friend W , who is extremely fond of bis company, no less than of his pictures ; but have since met him very often in the fashionable societies of the place. It is a singular enough coincidence, too, that Mr. Williams (for he is your namesake,) has owed scarcely less of his celebrity to his residence in foreign countries, and his choice of foreign subjects, than Mr. Allan has done. It is true, that he has long been known as an admirable landscape painter, and, I think, you must have seen some of his works in Wales, as well as in London ; but it was not till last year, when Mr. Williams returned to Edin- burgh, after travelling for some years in Italy and Greece, that his genius seems to have displayed itself in its utmost power. Familiar as he had all his life been with the b< auty and the grandeur of mountains, lakes, and rivers, and skilful as he had shown himself in transfusing their shapes and their eloquence to his canvass — there seem to have slumbered in his breast the embers of a nobler fire, which never burst into a flame until he had gazed upon the majestic face of nature, in lands, where her majesty borrows a holier and sublimer influence from the memory of men and actions, in comparison ipeter's letters. 805 with which the greatest of modern men, and the most brilliant ef modern actions, must be contented to appear as dim and pigmy. Even I'aly, for there was the scene of his first wan- derings, seems to have wanted the power to call forth this hidden spark into its full radiance. It was reserved for the desolate beauty of Greece, to breathe into this fine spirit such a sense of the melancholy splendour of Nature, in climes where she was once no less gay than splendid — such a deep and touching sympathy, with the decays of earthly greatness, and the vanity of earthly ambition — such a mournful tender- ness of feeling and of pencil, as have been sufficient to render him at once one o( the most original, one of the most impres- sive, and one of the most delightful of painters. Surely I am a lover of nature ; but I confess, that pictured representations of external nature, when linked with no sub- ject of human action or passion, have, in general, been able to produce, comparatively, but little effect upon my mind. The paintings of Claude, indeed, always affected me in the most powerful manner; but then, I think, the idea that the scene was in Italy, and the shapes of Roman aqueducts, tow- ers, and temples, gleaming beneath his sunny lustre, or more gentle moonlight, always entered very largely into the deep gratification I received from contemplating them. The same kind of instruments of excitement have been far more libe- rally employed by Williams, than by any of the great paint- ers with whose works I am acquainted — and besides, the scenes of Greece, and the desolation of Greece, are things to my mind of yet nobler power than any of which even Claude had command. It is there — I may be wrong in con- fessing it — it is there, among the scattered pillars of Thebes or Corinth — or in full view of all the more glorious remains of more glorious Athens — or looking from the ivied and mouldering arches of Delphi, quite up through the mountain mists of the craggy summits of Parnassus, and the far off windings of the Castalian brook — it is there, that the footsteps of men appear to have stamped a grander sanctity even on the most magnificent forms of nature. It is there that Williams seems first to have felt, and it is in his transcripts of these glorious scenes, that I myself have been sensible of feeling the whole fulness and awfulness of the works of the Creator — - — All this magnificent effect of power, The earth we tread, the sky which we behold By day, and all the pomp which night reveals, 39 306 fetter's letters. As yet Mr. Williams has not had time to finish many pic- tures, from the sketches he made in Greece ; but, for the most part, these sketches are, in themselves, most charming pic- tures; for, in spite of the fierce suns which all preceding travellers dreaded and shunned as much as possible, and which no preceding painter ever braved, it was bis custom to colour his sketches upon the spot where they were made. The effects which he has thus produced are so very new, that, but for the certainty one has in regard to the mode of their production, it is not to be denied, they would appear somewhat extrava- gant. I have wandered over all the scenes uf deserted grandeur in Southern France and Italy — but these Greek ruins make their appearance in a style of majestic splendour, for which my eyes were totally unprepared. The action of the atmos- phere upon the marble seems to have been quite different here from any thing I have ever witnessed elsewhere ; and this, taken together with the dazzling brightness reflected from in- numerable fields of waving mustard, has thrown such a breadth of yellow radiance around the crumbling monuments of wis- dom and valour, that the eyes starts back at first, as if from the glare of the sun in half-complete eclipse. By degrees, however, the intense truth of the representation forces its way into one's heart, and you gaze with your hand over your eyes upon the golden decline of Athens, with the same unques- tioning earnestness, as if you were transported, all at once, to one of the sunny slopes of Hymettus, I speak of Athens— for it is there surely that the artist must have felt most, and it is in the large picture he has already finished of Athens, that the spirit of the place, the Eeligio Loci, seems to have infused its deepest charm into the pencil of the worshipper. Before you lies a long level of green and yellow grain, broken every- where by tufted plantations of vines and olives — with here and there a solitary oak or sycamore, lifting itself broader and browner above their underwood— in the midst of which the gigantic Corinthian columns* of what was once the Tem- ple of Jupiter, form a resting-place of radiance halfway be- tween you and the city. The low roofs and fantastic outlines of the houses of the modern city spread along the verge of the hill, and separate it from the fore-ground ; but the ma- jestic remains behind seem to acknowledge little connexion with the works of modern men, which intervene between us and their surpassing beauty. The whole brow of the Aero- PETER ? 3 LETTERS. 307 polis stiil beams with a labyrinth of splendour, which, at first glance, you could hardly suspect to be in decay — with sach noble decision of outline do these yellow pillars break the sky behind them — towers, and gateways, and temples, and domes, and porticos, all gleaming together on the summit, in the same warmth of radiance that shone upon them when Pericles walked thither to offer u-p incense before the new-made mas- terpiece of Phidias. The Temple of The.eus stands lower down, more entire than the Parthenon, but half lost in the shadow of the Acropulis. Behind, through a rich and wooded plain that stretches to the sea, the eye may trace some linger- ing vestiges of what once were the long walls of the Piraeus. The sea itself sleeps bright and blue beyond — beneath a bright sky, where not one speck of cloud is seen to hover above the glorious landscape. Far behind lies Salamis,and farther still JEgina — In the centre of the piece, on the left hand, a small sheep-track, scarcely discernible among the mossy green, shows where once lay the high road to Marathon. To the right, close beneath where you stand, a group of Turks and Albanians are clustered together, with all the glaring hues of their barbaric splendour, by a clear small pool — " Thy banks, Cephisus, and the crystal lymph, With which thou dost refresh the thirsty lips, And moisten all day long these flowery fields." What a landscape is here ! how naked of men, yet how im- pregnated with the essence of humanity ! 1 <*«- u%ot When the wine-cup shines in light Indeed, why do I say he should have been ? he has feen, and Hokenlmden, and Ye Mariners of England, and the HaMe oj peter's letters. 333 the Baltic, will never be forgotten as long as the British Jack is hoisted by the hands of freemen. I have already said something about the head of the author of the Isle of Palms — and that of the Ettrick Shepherd. They are both finp in their several ways. That of Wilson is full of the marks of genuine enthusiasm, and lower down, of intense perception, and love of localities — which last feature, by the way, may, perhaps, account for his wild delight in rambling. I have heard that in his early youth, he proposed to go out to Africa, in quest of the Joliba, and was dissuaded only by the representation made to him on the subject of his remark- ably fair and florid complexion — but I believe he has since walked over every hill and valley in the three kingdoms — having angling and versifying, no doubt, for his usual occu- pations, but finding room every now and then, by way of in- terlude, for astonishing the fairs and wakes all over these islands, by his miraculous feats in leaping, wrestling, and sin- gle-stick. As for the Ettrick Shepherd, I am told that when Spurzheim was here, he never had his paws off him-— and some cranioscopical young ladies of Edinburgh are said still to practise in the same way upon the good-humoured owner of so many fine bumps. I hear Mathews has borrowed for his " At Home" a saying which originally belongs to the Ettrick Shepherd. When Dr. Spurzheim, (or as the Northern Reviewers very improperly christened him in the routs of Edinburgh, Dousterswivel,) — when the Doctor first began to feel out the marks of genius in the cranium of the pastoral poet, it was with some little difficulty that Mr. Hogg could be made to understand the drift of his curiosity. After hear- ing the Doctor's own story — " My dear fellow," quoth the Shepherd, " if a few knots and swells make a skull of genius, I've seen mony a saft chield get a swapping organization in five minutes at Selkirk tryst." Since I have found my way once more into the subject of Craniologyj I may as well tell you that I totally disagree with you, in regard to your remarks upon my notion of the Farnese Hercules. I do not think your eye has been suffi- ciently trained in the inspection of living skulls * you mus * not venture as yet upon the antique, in which there is always some allowance to be made for the proper and necessary ex- aggeration of arlists, that knew weU enough what was right, but knew also that things should be broadly told, which are 334 PETER'S LETTERS. meant for the distant eye. The Theseus is another statue of a hero of somewhat the same kind, and on looking into these things more leisurely, I am inclined to think you will find in it also confirmation of all that I said. In this town, there is at the Drawing Academy, a cast of this Elgin Marble, which I saw only yesterday, and I am never weary of seeing any copy, however faint, of that glorious original. The most remarkable thing about the organization of the Theseus, however, is that the front part of the head is higher than the back part, which is a circumstance that very seldom, occurs in Nature. I am not sure whether the form, even of this part of the Theseus, has not been defaced by the weather? and I think that in the cast there is some look of a joining, as if the upper hemisphere of the head had been found se- parate, and afterwards united to the statue. This is a pro- found and delicate question, and, as I pass through London, I shall certainly endeavour to have a committee of craniolo- gists summoned together to inquire into the fact — as one upon which the most important conclusions may depend. My own poor opinion is, that the sculptor probably did make the front part of the head higher than, or, at least, equally high with, the back parts. In most human heads, the point of will is the highest part — and from thence there is a slope more or less coming down to the forehead. In the Apollo Belvedere the slope is not much, and the line which it de- scribes is convex and swelling. Now, in the Hercules Far- nese, making allowance for the irregularities of the hair, there is no slope, but a level. If you look down on the top of the head of the Hercules, you will find it a very long one. The forehead is far pushed out — the middle is large — and the animal faculties are copious. The head of the Apollo, on the contrary, is far from being long in the same proportion — and it is singular how little the forehead is ex- panded, when considered in relation to the rest of the head. But I think the ancients had a notion that a small forehead expresses youth. But the animal faculties, even of the Hercules himself, are quite Lilliputian compared with those of a late hotel- keeper in this town, of whom a bust was taken after his death, by particular request of my friend W . This man's head (his name was Macculloch,) is shaped exactly like a jelly-bag, the animal propensities, below and behind, having apparently drawn down to them the whole of the peter's letters. 335 juices, from which his organization above ought to have been supplied. His ears can scarcely be seen for the masses of luxurious prominence among which they are buried, and BO mad bull was ever thicker just above the nape of the neck. I think it is much to be regretted, that such a person should have died in the prime of life — he must have been a fine living symbol of the Epicureanism — not of the garden — but of the kitchen and the cellar. His forehead is low and retreating, his nose short, and snubbed up at the end — the nostrils purfled and swelled out as they were not the recep- tacles of air, but apertures made expressly for blowing out the fumes of wine — perhaps tobacco — and his throat looks as if it were never intended to be otherwise than gorged with good cheer. Altogether he bears considerable resemblance to some of the fine old toping satyrs I have seen on antique vases. I am told this roan was of great use to Edin- burgh, by introducing many most striking improvements in all departments of the profession wherein Nature had fitted him so eminently to excel. There was no such thing as a dinner well set down in a Northern tavern, till this great genius's jelly-bag head was set to work, and now I confess the North appears to me to be in all these respects treading fast on the kibes of the South. I think there is no question, the tavern-keepers of Scotland ought to canonize Macculloch as their patron saint, and put up his effigy over their doors, as time out of mind the tobacconists have placed over theirs that of the celebrated Negro, who smoked in one day the weight, of his own body in segars. P. M. LETTER LV. TO THE SAME. I know not how many days I might have lingered in the delightful society of A d, had it not been that I had pro- mised W— — 19 be back in Edinburgh by a particular day 336 peter's letters. at dinner, and 1 was the less willing to break my engage ment, as I understood Mr. Scott was to come to town in the course of a week, so that I should not be compelled to take my final leave of him at his own seat. I quitted, how- ever, with not a little reluctance, the immediate scene of so much pleasure — and the land of so many noble recollections. The morning, too, on which I departed, was cold and misty ; the vapours seemed unwilling to melt about the hill-tops ; and I forded the darkened waters of the Tweed in assuredly a very pensive mood. Muffled in my cloak above the ears, I witnessed rather than directed the motions of the shandrydan, and arrived in Auld Reekie, after a ride of more than thirty miles, almost witnout having escaped, for a single second, from the same cloud of reverie in which I had begun the journey. The character of the eminent man whom I had been seeing, and the influence which his writings have produced upon his country, were, as might be supposed, the main ingredients of all my meditation. After having conversed with Mr. Scott, and so become familiar with the features of his coun- tenance, and the tones of his voice, it seemed to me as if I had been furnished with a new key to the whole purpose of his intellectual labours, and was, for the first time, in a si- tuation to look at the life and genius of the man with an eye of knowledge. It is wonderful how the mere seeing of such a person gives concentration, and compactness, and distinct- ness to one's ideas on all subjects connected with him: I speak for myself — to my mind, one of the best commentaries upon the meaning of any author, is a good image of his face — and, of course, the reality is far more precious than any image can be. You have often told me that Walter Scott has been ex- celled by several other poets of his time, in regularity and beauty of composition; and so far I have agreed, and do still agree with you. But I think there can be no doubt, that far more than any other poet, or any other author of hi? time, Iip is entitled to claim credit for the extent and impor- tance of the class of ideas to which he has drawn the public attention ; and if it be so, what small matters all his deficien- cies or irregularities are, when put in the balance against such praise "as this. At a time when the literature of Scot- land—and of England too — was becoming every day more and more destitute of command over everything but the mere Peter's letters. 33? speculative understanding of men — this great genius seems to have been raised up to counteract, in tbe wisest and best of all ways, this unfortunate tendency of his age, by re-awaken- ing the sympathies of his countrymen for the more energetic characters and passions of their forefathers. In so doing he employed, indeed, with the skill and power of a true master, and a true philosopher, what constitutes the only effectual means of neutralizing that barren spirit of lethargy into which the progress of civilization is in all countries so apt to lull the feelings and imaginations of mankind. The period du- ring which most of his works were produced, was one of mighty struggles and commotions throughout ail Europe, and the experience of that eventful period is sufficient to prove, that the greatest political anxieties, and the most important international struggles, can exert little awakening influence upon the character and genius of a people, if the private life of its citizens at home remains limited and monotonous, and confines their personal experience and the range of their thoughts. The rational matter-of-fact way in which all great public concerns are now-a-days carried forward, is sufficient to throw a damp upon the most stirring imagination. Wars are begun and concluded more in reliance upon the strength of money, than on the strength of minds and of men — votes, and supplies, and estimates, and regular business-like des- patches, and daily papers, take away among them the greater part of that magnificent indistinctness, through which ; in former times, the great games of warfare and statesman- ship used alike to be regarded by those whose interests were at stake. Very little room is left for enthusiasm, when peo- ple are perpetually perplexed in their contemplations of great actions and great men, by the congratulating pettinesses of the well-disposed on one side, and the carping meannesses of the envious, and the malevolent, and the little minded, on the other. The circle within which men's thoughts move, be comes every day a narrower one — and they learn to travel to all their conclusions, not over the free and generous ranges of principle and feeling, but along the plain, hard, dusty high- way of calculation. Now, a poet like Walter Scott, by en- quiring into and representing the modes of life in earlier times, employs the imagination of his countrymen, as a means of making them go through the personal experience of their an- cestry, and of making them acquainted with the various courses of thought and emotion, by which their forefathers 43 338 peter's letters. had tbeir genius and characters drawn out. — things to whieri : > by the mechanical arrangements of modern life and society, we have been rendered too much strangers. Other poets, such as Byron, have attempted an analogous operation, by carrying us into foreign countries, where society is still com- paratively young — but their method is by no means so hap- py or so complete as Scott's, because the people among whom they seek to interest us, have national characters to- tally different from our own — whereas those whose minds he exhibits as a stimulus to ours, are felt at once to be great kindred originals, of which our every-day experience shows us copies, faint indeed, but capable of being worked into stronger resemblance. If other poets should afterwards seek and collect their materials from the same field, they may per- haps be able to produce more finished compositions, but the honour of being the Patriarch of the National Poetry of Scotland, must always remain in the possession of Walter Scott. Nay, whatever direction the genius of his country- men may take in future years, the benefit of his writings must ever be experienced in the great resuscitation of slum- bering elements, which they have produced in the national mind. Perhaps the two earliest of his poems, the Lay of the Last Minstrel and Marmion, are the most valuable, because they are the most impregnated with the peculiar spirit of Scottish antiquity. In his subsequent poems, he made too much use of the common materials and machinery employed in the popular novels of that day, and descended so far as to hinge too much of their interest upon the common resources of an artfully constructed fable. In like manner, in those prose Tales — which I no more doubt to be his than the poems he has published with his name — in that delightful series of works, which have proved their author to be the nearest kinsman the creative intellect of Shakspeare has ever had — the best are those, the interest of which is most directly and historically national — Waverly and Old Mor- tality. The whole will go down together, so long as any national character survives in Scotland — and themselves will, I nothing question, prolong the existence of national char- acter there more effectually, than any other stimulus its waning strength is ever likely to meet with. But I think the two I have mentioned, will always be considered as the brightest jewels in this ample crown of unquenched and un- quenchable radiance. What Shakspeare has done for the peter's letters. 339 civil wars of the two Roses, and the manifestations of nation- al mind produced by the influence of the old baronial feuds —what the more than dramatic Clarendon has done for the great period of contest between the two majestic sets of prin- ciple*, upon whose union, matured and tempered, the mo- dern constitution of England is founded — the same service has been rendered by the author of these Tales, (whosoever he may be.) to the most interesting times in the history of the national mind of Scotland — the times, when all the vari- ous elements of her character, religious and political, were exhibited in their most lively fermentation of sharpness and vigour. As for the complaints which have been made of un- fairness and partiality, in the views which he has given of the various parties — I think they are not only exaggerated, but altogether absurd. It is, indeed, very easy to see to which side the Poet's own early prejudices have given his mind a leaning — but I think it is no less easy to see that the romance of his predilections has been tempered and chastened by as fine a mixture of sober reflection and generous candour, as ever entered into the composition of any man of high and enthusiastic feeling. There is too much chivalry about the man, to allow of his treating his foes unfairly ; and had he been really disposed to injure any set of men, he had wea- pons enough at his disposal, very different from any which even his detractors can accuse him of having employed. But enough of such fooleries ; they are only fit for those who have uttered them — a set of persons, by the way, who might have been expected to bear a little innocent ridicule with a little more Christian equanimity, after so ample experience of the " Cachinno monstrarier." Altogether, it must be allowed that the situation of Scot- land, as to literature, is a very peculiar one. No large crop of indigenous literature sprung out of its own feelings at the time when the kindred spirit of England was in that way so prolific. The poets it produced in the former times were al- most all emigrants, and took up the common stock of ideas that were floating in England ; — or at lea?t their works, like those of Thomson, had no relation to their own country in particular, or its modes of feeling. It is a difficult question how two countries, standing in the relation of England and Scotland, should manage with their respective talents and his- tories. It cannot be doubted that there is a very considerable difference in their national genius — and indeed, the Scots seem •340 PETER'S LETTERS. to resemble the English much more in their power of thought than in their cum of character. Their first remarkable ex- hibition of talent was entirely in the line of thought — Hume, Smith, and the rest of that school, are examples. The Scots dialect never having been a written language, at least to any important extent, and there being no literary monu- ments belonging exclusively to Scotland, of course the asso- ciations of the literary men were formed on English models and on English works. Now, after two nations have been long separate in their interests, and have respectively nourished their own turn of thinking— they may at last come to be united in their interests, but their associations cannot be so pliable, nor can they be so easily amalgamated. An union of national interests quoad external power relates chief- ]y to the'future— whereas, associations respect the past. And here was an unfortunate circumstance of separation between the Scols literati and the mass of the Scottish people. — The essence of all nationality, however, is a peculiar way of thinking, and conceiving, which may be applied to subjects not belonging to the history of one's own country, although it certainly is always most in place when exhibited in con- junction with the scenery and accompaniments of Home. In Scotland, there are many things that must conspire to wean men from the past— the disuse of their old dialect— the un- pleasant nature of some of the events that have befallen them— the neighbourhood of triumphant and eclipsing Eng- land, which, like an immense magnet, absolutely draws fhe needles from the smaller ones— the Reformation, above all* which among them, was conducted in a way peculiarly un- fortunate, causing all the old religious associations to be considered as detestable and sinful ; and gradually sinking into oblivion a great many ancient ideas of another class, which were entwined with these, and which were shaken oft also as a matter of necessity, ne pars sincera trahatur. Puritanism, by its excessive exclusiveness, always brings along with it a nakedness and barrenness of mind in relation to all human attachments, and the temporal concerns of life. But human nature, in despite of puritanism, can never be utterly extinguished. It still demands some human things for our affections to lean upon — some thoughts to be dear to our imaginations, and which we may join our countrymen in loving — for common attachments widely diffused, must a! peter's letters, 341 ways lend (0 civilize and improve human nature, and awaken generous and social habits of feeling. Shakspeare observes in Coriolanus, that, during the time of war, citizens always feel more benevolent toward each other; and the reason, no doubt, is, that war reminds them in what respects their inter- ests and feelings concur. Puritanism weighs too hard upon human nature, and does not tend to draw out ils best aspect. It makes every man too much the arbiter of his opinions and their champion—hence too much self-love. It makes him look with too much jealousy and anxiety upon his neighbours, as persons in error, or capable of leading him into error— or as differing in their convictions from those at which he himself has had the happiness to arrive. Hence a want of cheerfulness, confidence, and settled good nature.— Lastly, puritanism leaves a man alone to face and fight the devil up- on the strength of his own virtue and judgment, which, I dare say, Colonel Harrison himself would feel to be as much as he was able for. Puritans confine their imaginations en- tirely to the Scriptures, and cut themselves off from the early Romish legends of saints— the true mythology of Christi- anity—the only part of it, at least, which poetry and the other fine arts can, without too great a breach of reverence, mould and adapt to their own purposes. Some of them surely are exquisite in beauty, and afford room for all manner of play of fancy. I speak, you will remember, entirely with an eye to literature. Whatever may be the orthodox opinion? on these subjects, why should poetry refuse to invest them with preternatural attributes, or to take advantage of the fine poetical situations which sometimes occur in those old his tories ? Again, although the history of Scotland has not been throughout filled with splendid or remarkable events, fitted to show off the national character in the most luminous and im- posing points of view, yet few persons will refuse to consider the Scots as a nation remarkable — most remarkable — for natural endowments. It would be difficult to say in what ele- ments adapted to make a nation shine in literature they are at all deficient. Now, when the character of a nation has once fully developed itself in events or in literature, its pos- terity are too apt to consider its former achievements or wri- tings as an adequate expression or symbol of what exists in themselves, and so to remain contented without making any o42 peter's letters. farther exertions— and this, I take it, is one of the main causes of what appears externally in the history of nations, to be barrenness, degeneracy, and exhaustion of intellectual ^ower — so that it may perhaps be one of the advantages which Scotland possesses over England and many other coun- tries, that she has not yet created any sufficient monuments of (hat " mightiness for good or ill" that is within her. If a remainder of her true harvest is yet to be reaped — if any considerable body of her yet unexpended force is now to make its appearance in literature, it will do so under the most favourable circumstances, and with all appliances to boot, Avhich the present state of intellectual cultivation in Europe can furnish, both in the way of experience, and as objects for examination and reflection. The folly of slighting and con- cealing what remains concealed within herself, is one of the worst and most pernicious that can beset a country, in the situation wherein Scotland stands. Although, perhaps, it is not now the cue of Scotland to dwell very much on her own past history, (which that of England has thrown too much into the shade,) yet she should observe what fine things have been made even of this department, by the great genius of whom I have spoken above — and learn to consider her own national character as a mine of intellectual wealth, which re- mains in a great measure unexplored. While she looks back upon the history of England, as upon that of the country to which she has suspended and rendered subordinate her for- tunes, yet she should by no means regard English literature, as an expression of her mind, or as superseding the exami- nation of what intellectual resources remain unemployed within her own domains of peculiar possession. The most remarkably literary characters which Scotland produced last century, showed merely (as I have already said) the force of her intellect, as applied to matters of rea- soning. The generation of Hume, Smith, &c, left matters of feeling very much unexplored, and probably considered Poetry merely as an elegant and tasteful appendage to the other branches of literature, with which they themselves were more conversant. Their disquisitions on morals were meant to be the vehicles of ingenious theories — not of convictions of sentiment. They employed, therefore, even in them, only the national intellect, and not the national modes of feeling. PETERS LETTERS. 343 The Scottish literati of the present day have inherited the ideas of these men, and acted upon them in a great measure — with scarcely niore than the one splendid exception of Wal- ter Scott. While all the rest were contenting themselves with exercising and displaying their speculative acuteness, this man had the wisdom— whether by the impulse of nature, or from reflexion, I know not— to grapple boldly with the feelings of his countrymen. The habits of self-love, so much pampered and indulged by the other style, must have opposed some re- sistance to the influence of works such as his — I mean their more solid, and serious, and abiding influence upon the cha- racters and mind of those who read them ; but these are only wreaths of snow, whose cold flakes are made to be melted when the sun shines fairly upon them. His works are alto- gether the most remarkable phenomenon in the age of won- ders — produced among a people, whose taste had been well nigh wearied frow all these ranges of feeling, on which their main inspiration and main power depend — they have, of them- selves, been sufficient to create a more than passionate return of faith and homage to those deserted elements of greatness, in all the better part of his countrymen. I consider him, and his countrymen should do so, as having been the sole saviour of all the richer and warmer spirit of literature in Scotland. He is, indeed, the Facdlime Princeps of all her poets, past and present, and I more than question the likelihood of his having hereafter any " Brother near the throne." I should like to see a really fine portrait of Mr. Scott, re- presenting him in his library — or rather, in his armoury at A d, musing, within sight of the silver Tweed, upon some grand evacuation of the national genius of his country. By the way, I should have told you what a fine picturesque place this armoury is — how its roof is loaded with fac-similes of the best decorations of Melrose — how its windows glow with the rich achievements of all the old families of BorderVenown — how its walls are covered with hauberks, jacks, actons, bills, brands, claymores, targets, and every weapon of foray war- fare. — But I must not come back to my descriptions. P. M. P. S. If any of my remarks appear short and ill-tempered, be pleased to remember that they have been written under all the irritation of a foot swelling and reddening every hour into more decided Podagra. I feel that I am fairly in for a fit. 344 P£TER*S LETTERS. I have at least a week of ray sofa before me— so, instead of claret, and the writing of worldly epistles, I must e'en do the best I can with a sip of water-gruel, and the old luxury of conning over Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. Onc>* snore adi^u ! — " A stout heart to a stiff brae," as we say in Scotland 5 which, being interpreted, signifies " Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito." P.M. LETTER LVI. TO THE REV. DAVID WILLIAMS. My dear David, I have not written to you for these eight days, simply because I have not been able to do so. The fit has been a severe one, and I feel that I am weakened, and see that I am thinned by it, beyond almost any preceding example in my own experience. My friend W , however, was quite indefatigable in his attentions; and every now and then, some of the new friends I have made in Edinburgh would be dropping in upon me to relieve the tedium or the agony, .{as might happen,) by the charms of their good-humoured and sympathetic conversation. Mr. Jeffrey, in his way home from the Parliament-House — Mr. Piayfair, immediately after delivering his lecture— and sometimes Professor Lesslie and the Ettrick Shepherd, in the course of their walks, were among my morning visiters ; and I had a regular succes- sion of poets, artists, and young lawyers, sipping coffee in my view every evening. An old maiden lady, nearly re- lated to Mr. W , was also particularly kind to me. She sent her foot-boy every morning, with compliments and in- quiries, and some small jar of sweatmeats, or bottle of cor- dial, of her own manufacture — or the like. Indeed, W informs me, that one day she went so far as to throw out some hints respecting a visit to the sick man, in propria ■persona ; but my friend easily spared me that addition to my uneasinesses, by one or two dry remarks about " malicious tongues," and the " rules of propriety." But now, my good friend, I am well nigh a sound man again, and intend, God willing, to walk out and sun myself in Prince's-Street n nttle while to-morrow forenoon. peter's letters. 34$ In the meantime I have had my sofa removed close to the window, which commands a view of a short street communi- cating between St. Andrew's Square and Prince's-Street— and which is tolerably frequented, although not quite so much so as I could wish. This, indeed, is the only fault I have to find with my hotel — it does not afford me a sufficient peep of the bustle and tumult of the city. In the country I like to be altogether in the country — but, I think in a town, above all in a town-hotel, the best situation is that which is nearest the heart of the hubbub. The heart is rather too strong an expression, but I think there is no use in having eyes to see and ears to hear, unless these avenues of know- ledge are to be brought into something like contact with the busy sounds and sighs of the place. However, even as it is, by help of a bright pair of spectacles, and a quick pair of ears, I make shift to gather some food for my speculation. One thing has already struck me — and that is, that there is a much greater number of gentlemen in black coats walking about than before I was confined to my couch. They seem to have poured into the city during my illness — and, indeed, I see by the newspapers, that the General Assembly, or great Annual Convocation of the Kirk, is at hand. On these I shall of course keep an especial look-out. Those I have already remarked, seem, in passing along, to be chiefly occupied in recognizing and shaking hands with each other — and sometimes with old acquaintances among the citizens of the place. Their greetings seem to be given and returned with a degree of heartiness and satisfac- tion which inspires a favourable idea of all parties concern- ed. I observed only this minute, a thin, bardy-Jooking minister, in a blue spenser over his sables, arrested imme- diately under my window, by a jolly-looking burgher, who, to judge by his obesity, may probably be in the magistracy, or council at least. ** Hoo d'ye do, Mr. Such-a-thing?" said the cit, (for I could not help lifting the glass an inch or two,) " and hoo did ye leave all at Auchtertirloch Manse f You must come and take your broth with us." To which the man in black replies with a clerical blandness of modulation — " Most certainly — you are exceedingly good — and hoo fares it with your good leddy ? You have lately had an addition to your family." " I understand from a friend in the North," cries the other, " that yon are not be- hind me in that particular — twias, Doctor ! O, the luck of 44 346 r'-ETER's LETTERS., a manse!" A loud cachination follows from both parties, and after a bow and a scrape — " You will remember four o'clock on Tuesday, Dr. Macalpine." In the course of an hour or two, I have an opportunity of witnessing several other rencounters of the same kind, and I feel a sort of contemplative pleasure in looking upon them, as so many fortuitous idyllia presenting themselves amidst the common thoroughfare of the streets. I saw, among the rest, one huge ecclesiastical figure, of an apoplectic and lethargic aspect, moving slowly along, with his eyes gog* gling in his head, and his tongue hanging out of his mouth, He was accosted by an old lawyer, whom I had often re- marked in the PaTliament-House, and who seemed to delight in reviving their juvenile remembrances, by using the broad- est Scots dialect. Among other observations I heard, " Hech, man ! I never think the yill so gude noo as when we war young"-*-and after some further interchange of sentiments, " Ye would hear that auld George Piper bad pappit aff," &c. &c. he. But I see Mr. W 's old yellow chariot at the door — and, besides, my fingers won't serve me for a longer epistle. Ever yours* P.M. P. S. By the way, during my days of convalescence, I have been so vain as to sit for my portrait to Mr. John Wat- son, the young painter, of whom I have said something in a former letter. I did this at the urgent request of Mr. Black- wood, the bookseller, who has taken a vehement desire to have my effigy among those of some ether great men at his country-house. I fear, however, that the state of my health has made the painter give me a face at least ten years too old. LETTER LVIL TO THE SAME, ***** * * * * * Mr. W seeing that I had recovered a considerable measure of my vigour, insisted upon carrying me with him LETTERS. 347 to make my bow at the levee of the Earl of Morton, who has come down as the King's Lord High Commissioner to the General Assembly of this year. Detesting, as he does, the Kirk — its Creed — and its practice — to wait in all due form upon the representative of Majesty, at this its great festival, is a thing which he would think it highly indecorous in him, or in the head and representative of any ancient Scottish fa- mily, to omit ; and, indeed, he is of opinion, that no gen- tleman of any figure who happens to be in Scotland at the time, should fail to appear in the same manner. He was, be- sides, more than commonly anxious in his devoirs on this occasion, on account of his veneration for the blood of the old Earls of Douglas, whose true representative he says the Earl of Morton is. My curiosity came powerfully in back of his zeal, and I promised to be in all readiness next morn- ing at the hour he appointed; In the meantime, His Grace (for such is the style of the Commissioner) had already arrived at the Royal Hotel, where, more avito, the provost and baillies, in all the gal- lantry of furred cloaks and gold chains, were in readiness to receive him, and present the ancient silver keys, symbolical of the long-vanished gates of the Gude Town of Edinburgh. The style in which the whole of this mock royalty is got up, strikes me as being extremely absurd. In the first place, I hold it a plain matter, that, if the King's majesty is to send a representative to preside over the disputes of the Scottish ministers and elders, this representative should be lodged no where but in the Palace of HoJyrood> where he might hold his mimic state in the same halls and galleries which might have been dignified by the feet of the real roonarchs of Scot- land. Instead of this^ the Commissioner is lodged in a common hotel — a magnificent one indeed — but which lias assuredly nothing royal about it but its name. And then, its situation is supposed to be too distant from the place where the Assembly meets, to allow of his walking all the way thither in procession, as it seems ancient custom requires him to do. So when the hour of meeting approaches, his Grace is smuggled over the bridge in a sedan chair, and stuck up in the Merchant's Hall to receive the company that come to swell the train of his procession. The undignified uses to which the apartment is applied at other times (for it serves as a reading-room all the rest of the year) is enough to throw %n addition, and surely a needless addition, of ridicule over 34S PETER'S- LETTERS* tbe scenes of courtly greeting to which it is now devoted. But it is within an easy walk of St. Giles's Church, and that counterbalances all objections. Meaning to be in London, and kiss the Prince's hand once more, before I return to Wales, I had brought my old court suit with me — the same suit of modest chocolate-colour ed kerseymere, David, which has figured in the presence of King George and Queen Charlotte at St. James's — of Napoleon and Louis le de-ire at the Thuiileries — of smooth Pius the Sixth at the Vatican — of solemn Francis at the Schloss of Vienna — of grim whiskered Frederick William at Berlin — of pale monastic Augustus at Dresden — to say nothing of the late enormous Hector of Wirtemberg, the good worthy Grand Duke of Weimar and Eisenach, and some score of minor thrones, principalities, and dominations betides. I took it for granted, that I could not make my appearance in presence of the Ecclesiastical Lord Lieutenant, without mount- ing this venerable garb ; so Jghn bad »he coat, waistcoat, and breeches well aired, and amused himself half an evening in polishing the steel buttons and buckles — and my queue being dropped into a seemly bag, and my loins girded with my father's somewhat rusty rapier— I drove — once more cap-a- pee a courtier — to my rendezvous in the Lawn-Market. I found W arrayed in a deputy-lieutenant's uniform of blue and red, with (albeit somewhat against the rules) tbe lit- tle cross of Dannebrog, which he had conferred on him many years ago, when be was in Denmark — on his breast ; but in spite of his own splendour, he quizzed me unmercifully on the sober pomp of my own vestments — assuring me, that, except the Commissioner, and his purse-bearer and pages, I should find nobody in a court suit at the levee. It was too late, however, to change ; and as I am not a very nervous man about triflas, I did not choose to miss the sight merely because I had over -dressed myself. W 's old coachman had combed his wig in full puff, and his lackey mounted be- hind us in a fine gala livery of green and white, as old as Queen Ann's sixpences — so I question not the contents of the yellow chariot, outside and inside, made rather a con- spicuous appearance. However, we soon reached the Mer- chant's Hall, and were ushered into the Presence-chamber of his Grace. You know Lord Morton, so I don't need to tell you that the heir of the Douglasses made a highly respectable ap- peter's letters. 349 pearanee, standing in the midst of bis circle, in blue and gold, with the green ribbon and star of the Thistle. I had often seen bis lordship; so, after being introduced by W , and making my lowest bow, as in duty bound, I ex- ercised mv optics more ed the Court than the Commissioner — the needle? than their magnet. Vou never saw such a motley crew of homage doers. I myself and my old cho- colate suit might be considered, it struck me, as forming a sort of link between the officers in scarlet uniform, and the Members of Assembly in black dishabilles, of which two classes of person* the greater part ol the company was composed. But, altogether, there could not be a more mise- rable mixture of tawdriness and meanness. Here stood a spruce Irish hero, stuck all over with peninsular medals, in jack-boosts — there, a heavy-headed minister, with his car- rotty hair flying ad libitum about his ears — his huge hands half buried in the fobs of his velveteen breeches, and a pair of black woisted stockings, hanging line upon line, measure upon measure, about his ankles. On one side, a tall, stately, very fine-looking peer of the realm, clad in solemn black from head to toot, and having a double bamboo in his hand, almost as tall as himself, might be supposed to represent the old Lords of the Covenant, who were glad to add to the natural consequence of their nobility, that of being " Elders in Israel." On the other, a little shabby scrivener, in trow- sers, (pro scelus !) might be seen swelling with vanity at the notion of his being permitted to stand so close to so many of his betters — and twirling his hat all the while in an agony of impudent awkwardness. To the left the Procurator of the Kirk, the official law-adviser of the Assembly,) in his advocate's wig of three tails, and the Moderator himself, distinguished from his clerical brethren by a single-breasted coat and cocked hat, might be seen laying their heads to- gether, touching some minutiae of the approaching meeting — while the right was occupied, in all manner of civic so- lemnity and glory, by a phalanx of the magistracy of Edin- burgh. The figure which these last worthies cut is so im- posing, that I can easily believe in the truth of a story I have heard of last year's Assembly, which, at first sight, would, no doubt, have somewhat the air of a quiz. The Earl of Errol was the Commissioner, and the University of Glasgow bad thought fit to send and address of congratulation 1o bis Lordship, on his having attained to so high an office. 35G PETER'S LETTER Their envoy was their Principal — an ancient divine, as I am told, who has been well used to Assemblies and Commis- sioners for more than half a century. On this occasion, however, his long experience seems to have been of little use to him, for he committed a sad blunder in the mode of delivering his address. The gorgeous array of Baillies, it is to be supposed, had caught his eye on first entering the Presence-room, and dazzled it so much, that it would have required some time to recover its power of discrimination. Of this gorgeous array, the centre-star was one Baillie > powdered with a particular degree of splendour, and the Principal, never doubting that he was the Commissioner, stepped close to him, and rolled out the well-poised periods of his address, with an air of unquestioning submission, that quite convulsed the whole of those who were up to the joke. The Baillie himself, however, was too much thun- derstruck to be able to stop him, and the true dignitary en- joyed the humour of the thing too much to deprive his Dou- ble of any part of the compliment. In a word, it was not till the doctor had made an end of speaking, and stood in smiling expectation of his Grace's reply, that some kind friend whispered him he was in the wrong box ; and, look- ing round, he saw, in an opposite corner of the room, a per- sonage, not indeed so fat, and, perhaps, not quite so fine as his Baillie, but possessing a native grace and majesty of port and lineament, which spoke but too plainly where the in- cense should have been offered. This was a cruel scene ;• but the awe with which some of the rural pastors about me seemed to survey, now and then, the grand knot of Baillies, was sufficient to convince me that it might have happened very naturally. The present levee, by the way, was, as W informed me, by much the most splendid he had seen for a long while — the old Duke of Gordon was among the company, and a greater number than is common of the in- ferior orders of the nobility. The most conspicuous, how- ever, in every point of view, was the Earl of Hopetoun, the Achates of Wellington, and a true hero in figure as well as in more important matters. Close by his side stood his heroic brother-in-arms, Colonel David Steuart, of Gartb, whom I met two years ago at Lord Combermere's. Bye and bye, the tolling of the bells of St. Giles' an- nounced that the time was come for the procession to movfcj peter's letters. 3bl *nd the Commissioner quitted the chamber, preceded and followed by a few awkward-looking pages in red coats, and some other attendants. The nobility then marshalled them- selves in order due, and descended — a baronet or two after them — after these, a few new-made Knights of the Bath. The rest of the party seemed to follow without discrimina- tion, pretty much as they stood nearest the door; but W told me as we went, that not many years have elapsed since this quiet of precedence was unknown to the processions of the Commissioner. A grievous feud, it seems, had arisen between the Doctors of Divinity and Esquires — the Doctors claiming, clamorously, to walk immediately after the Knights, and the Esquires as stoutly asserting that the churchmen of Scotland have no precedence whatever, whether with or without the possession of academical de- grees. To my surprise, W , Oxonian as he is, appears to have been hostile to the pretensions of the reverend gra- duates; but it must be owned, there is at least some colour of reason in what he says on this subject. " The degree of doctor in divinity in the English Universities," says be, " is allowed in England to confer very high rank, but then it is a degree which pre-supposes great standing in the Univer- sity which has conferred it ; and, besides, the fees attend- ing its assumption are sufficient to prevent its being thought of except by men who have some very high station in the church. But here this degree is conferred by the Univer- sities on whomsoever they please — even the meanest of your English dissenters get it for the asking — and the fees are a mere bagatelle. Now, if you admit that this degree, so easily got and given, can confer any title to precedence, it is evident that, in a very short time, there would not be a single Geneva cloak in Scotland, that would not cover a doctor in theology. There is no statute on the subject here as there is in England, and I think it would be a very great absurdity to proceed upon so slender a thing as the general ex facie analogy of the two cases. The truth is," " continued he, " that the subject of precedence in Scotland is a very difficult affair, principally owing, no doubt, to the long ab- sence of the court. We have no such legal style as Esquire — unless for a few particular offices — Knights, Gentlemen, and Burgesses, were all the old gradations recognised among our commoners. Now, in the present state of things, there .are very few Knights, and it would be a very hard thing to- 352 teter's letters. say who are and who are not Gentlemen— so that I suspect we are all, in the eye of the law, pretty much upon a level. I except, however, the Barons, (or lords of manors,) and all, indeed, who hold to any considerable extent of the crown in capite ; these, I am quite sure, have a fixed precedence in the law, as well as in the common sense of the affair. The doctors acted very sillily in stirring in the question. But how, after all, was the thing to be arranged ? If they have no precedence, as I think they have none, as little, surely, have nineteen-twentieths of these soi-disant esquires who disputed with them — advocates — -writers — merchants — any body. — Where is the fustian-sleeved clerk nowa- days that does not write himself enquire? As for the under- graduated clergy, I confess I knou not what their place should be. They, themselves, in former times, seem to have put it low enough ; for even in the wording of their notable masterpiece, the Covenant, the style run c — ' We, the noble- men, gentlemen, burgesses, and ministers of Scotand.' What a tempestas in matutt is here ! — and yet," added the candid critic, "I confess I should not much admire seeing one of these crop-ears thrusting himself out of a room be- fore the blood of W ; I never heard that their king- dom was one of this world ; but still — if they are to have precedence any where, surely it should be here at tl>e Gene- ral Assembly of their Kirk. As it is, the dispute has been waived by those in authority — and we walk as we may — so cdons .'" In the meantime we had been advancing up the magnifi- cent High-Street of Edinburgh, which was lined on either side by Heavy Dragoons and Connaught Rangers, and in every window and peeping-hole over the heads of these, by clusters of faces as eager as ever gazed on the triumph of Pora- pey. It is certainly rather an imposing thing, this procession. On its commencement, the oration was greeted by a musical hand, with " God save the King," and all along its progress, there was the usual quantity of " stinking breath," uttered by the crowd of admirers. What occupied the principal share of my attention, was still the picturesque appearance of the clergy, who graced the triumph of the Lord Com- missioner — " quos trachet feroces, Per sacrum clivum, merito decorus Fronde Sygambros." peter's letters. 353 Several rows of them moved immediately in my neighbour- hood, and, to my mind, there was something not a little fine and imposing in their progression, moving solemnly as they did, in the same style that Milton ascribes to a very dissimilar and opposite class of black-coats, " With fixed thoughts, Moving in silence to soft pipes, that charmed Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil." I saw their polished heads gleaming under the meridian sun, and their hats decently carried under their arms — nay, such was the heat of the day, aided, no doubt, by the taatural fer- vour of their zealous temperaments, that I could see their waving handkerchiefs, red or white, frequently lifted to fore- heads marked with all the symbols of profound reflection. I even thought that some of them looked thirsty, as if they had not swallowed a drop of liquid the preceding evening — but this was probably a mistake. Although they moved in silence, yet I could trace here and there copious capacities of eloquence in the configuration of their mute lips — I longed to hear these imprisoned meanings let loose — but was " patient in my strong desire," as I knew they were going to the pro- per place where they would get all manner of relief; and I witnessed their approach to the Cathedral of St. Giles's with something of the same pleasure which brightens the eyes of a Spanish way-farer, when he sees some goodly half- dozen of swollen wine-bags carried into the hostelleria where he is about to put up for the evening. To a person of a reflective mind, I think the concourse of clergymen which takes place at this time, is eminently adapt- ed to convey ideas of a picturesque and romantic nature. The different pastors whom I saw moving before er beside me might be supposed to carry in their persons a good many characteristic traces of the parishes and regions from which they respectively had arrived, to do honour to this great an- nual Feast of their Temple. I could easily recognise the inhabitant of a wild and tempestuous region, by his weather- beaten cheek-bones, his loose locks, and the loud and dis- sonant notes of his voice, if at any time he chanced to speak even to his neighbour. In seeing him, one thinks of the stunted crops of oats^ihat lie spread in patches upon the desolate hills among which his spire arises. Among many other inconveniences and annoyances he has to contend with, 45 354 peter's letters. we think also of the lank Seceders, which are, it may be sup posed, the natural product of such a soil, and we even con- ceive to ourselves, with a sympathetic liveliness of imagina- tion, the shapeless, coach-roofed, spireless meeting-house which they have erected, or may even be in the very act of erecting, opposite to the insulted windows of his manse. The clergyman of a lower and more genial parish, may equally be distinguished by his own set of peculiarities suita- ble to his abode. Such as come from good shooting coun- tries, above all, from the fine breezy braes of the North, are to be known by the tightness and activity of their well-gai- tered legs— they are the ivK^m^ of the Kirk — and, by a knowing cast of the eye, which seems better accustomed to watch the motions of a pointer, than to decipher the points of a Hebrew Bible. On the other hand, those accustomed to the " pabula tea" of flatter grounds, are apt to become unwieldy, and to think that the best sport is to catch hold of wheaten sheaves, whichjldo not run away from them like the hairs or muir-fowl. Tne clergymen of the cities and towns again, we recognised by the superior ease of their air — not staring up to the windows like the rustics — by the com- parative smoothness of their faces, which are used to more regular shaving, to say nothing of umbrellas, and the want of long rides in the wind and frost — -but most of all by the more urbane style of their vestures. Their coats, waistcoats, and breeches, do not. present the same picturesque diversities of ante-diluvian outline — they have none of those portentous depths of flap— none of those huge horny buttons of black paper — none of those coats, shaped from the rough pulpit hangings, put up in honour of the umwhile laird's funeral — no well-hoarded rich satin or silk waistcoats, with Q,een Elizabeth taperings downward — -no breeches of corduroy or velveteen, hanging in luxurious looseness about their thighs — none of those close-kissing boots, finally, with their dirk- like sharpness of toe, or those huge shoes of neat's-hide, on which the light of Day and Martin has never deigned to beam,, Their hats, in like manner, are fashioned in some tolerable conformity with the fashion of the day — neither sitting close about their ears, with no rims at all, nor projecting dark S;ilvator shadows over the whole physiognomy, like the slouches of a Spanish bandit-- nor indulging in any of those lawless curves and twists, prospective, retrospective, intro- peter ; s letters. 35$ ^pective, and extraspeclive, from under which Ihe unkempt tresses of the rural brethren may at limes be seen" streaming 1 like meteors to the troubled air." They have gloves to their hands, and smooth canes to their fingers, and they move along with the deliberately dignified aspect of men who are sensible that it is no longer their destiny to " waste their sweetness on the desert air.' ? They have, indeed, a marvel- lous suavity of look about them, The extensive intercourse with mankind, which their profession must favour and pro- mote, cannot fail to press frequently upon their attention the laws of true urbanity and agreeableness. And although my- self a medical man, and aware, from experience, that the practice of a physician is calculated to make him see a good deal into human life,' yet I willingly acknowledge that the clergyman is in habits of meeting with his fellow-creatures, under relations in which a much greater variety *f sentiment is displayed, and which are better adapted to bring before his view all the chequered joys and griefs of humanity. I re- member, David, once upon a time being called upon to visit Miss Barbara 13 , who had got a fit of the tooth-ache. Her colour was gone, her cheek was swollen, her eye dis- torted and diminished, her whole countenance disfigured — and her person, under the influence of pain, appeared in the most unfavourable point of view, so that she inspired for the time no other feeling but that of compassion. I drew her tooth, (for you know an M. D. must not stand upon his P's and Q's in Cardigan.) and went off. Some-time after I was invited to her marriage, when I found rny worthy friend, the Rev. Mr. David Williams, had been engaged to perform the ceremony. The damsel had now recovered her looks, and stood blushing before the priest, in all the attractiveness of youth and high health. When the service was concluded, my reverend friend was the first, if I mistake not, to salute the rosy lips of the bride, after which he was presented with a tall bumper of Madeira, and a huge slice of cake, stuffed with almonds, which so engrossed his attention, that he could make no articulate reply for some minutes to the simplest question. Upon observing all which, I shook my head sa- gaciously, saying inwardly, u Ah, David, thou hast chosen a profession, which, like the nragic of the poet, introduces you to the ' gayest, happiest attitudes of things.' " Ever vours, p. m ^356 PETER'S LETTERS. P. S. In my next I shall introduce you to the Presbyte- rian Convocation, in the aisle of St. Giles's. LETTER LVIII. to the same. My dear Williams, There was such a crowd of people of all ages and con- ditions about the gate, that, in spite of all our pomp of macers and pages, we had some difficulty in getting access to the interior of the edifice — and after we had got within its walls, we had still a new set of difficulties to encounter in the lob- bies of its interior, before the aisle set apart for the purposes of the General Assembly received our train. Nay, even within the aisle itself, the squeeze of ministers and elders, bustling to their places, was another source of delay. At last, however, the Commissioner mounted his throne, which is a huge elbow chair, placed under a red canopy, at one side of the room, and we, who had come thither as part of his retinue, found ourselves accommodated on his right, where, accotding to custom, a certain number of benches had been left vacant for our reception. My foot, in the meantime, had received a sad squeeze on the most tender part of its con- valescent surface, and some minutes elapsed after I was seat- ed, before I found myself in a condition to survey the scene before me, with any thing like the usual Morrisian eye of col- lectedness and coolness. The Assembly aisle is a square apartment, vaulted over- head like the rest of the Cathedral, but divided from its nave by a long dark lobby or two below, and above, by some galleries with glass-folding doors, through which a certain portion of the profanum vulgus may make shift to thrust their noses, and contemplate somewhat of the venerable scene. Opposite to this side, in the space between two tall shape- less windows, is situated the canopy as aforesaid, elevated considerably above the area of the place — from whence, " high on a throne of royal state," the Commissioner looks down in theoretic calmness upon the more active part of the Convocation — his throne being surrounded with a due com- plement of awkward, chubby-cheeked pages, in long red coats, and serving-men, of different descriptions, in the co- PETER ? S LETTERS. 357 lours of his own livery. Among these attendants of the mimic monarch, I could not help recognising, with some emotions of merriment, Duncan M'Nab, and various of the cadies, his brethren — for, certainly, my old friends cut a strange enough figure in their new and gorgeous costumes of blue and red, some clad like beef-eaters, and some like laekie?, but all powdered as finely as butter and flour could make them, and all squeezing, or attempting to squeeze their wea- ther-beaten features into an expression of decorum and gra- vity, little consistent with the usual habits either of their minds or their occupations. 1 should, perhaps, make an ex- ception in favour of Duncan ; for I must admit, that this crafty Celt bore his new honours — bag, buckles, and all — with a measure of meek composure in his aspect, which showed that he had taken the metamorphosis in comparative tran- quillity of spirit. And, after all, perhaps, the powdered young puppies of plebeian pages, with their cheese-toasters bruising each other's shins ever and anon, were the most ab- surd part of the whole group. So much for what Homer would have called, " oi cc/uQt tov Bun^x." Immediately under, and with his back towards the Commissioner, sits the Mode- rator, or Clerical President of the Assembly. A green table before him is surrounded by several clerks, arrayed in Geneva cloaks and bands, and a few of the more leading members of either party in the Kirk, " in close recess and secret conclave sitting." From this table the benches rise in all directions upwards, lodging, row upon row, the ordinary stipendiarii of the ecclesiastical host. The arrangement of these, how- ever, is, although tumultuous, by no means fortuitous. They stick, on the contrary, with the most senatorial perti- nacity each to his own side of the Senate-bouse — the right side of the throne being occupied exclusively by the Moderates, while, on the left hand, sit, equally pure and un- contaminated, the representatives of the Wildmen. Some tiny galleries, on either side, are appropriated to the use c* ministers not actually members of the Assembly, and preach- ers and students of divinity, who come thither partly to suck in wisdom from the droopings of the " great consult"— part- ly, no doubt, if one may judge from their lean and scare- crow physiognomies, to indulge in fond dreams of future repletion, inspired by the contemplation of the goodh* paunches of the beneficed brethren— 358 PETER ? S LETTERS, A thousand demigods on golden seats, Frequent and full Above these again, high up on either side, is another gallery, set apart not for the gods, but the goddesses — where among others of the fair visitors, whose eyes Reign influence and dispense the prize," I could perceive the sagacious countenance of some dozen or more of the Bas-blues of Auld Reekie. I know not whether, in this quarter also, the division of parties be a? strictly observed as in the lower regions of the place. I could not pretend, at least, to distinguish prima facie the Mo- derates from the Wild of the womankind ; but, perhaps, Mu- retus would have remarked that the majority of the " Mu- lieres Doctag," preferred the leftside of the throne.* But, perhaps, in truth, these noms de guerre, by which the two rival parties which have sprung up among the descen- dants of John Knox are distinguished, may be almost as in- appropriate in the lower as in the upper parts of the aisle. T was a stranger to the existence of the parties themselves, or very nearly so, till I came into Scotland, and even now I am much at a loss to know what are the distinguishing tenets to which they respectively adhere. They are both, in profession at least, sound Calvinists — for whatever may be said of our XXXfX Articles, not even Paley himself could have pretended to consider the " Confession of Faith," as a specimen of peace-promoting ambiguity and vagueness. Every thing is laid down there as broadly and firmly as if Calvin himself had held the pen, the very morning after the burning of Servetus; and the man who holds a living in the Scottish Kirk, cannot possibly do so with common honesty, unless he be a firm believer in the whole of a theological system — which, whatever may be thought of it in some other respects, must at least be admitted to be a far more rational thing than our English high-churchmen would wish us to believe — which, at all events, possesses the merit of sin- gular compactness and harmony within itself — and which, moreover, can number among its defenders in past times, not a few, to whom, whether considered as divines or as authors, none of the theologians of these latter days on either side of the Tweed, are worthy, as the phrase runs, of hold- * See Muretus. Opuscula, torn. XIII. p. 374. PETER ? S LETTERS, 359 ing the candle. So far as doctrine is concerned, the two parties therefore profess themselves to be agreed ; and, in- deed, I believe the great leaders on either side of the Kirk have a pride in showing themselves at all times in their ser- mons, to be alike the genuine disciples of their Institute. The truth, however, may perhaps be, that wherever the busi- Bess of any polity, civil or ecclesiastical, is conducted in po- pular assemblies of debate, the infirmities of human nature make it necessary that at least two parties should exist ; and when once they do exist, it is odds but they will find some feasible pretences for their separation. Of old, as you well know, the whole of the Presbyterian ministers were Whigs — and it was only by means of the stubborn zeal with which they adhered to the political principles of that state party, that they were enabled to revive so often, and at last to establish on its present firm basis, a system of church government, long so odious to the holders of the executive power. But after the oppressive measures, under which the internal spirit of their sect long throve and prospered, exactly in propor- tion as its external circumstances suffered — after these had been laid aside, and the Kirk found herself in secure posses- sion of all her p rivileges and emoluments, all those varieties of political opinion which prevailed among the body of the nation, soon began to find adherents in the very bosom of the Kirk — and men ere long learned to think, that a Geneva cloak and a Scottish stipend might just be as well applied to the uses of a Tory as to those of a Whig. And so, by de- grees, (the usual influences of the crown and aristocracy find- ing their way, no doubt among other things, into the minds of churchmen, against whom neither crown nor aristocracy any longer contended) — there arose even in the Kirk of Scotland a party of Tory ministers and elders. These are they, who in general go by the name of the Moderates; but that ap- pellation — originally, I am told, assumed by themselves, and sarcastically adopted by their adversaries — is not derived from the style of their political opinions, but rather meant to denote the more gentle and reasonable interpretation which they would profess to put upon the religious tenet3 of the Kirk, The Whigs, in like manner, are called Wild-men, or High-flyers, entirely on account of the alleged ultra-Cal- vinistic austerity of their dogmas. The plain fact of the matter is, that both names are, like most other nick-names, sufficiently absurd — and were I to judge from what I have= 360 Peter's letters. observed in the General Assembly, I should certainly be in- clined to think that the attributes of Wildness and Moderation, are by no means confined to the opposite sides of the aisle, in the same regular manner as are the bodies of those to whom they furnish watch-words of party -strife. Of late, however, the emptiness of this distinction has become infinitely more apparent than ever; the few ques- tions of any sort of moment, upon which their disputes were made to hinge, having been all settled — and there being, in truth, no longer any matter of ecclesiastical belief or prac- tice, in regard to which it is possible for them to awaken the full zeal of their respective adherents. Of the great strife- producing questions, the law of Patronage was the last — and you may see a copious account of the way in which it was settled, in Sir Henry MoncriefPs Life of the late Dr. Er- skine. The dispute about Mr. Leslie's professorship, is the only thing which of late years has excited any very general interest, or called into full action any of the old animosities. But even that was of too limited and personal a nature, to be considered as any thing more than a passing tempest — and the horizon soon became pretty calm when the first tu- mult of it blew over. Since that time this tranquillity has been pretty regularly preserved — and the Moderates and the Wildmen may be seen, year after year, drawn up against each other without having an inch of debateable land to fight about. So that the General Assembly, of late years, may rather be considered as a kind of annual wappenshaw, than an actual campaign. The popinjays at which they shoot, are " trifles light as air" — and their only instruments are a few harmless w* xt^h-*. I am sorry, in one point of view, that this is the case ; for I should undoubtedly have seen, with much satisfaction, a few specimens of the more true and fervid hostilities of the olden time. Nay, even to have heard the divines of the North arguing " in stern di- van," about the most profound questions in metaphysics — and launching their arrows, pleno impetu, against the Manes of their old adversary, David Hume — all which they did to much purpose in the Leslie case — even this would have been a luxury, for the sake of which alone I should have thought my shandry-danning to the North well bestowed. But, « ces sont des choses passes" as the French infidels say— and I must be contented with having seen the brawny forms, and heard the hoarse voices of heroes, whose spears have Peter's letters. 361 in a great measure been turned into pruning-hooks. But I forget that you have not seen then), and that you will expect me lo describe what I have seen. I wish I had seen the Assembly of the Kirk in the last age, on many accounts, but most of all, because its affairs were then directed, and its parties led, by men whose re- markable talents have not been inherited by any of those who now occupy the same places. The leaders of the Kirk, at the present time, are highly respectable men ; but nobody- pretends to disguise the fact, that they are but indifferent representatives of Robertson and Erskine ; not the worst evidence of which circumstance may, perhaps, be found in the exactness with which all the peculiarities of these de- parted leaders are still held in remembrance, even by those who never saw them, and, indeed, the zeal with which I myself have heard their merits enlarged upon by many who take comparatively little interest in matters merely ecclesi- astical. The Historian, to be sure, was a person of so much importance in all points of view, that it is no wonder the circumstances of his behaviour should have been trea- sured up affectionately both by those who agreed, and those who disagreed with him as to the affairs of the Kirk. But his rival was nothing but an ecclesiastic ; so that the honour in which his memory is held, may, perhaps, be considered as a still more unequivocal testimony to his ecclesiastical vir- tues. The truth is, that they were both men of great talents — great virtues — great prudence — and grea,t piety — and the union of these excellencies was enough, without any farther addition, to make their brethren of the Kirk proud of their presence living, and of their memories, now that they are dead. In their time, the ascendance they had — each over his particular party in the church — was entire and unques- tioned — but each bore his honours so meekly, that even his adversaries rejoiced in acknowledging that his honours were due. For myself, I hear them both spoken of in terms of almost equal respect by both parties. The little irritations of temper which each, no doubt, encountered now and then, when aMve, have all passed away—even the shadows of them ; and nothing is thought of but the honour which both of them equally conferred upon the church to which they belonged. These two leaders of the Church of Scotland were, as it happened, colleague ministers in the same Kirk in Edh> 46 362 i'LTLll'S LETTERS* burgh ; but the parly differences which separated them so widely in the Ecclesiastical Courts, were never permitted to disturb the kindness of that co-operative zeal with which they discbarged the common functions thus entrusted to their care. While the minor champions of the two parties were found disturbing with their jealousies, and envies, and aver- sions, every corner of the country — these excellent men might be seen, year after year, through a long period of their lives, walking together in brotherly love to the church in which they both officiated — each recommending to his peo- ple, by his example, to listen with Christian confidence to the instructions of the other — forgetting utterly the paltry disputes of Presbyteries, Synods, and Assemblies, in the presence of their common Father and their common flock — and looking down with equal pity from the elevation of their common love and faith, upon all the little heart-burnings which agitated the bosoms of their less intelligent and less liberal adherents. The example which they thus afforded was, of course, valuable in proportion to the reputation they enjoyed— and in either ease this was very great. Of Ro- bertson, nothing need be said-- his genius would have made him an object of reverence in any age and country — and in Ihe age and country in which he did appear, there were a thousand circumstances which could not fail to enhance the natural value of his great and splendid genius. He was one of the most elegant, and he was by far the most popular, of the authors of bis day in Britain ; and he formed, in public estimation, the centre of a brilliant constellation, which rose with him on the hitherto dark horizon of the literature of Scotland. He was also at the head of the greatest Uni- versity in Scotland; and, altogether, it is very easy to see what a powerful influence such a man as he was, must have exerted over the minds of those who lived in the country which he so eminently adorned — above all, of those who could not but feel a great and just pride in seeing such a man discharging the duties of their own profession. His mild and elegant manners, too, could not be without their effect, even upon those who were comparatively rude and coarse — and the graceful, yet energetic eloquence which lie possessed, must have established for him a superiority which few could dispute in any popular assembly. Neither was Dr. Erskine, on the other hand, without some peculiar advantages, besides his professional talents and PETER'S LETTERS. 368 virtues. He was a man of high birth — being a near descend- ant of the same house of Buchan, which has of late years been so prolific in genius — and the share which many branches of his family had taken in the internal convulsions of the country, had given hirn additional claims to respect in the eyes of a large proportion of those who followed his po- litical, no less than his religious persuasion. He possessed, moreover a plentiful estate, and both his birth and his wealth enabled him to make an appearance in the world quite differ- ent from what is at all usual among ihe ministers of the Kirk. These things would probably have been of themselves suffi- cient to render Dr. Erskine an object of more than common estimation among his brethren, even had his talents been of a comparatively unimportant class ; but conjoined with the natural influence of a most masculine understanding — and that too improved and enriched by a very uncommon share of learning— it is no wonder that their effect should have been great indeed. If you look "into his Sermons — and 1 have often seen them in the hands of clergymen of our church — you will have no difficulty in seeing that the grasp of this man's intellect was of a very uncommon order— that his me- taphysical acuteness was an admirable weapon-— and that the noble simplicity of his feelings and sentiments enabled him to wield it withthe most safe and beautiful dexterity. You will also see that he had at his command the treasures of an erudition far more extensive, and at the same time far more profound, than is in fashion even among the best theologians of our time ; and you will not be surprised to learn, that he lived on terms of equal and familiar correspondence with the giant intellect of Warburton, or that Hurd should have pro- nounced him to be the " deepest divine he ever knew after the Bishop of Gloucester." Learning of this kind, however, must have been a much greater wonder in Scotland than it could have been elsewhere ; for it is a singular enough thing, that although no country has been more distinguished than this for religious zeal, and although no country, I firmly be- lieve, possesses a more religious population than this, Scot- land has been poor beyond all example in the production of eminent theologians. ' The Kirk of Scotland has produced many sensible, and a few elegant sermon- writers; but she has nothing to show beside our great phalanx of biblical or doctrinal divines. Dr. Erskine, however, was skilled not 364 PETER'S LETTERS. only in the branches of what is commonly called theological reading, but in many things beside, which must have ena- bled him to throw new lights upon the deeper parts of his theology. He was skilled, above all, in profounder kinds of philosophy than his countrymen or ours are fond of; and, among: all modern authors, he used to say his chief favourite was Mendelssohn. Some Latin translations from the works of that illustrious Hebrew excited his first curiosity in regard to the philosophy of Germany, and he acquired the language of that country, at a very advanced period of his life, with- out the assistance of any master. In all things he was an original man; and he carried with him into all his pursuits a full measure of that high and dauntless ardour, without which nothing great ever was accomplished in any department. I have seen a very fine engraving from a picture of him painted long ago by Raeburn, and I shall bring a copy of it with me to hang in my study beside my uncle's old favourites, Barrow, Hooker, Butler, Warburton, and Horsley. It is an easy matter to see in his physiognomy the marks of pro- found reflection, blended and softened with all Christian gen- tleness of heart and mind. For a better portrait than the pencil can make, you may turn to Guy Mannering ; you will there find it drawn to" the life — (so I am assured) — by one who has preserved many fine things for Scotland, and few things better worthy of preservation than the image of this eminent divine. On the left hand of the Moderator, I saw the successor of Dr. Erskine in the chieftainship of the Whig party of the Kirk of Scotland — Sir Henry MoncrieflT. This gentleman is the representative of one of the oldest families in this king- dom, and stands, I believe, very near the head in the list of its baronets ; and, like his predecessor, he also no doubt, owes not a little of his pre-eminence to the influence of his birth and rank. The truth is, that these are things which always do command a very great share of respect every where — and in Scotland more than almost any where else in the world. You see that even the democrats of Westminster cannot shake off their old English prejudices in regard to these matters; they will never listen to their Gale Joneses and their Bristol Hunts, while they have any chance of being harangued by mistaken gentlemen, such as Burdett, Kin- naird, and Hobhouse. The herd of plebeian clergymen in the General Assembly of the Kirk of Scotland confess the peter's letters. 365 same innate veneration for symbols of worldly distinction, by the half-proud, half-bumble glances which they are perpe- tually casting towards the orange-tawney ribbon and IN ova Scotia badge that decorate the breast of the only man of title in their body. Sir Henry, indeed, does not require these symbols to attest his claims to aristocratical distinction. His air is decidedly that of a man of birth and station — he holds himself with the true mien of a dignitary — and looks (under favour,) when surrounded by his adherents, very much like a Lord Bishop receiving the bows of his country curates at a visitation. All this, however, is very far from consti- tuting his sole right to the eminence he holds. The marks of strong vigorous intellect are planted thick upon his pbisiog- nomy — his forehtad is compact and full of nerve, and the head rises into a superb height in the region of will— his nose is thick set be. ween his brows, and the nostrils are curved like those of an Hercules. His lips are compressed with a decision of purpose that nothing can shake ; and the whole face abounds in square massy lines, that pronounce his temperament to be that of one fond of giadiatorship. His smile, too, is full of a courtly suavity, which shows that he is skilful as well as bold — and, what is best of all for a leader of a party, the general air of the man is stamped with the expression of sheer honesty. Nobody can look upon the Baronet without perceiving that nature meant him to be a ruler, not a subject; and, if 1 may judge from the speci- mens I have seen, he is, in truth, a very admirable master in the great art of rule. He seems, indeed, to have a pro- digious tact in the management of his tumultuous array ; and the best proof of it is, that those whom he leads do not seem to have the least suspicion of the extent of their subjection. When he speaks, one is put very strongly in mind of the forensic eloquence of his son, wi;icb I think I have already described to you. Like him, his voice and gestures are harsh — like him, he disdains, or seems to disdain, all the elegancies of the art — but, like him, he plants himself reso- lutely before his difficulties — and, like him, if nothing else will do, he cuts the knots with the decision of a genuine Macedonian. The contrast which his plain downright method of attacking the understanding where it should be attacked, presents to the vague illogical rhapsodies of the rural fine speakers from the back rows of the aisle — or to the feeble irresolute middle-sailings of the smooth would-be sages that 366 peter's letters. sit nearer himself — is as striking a thing as possible. But his main excellence seems to lie in the art with which he contrives to correct, almost ere they are made, the blunders of his am- bitious — and to nerve, even while they are faltering, the courage and decision of his timorous associates. He is a great politician ; and, had he come into Parliament, I have, very little doubt his peculiar faculties would have made him as powerful a person there as he is here in the General As- sembly of the Kirk. Nearly opposite to him, at the other hand of the Modera- tor, sits Dr. Inglis, the chief of the Moderate or Tory party — or rather, perhaps, the chief of a small college of cardinals, by whom that party is managed, as the other party is by the undivided vigour of Sir Henry Moncrieff. The doctor is an ungainly figure of a man at first sight, but, on looking a little, one easily observes in him also the marks both of good breeding and strong intellect. His voice is peculiarly unfor- tunate — or, rather, he has two voices, a hoarse and a sharp, from the one to the other of which he sometimes makes dif- ferent digressions in the course of the same sentence. But when once the impression of this disagreeable voice is got over, one finds that it is the vehicle both of excellent lan- guage and of excellent sense. He does not appear to speak under the same violent impulses of personal will which cha- racterize the Baronet's eloquence ; but he is quite as logical sn his reasoning, and perhaps still more dexterous in the way in which he brings his arguments to bear upon the conclusion to which he would conduct his hearers. In his illustrations, too, he displays the command of a much more copious read- ing, and a much more lively fancy than his rival. And even his voice, when he touches upon any topic of feeling, re- veals a something totally unexpected by those who hear him for the first time — its harshest notes being, as it were, softened and deepened into a mysterious sort of tremor, which is irresistibly impressive, in spite of its uncouthness. The secret is, that Dr. Inglis is a man of genuine power, and the eloquence of such men cannot be stayed by any mi- nor obstacles from working its way to its object. But I am forgetting the order in which all these things ap- peared to me. _ ,, * P. M. PETER ? S LETTERS. 36? LETTER L1X. TO THE SAME. In witnessing the forms of the Presbyterian Convocation, I could not help feeling a greater degree of interest than I should otherwise have done, from the notion that in them, and, indeed, in the whole aspect of the Assembly, not a lit- tle might be perceived of the same appearances which cha- racterized, two centuries ago, those more important meetings, in which the Presbyterian party in Church and State took the lead and direction. On the first day of the Assembly, for example, after the Commissioner had delivered his cre- dentials, which consisted of a long pious epistle upon parch- ment, from the Prince Regent to the Ministers and Elders in General Assembly convened, wherein his Royal Highness stimulates them to a still more 2ealous discharge of their re- spective duties, by all manner of devout arguments, and co- pious quotations from the minor Prophets and Epistles — and after the Moderator had returned thanks for this favour, and intimated the firm resolution of himself and his brethren to profit, as far as the infirmities of their nature might permit, by the faithful admonitions of " the nursing father of our Zion," — after these ceremonies had been duly gone through, the whole of the forenoon, that is from twelve to five o'clock, was devoted to a succession of extemporaneous or seemingly- extemporaneous prayers delivered by the Moderator himself, and after him by various clergymen in different quarters of the bouse, who appeared to call upon each other for ad- dresses to the Deity, in the same way as the members of less sacred assemblies call upon each other for glees and catches. This reminded me most strongly of the descriptions which Clarendon gives of the opening of the Sessions of the Rump - — to say nothing of the committees of major-generals under Cromwell. The long, dreary, dreamy, wandering, thread- less discourses, too, which some of the reverend performers took occasion to deliver, reminded me of some of the crafty vagueness of old Noll himself, and the more sincere absur- dities of Sir Harry Vane. A few of the more sensible se- niors, and most of the younger members, appeared to hare some faint notion that a prayer to the Almighty ought not to be a composition of the same class with a homily to sinful men; but, in general, those who conducted the devotions of 368 peter's letters. the Assembly on this occasion, although they began and con- cluded with the usual invocation and glorification, did not in fact pray, but preach, throughout the body of their addresses. It seems to me that there is something most offensively irreve- rent in the style of these extemporaneous effusions — Nay, I do not hesitate to say, that their character was such as en- tirely to take away from me all notion of joining mentally in the devotions which they were probably meant to express. Under the mask of supplication to the Deity, it seemed to be considered as quite a proper thing to introduce all manner of by-hits at the errors and corruptions observed, not only in the practice, but in the creed also of our fellow-men; and it was easy to see, that instead of humbly pouring out the as- pirations of a devout spirit before the throne of Grace, the intention of the praying minister was not unfrequently to show off his own skill in clearing up the darkness of points, which would never have been left mysterious in the oracles of God had it been judged meet that our reason should fully comprehend them. And yet in spite of all this — the appear- ance of sincerity and ardour was so strong in most of the addresses, that it was impossible to listen to them without feeling respect for those from whose lips they proceeded, and I had no difficulty in believing that custom and ancient pre- judice might have been sufficient to render them the most ac- ceptable vehicles for the warmest devotional feelings of those whose serious and earnest physiognomies met my too-excur- sive eye in every quarter of the Assembly. As the hour of dinner approached, however, I could not avoid observing a considerable diminution in the attentive- ness of the majority of the audience, and, at last, an ap- parently interminable orator was fairly jogged on the elbow by his neighbours, as the finger of the clock began to come within a few lines of the appointed period. W and I adjourned wfth many others to the Royal Hotel, where it is the custom, during the sitting of the Assembly, for such as have attended the levee of the Commissioner, to be present on the same day at the more substantial ceremonial of his din- ner. The feast was a pretty thing in its way, and did cre- dit to the state of the bold individual who has adventured to finger the napkin of the peerless Macculloch. The compa- ny, too, was splendid at my end of the table, where the more fashionable members of the party were congregated within hearing of the Commissioner himself. Toward the other 369 extremity, at which his Grace's purse-bearer officiated as croupier, the company seemed to consist mostly of clerical personages — and I thought the broad hungry faces of some of these rural divines looked somewhat aghast upon the fine- Frenchified dishes, omelets, orissoles, crocats, and fricandeaus, which smoaked in all the pomp of garlic beneath their sharp nostrils. — " Fat have we gotten hereawa?" — cried one of them — whose keen brazen voice penetrated quite across the room, in very indecorous distinctness, " Fat have we here, Dr. Mac- brair? — I wish I had a guid platefu' of beef an' reets — this is feed fit for naebody but Moushers.' , — " Ye say naething but the trowth," said the other — " an binna a bit fite fish, I've got iiaething to ca' a moothiV since I cam here the day." — A com- passionate waiter, however, soon brought two large trenchers of roast mutton from the side-table, and smoothed effectually the clamours of these ravenous Aberdonians. They Were quite silent for some ten minutes, I imagine ; but a salver of hock being carried round, they both drank with precipitation of the unwonted fluid — and I perceived them spitting and sputtering afterwards, as if they had swallowed vinegar. I heard them muttering something about " pooshening" — but the poison came my own way, and my attention was diverted from the conclusion of their colloquy. The dinner, however, was upon the whole.rather a state- ly than an agreeable one ; and although the wjne was good, I can scarely say I regretted the earliness of the hour at which the Commissioner rose, and the party broke up. It was no more than seven when we departed, so that I carried W home with me to Oman's, and gave him a bottle or two of better claret than his Grace's — for wine, after all, is an equivocator with gout as well as with some other distem- pers, and if it accelerates the advent of the fit, there is no question it hastens also the departure of its relics. Such, at least, is the creed of Peter Morris, M. D. &c. &c. &$. LETTER LX. TO THE SAME. I went often to the Assembly during its sittings ; but, in general, I found the business in which they were engaged of a nature so dull, that I was contented to make my visits 47 370 P£TER*S LETTERS, short. It was only on one day that I was induced to prolong ray stay during the whole sederunt — and, in truth, I am given to understand, that it is only when subjects of the sort then discussed come before them, that even among the clergy themselves, much interest or attention is excited. On enter- ing the house, indeed, I could not but remark, that the rows set apart for Members of Assembly were garnished with a plentiful admixture of persons, obviously of a totally different description from those with whose faces I had formed some acquaintance on the " day of prayers. " Here and there among the sober clergymen, on either side of the house, might be seen scattered knots of young men, who wore in- deed black coats, but whose whole air and mein were decided- ly the reverse of clerical. Net a few of their faces, moreover, were already familiar to me, although I could not at first bring myself to believe that they were actually the same faces I had so often speculated upon, among the far different accompaniments of the Outer-House and its side-bars. A friend however, to whom I applied for information, told me at once that my suspicions were perfectly well founded, and that the young gentlemen whose unecclesiastical appearance had struck my observation, were no other than so many ju- venile advocates, to whom, it would seem, their respective Presbyteries aud Boroughs in the country had entrusted the duties of representing them in the General Assembly of the Church. You have heard, no doubt, that a certain number of Lay Elders are admitted to the counsels of all the Ec- clesiastical Courts in Scotland— but nobody certainly would have suspected that such a venerable designation could be applied to such persons as these young limbs of the law Could the spirit of Knox re-animate once more the dust that sleeps beneath the chancel of St Giles's, what wrath would suffuse the " grim visage of verjuice, frowning over a red beard in shape like unto an otter's tail," on seeing the scats which such laymen as George Buchanan once held, pro faned by the intrusion of such heirs as these. Truly, the great fTf<£eETER ? S LETTERS. by any method of treating them — would be an absurdity— and cannot be explained in any sense, without involving the severest of satires upon those to whom the discussion is ad- dressed. But it is, after all, a very wonderful thing how seldom one does find a man carrying with him into the pul- pit, the perfect knowledge of the world as it is- — a complete acquaintance with all the evanescent manifestations of folly, existing, for the moment, in the thoughts and feelings of "the great vulgar and the small" — and it is no less wonder- ful, and far more pitiable to observe, with what readiness the cosmopolites of the day take up with the want of this sort of knowledge on the part of their clergyman, as a sufficient apology for slighting and neglecting the weight of his opinion in regard to matters, their own intense ignorance and non- comprehension of which is so much less excusable, or, I should rather say, is so entirely unaccountable and absurd. Till the fine gentlemen of the present day perceive that you understand all that they themselves do, their self-love will not permit them to give you credit for understanding any thing which they themselves do not understand — nay — not even for thinking that things are important, about the impor- tance or non-importance of which they themselves have never Lad the fortune to occupy any portion of their surpassing acumen and discernment. In a word, in order to preach with effect to the people of the world, as they are educated now- a-days, it is necessary to show that you have gone through all their own little track — and then they may perhaps be per- suaded that you have gone beyond it. Now, Mr. Andrew Thomson strikes me to be, without exception, one of the most complete masters of this world's knowledge I ever heard preach on either side of the Tweed ; and therefore it is that he produces a most powerful effect, by showing himself to be entirely and utterly its despiser. The person who hears him preach has none of the usual resources to which many are accustomed to retreat, when something is said from the pul- pit that displeases their prejudices. They cannot pretend, even to themselves, that this is a secluded enthusiast who knows no better, and would not talk so, had he seen a little more of life. It is clear, from the moment he touches upon life, that he has looked at it as narrowly as if that observation had been his ultimatum, not his mean ; and the probability is, that instead of smiling at his ignorance, the hearer may rather find occasion to suspect that his knowledge surpasses peter's letters., 583 Having command of this rare and potent engine, with which to humble and disarm that worldly self-love, which is among the most formidable enemies of a modern preacher's eloquence, — and employing it at all times with the most fearless and unhesitating freedom, — and following it up at all times by the boldest and most energetic appeals to the native work- ings of the heart, which may be chilled, but are seldom ex- tinguished, — it is no wonder that this man should have suc- ceeded in establishing for himself a firm and lasting sway over the minds of his apparently elegant and fashionable audience. It has never indeed been my fortune to see, in any other audience of the kind, so many of the plain mani- festations of attentive and rational interest during divine ser- vice. As for the sighing and sobbing masters and misses which one meets with at such places as Rowland Hill's chapel, and now and then at an evening sermon in the Foundling, these are beings worked upon by quite a differ- ent set of engines — engines which a mar) of sagacious mind, and nervous temperament, like Mr. Thomson, would blush, to employ. I rejoice in finding that Edinburgh possesses, in the heart of her society, the faithful ministrations of this mas- culine intellect ; and it is a great additional reason for re- joicing, that by means, the effect of which could not have been calculated upon beforehand, these his faithful ministra- tions should have come to carry with them not only the toler- ance, but the favour of those to whom they may do so much good. It is very seldom that the stream of fashion is seen to flow in a channel so safe, and a direction so beneficial. Of the other members of the Established Church of Edin- burgh whom I have heard preach, one of those who made most impression on my mind was Dr. Thomas Macknight, son to the Author of The Harmony of the Gospels, and Translation of the Epistles. I went chiefly from a desire to see the descendant of one of the few true theological writers Scotland has produced, and I found that the son inherits the learning of his father. Indeed, I have seldom heard more learning displayed in any sermon, and that, too, without at all diminishing the practical usefulness of its tendency. An- other was Dr. Brunton, whom I confess I went to hear from a motive of somewhat the same kind — the wish, namely, to see the widowed husband of the authoress of Discipline, and the other novels of that striking series. He has a pale coun- tenance, full of the expression of delicacy, and a melancholy 384 peter ? s letters. sensibility, which is but too well accounted for by the griev- ous loss be has sustained. One sees that he is quite com- posed and resigned ; but there is a settled sadness about his eyes which does equal honour to the departed and the sur- vivor. In his sermon he displayed a great deal of elegant conception and elegant language; and altogether, under the circumstances which attended him, he seemed to me one of the most modestly impressive preachers I have ever heard. P. M. LETTER LXIL TO THE SAME. I believe, therefore, most entirely in the merits of the Kirk — I have no doubt it is as well fitted as any establish- ment in Christendom could be, for promoting the cause of religion among the people of Scotland — nay, I may go far- ther, and say, that with the intellectual tendencies and habits of this people, it is now perhaps much the best they could have. Presbytery, however, was not established in this country without a long and violent struggle, or series of struggles, in which it is too true, that the mere tyrannical aversion of the Stuart kings, was the main and most effectual enemy the Presbyterians had to contend with — but in which, notwith- standing, there was enlisted against the cause of that sect no inconsiderable nor weak an ay of fellow-citizens, con- scientiously and devoutly adhering to an opposite system. It was a pity that the Scottish Episcopalians were almost universally Jacobites; for their adoption of that most hated of all heresies, made it a comparatively easy matter for their doctrinal enemies to scatter them entirely from the field before them. Nevertheless, in spite of all the disfa- vour and disgrace with which, for a length of years, they had to contend, the spirit of the Episcopalian Church did not evaporate or expire, and she has of late lifted up her head again in a style of splendour, that seems to awaken considerable feelmgs of jealously and wrath in the bosoms peter's letters, 385 of the more bigotted Presbyterians who contemplate it. The more liberal adherents of the Scottish Kirk, however, seem to entertein no such feelings, or, rather, they take a pleasure in doing full justice to the noble steadfastness which has been displayed through so long a period of neglect and more than neglect, by their fellow Christians of this per- suasion. To the clergy of the Episcopalian Church, iu particular, they have no difficulty in conceding a full mea- sure of that praise, which firm adherence to principle has at all times the power of commanding ; and the adherence of these men has, indeed, been of the highest and most me- ritorious kind. With a self denial and humility, worthy of the primitive ages of the church, they have submitted to all manner of penury and privation, rather than depart from their inherited faith, or leave the people of their sect with- out the support of that spiritual instruction, for which it was out of their power to offer any thing more than a very tri- vial and inadequate kind of remuneration. Nay, in the midst of all their difficulties and distresses, they have en- deavoured, with persevering zeal, to sustain the character of their own body in regard to learning — and they have succeeded in doing so in a way that reflects the highest honour not only on their zeal, but their talents. Not a few names of very considerable celebrity, in the past literature of Scotland, are to be found among the scattered and im- poverished members of this Apostolical Church ; and even in our own time, the talents of many men have been devoted to its service, who might easily have commanded what less heroic spirits would have thought a far more precious kind of reward, had they chosen to seek, in other pursuits and professions, what they well knew this could never afford them. In Edinburgh, two very handsome chapels have of late years been erected by the Episcopalians, and the clergymen who officiate in them possess faculties eminently calculated for extending the reputation of their church. Dr. Sandford, the Bishop of the Diocese, preaches regularly in the one, and the minister of the other is no less a person than Mr. Alison, the celebrated author of the Essays on Taste, and of those exquisite sermons which I have so often heard you speak of in terms of rapture — and which, indeed, no man can read, who has either taste or feeling? wiihou" admiration almost as great as yours* 19 386 peter's letters. The Bishop is a thin pale man, with an air and aspect full of a certain devout and melancholy sort of abstraction, •nd a voice which is very tremulous, yet deep in its tones, and managed so as to produce a very striking and impressive effect. In hearing him, after having listened for several Sundays to the more robust and energetic Presbyterians I have described, one feels as if the atmosphere had been changed round, and the breath of a milder, gentler inspi- ration, had suffused itself over every sound that vibrates through the stillness of a more placid aether. Nothing can be more touching than the paternal affection, with which it is plain this good man regards his flock ; it every now and then giving a gushing richness of power to his naturally fee- ble voice— and a no less beautiful richness to his usually chaste and modest style of language. There is a quiet ele- gance about his whole appearance, which I suspect is well nigh incompatible with the Geneva cloak of Calvin, and I should have judged, from his exterior alone, (which is indeed the truth,) that he is a man of much accomplishment and learning. He has the character here, and, as W says, at Oxford, where he was educated, also, of being at once a fine scholar and a deep divine. He preaches, however, in a very simple, unaffected, and pleasing manner — without any kind of display, beyond what the subject seems to render absolutely necessary. Mr. Alison has a much larger chapel, and a more nume rous congregation, and he possesses, no doubt, much more largely the qualifications of a popular orator. He has also about him a certain pensiveness of aspect, which I should almost suspect to have been inherited from the afflicted priests cf this church of the preceding generation. He has a noble serenity of countenance, however, which is not dis- turbed, but improved, by its tinge of melancholy — large grey eyes, beaming with gentle lambent fire, and set dark and hol- low in the head, like those which Rembrandt used to draw- lips full of delicacy and composure — and a tall pale forehead sprinkled loosely with a few thin, grey, monastic ringlets. His voice harmonizes perfectly with this exterior — clear — calm— mellow — like that far-off mournfuJ melody with which the great poet of Italy has broken the repose of his autumna* evening, " Squilladi lontano Che paja il giorno pianger che si muore." peter's letters, 387 in spite of his accent, which has a good deal of his country in it, I have never heard an) 7 man read the service of our church in so fine and impressive a style as Mr. Alison. The grave antique majesty of those inimitable prayers, acquiring new beauty and sublimity as they passed through his lips, could not fail to refresh and elevate my mind, after it had been wearied with the loose and extemporaneous, and not unfrequently, as I thought, irreverent supplications of the Presbyterian divines. In his preaching, the effect of his voice is no less striking ; and, indeed, much as you have read and admired his Sermons, I am sure you would confess, after once hearing him, that they cannot produce their full effect without the accompaniment of that delightful music. Hereafter, in reading them, I shall always have the memory of that music ringing faintly in my ears — and recall, with every grand and every gentle close, the image of that serene and solemn countenance, which Nature designed to be the best commentary on the meetings of Alison. As to the peculiar views of the subjects of religion, which are most commonly presented by the Sermons of this elegant preacher — I need not say any thing on that head to one so much better acquainted with all his works than I can pretend to be. There is one point, however, in which I could not but remark a very great difference between him and all the other preachers I have ever heard in Scotland. He is the only man among them who seems to be alive, as he should be, to the meaning and power of the external world — and who draws the illustrations of his discourses from minute and poetical habits of observing Nature. A truly poetical air of gentleness is breathed over all that he says, proceeding, as it were, from the very heart of that benevolent All, which he has so delightedly and so intelligently surveyed. And, indeed, from what precious stores of thought, and feelings impregnated and enriched with thought, do they shut them- selves out, who neglect this beautiful field, and address Chris- tian auditors almost as if God had not given them eyes to drink in a sense of his greatness and his goodness, from every thing that is around them — who speaks to the rich as if there were nothing to soften, and to the poor as if there were nothing to elevate, in the contemplation of the glori- ous handiworks of God — as if it were in vain that Nature had prepared her magnificent consolation for all the sick hearts and weary spirits of the earth— LETTERS. " For you each evening hath its shining stai \ And every Sabbath-day its golden sun.'' It is singular, I think, that the other distinguished preachers, of whom I have spoken, should so needlessly debar themselves from all this rich range of sentiment and of true religion. Above all, in the Presbyterian divines, I was not prepared to find such barrenness — having, I believe, too hastily inter- preted in my own way, a certain beautiful passage in Words- worth, when the ancient Scottish Wanderer, the same on whom " The Scottish Church had from his boyhood laid The strong arm of her purity" — where the Wanderer is made to speak of the style of thought prevalent among the old persecuted Covenanters, and %ays proudly, ic Ye have turned my thoughts Upon our brave progenitors, who rose Against idolators with warlike mind, And shrunk from vain observances, to lurk In caves and woods, and under dismal rocks, Deprived of shelter, covering, fire, and food ; Why ? — For the very reason thatthey felt And did acknowledge, wheresoever they moved, A spiritual Presence — oft times misconceived, But still a high dependence, a divine Bounty and government, that filled their hearts With joy and gratitude and fear and love : And from their fervent lips drew hymns of praise, With which the deserts rang— Though favoured less Were those bewildered Pagans of old time, Beyond their own poor nature, and above They looked; were humbly thankful for the good Which the warm sun solicited— and earth Bestowed : were gladsome— and their moral sense They fortified with reverence for the Gods : And they had hopes which overstepped the grave." Of all the Sermons of Alison, (hose which I love the most, are the four on the Seasons ; they are by far, in my mind, the most original and the most delightful he has ever produc- ed. But someihing of the same amiable inspiration may be observed mingling itself in every discourse he utters. It is easy to see that his heart is penetrated, and it is no wonder his tongue should overflow with the calm eloquence of Na- ture. The church to which these preachers belong, is at present, as I have said, supposed to be in a more flourishing condition peter's letters* 389 than heretofore — nay, unless W misinforms me, she numbers among her adherents a very large proportion of the landed gentry all over this part of the island. In the re- moter districts, however, the Episcopalian clergy are said to be still labouring under a constraining weight of penury, which there does not seem to be any immediate prospect of relieving. In order to supply in some measure to their Pastors, the defects of the regular maintenances afforded by their small scattered flocks, a fund has been raised by sub scription, the produce of which is annually applied, accord- ing to the best discretion of a committee of the most eminent members of the sect in Scotland. Of the subscriptions by which this fund is supported, a very large part is said to come from England. Nothing surely can be more lauda- ble than the sympathizing zeal, which has led so many of the dignitaries of our church to come forward liberally in behalf of their less fortunate brethren in the North. But I think the Scottish Episcopalians ought to remember that in- dependence was the old boast of their country, and insist upon providing for their own clergy entirely from their own funds. For the bishops of this church, however, from whatever quarter it may be derived, there is no question some more liberal provision should be made. It is a shame in those who profess to think, as good Episcopalians do, concerning the nature of the episcopal office, that they should permit ex- cellent and learned bishops of their own church to be poorer, as is often the case, than the simple presbyters of the Esta- blished Kirk around them. I have told you, that, in general, the Church of Scotland holds her ground more firmly against Dissenters than that of England — and yet there are abundance of Dissenters in Edin- burgh, over and above the Episcopalians, who would perhaps object to be included under that name- There are Taber- naclites, and Haldanites, and Wesleyan Methodists, and other independents, of several different kinds, and a very [e\v Unitarians — and there are some Catholics— all these congre- gations, for the most part, consisting of persons in very humble ranks of society. But the most formidable enemies of the Kirk are those who have dissented from her on very trivial grounds, and are not, indeed, very easy to be distin- guished from her in any way adapted to the comprehension of the uninitiated stranger. Such are the Burghers and Anti- Burghers, both of whom separated themselves from the Es- tablished Church, in consequence of their adopting different 390 PETER 5 S LETTERS. views, concerning the lawfulness of a certain oalh required t€ be taken by the burgesses of a few towns in Scotland. The Anti-burghers are, I believe, the more numerous body of the two, and they again have fallen out among themselves, and so given vise to rival sects of Old Light Anti-burghers and JVew Light Anti-burghers. From what particular cireum~ stances these most picturesque designations have been deriv- ed, I know not and care not, and I am sure your curiosity- is as small as mine. It so happens, however, that both the Old Light and the New Light are in some considerable es- timation at present in Edinburgh, by reason of the more than common talents and respectability of their respective pastors, both of whom, as it happens, are among the most distinguished Scottish literati of the day. The New Light Anti-burghers enjoy the ministrations of no less a person than Dr. M'Crie, the author of the Life of John Knox — and the natural obscurity of the sect accounts for what at the time I could by no means understand — the ignorance, namely, under which the Edinburgh Reviewers professed themselves to have been even of the existence of such a person as Dr. M'Crie, till the day his history was published. The Old Light, on the other hand, are ruled in spiritualibus by Dr. Jamieson, the author of the admirable Dictionary of the Scot- tish Language, and many other works illustrative of the ancient history and manners of his country. Notwithstand- ing the eminent abilities and learning possessed by both of these individuals, their labours have not, so far as 1 have un- derstood, attracted any considerable addition to the adhe- rents of their respective sects — but the authority of their names must, without doubt, be efficacious in preventing those who have been educated in either of the Lights, from reverting to the darkness of the Established Kirk — to say nothing of the more than Cimmerian obscurity and " night palpable" of the Episcopalians. And yet nothing surely can be more absurd, than that two such clergymen should be lending support to two such piti- able sets of schismatics. I can understand very well, that there are many cases in which it would be wrong to inter- pret too strictly the great Scriptural denunciations against the errors of schism — but I am, indeed, very sorely mistaken if such matters as the disputes upon which these New and Old Light-men have separated from the Kirk of Scotland^ can by any possible logic be brought into the number of allowable exceptions to so great and important a rule. \i peter's letters, 391 any thing were wanting to make the cup of their absurdities overflow, it is the pettish and splenetic hatred which they seem to bear to each other — for I believe the New thinks the Auld Light devotee in a much worse condition than the ad- herent of the Kirk itself — and, of course, vice versa. Nay — such is the extreme of the folly — that these little Lilliputian contro- versies about burgess oaths, &c. have been carried into Ameri- ca by Scottish emigrants, and are at this moment disturbing the harmony of the Church of Christ in a country where no burgess oath ever existed, or, it is probable, ever will exist, Beyond the mere letter of their formal disputes, these Dis- senters can have no excuse to offer for their dereliction of the Kirk. They cannot accuse her clergy of any want of zeal, worth, or learning. In short, their dissent is only to be ac- counted for by the extravagant vanity and self-importance of a few particular theorists — absurdly inherited and maintain- ed by men whose talents, to say nothing of their piety, should have taught them to know better.* I went, however, to hear Dr. M'Crie preach, and was Dot disappointed in the expectations I had formed from a perusal of his book. He is a tall, slender man, with a pale face, full of shrewdness, and a pair of black piercing eyes — a shade of deep secluded melancholy passing ever and anon across their surface, and dimming their brilliancy. His voice, too, has a wild but very impressive kind of shrillness in it at times. He prays and preaches very much in the usual style of the Presbyterian divines — but about all that he says there is a certain unction of sincere, old-fashioned, haughty Puritanism, peculiar, so far as 1 have seen, to him- self, and by no means displeasing in the historian of Knox. He speaks, too, with an air of authority, which his high ta- lents render excusable, nay, proper — but which few could venture upon with equal success. I went on the same day to hear Dr. Jamieson, and found him also a sensible and learned preacher. He is a very sagacious-looking per- son, with bright grey eyes, and a full round face — the tones of his voice are kindly and smooth, and altogether he ex- hibits the very reverse of that anchoretic aspect and air which I had remarked in Dr. M'Crie. I could see that the * I have since heard that the Burghers and Anti-burghers are taking measures to form a coalition, and, willing, bondjide. to drop all remem- brance of their feuds. This is excellent, and does honour to their respect- ive leaders : I would hope it may prepare the way for the return of all these dissenters (who can scarcely be said to have even a pretence fo" dissent) to their allegiance to the Mother Kirk. 392 i'£TEfc ? S LETTERS. congregations of both these men regard them with an intense degree of interest and affectionate humility — all which, to be sure, is extremely natural and proper. So much for the New and Auld Lights. As I am so very soon to visit the West of Scotland, where I am assured the head-quarters of Presbyterianism are still to be found in the old haunts of the Covenanters, I shall defer any farther remarks I may ha^ve to make upon the state of religion in Scotland, till I have added the whole of that rich field to the domain of my observation. P. M. P. S. Many thanks for your hint about Old Potts. I fear I have been behaving very badly indeed— but shall endea- vour to find time for scribbling a few pages suitable to his tastes, before I set off for Glasgow. As for the ,£500—1 rather think you ought to fight shy — but, no doubt, you are as well up to that matter as I am. I shall advise Potts to come down to the North, where, in good truth, I do think he would make a noble figure. There is no Dandy in Edin- burgh worthy to hold the candle to our friend. P. M. LETTER LXIII. TO FERDINAND AUGUSTUS POTTS, ESQ. Clarendon Hotel, Bond-Street. I wish to God, ray dear Potts, you would come down to Edinburgh, and let me engage apartments for you at the Royal Hotel. Are you never to extend your conquests be- yond London or Cardigan ? Are you to lavish your capta- tions for ever on Bond-street milliners and blowsy Welch- women ? Why, my dear sir, your face must be as well known about St. James's as the sign of the White-Horse Cellar, and your tilbury and dun gelding as familiar to the cockneys as the Lord Mayor's coach. Even Stulze himself cannot possibly disguise you as formerly. Your surtouts, your upper Benjamins, your swallow-tails, your club-coats, your orange tawny Cossacks, are now displayed without the slightest effect. It matters not whether Blake gives you the cut of the Fox, the Bear, or the Lion, whether you sport moustaches or dock your whiskers, yours is an old face upon peter's letters. 393 town, and, you may rely on it, it is well known to be so, Not a girl that raises her quizzing-glass to stare at you but exclaims, "Poor Potts! how altered be must be. I have heard mamma say, in her time, he was good-looking; who could have believed it f" Every young Dandy that en- quires your name is answered with, " Don't you know Old Potts?" ' k Old Potts! why, that gentleman is not old." " No ! ble!-s your soul, he has been on town for the last twenty years." Yet let not all this mortify you, my dear fellow, for you are not old. Six-and-thiriy is a very eood age, and you are still a devlish good-looking fellow. What you want is a change of scene to extend your sphere of action, to go where your face will be a new one; and, when- ever you do so, you may rely on it you will never be called " Old Potts." Now, if you will take my advice, and decide on shifting your quarters, I know of no place that would suit you half so well as Edinburgh. Your tilbury and dun gelding (though they will stand no comparison with Scrub and the shandrydan) will cut a touch greater dash in Prinee's- street than in Hyde-Park; and your upper Benjamin and orange tawny Cossacks will render you a perfect Draw- cansir among the ladies. As a Jehu, you will have no rivals in Scotland. A brace of heavy dragoons, to be sure, are occasionally to be seen parading in a crazy dog-cart, in the seat of which their broad bottoms appear to have been wedged with much dexterity, and a writer or two, particu- larly a Mr. , the Lambert of the Law. (weighing about twenty -stone.) is sometimes to be met with in a lumbering buggy, moving at the rate of the Newcastle wagon, and drawn by a horse, whose tenuity of carcase forms a striking contrast to the rotund abdomen of his master. Scotland, to say the tru'h, has produced many painters, poets, heroes, and philosophers, but not a single whip. Indeed, since my arrival in Edinbuigh,I have heard of a Scotsman having dis- covered the perpetuum mobile, but never of any one who could drive four spanking tits in real bang-up style. Your talents in that department will, therefore, cast them all into the shade ; and I will venture to predict, that neither writer nor heavy dragoon will dare to show his nose in a buggy after your first appearance in the north. I assure you, by coming down to Edinburgh you will add mightily to your importance. In London you are but a star (a star of the first magnitude, I admit,) in the mighty 50 394 peter's letters. firmament of fashion. Twinkle as bright as you please, there are a thousand others who twinkle just as brightly. In short, you are, and can be, but one in a crowd, and I defy you topoke your head into a large party without encounter- ing fifty others whose claims to distinction are quite as good as your own. But here you will be the sun in the splendid heaven of Bon-ton, tbe patula fagus, under whose spread- ing branches the admiring and gentle Tityri of the north will be proud to recline :— Potts, like the Sun, in Fashion's heaven shall blaze. While minor planets but reflect his rays. All this, my dear friend, I submit to your own good sense and deliberate consideration. In the meanwhile, I shall en- deavour to enable you to judge with more precision of the advantages of my plan, by throwing together, for your in- formation, a few short remarks on the state of Dandyism jp the North. The Dandies of Edinburgh possess a finer theatre whereon to display their attractions than those of any other city in the three kingdoms. You have nothing in London which, as a promenade, can be compared to Prince's-street* Bond*street is abominably narrow and crooked, and really contains nothing to gratify the eye but the living beauties who frequent it, and the gold snuff-boxes and India handkerchiefs which decorate the windows. St. James's-street is better, but it wants extent, and Dame-street in Dublin has the same faulU Oxford-Road is perhaps less exceptionable than either; but it is unfashionable, and, at best, holds no greater attractions than can be afforded by an almost endless vista of respecta ble dwelling-houses and decent shops. But Prince's-street ia a magnificent terrace, upwards of a mile in length, forming the boundary of a splendid amphitheatre, and affording to the promenading Dandy a view not only of artificial beau- ties, but also of some of the sublimest scenery of Nature. There, when the punch-bowl is empty, and " night's candle* are burned out," he may stagger down the steps of the Albyn Club, and behold " Jocund day Stand tiptoe on the misty mountain's top," as the sun majestically raises his disk above the top of Arthur's Seat. There is something rural and grand in the prospect which it affords you. Not that sort of rurality (if I may coin peter's lettebs. 395 a word) which Leigh Hunt enjoys at Hampstead, which arises chiefly from the presence of green trees, and may therefore be equally enjoyed in the Champs Elis^es or Vaux- hall ; but those feelings of rural grandeur which we derive from gazing on the loftiest objects of Nature. From the crowded city we behold the undisturbed dwellings of the hare and the heath-fowl — from amidst the busy hum of men we look on recesses where the sound of the human voice has but rarely penetrated, on mountains surrounding a great metro- polis, but which rear their mighty heads in solitude and si- lence. What pleases me more in this scenery is, that it is so perfectly characteristic of the country, so truly Scottish. Transport Arthur's Seat to Paris, and the Champs Elisees to Edinburgh, and you disfigure both capitals, because the beauties you transpose are not in harmony or keeping with the rest of the picture. No man in Edinburgh can for a moment forget that he is in Scotland. He is in u the land of ihe mountain and flood," and these, in their greatest beauty, are continually feeding his eyes. But I am treating you like a landlord, who, intending to give bis guests an earnest of the good cheer he has provided for them, regales them with the prospect of the spit, but casts a veil over the only thing they care about, viz. the leg of mutton. I am not quite certain that Scotland can produce a single specimen of the genuine Dandy. In fact, the terra here appears to me to be both imperfectly understood and very grievously misapplied. Were I to divine the meaning of the word from the qualities of those persons whom it is here used to designate, I should conceive a Dandy to be nothing more than a gentleman in a white great coat and a sfarchetl cravat, or, in the most liberal extension of its meaning, a person who is rather gay and foppish in his dress. But a Dandy is something more, nay, a great deal more, than all this. I should define him, in few words, to be a person who has acquired such a degree of refinement in all matters of taste as is unattainable, or at least unattained, by the gene- rality of his countrymen. Dress, therefore, does not con- stitute Dandyism ; because dress is only one of the many modes in which this fastidious refinement is displayed. A true Dandy decorates his person far less with the view of captivation, than from the abstract love of elegance and beauty, in which he delights. His extraordinary attention to his toilet is, therefore, quite compatible with the utter ab~ sence of personal vanity, and the same ruling principle is 396 PETER'S LETTERS. uniformly visible in his habits, his manners, and bis enjoy- ments. Nothing, therefore, is more easy than to distinguish the real Dandy from the impostor. The latter never can maintain the same consistency of character which is inse- parable from the former. For instance, if, in Old Slaughter's Coffee-house, I discover a gaudy coxcomb complacently devouring a tough beef-steak, and extracting the lining of a pot of porter, I know at once, from the coarseness and vul- garity of his appetite, that he has no real pretensions to the character of a Dand\. In this country, when 1 find the very Arbitri Elegantiarum, the Dilletanti Society, holding their meetings in a tavern in one of the filthiest closes of the city, "braving, with heroic courage, the risk of an impure baptism from the neighbouring windows, at their entrance and their exit, and drinking the memory of Michael Angelo, or Ra- phael, or Phidias, or Milfon, in libations of whiskey-punch, I cannot but consider that the coarseness of their habits and propensities appears utterly inconsistent with that delicacy of taste in other matters to which they make pretension. But that I may not carry my system of exclusion loo far, I am inclined to divide the Dandies into two classes — the real, and the imitative. . The former being those who really accord with the definition I have already given, and the latter merely a set of contemptible spooneys, who endeavour to attract attention by copying peculiarities which they really do not possess. I have already hinted that the Dandies of the North are chiefly of the imitative descrip- tion. They want that boldness of character, and strength of outline, which distinguish their more accomplished pro- totypes in the South. They have none of that redeeming elegance — that visible consciousness of superior bon-ton — that calm and non-chalant assurance of manner — that com- placent look of contemptuous self-approbation, which almost succeeds in disarming ridicule, by showing that on such a subject ridicule would be exerted in vain. There are no Scottish Petershams, no Brummells, no Skeffingtons, no Cot- tons, no Nugents, no Churchills, no Cooks, no M'Kinnons, no Websters, no Foxes, and, what is more, no Pottses. One reason for this striking inferiority certainly is, that this me- tropolis is only the casual and transient resort of the aristo- cracy of the country. Very few, indeed, of the nobility make Edinburgh their permanent residence ; and those are scarcely sufficient to leaven the great mass of society in which they are mingled. By far lhe greater proportion, therefore — indeed I may say the whole of the young men peter 5 s letters. 397 of this city, belong to a profession. — They are lawyers, attor- nies, merchants, soldiers, sailors, and India nabobs. Now, I need not tell you, my dear Potts, how utterly ridiculous it is, in most of these men, to set up in the character of Dandies. What do you think of a Dandy in a three-tailed wig? Of a Dandy making out a mittimus, and writing papers for the princely remuneration of three pence a page? Of a Dandy who has been accustomed to reef top-sails, and swal- low salt junk in a cockpit? Of a Dandy who sells sugar, and speculates in shag-tobacco ? Or of a Dandy who has all his life been drilling black men, or growing indigo in the burning plains of Hindostan ? It is such people, my dear Potts, whom I wish you to come hither to eclipse. It is over such loving and obedient subjects (as I am sure you will find them) that I desire you to reign. From a simple centumvir I would raise you to be king. They have the capacity to admire, without the power of rivalling you; and, as In- gleby is acknowledged the Emperor of all Conjurors, so will Potts be instantaneously hailed as the Great Mogul of all the Dandies of Scotland. Fashion does not travel, like Fame, on the wind ; and I have often remarked, with wonder, the prodigious length of time which she requires to perform even a journey of four hundred miles. The London newspapers arrive here in three days ; but the London fashions are generally a couple of years on the road. For instance, white great-coals, which were utterly exploded three seasons ago in London, are now in full bloom in Edinburgh, and are reckoned quite the go. The hats, coats, and inexpressibles, which now greet my eyes, are all equally antique in point of fashion ; and I re- member, in 1S17, that the beaux of Cheapside were distin- guished by much the same cut and colour of dress as that which I now observe from my windows on those frequenting the well-known shop of that accurate reasoner a posteriori, Christie the breeches-maker. There are, it is true, in this city, some agents or emissaries of London tailors, who re- ceive orders to procure supplies of town-made habiliments for such gentlemen as are dissatisfied with the taste and skill of their indigenous Schneiders : but either these houses are not of the first water in their profession, or they presume considerably on the ignorance of their customers ; for I really never could perceive much superiority in the articles thus imported, over the native productions of the country. But it were well if want of fashion were the only objection 398 peter's letters. that could be made to the costume of the Scottish Dandies. There apparently exists, among some of them, a total want of taste, and ignorance of propriety in dress. Folks in this country may be seen writing law-papers in leather-breeches and jockey-boots, parading Prince's Street in shooting-jack- ets and long gaiters, and riding on horseback in nankeen trowsers and double-channelled pumps. Now, nobody can appreciate better than you the gross errors of which these people are guilty ; — nobody can show them better a speci- men of that true taste in dress, which confers even a grace upon foppishness, by never suffering it to deviate from the nicest propriety. There is a rule of fitness which you must teach these Scottish satellites of yours never to profane. Let them know that a man should dress differently when he in- tends to ride a fox-chace, or to walk the streets ; — that he need not put on his sporting paraphernalia when he means merely to hunt for precedents in the Dictionary of Decisions ; — that there is something absurd in eating ice enveloped in an upper Benjamin, and vulgar in going to the dress-boxes of the theatre in a morning surtout and coloured cravat. In short, you will have much to teach, and they much to learn ; but as I am sure this will be a mutual pleasure to you both, I need say no more on the subject. At routs and balls, your appearance will form no less re- markable an era than on the pave of Prince's Street. In you the belles of Edinburgh will at once recognise a being of a superior order, whose slightest attentions cannot but confer honour on all to whom they are paid. If you want an heiress in a snug small way, there are abundance of little misses who will jump at your knowing exterior with an alac- rity most pregnant of dismay to the discarded would-be Dan- dies, on whom their encouraging smiles are at present la- vished only because there is no opportunity of bestowing them more wisely. At the clubs, you will be hailed and greeted with a warmth which, in spite of its vulgarity, must be in some measure gratifying to your vanity. You need only, in a word, utter your fiat, and take possession of the Dandy sovereignty of the North by a single coup-de-main. Come down, my dear Potts — and yet why should I say so ? - — for I fear, were you once established in the sweets of Au- tocracy, there would be little chance of winning from you oven a casual visit to your old friends in the South. I am much to blame for not having sooner redeemed my peter's letters, 399 promise of writing to you ; but I had made an earlier and more serious promise of the same kind to our cousin David Williams, and my correspondence with him has been as much as I could well manage. I have besides been obliged, for obvious reasons, to address a few epistles to Lady Johnes ; and, in short, I propose keeping the cream of my observa- tions to amuse you next Christmas, when we meet, as our use is, at the hospitable mansion of your uncle. I am just about to leave Edinburgh for the present — so that, if I find time to write again, I shall probably address you from Glas» gow, or some of the other provincial seats of Dandyism. Meantime, believe me, my dear Potts, Most sincerely yours, P. K LETTER LXIV. TO THE REV. DAVID WILLIAMS, Yesterday was one of the happiest days I have spent 3ince my present travels began ; and although I had almost made up my mind to trouble you with no more letters of a merely descriptive character, I think I must venture upon giving you some account of it. Part of it, however, was spent in the company of several individuals whom I had for some weeks felt a considerable curiosity to see a little more of— whom, indeed, my friend W bad long ago promised to introduce more fully to my acquaintance, and of whom, moreover, I am suie you will be very glad to hear me say a few words. But I shall be contented with giving you a nara- tive of the whole day's proceedings just as they passed. Mr. W and I were invited to dine with a Mr. Gillies, to whom I had been introduced by a letter from my old and excellent friend Sir E B , and whose name you have often seen mentioned in Sir E 's writings. His resi- dence, at the distance of some six or seven miles from Edin- burgh had hitherto prevented me from being much in his so- ciety ; but I was resolved to set apart one day for visiting bin? at his villa, and W was easily persuaded to accompany me. The villa is situated on the banks of the Eske, in the midst of some of the most classical scenery in all Scotland, so we determined to start early in the day, and spend the morn- ing in viewing the whole of that beautiful glen> arranging 400 peter's letters. matters so as to arrive at Mr. Gillies's in good time for din- ner. Knowing that the Ettrick Shepherd is a dear and in- timate friend of Mr. Gillies's, I asked him to take the spare seat in the shandrydan, and promised to bring him safe home in the evening in the same vehicle. The Shepherd consented. Mr. W gave us a capital breakfast in the Lawn market, and the shandrydan was in full career for Roslyn Castle by ten o'clock. Horse and man, the whole party were in high spirits ; but the gayest of the whole was the worthy Shepherd, who made his appearance on this oc- casion in a most picturesque fishing jacket, of the very lightest mazarine blue, with huge mother of pearl buttons, — nankeen breeches, made tight to his nervous shapes, — and a broad-brimmed white chip hat, with a fine new ribbon to it, and a peacock's feather stuck in front; which last or- nament, by the way, seems to be a favourite fashion among all the country people of Scotland. The weather was very fine, but such, notwithstanding, as to give to the scenery through which our path lay, a grand, rather than a gay appearance. There had been some thun- der in the morning, and rain enough to lay the dust on the road, and refresh the verdure of the trees; and although the sun had shone forth in splendour, the sky still retained, all along the verge of the horizon, a certain sombre and lowering aspect, the relics of the convulsions which the whole atmosphere had undergone. I know not if you have remarked it,' but Gasper Poussin, Turner, Calcott, and Schetky, and almost all th« great landscape painters seem to have done so — that this is precisely the situation of the Leavens under which both foreground and distance are seen to the greatest effect. The dark inky mantle wrapped all round the circling mountains and plains, afforded a majes- tic relief to every tree, spire, and cottage which arose before us; and when we turned round, after proceeding a mile or two, and saw the glorious radiant outlines of Edinburgh, rock and tower, painted bright upon the same massy canopy of blue, it was impossible not to feel a solemn exultation in contemplating the harmonious blending together of so many earthly and etherial splendours. The newly shaken air, too, had a certain elasticity and coolness about it, which sent de- lightful life into our bosoms with every respiration. There was no rioting of spirits, but we enjoyed a rich quiet, con- templative, and reposing kind of happiness. The country rather ascends than descends, all the way FETER'S LETTERS. 40l from Edinburgh to the line of the Eske, where a single turn shuts from the traveller the whole of that extensive stretch of scenery of which the capital forms the centre, and brings him at once into the heart of this narrow, secluded and ro>- rnantic valley. At the edge of the ravine we found Mr. Gillies, and s:me of his friends whom he had brought uiih him from his house to join us. Among others, Mr. Wilson, his brother, an uncle of theirs, Mr. S , a fine active el- derly gentleman, in whose lineaments and manners J could easily trace all the fire of the line, and an old friend of his, Mr. Mcnan, collector of the customs at Leith, a charming fellow. In company with these, we immediately began to walk down the hill toward Roslyn, directing the shandrydan to be carried round to Mr. Gillies's house by the high-way, for the scenes we were about to explore do not admit of being visited except by pedestrians. Before we came to the Castle, we turned off into a field surrounded by a close em- bowering grove of venerable elms and chesnuts, to see that beautiful little chapel which Mr. Scott has so often intro- duced in his earlier poems. It stands quite by itself desert- ed, and lonely ; but it is wonderfully entire, and really an ex- quisite specimen of architecture. Within, the roof and walls are quite covered with endless decorations of sculpture, leaves, and flowers, and beads and groups, not indeed exe- cuted in the pure and elegant taste of Melrose, but produc- tive, nevertheless, of a very rich and fanciful kind of effect. The eastern end, toward the site of the altar, is supported by a cluster of pillars quite irregular in their shapes and position; some of them wreathed all over, from base to ca- pital with arabesque ornaments, others quite plain, but the whole suffused with one soft harmonising tinge of green and mossy dampness. Under foot, the stones on which you tread are covered with dim traces of warlike forms — mailed chief- tains, with their hands closed in prayer, and dogs and lions couchant at their feet, in the true old sepulchral stvle of he- raldry. It is said that below each of these stones the warrior whom it represents lies interred in panoply, — " There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold, Lie buried within that proud chapelle," while, all around, the lower parts of the wall are covered with more modern monuments of the descendants of the same high lineage — the cross ingrailed of St. Clair, and the galleys of Orkney, being everv where discernible among their rich 51 402 peter's letters. and varied quarterings. From behind the altar, you step upon the firm stone roof of the sacristy, which projects from below, and it was from thence that 1 enjoyed the first full view of the ivhole glen of Roslyn. The river winds far below over a bed of rock; and such is the nature of its course and its banks, that you never see more than a few broken and far-off glimpses of its clear waters at the same time. On the side on which we stood, the banks consist of green and woody knolls, whose inextricable richness and pomp of verdure is carried down, deepening as it descends, quite to the channel of the stream. Opposite, there shoots up a majestic screen of hoary rocks, ledge rising square and massy upon ledge, from the river to the horizon — but all and every where diversified with fantastic knots of copsewood, projecting and clinging from the mi- nutest crannies of the cliffs. Far as the eye can reach down the course of the stream, this magnificent contrast of groves and rocks is continued — mingling, however, as they recede from the eye, into one dim magnificent amphitheatre, over which the same presiding spirit of soothing loneliness seems to hover like a garment. The Castle itself is entirely ruined, but its yellow mouldering walls form a fine relief to the eye, in the midst of the dark foliage of pines and oaks which every where surround it. We passed over its airy bridge, and through its desolate portal, and descending on the other side, soon found ourselves treading upon the mossy turf around the roots of the cliff on which it stands, and within a few- yards of the river. From thence we pursued our walk in pairs — sometimes springing from stone to stone, along the bed of the stream — sometwnes forcing ourselves through the thickets, which drop into its margin— but ever and anon re- posing ourselves on some open slope, and gazing *vith new delight from every new point of view, on the eternal, ever varying grandeur of the rocks, woods, and sky. My close companion all along was the excellent Shepherd; and I could not have had a better guide in all the mazes of this Temple, for often, very often had he followed his fancies over every part of it — " which tvell he knew ; for it had been his lot To be a wandering stripling; — and there raves No torrent in these glens, whose icy flood Hath not been sprinkled round his boyish blood " And in that region shelter is there none Of overhanging rock or hermit tree. r-r i PETER'S LETTERS. *W Wherein lie hath not oft essayed to shun The fierce and fervid day-star's tyranny."* The whole party, however, were congregated where the river washes the base of the caverned rocks of Hawthorn- den— the most beautiful in itself, and in regard to recollec- tions, the most classical point of the whole scenery of the Eske. The glen is very narrow here — even more so than at Roslyn, and the rocks on the right rise to a still more mag- nificent elevation. Such, indeed, is the abruptness of their sheer ascent, that it is with some difficulty the eye can de- tect, from the brink of the stream, the picturesque outlines of the house of Hawthornden, situated on the summit of the highest crag. The old castle in which Drummond received Ben Jonson, has long since given way ; but the more mo- dern mansion is built within the dilapidated circuit of the ancieBt fortress — and the land is still possessed, and the hall occupied by the lineal descendants of the poet. I know not that there is any spot in Britain made classical by the footsteps of such a person as Drummond, one's notions respecting which are thus cherished and freshened by find- ing it in the hands of his own posterity, bearing his own name. We clombe the steep banks by some narrow paths cut in the rock, and entered at various points that labyrinth of winding caves, by which the interior of the rock is throughout perforated, and from which part of the name of the place has, no doubt, been derived. Nothing can be more picturesque than the echoing loneliness of these retreats — retreats which often afforded shelter to the suffering patriots of Scotland, long after they had been sanctified by the foot- steps of the poet and his friend. Mr. Gillies carried me into the house, chiefly to show ine the original portrait of Drummond, which is preserved there ; and, in truth, I am obliged to him for having done so. The picture represents him at about the age of forty — the best of all ages, perhaps, for taking a man's portrait, if only one is to be taken of him — when the substance of the face is in all its firmness and vigour, and the fire of youth has been tempered, but not obscured, by the gravity of manhood. Drummond's features are singularly fine and expressive — and the picture is an admirable one, and in perfect preservation, so that we see them exactly as they were the day they were painted. * Stanihur=t. 404 peier's letters. His forehead is clear, open, and compact, with (he short black hair combed back in dark glossy ringlets, in the true Italian style — as we see it in the pictures of Venetian nobles, by Titian. The nose is high and aquiline, and the lips rich and full, like those in the statues of Antinous. His eyes are black as jet, (and so are his eye-brow*,) but the dazzle of their brilliancy is softened by a melancholy wateriness, which gives to the whole visage an inexpressible air of pensive delicacy and sentiment. On the whole, I have seldom seen a more lyrical countenance — or one which presents a more striking contrast to the dry, intellectual, sarcastic harshness of the lineaments of Ben Jonson — a portrait of whom also hangs in the same room. " Nature had framed them both, and both were marked By circumstance with intermixture fine Of contrast and resemblance. To an oak Hardy and firm, a weather-beaten oak, One might be likened The other, like a stately sycamore, That spreads in gentler pomp its honied shade." It is wonderful, however, when one looks back into his- tory, how many instances of the most sincere, tervent, and brotherly friendships, we see subsisting between men of ap- parently the most opposite characters and conformations. It would not do if the intellectual consorted only with the in- tellectual — the sentimental with the sentimental. The same wise regulation which binds the weakness of woman to the strength of man, unites, not unfrequently, the more gentle and amiable class of men in intimate and relying friendship with others of austerer and harsher disposition ; and the effects of such union have been most blessed, not only to the men themselves, but to their species. Such was the tender friendship that subsisted between the proud, hot, im- perious Martin Luther, and the mild, holy spirit of Melanc- thon. Such was the humanizing affection which connected Chillingworth with Hales ; and such, I doubt not, was the love which sweetened the flow of wit on the one hand, and elevated the tone of feeling on the other, " When Jonson sate in Drummond's social shade." Old Ben, however, is not the only English poet who has visited a Scottish poet in the glen of the Eske. It was while wandering among these very scenes that Mr. Wordsworth peter's letters, 405 composed his fine Sonnet* to Mr. Gillies, a sonnet which, I think, Mr. Gillies should attend to more seriously than he has yet done. The testimony of Wordsworth is a thing on which he should place far more reliance than on the wavering and desponding fancies of his own too-sensitive and morbid mind. It is impossible to be in his company for such a length of time as I was, on this delightful day, end in the midst of such scenes, without being satisfied that he possesses many of the finest elements of poetical feeling. The labour of condensing and correcting our thoughts and expressions, which, I suppose, is what Mr. Gillies's poetry chiefly wants, is, no doubt, a great labour; but it is one, without which nothing can be done, and, therefore, Mr. Gillies should submit to it. We did not arrive at Mr. Gillies's villa till about five o'clock, for in walking, loitering, and bathing, we had consumed the whole morning — so that we were well pre- pared to do justice to our dinner— but, indeed, the dinner might have been enough to tempt appetites more indifferently quickened. What a luxury a good dinner and a bottle of good wine is after a long walk ! It always struck me as being a very silly thing in Mahomet, to represent his Paradise as being one unvaried scene of green silk sofas and sparkling goblets. The Northern mythologists, who imagined the Va.U halla, have shown far more knowledge of nature and truth, when they make the heroes of Odin to spend all their morn- ings in blood and dust, cutting, and slashing, and career- ing at each other as they had been used to do, till, at the set- ting of sun, all their wounds are closed at once by magical power, they are bathed, and dressed in soft raiment, and all * The Sonnet is as follows : From the dark chambers of dejection freed, Spurning the unprofitable yoke of care, Rise, Gillies, rise : the gales of youth shall bear Thy genius forward like a winged steed. Though bold Bellerophon (so Jove decreed In wrath) fell headlong from the fields of air, Yet a high guerdon waits on minds that dare, If aught be in them of immortal seed. And reason govern that audacious flight Which heavenward they direct. Then droop not thou, Erroneously renewing a" sad vow In the low dell 'mid Roslin's fading grove : A cheerful life is what the Muses love, A soaring spirit is their prime delight. 406 peter's letters. sit down together to enjoy themselves over a friendly board — as we did now. This is the true way in which life should be made to pass sweetly in this fine time of the year. At dinner we found a large addition to our party — ladies and gentlemen, some residing for the time under the roof of Mr. Gillie, others who had come out from Edinburgh the same morning like ourselves. There was no want of wit — how much of it might be owing to our host's excellent cham- pagne, I shall not pretend to guess. So far, indeed, it ap- peared to me Mr. Gillie had followed his friend, the great Laker's advice — for nobody ever lived a more " cheerful life" than he seemed to do, while the tall black bottles chased each other with persevering unrelenting speed around his table. The effect of the champagne on the Ettrick Shepherd, in particular, was quite delightful : Accustomed, for the most part, to the ruder stimulus of whisky-toddy, this ethereal in- spiration seemed to shoot life with subtler energy through a thousand less explored meanderings of his body and his brain. Among other good things he contributed to our amusement, music was one. Before the ladies left the dining- room, he insisted upon having a violin put into his hands, and really produced a measure of sweet sounds, quite beyond what I should have expected from the workmanship of such horny fingers. It seems, however, he had long been accus- tomed to minister in this way at the fairs and penny-weddings in Ettrick, and we on the present occasion were well content to be no more fastidious than the Shepherd's old rustic ad- mirers. He appears to be in very great favour among the ladies — and I thought some of the younger and more courtly poets in the company exhibited some symptoms of envying him a little of his copious complement of smiles— and well they might. We had a great deal of conversation, however, on sober matters of literature and criticism, intermingled with oof mirth and the joyous notes of the Shepherd's fiddle. Among other topics, the attacks on the Edinburgh Review in the Edinburgh Magazine, of which I have already spoken to you, were tabled, and a good many remarks were made on them by various persons in the company, among others, your humble servant. I was particularly free in my observations, being aware that a number of the young persons present wrote occasionally in the new Journal, and anxious, from friendly motives, to give them the benefit of a little advice PETER^S LETTERS> 40t from an unprejudiced and impartial stranger. I gave praise to some particular productions, and censure to others, in the hopes of detecting the authors, in case they should be pre- sent, from the variation of their faces ; but, of a surety, either the public reports are quite erroneous, or these young gen- tlemen are masters of more face than I ever met with before in persons of double their years. It was on this occasion that I had an opportunity of seeing and conversing with Mr. Lockhart, who, as well as Mr. Wilson, is supposed to be one of the principal supporters of this Magazine, and so of judging for myself concerning an individual who seems to have cared very little how many enemies he raised up among those who were not personally acquainted with him. Owing to the satirical vein of some of the writings ascribed to bis pen, most persons whom I have heard speak of him, seemed to have been impressed with the notion that the bias of his character inclined toward an un- relenting subversion of the pretensions of others. But I soon perceived that here was another instance of the incompetency of the crowd to form any rational opinion about persons of whom they see only partial glimpses, and hear only distorted representations. I was not long in his company ere I was convinced that those elements which form the basis of his mind could never find their satisfaction in mere satire, and that if the exercise of penetration had afforded no higher pleasure, nor led to any more desirable result than that of detecting error, or exposing absurdity, there is no person who would sooner have felt an inclination to abandon it in despondency and disgust. At the same time, a strong and ever-wakefui perception of the ludicrous, is certainly a prominent feature in his composition, and his flow of animal spirits enables him. to enjoy it keenly, and invent it with success. I have seen, however, very few persons whose minds are so much alive and awake throughout every corner, and who are so much in the habit of trying and judging every thing by the united tact of so many qualities and feelings all at once. But one meets with abundance of individuals every day, who show in conversation a greater facility of expression, and a mor*^ constant activity of speculative acuteness. I never saw Mr. Lockhart very much engrossed with the desire of finding lan- guage to convey any relation of ideas that had occurred to him, or so enthusiastically engaged in tracing its conse- quences, as to forget every thing else. In regard to facility 408 PETER 5 S LETTERS. of expression, I do not know whether the study of languages, which is a favourite one with him — (indeed I am told he un- derstands a good deal of almost all the modern languages, and is well skilled in the ancient ones) — I know not whether this study has any tendency to increase such facility, although there is no question it must help to improve the mind in many important particulars, by varying our modes of per- ception. His features are regular, and quite definite in their out- lines; his forehead is well advanced, and largest, I think, in the region of observation and perception ; but. the general expression is rather pensive than otherwise. Although an Oxonian, and early imbued with an admiration for the works of the Stagyrite, he seems rather to incline, in philosophy, to the high Platonic side of the question, and to lay a great deal of stress on ihe investigation and cultivation of the im- personal sentiments of the human mind — ideas which his ac- quaintance with German literature and philosophy has pro- bably much contributed to strengthen. Under the influence of that mode of thinking, a turn for pleasantry rather in- clines to exercise itself in a light and good-humoured play of fancy, upon the incongruities and absurd relations which are so continually presenting themselves in the external as- pect of the world, than to gratify a sardonic bitterness in exulting over them, or to nourish a sour and atrabilious spirit in regarding them with a cherished and pampered feel- ing of delighted disapprobation, like that of Swift. But Mr. Lockhart is a very young person, and I would hope may soon find that there are much better things in literature than satire, let it be as good humoured as you will. Indeed, W tells me he already professes himself heartily sick of it, and has begun to write, of late, in a quite opposite key. It was here, too, that I first became acquainted with another young gentleman, whose writings in the same Mag- azine had, in a particular manner, interested and delighted me : and which, indeed, could not possibly excite any feel- ings but those of the purest delight, in the mind of any per- son capable of understanding them. This is a 3Ir. VY\ H ; but the greater part of the company seemed to ad- dress him familiarly by the name of Monster de Pcudemots, which nom de guerre was prefixed by him two or three years ago to an exquisite little separate publication of Tal^s and Essays, or, as he called them, " Fragments and Fictions. ' ? peter's letters. 409 1 have already sent off this little book to Lady Johncs, and I beg you to get it from her and read it with all speed. It is, perhaps, the most perfect bijou our time and country has pro- duced. — It appears to me to bear to the prose of our day pretty much the same relation the poetry of Rogers does to our popular poetry. It displays a profound elegance of thought and language — a pure, playful, inoffensive wit — and a most thrilling and poetic tenderness of feeling, such as have very rarely been united in any woik of any country, and such as I run no risk in saying were never before displayed in union in the work of a man not so much above twenty years of age. Since his little book was published, however, M. de Peu- demots (to judge from the writings, which the inimitable purity of style shows very plainly to be his,) has not a little enlarged his views in regard to men, and manners, and phi- losophy — and, I doubt not, lie will soon show this enlarge- ment in some very splendid way. By what process of cir- cumstances such a mind as his is should have been formed and nurtured into its present condition, in the midst of the superficial talkers and debaters of Edinburgh, I am greatly at a loss to imagine. It must, indeed, have betn a very noble armour of innate strength, which has enabled him to resist so much of precept and example — and, in spite of all that was passing around him, to train himself, from his ear- liest years, in so sure a reliance upon the finer examples and higher precepts of the old times of England. It is easy to see much of his inward strength beaming through the mo- desty of his physiognomy — and in his organization upwards, it is still more easy to detect the marks of a commanding intellect. He has a high pale forehead, the pure intellectual conformation of which is sufficient to render it perfectly beautiful. So much for one whose name will not long be an obscure one. I was introduced also to a third of these youthful coadju- tors, in the person of a Captain H , a very fine-looking young officer, whom the peace has left at liberty to amuse himself in a more pleasant way than he was accustomed to, so long as Lord Wellington kept the field. He has a noble Spaniard-looking head, and a tall, graceful person, which he swings about in a style of knowingness that might pass muster even in the eye of Old Potts. The expression of his features is so very sombre, that I should never have guessed him to be a playful writer, (indeed, how should I have guessed such a person to be a writer at all ?) Yet such 52 410 pktek's letters. is the case — for, uuless I am totally misinformed, be is the author of a thousand beautiful jeux d'esprit, both in prose and verse, which 1 shall point out to you more particuiaily when we meet. In the conversation of this large party, and over the prime Chateau Margout of Mr. Gillies, the time past most agree- ably till ten o'clock, at which hour we transferred ourselves to the drawing-room, and began dancing reels in a most cla- morous and joyous manner, to the music, sometimes of the Shepherd's fiddle — sometimes of the harpsichord. On these latter occasions, the Shepherd himself mingled in the maze with the best of us, and, indeed, displayed no insignificant remains of that light-heeled vigour, which enabled him in his youth (ere yet he had found nobler means of distinction,) to bear the bell on all occasions from the runners and leap- ers of Ettrick-dale. The great beauty of this man's de- portment, to my mind, lies in the unaffected simplicity with which he retains, in many respects, the external manners and appearance of his original station — blending all, how- ever, with a softness and manly courtesy, derived, perhaps, in the main, rather from the natural delicacy of his mind and temperament, than from the influence of any thing he has learned by mixing more largely in the world. He is truly a most interesting person — his conversation is quite picturesque and characteristic, both in its subjects and its expression — his good humour is unalterable, and his discern- ment most acute — and he bears himself with a happy mixture of modesty and confidence, such as well becomes a man of genius, who has been born and bred in poverty, and who is still far from being rich, but who has forfeited, at no moment of his career, his claim to the noble consciousness of perfect independence. A merry supper, followed by a variety of songs and sto- ries, detained us at Lasswade till a late, or rather till an early hour; but the moon had arisen in all her brightness, and our drive to Edinburgh was a cooling and calm termination to all the hilarities of the evening. This morning I spent almost entirely in driving from one house to another, bidding adieu, for a few months, to such, of my Edinburgh friends as are still in town. This would, indeed, have been a sad duty, but for the prospect of meet- ing them all again after my return from the ulterior part of my pilgrimage. In the mean time, however, it is a real sor- row for me to part, even with that consolation in view, for so peter's letters. 411 long a time from my excellent old friend, Mr. W . His kindness has really been such as I can never repay — not even in gratitude. Ever since I came, he seems to have made me, my comfort, and convenience, and gratification, the sole subject of his concern. I trust I shall be able to induce him to give me, so far, my revenge, next summer, in Cardigan— but,,alas ! what can 1 show him there like much of what he has shown me in Edinburgh ? My time, however, presses, and I cannot possibly delay setting off for Glasgow any longer. I propose spending a week in and about that city, to several of the most respect- able inhabitants of which I have received letters of intro- duction, through the kindness of my indefatigable friend. To-day W dines with me, once more solus cum solo, at my hotel — and with to-morrow's dawn I must gird myself for my journey. I shall write to you shortly after my arri- val ; but, in the mean time, in case you should write to me, address your letters to the Buck's-Head Hotel, Glasgow. Ever yours, P.M. P. S. Don't forget to borrow M. de Peudemot's book from my aunt. If you don't get the "One Night in Rome'' by heart, I shall lose all faith in your taste. LETTER LXV. TO THE SA3IE. Buck's-Head, Glasgow. I had a melancholy ride from Edinburgh — as every man of any sense or feeling must have who quits that beautiful and hospitable city, after a residence half so long as mine. When I had swallowed my solitary cup of coffee and bit of toast, and, wrapping myself in my great-coat, proceeded to the door of Oman's — and saw there the patient Scrub, the lazy John, and the sober shandrydan, all prepared for the journey, — I could not but feel a chilness creep over me at the now visible and tangible approach of my departure. I mounted, however, and seized the reins with a firmness wortby of my- self, and soon found myself beyond sight of the obsequious bowings of Mr. Oman and his lackeys — driving at a smart resolute pace along the glorious line of PrincjeVStreetj 412 peter's letters, which I had so often traversed on different errands, and in such different glee. There was a thick close mist, so that I scarcely saw :nore than a glimpse or two of some fragments of the Castle as I pa*t — the church-domes and towers floated here and there like unsupported things in the heavens; — and Edinburgh, upon the whole, seemed 10 melt from before my re- treating gaze, " like the baseless fabric of a virion." It was not till I had got fairly out of the town, that the sun shone forth in his full splendour, gilding with hi« Judas beams the dead white masses of vapour that covered the ground before me — and, by degrees, affording me wider and richer glances of the whole of that variously magnificent champaign. There is, indeed, a very fine tract of country, stretching for several miles westward from Edinburgh — its bosom rich- ly cultivated and wooded, and its margin on either hand skirt- ed by very picturesque, if not very majestic, ranges of moun- tains. After passing over these beautiful miles, however, the general character of the road to Glasgow is extremely mono- tonous and uninteresting — there being neither any level suffi- cient to give the impression of extent, or height sufficient to dignify the scene — but one unbroken series of bare bleak table-land, almost alike desolate-looking where cultivation has been commenced, as where the repose of the aboriginal Leather has been left undisturbed. About the conclusion of the third long stage, which brings you within some fifteen or sixteen miles of Glasgow, the country does indeed rise high enough — but I never saw any high country so very dull. The Kirk of Shotts, from which the most dreary ridge takes its name, is situated certainly in one of the last of all places that a member of the old Melrose and Dryburgh school would have thought of for an ecclesiastical building. Yet it is pleasing to see such a building in such a place — and the little dove-cote belfry rises with peculiar expressiveness amidst a land of so little promise. When we had passed the Kirk of Shotts, we gradually descended, and saw from the warmer slopes upon which we travelled, occasional peeps of the rich valley of the Clyde, smiling serenely with all its pomp of woods and waters to the left. The road, however, soon became quite flat again, and excepting one or two little glens close by the way-side, I observed nothing particularly interesting till we came within sight of the city. The city is (even after Edinburgh) a very fine one. It has no pretensions to any such general majesty of situation as the me tropolis — it has nothing that can sustain any com- peter's letters. 413 parlson with the Rock and the Castle — to say nothing of th« tills and the sea — yet it is a grand and impressive city, whether we look at its situation or at its buildings. The Cathedral, in the immediate neighbourhood of which the oldest part of the town stands, is placed on the brink of a command- ing eminence, from which there is a continued descent of more than a mile southward to the river — all the intervening space having been long since covered with streets, and squares, and market-places, by the sons of traffick. The Old Church is at the eastern extremity also of the town — which now seems to be running:, after the fashion of the fine people in London, entirely to the west. The main street, through which I made my entrance, the Trongate, is a pro- digiously fine thing — one of the very finest things, I venture to say, in all Europe — consisting, for the most part, of huge black structures, rising on either side many stories into the air, but diversified, all along, with very picturesque breaks and lights — pillars, turrets, spires, every thing, in a word, that can give the grandeur of variety to a long street cutting the centre of a great city. From this, various minor streets, old and new, sombre and gay, penetrate into the extremities of the peopled place. There is a vast hum, and bustle, and jostling, all along — things of which one meets with very little in Edinburgh ; and, indeed, the general air of activity is only second to that of Gheapside. I felt at once that I had got into a very different sort of place from that I had left; but both 1 and my horse were somewhat wearied with the journey, and the horns of a genuine Buck, proudly projected over the gateway of the hotel to which I had been directed, were to me the most interesting features in the whole Tron- gate of Glasgow. I am now established in a very snug suite of apartments, fronj[ which I command, in the mean time, a view of the whole of this great street, and from which, God willing, I shall go forth to-morrotv, refreshed and reinvigora- ted by a good supper and a good sleep, to examine and criti« cise Olasgow and its inhabitants. I told you that I had received, before leaving Edinburgh, various letters of introduction to gentlemen of this place : and I was preparing to set about delivering some of them this morning, immediately after breakfast, when one of the 414 meter's letters,. persons I proposed waiting upon anticipated my intentions, and called at the Buck's Head, with ready and cordial offers of all manner of civility and attention. This gentleman is a distant relation of my friend W , who had informed him, by a different letter, of me and all my motions. From what I have seen of him, he is likely to prove a capital Lionizcr ; for he seems to know every thing about Glasgow, and to be very willing to communicate every thing that he does know. What is best of all, he is a perfectly idle man, — a character of very rare occurrence in such a town as this, so that I shall not be troubled in receiving his attentions with the painful idea that I am wasting valuable time. In all the mercantile towns I have previously visited, at home and abroad, it has been my fortune to fall entirely into the hands of merchants ; and these, though they are as kind as possible, and as willing as. you could wish to entertain you all the evenings, have a sad aversion to having their morn- ings cut up with parading a stranger through their curiosities. I\ow, Mr. H is probably not unfrequently at a loss bow to spend his own mornings in Glasgow, and I am doing him a favour by giving him occupation. He seemed resolved that I should feel myself perfectly at home in his company, for the very first subject he began to enlarge upon was bis own history ; and, as we walked along the streets towards the Cathedral, (for that was the first Lion he proposed showing me,) he told me as many anecdotes of his adventures as would fill half-a-dozen even of my letters. He appeared to be very anxious, by the whole drift of his dis- course, to create in my mind a very broad and marked line of distinction between himself and the other inhabitants of this his native city, for whom, indeed, it was easy to see he enter- tains no great feeling of partiality. " You will, no doubt, be much surprised, " said he, " to find a person so idle as myself living here among such a set of drudges : but there's a reason for every thing, Doctor Morris ; and, let me tell you, I have ' devilish good reasons for choosing to be a dweller in Glasgow, in spite of all my disgust for the doings of the place." I comprehend, partly from what he has said, and partly from the conversation of my landlady, Mrs. Jardine, that a generation or two back, Glasgow was entirely a place of mer- chandise, and not at all connected with manufactures; that in those days the principal merchants, who had every thing their own way in the town, were not unfrequently persons of very PETERS LETTERS. 41/> respectable birth and education — some of them younger sons of good gentlemen's families — and all of them accustomed (6 live on terms of familiarity, if not equality, with the noblesse of the neighbouring counties. The introduction of manufac- ture, cotton-mills, sugar-works, soap-works, and a thouand other engines of prosperity, has had tiie effect of causing this primitive aristocracy of traffickers to be invaded in their pri- vileges by a mighty swarm of mere novi homines — persons sprung from every variety of mean blood and place, and train- ed in every variety of narrow-mindedness and ignorance, who have now, by strength of numbers and of purses, almost suc- ceeded in pushing the relics of the old school from their seats of dignity, and who constitute, at this moment, the most pro- minent element in every large society of Glasgow. My new acquaintance, whose own family held a high place in the days of the elder system, has witnessed, with a most lively dismay, this sad diminution of their importance, and mourns, in other words, over the increased wealth, population, and importance of his native city, as if his own birthright had been invaded at every step of its progressive prosperity. He is attached, however, to the soil of the place, partly by the feelings and recollections of his youth — partly by the necessity of keeping on good terms with an old absuid uncle, who thinks Glasgow the only town in Britain where any man of taste and discern- ment ought to live ; but, most of all, I suspect, (although he did not say any thing expressly on that head,) from the gratifi- cation his vanity receives, by means of his sojourn here, he being not only the most idle, but also the most genteel and elegant person in the city, and therefore enjoying, in all ful- ness, the delights and dignities of being its arbiter degantia?* rum. He is the very Potts of Glasgow. Mr. H cannot show his lace in the Merchant's house, or on the Exchange, or on any other scene, " Where most our merchants use to congregate," without finding himself a very insignificant sort of person ; but the matter is much otherwise when he enters a ball room or assembly. His slim figure, so different from those of the brawny swollen money-getters and punch-drinkers — his dc- gagee and polite air, the fruit of his foreign travel, (for he. too, has been a wanderer in his day) — his skill in dancing — his knowledge of women — his flatteries — and his foibles — all have contributed to make him the favourite beau of the la- dies of this mercantile citv. &o vouns: bonro-p^e can be said 416 feter's letters.- to have come out till Mr. H has done her the honour to walk down a country-dance with her. Nobody dare venture to say she is a beauty, till his infallible imprimatur has been fixed upon her. Although long past the hey-day and buoyancy of youth and youthful spirits, he walks unrivalled and alone, among a thousand more sanguine pretenders— secure in the 7io?i-chalance of his long-establisbed sway — eternal master of the ceremonies— the Prince and Apostle of the Drawcansirs of the West. Of the many things on which he piques himself— one, and not the most trivial, is his connexion with the ancient and lofty blood of my friend VV 's family. He goes into Edin- burgh now and then, and the reception he meets with there through the means of W , so very different ftom the utter neglect with which most Glasgow visiters are received in that metropolis, is always sufficient to renew and refresh this vani- ty in the most effectual manner. He is proud, moreover, of the high personal character and literary reputation of the laird, and altogether his kinsmanship has become quite one of his hobbies. "My cousin, Mr. W of W ," is a for- mula never out of his mouth. He can say by heart a variety of W *s minor love poems, which he repeats in a most moving manner to the young ladies, when tbey are warmed with an extra glass of sherry-negus at a ball-supper. His chansons-a-boire furnish him in like manner with a no less ap- propriate armoury of fascination for the punch-table — and never does he either sing or say, without introducing a full account of the tie which subsists between his own family and that of his author. My friend, I suppose, has written concern- ing me in much higher terms than I deserve — for 1 observe that Mr. H takes it for granted I am a man of wonderful accomplishments. I have lost, however, not a little way in his good opinion, by not having been present at a ball and supper, given on board the flag-ship at Leilb, the week before I left Edinburgh. He cannot understand bow J should have neglected such an opportunity of exhibiting my Cambrian graces. I might tell him I have had the gout — but am quite willing to sustain the weight of his contempt as it is. It is very bad policy to make a man think he has no point of supe- riority over yourself. I have no ambition to rival the Toe- ocrctcy of Mr. H . Making some allowances for the prejudices of this gentle- man — and, above all, for the jaundiced view be may be ex- pected to give of some of the present prime ones in this mer- peter's letters. 417 eantile city, and their manner of deporting themselves — and having, as usual, my own eyes about me to correct any mis- statements that mat creep into his account of things, I imagine 1 have lighted upon an excellent cicerone. 1 am sure he is, at least, a civil, and he promises no less surely to be an inde- fatigable one. P.M. LETTER LXVII. TO THE SAME. The situation of the Cathedral of Glasgow has been so ex- quisitely described in Rob Roy, that it would be quite useless to do any thing more than refer you to it — only the fine pine trees which, in the novel, are represented as covering the whole of the opposite bank of the ravine, and extending their funeral shade quite to the back of the cemetrey — these (miserabile dictu !) have been sacrificed to the auri sacra fames, and that bank is now bare and green, as if black pine had never grown there. The burial-ground, with which the Cathedral is on all sides surrounded, is certainly one of the largest and one of the most impressive I have ever visited. The long and fiat grave-stones, in their endless lines, seem to form a complete pavement to the whole surface — making it a perfect street of the dead — the few knots of tall wiry grass and clustering nettles, which find room to shoot from between the layers of stone-work, being enough to increase the dreari- ness, but not to disturb the uniformity of the scene. The building stands on the declivity of a slight hill, at the bottom of which a brawling rivulet tumbles along with a desolate roar of scanty waters — but it would seem the ground had been dug up originally, so as to give the Cathedral a uniform and even line of foundations. Yet — such in many succeeding centu- ries has been the enormous accumulation of the dead, that their graves have literally choked up the one end of the church altogether — so that of a tier of windows which areseen^entire at the east, at the west the tops only can be traced, sculp- tured and ornamented like the rest, just peering above the surface of the encroaching tombs. The feelings one has in visiting a Gothic cathedral, are always abundantly melancholy, but the grand and elevating accompaniments by which this melancholy is tempered in a .53 itH peter's LETTERS. Catholic, and even in an English cathedral, are amissing — sadly amissing — in the case of a cathedral that has fallen into the hands of the Presbyterians. When one enters one of those antique piles in Southern Germany, or in Spain, (for there only can a Catholic Gothic cathedral be seen in all its glory,) I know not that it is possible for the heart of man to desire any addition to the majestic solemnity of the whole scene. The tall narrow windows, quite dark with the long purple garments of pictured martyrs, apostles, and kings, tinge every ray that passes through them with the colours and the memory of a thousand years of devotion. The whole immeasurable space below,— nave, transept, and sounding aisles, — are left glowing in their bare marble beneath these floods of enriched and golden light — no lines of heavy pews are allowed to break the surface — it seems as if none could have any permanent place there except those who sleep be- neath. You walk from end to end over a floor of tomb- stones, inlaid in brass with the forms of the departed — mitres, and crosiers, and spears, and shields, and helmets, all mingled together — all worn into glass-like smoothness by the feet and the knees of long departed worshippers. Around, on every side — each in their separate chapel — sleep undisturbed from age to age the venerable ashes of the holiest or the loftiest that of old came thither to worship their images and their dying-prayers sculptured, and painted above the resting-pla- ces of their remains. You feel that you are but a visiter amidst the congregation and home of the dead — and walk with gentle steps along the precious pavement, that answers with a clear prophetic echo to your living tread. The rich old tapestries which sometimes cover the walls of these cathedrals, mingle belter with the storied windows than even the finest of painting or Mosaics — for the exhibi- tion of perfect art throws discredit on rude art, however im- pressive, and disturbs the uniform eloquence with which the whole should be made to teem. But the greatest of all rur wants is, that of the long processions of kneeling priests, which ca.rry the eye onward to the steps of some high illumi- nated altar— where the blaze of the antique candlesticks comes faint and dim through the clouds of perfumed smoke, swung ever and anon, slow and solemn, from their waving censers. It is, I sometimes think, a thousand pities that er- rors and corruptions, in far different matters, should have made protestants part with so much of the old hereditary ceremonial of the church. Even the sacred music of our peter's letters. 419 forefathers has been abandoned, as if poison had been breath- ed from its most majestic notes. Who, that ever heard the grand simple airs to which the Latin Psalms are chanted in the Catholic cathedrals, can doubt that in them we still hear the very sounds which kindled the devotion of the Oregens, the Augustines, and the Gregories ? They bear no resem- blance to any music of modern days ; — they are the venera- ble relics of that Greek music which consisted only in Melo- dy. And why should we have discarded them ? — Or why, having discarded them for a lime, should we punish our ears and hearts by refusing to return to them ? But if even we have done somewhat wrong — alas ! how much "greater have been the errors of our Scottish brethren. The line which we have drawn between ourselves and many of the ideas of our fathers, has been stretched by them into an impassable gulf. It is, indeed, true, that they have re- placed what they have lost by many things of another descrip- tion ; but it is not when walking among the melancholy aisles of a deserted or profaned cathedral, that one is most likely to do justice to the value of their substitutes. It is more natural, in such a scene, to hope, that corruptions on the one side being amended, reverence on the other may be re- stored — that the Cristian North may, in some after day, acknowledge that the faults were not all on the part of that South to which she owed arts, arms, and religion ; and, in the words of the poet, -" all backward driven, Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven." The Cathedral of Glasgow, however, with all its naked- ness within, and all its desolation without, is a very valuable thing in Scotland ; for it is one of a very few of the great ec- clesiastical buildings in this country which escaped from the demolishing fury of the first disciples of John Knox. You have probably read, in some of the historians, the anecdote of the mode of its preservation — indeed, if my recollection serves me, it is mentioned in the novel of Rob Roy. With- in, there is only centre of the choir, which is left in a cathedral-looking style, with pillars, and scutcheons, and mon- uments; and here one sees that the whole building, when in its original state, must have been a noble and magnificent specimen of the Gothic architecture, in its best and purest, not its gaudiest age. At either extremity of the Cathedra], 420 peter's letters. spaces have been partitioned off from the nave, sufficient to form large and commodious places of Presbyterian worship ; and one of these is fitted up with some taste, as well, perhaps, as the eastern end of a Cathedral can be, where the site of the grand altar is occupied with a pulpit — where the lofty pillars and windows are cut by heavy wooden galleries, — and the floor loaded with rows of snug pews boxed in, and lined with green cloth, for the accommodation of sitting, not kneeling worshippers. The transept seems never to have been finish- ed, for it closes abruptly at either side, so as to afford but a faint idea of the shape of the cross. It runs out at one side, ho \ ever, for a considerable space, in the shape of a law aisle, with a flat roof, on which, in the old times, a garden had been formed, and where a few very ancient apple-trees may still be seen lingering and drooping aiong the edge of the stone-work. This aisle has the name of " the dripping aisle," derived, no doubt, from the water which finds its way through the crannies of that crazy roof — a name which, I think, Mrs. Radcliffe would have borrowed for some of the scenes of her horrors, had she heard of it. It is the sepul- chre of some particular family of the city or neighbourhood. Among the other profanations which this fine Old Cathe- dral has had to sustain, not the least has been the erection of various new buildings in its immediate vicinity, quite hostile to the impression its majestic form, left alone in its church- yard, might be so well fitted to convey. On the one band, on the very edge of the burial-ground, there has been set up a little abominable would-be Gothic church, in the very worst of all possible styles of Gothic imitation — a thing full of windows and corners, with a roof like a barn — and cover- ed — to the shame be it spoken of people who have such abundance of free-stone at their hands — covered with a rude patched coating of brown lime. It put me in mind of sotne little hunch-backed, heavy-headed dwarf, aping the port and gestures of a grand giant, whose knee he cannot touch. At the other side, they have put down, still nearer to the Cathe- dral, a building very passable in itself — nay, very elegant, as buildings go in Scotland — but scarcely, to my mind, less ill- judged in regard to its position. This is the Royal Infirmary ^— a spacious, handsome house, in the Grecian style, or, rather, in what is called now-a-days the Grecian style of architecture. In order to make room for it so near the Old Church, the good wise folks of Glasgow pulled down a few years ago, as my guide informs me, the ruins of the ancient Archiepiscopal Palace peter's letters. 421 or Castle, which occupied, with a very different kind of pro- priety, the same commanding spot. Surely this was a very unnecessary piece of barbarity — but, if the Old Castle was to be removed, they might, at least, hav erected in its room something that would have better harmonized with the neigh- bourhood of so grand a church. What one calls, in common parlance, a handsome building in these days, is often a thing which has neither grandeur nor beauty, indeed, modern buildings, in general, are so unin- teresting in their general shape, and their surface is so much frittered down with different rows of windows, and with a complexity of trivial and unprofitable parts, that they scarcely ever tell much upon the imagination, or convey to the eye any one broad and palpable concord of forms. The necessi- ty of having different flats or stories, must always be in some measure hostile to simplicity. No pillar can stretch from the top to the bottom of such a building, without doing it more harm than good ; and the expedient of piling different orders of architecture one above another, although it was employed with a noble effect in the Coliseum at Rome, and in other amphitheatres, seems to lose all its dignity when interspersed with the paltry little windows of modern davs. These smooth and glazed rows never fail to destroy the conception of a vast and magnificent space in the interior. The Gothic buildings, in general, have no want of unity. The multiplicity of parts is indeed great, bwt they are made quite easy to be comprehended by their repelilion: and the design of the whole is always evidently subservient to one purpose. I take it, Mr. W , in bis description of my character to his cousin, had done at least full measure of justice to my an- tiquarian propensities ; for he seemed to think it a matter of course, that my inclinations would lead me to give the whole of my first day to the most ancient part of the city of Glasgow. This, as I mentioned, is the part immediately in the neigh- bourhood of the Cathedral — the archbishop and his court of deans, chanters, precentors and prebendaries, having, of course, been the lords paramount of attraction in those days to the burghers, who lived chiefly by their means. There are several entire streets of the episcopal city still remain- ing — all in utter disrepute, as might be expected from their situation, and inhabited by the lowest vulgar : but all of them containing the shells of fine old houses, much superior in the 422 peter's letters. taste of their architecture to the more splendid buildings "which fill the more spacious streets of the modern city of mer- chandise. On some of these old houses, I could trace various coats-of-arnis, from which, had Glasgow a W to deci- pher them, I doubt not, much of their history might easily be gathered. His kinsman possesses a little tincture of his lore, and pointed out to me, in different quarters, the bearings of particular families of bishops in a sufficiently knowing style. In many quarters, he showed me the shields of the House of Hamilton, and the Stewarts, Lords of Minto — in which fami- lies successively was vested the regality, or lay lordship of the archiepiscopal lands shortly after the Reformation. He show- ed me also one large and fine old building, which formerly was a residence of the Montroses, and still bears the name of Mon- trose-lodge — and it was this very house, as he tells me, that Darnley occupied during that illness which brought Mary from Edinburgh to be his nurse, only a few weeks before the catastrophe of the Kirk-in-the-field. The most extensive of these ancient streets, however, is not so abundant in these vestiges of ancient pomp as the minor ones. It stretches quite along the brow of the hill, and commands a fine prospect of the whole city, old and new. Its name is Rotten-row — ° a name, by the way, which my cicerone professed himself in- capable of explaining, but which was quite familiar and intel- ligible to my ears. It comes, I doubt not, from the same root •with routine, and signifies nothing more than the row or street of processions. It was here that the host and the images of the saints were carried on festivals, with all the usual splen- dour of Catholic piety. The same name, derived from the very same practice still subsisting, may be found in many towns in Germany. I remember, in Ratisbonne, in particular, a Rotteji-grasse close by the Cathedral — and, indeed, all over Catholic Germany, the Dommherr or Canon, who walks first on those occasions, bears a title to the same etymology — that of Rott-meister, namely — which is literally procession-leader, or master. I remembered to have met with the name of this Glasgow Rotten-row in my reading, and on applying to my friend, he told me, that it occurs in Blind Harry's History of Sir William Wallace. After the famous exploit of the burn- ing of the barns of Ayr, where Pembroke, and a great number of the English lords were destroyed together, Wallace march- ed during the whole night, that he might, if possible, surprise Glasgow. On reaching the Clyde, he divided his forces, Ieacf P£TER ? S LETTERS. 123 ircg in person the inaiB body up the heart of the city, and sending Sir John the Graharae, his Achates, with another, to make a circuit, and enter by this Rotten-row. If you have Blind Harry by you, you may turn to the passage, and you will find a very animated description of the battle which en- sued. Wallace was encountered mid-way up the town, exact- ly where the College of Glasgow now stands, by the English bishop of Edward's making — Beck ; and while the strife was adhuc sub jndice, the scales were turned in his favour by the arrival of the Grahame, who took the bishop in the rear. After we had perambulated all these scenes, we found it was nearly time for dinner, and so parted for the day. I should have told you before, that I had another visiter early in the morning, besides Mr. H- . This was a Mr. P , a re- spectable merchant of the place, also an acquaintance of my friend W . He came before H , and after professing himself very sorry that his avocations would not permit bim to devote his forenoon to my service, made me promise to dine with him — a proposal to which, indeed, I could have no kind of objection. Being afraid that I might have some difficulty in finding the way to his house, he proposed that I should meet him at the Coffee-room, or Exchange, exactly at a quarter before five o'clock, from which place, he said, be would himself conduct me to his residence. My rendezvous is a very large, ill-shaped, low-roofed room, surrounded on all sides with green cane chairs, small tables, and newspapers, and opening by glass folding-doors, upon a paved piazza of some extent. This piazza is, in fact, the Exchange, but the business is done in the adjoining room, where all the merchants are to be seen at certain hours of the day. I have seldom seen a more amusing medley. Although I have travelled only forty miles from Edinburgh, I could, with difficulty, persuade myself that 1 was still in the same kingdom. Such roaring I such cursing! such peals of discord! such laughter! such grotesque attitudes ! such arrogance! such vulgar disregard of all courtesy to a stranger! Here was to be seen the counting-bouse blood, dressed in a box-coat, Belcher hand- kerchief, and top-boots, or leather gaiters, discoursing (iEde- pol!) about brown sugar and genseng ! Here was to be seer* the counting-house dandy, with whalebone stays, stiff-neck- cloth, surtout, Cossacks, a spur on his heel, a gold-headed oane on his wrist, and a Kent on his head, mincing primly to 424 feter's letters . his brother dandy some question about pulUcat handker- chiefs. Here was to be seen the counting-house bear, with a grin, and a voice like a glass-blower. Here, above all, was to be seen the Glasgow literature, striding in his corner with a pale face, and an air of exquisite abstraction, meditat- ing, no doubt, some high paragraph for the Chronicle, or, perchance, some pamphlet against Dr. Chalmers. Here, in a word, were to he seen abundant varieties of folly and pre- sumption — abundant airs of plebeianism. I was now in the Coffee-room of Glasgow. My friend soon joined me, and observing, from the ap- pearance of my countenance, that I was contemplating the scene with some disgust — " My good fellow," said he, tl you are just like every other well-educated stranger that comes into this town ; you cannot endure the first sight of us mer- cantile whelps> Do not, however, be alarmed; I will not introduce you to any of these cattle at dinner. No, sir, you must know that there are a few men of refinement and polite information in this city. I have warned two or three of these rarce aves, and, depend upon it, you shall have a very snug daif 's work." So saying, lie took my arm, and observ- ing that five \x?isjust on the chap, hurried me through several streets and lanes till we arrived in the , where his house is situated. His wife was, I perceived, quite the fine lady, and, withal, a little of the blue-stocking. Hearing that I had just come from Edinburgh, she remarked, that Glasgow would be seen to much disadvantage after that elegant city. €S Indeed," said she, " a person of taste must, of course, find many disagreeables connected with a residence in such a town as this; but Mr. 's business renders the thing ne- cessary for the present, and one cannot make a silk purse of a sow's ear — he, he, he! Another lady of the company carried this affectation still further ; she pretended to be quite ignorant of Glasgow and its inhabitants, although she had lived among them the greater part of her life, and, by- the-by, she seemed to be no chicken. I was afterwards told by my friend, Mr. H , that this damsel had, in reality. sojourned a winter or two at Edinburgh, in the capacity of lick-spittle, or toad-eater, to a lady of quality, to whom she had rendered herself amusing by a malicious tongue; and that during this short absence, she had embraced the oppor- tunity of utterly forgetting every thing about the west country. But there would be no end of it, were 1 to tell you all. The dinner was excellent, although calculated, apparently. J%TER 5 S LETTERS. 425 for forty people rather than for sixteen, which last number sat down. Capital salmon, and trout almost as rich as salmon, from one of the lochs — prime mutton from Argyleshire, very small and sweet, and indeed ten limes better than half the venison we see in London — veal not inferior — beef of the very first or- der— some excellent fowls in curry ; every thing washed down by delicious old West India Madeira, which went like elixir vitae into the recesses of my stomach, somewhat ruffled in con- sequence of my riotous living in Edinburgh. A single bottle of hock, and another of white hermitage, went round, but I saw plainh that the greater part of the company took them for per- ry or cider. After dinner we had two or three bottles of port, which the landlord recommended as being real stuff. Abun- dance of the same Madeira, but to my sorrow no claret — the only wine I ever care for more than half-a-dozen glasses of. While the ladies remained in the room, there was such a noise and racket of coarse mirth, ill restrained by a few airs of sick- ly sentiment on the part of the hostess, that I really could nei- ther attend to the wine nor the dessert ; but after a little time, a very broad hint from a fat Falsialf, near the foot of the table, apparently quite a privileged character, thank Heaven ! set the ladies out of the room. The moment after which blessed consummation, the butler and footman entered, as if by instinct, the one with a huge punch bowl, and the other with, &c. A considerable altercation occuned on the entrance of the bowl, the various members of the company civilly entreating each other to officiate, exactly like the "Elders," in Burns's poem of The Holy Fair, " bothering from side to side" about the saying of grace. A middle-aged gentleman was at length prevailed upon to draw "the china" before him, and the know- ing manner in which he forthwith began to arrange all his ma- terials, impressed me at once with the ide*i that he was com- pletely master of the noble science of making a bowl. The bowl itself was really a beautiful old piece of porcelain. It was what is called a double bowl, that is, the coloured surface was cased in another of pure white net-work, through whica the red and blue flowers and trees shone out most beautifully. The sugar being melted with a little cold water, the artist squeezed about a dozen lemons through a wooden strainer, and then poured in water enough almost to fill the bowl. In this state the liquor goes by the name of Sherbet, and a few of the connoisseurs in his immediate neighbourhood were re- quested to give their opinion of it — for, in the mixing of the sherbet lies, according to the Glasgow creed, at least one halt 54 426 peter's letters. of the whole battle. This being approved by an audible smack from the lips of the umpires, the rum was added to the beve- rage, I suppose in something about the proportion of one to se- ven. Last of all, the maker cut a few limes, and running each section rapidly round the rim of his bowl, squeezed in enough of this more delicate acid to flavour the whole composition- In this consists the true tour-de-maitre of the punch-maker. The punch being fairly made, the real business of the even- ing commenced, and giving its due weight to the balsamic in- fluence of the fluid, I must say the behaviour of the company was such as to remove almost entirely the prejudices I had conceived, in consequence of their first appearance and exter- nal manners. In the course of talk, I found that the coarse- ness which had most offended me, was nothing but a kind of waggish disguise, assumed as the covering of minds keenly alive to the ridiculous, and therefore studious to- avoid all appearance of finery — an article which they are aware always seems absurd when exhibited by persons of their profession. In short, I was amongst a set of genuinely shrewd, clever, sarcastic fellows, all of them completely up to trap — all of them good-natured and friendly in their dispositions — and all of them inclined to take their full share in the laugh against their own peculiarities. Some subjects, besides, of political interest, were introduced and discussed in a tone of great good sense and moderation. As for wit, I must say there was no want of it, in particular from the (i privileged character" I have already mentioned. There was a breadth and quaintne*s of humour about this gen- tleman, which gave me infinite delight ; and, on the whole, I was really much disposed at the end of the evening, (for we never looked near the drawing-room,) to congratulate myself on having made a good exchange for the self-sufficient young Whig coxcombs of Edinburgh. Such is the danger of trusting too much to first impressions. The Glasgow people would, in general, do well to assume as their motto, " Fronti nulla fides ;■ and yet there are not a few of them whose faces I should be Tery sorry to see any thina different from what they are. So much for my first day in Glasgow. P. M. PETER ? S LETTERS. 427 LETTER LXVIIL TO THE SAME. Buck's Head, Glasgow. Next morning I devoted to visiting the university here, and paying my respects to several of the Professors, to whom I had received letters of introduction from several of my friends in Edinburgh, as well as London. I found the build- ings very respectable in appearance — and altogether much more academical in their style than those of Edinburgh. The reason of this is, that they are for the most part much more an- cient — or rather, perhaps, that they resemble much more what my eyes had been accustomed to at Cambridge and Oxford. The University consists, as in Edinburgh, of a single Col- lege, but it is a much more venerable and wealthy foundation, and the professors instead of occupying separate houses|in different parts of the town, as in Edinburgh, are lodged all to- gether in a very handsome oblong court, (like the close of some of our cathedrals,) immediately beside the quadrangles used for public purposes. These quadrangles are two in number, and their general effect is much like that of some of our En- glish third-rate colleges. The first one enters is a very narrow one, surrounded with black buildings of a most sombre aspect, and adorned on one side with a fine antique stair, which leads to their Faculty-Hall, or Senate-House. The second to which you approach by a vaulted passage under a steeple,is much lar- ger, but the effect of it is quite spoiled by a large new building in the Grecian style, which has been clumsily thrust into the midst of the low towers and curtains of the old monastic archi- tecture. Both courts are paved all over with smooth flag stones — for the Scottish academics are not of such orderly habits as to admit of their quadrangles being covered with line bow- ling-greens as ours are. However, I was certainly much pleased with the appearance of the whole structure. From the second court, another arched way leads into an open square behind, which is not built round, but which con- tains in separate edifices the University Library on one hand — and, on the other, the Hunterian Museum which you know was left in the collecter's will to this seminary, at which he had received the early part of his education. The Museum is certainly a beautiful and classical building — so much of it at least as meets the eye in looking at it from the College. 426* FET£K ? ;3 LETTERS'. As yet Thrive seen nothing in Scotland that can be compared with it. The front consists of a very magnificent portico, sup- ported by fine Doric pillars, and rising behind into a very graceful dome of stone-work. The College gardens stretch away in the rear of this building, to apparently a very consid- erable extent, forming a rich back-ground of lawns and trees, and affording a delightful rest to the eye, after the dust and glare of the mob-covered streets of the city. It wasjin one of the walks of these gardens — (one can never help talking of the incidents of these novels, as if they were all matters of fact,)— that Rob Roy prevented the duel between Frank and Rash- leigh Osbaldistone. It was in them that good worthy Dr. Reid (honest man) used to pace when be was meditating the foundations of his inquiry into the Human Mind. It was in them that the most absent of men, Adam Smith, used to wander and loiter when he was preparing for the world the more precious gift of his Wealth of Nations. It was here, no doubt, that Dr. Moore walked, his features twisted with the pangs parturient of his famous Essay on the Greek Particles. It was here that Lis Successor, Mr. John Young, must have ruminated with far blander emotions over the yet unpromulgated wit of the exqui- site " Criticism on the Elegy written in a country churchyard. M My principal object, however, was not so much to examine the niinutia? of these, the externals of the University,as to pick up some accurate notions of the way in which its business is conducted. As the hour, therefore, did not admit of my paying visits of ceremony, I determined to go, before making myself known to any one, and hear some of the principal Professors deliver their preelections in their class- rooms. My guide, being an old Alumnus of this Alma Mater, knew quite well the particular hours set apart for each individual teacher, and gave me all the information I could iiave desired about the respective merits of those I might Iiave it in my power to hear. The man of highest reputa- tion for talent among the whole body, he told me, was the same Professor of Greek to whom I have just alluded — so my first ambition was to hear him--indeed, that ambition had long be- fore been kindled within me by the eulogies I had heard pass- ed upon this eminent Grecian, not only by Mr. W , and the literati of Edinburgh — but by the much higher authorities of Person, Burney, and Routh, with all of whom Mr. Young lived in habits of close and intimate friendship, during the frequent visits he paid to England. Nay, the Professor's fame had peter's letters. 429 reached me in quarters still more remote, and at feast as re- sectable, for 1 remember Old W) ttenbach asked me many questions about him in 1802, when I spent the spring under his roof at Leyden — and used to testify much astonishment at my knowing so little about this personage, whom he commonly called " examius ille ajmd Scoto.< philologus" Dismissing my cicerone, therefore, I walked about the courts of the College by myself, till the rush of lads began to flow to- ward Mr. Young's lecture-room, and then insinuated myself with the crowd into the interior of the place. 1 took my station at the extremity of a bench, in the darkest part of the room, which seemed to be occupied by a set of the more elderly students, among whom I imagined my own grave aspect would be less likely to attract attention from the Professor. By and by, in he came, and mounted bis little pu!pit, between two low windows at the opposite extremity — and I immediately hoisted my spec- tacles, in order that I might scrutinize the physiognomy of the Philologist before his lecture should begin. A considerable number of minutes elapsed, during which one of the students, perched above his fellows in a minor sort of rostrum, vas em- ployed in railing over the names of all who were or should have been pre-ent, pretty much after the fashion of a regimental muster-roll. The Professor was quite silent during this space, unless when some tall awkuard Irishman, or young indigenous blunderer, happened to make his entree in a manner more noisy than suited the place — on which occasion a sharp-cutting voice from the chair was sure to thrill in their ears some brief but de- cisive query, or command or rebuke — "Quid agas tu, in isto angulo, pedibus strepitans ct garrievs ?" — " Cave tu tibi, Du- galde M'Quhirter, et tuas res agas /" — " Notetur, Fhelimms O'Shaughnesy, sero ingrediens, ut snhat dvas asses sterlinen- ses /" — " Iterumne admo->endus es, Nicolcei Jai'vieV — "Quid hoc rei, Francisce Warper ?" &c. &c. &c. It required no imagination to detect the marks of clear tho- rough going perspicacity of intellect, intermingled in no usual manner, with those of a fine fancy and an overflowing enthusi- asm, in the lineaments of this admirable Professor. I know not that ever I met with any of the " Magnanimi Heroes" of philology, that could show half so much of his art in his visage. Old Parr you have seen — and you know well that his face is but a heavy one, in spite of the relief it has from the unquenchable dazzle of his large eyes. Porson's face was a grand one in its way, but I cannot say I could ever see much in it very distinctly, except the general all-pervading radiance of his sheer genius. 43Q PETER? S LETTERS. Wyttenbach is a solemn, sad-looking, venerable old gentle- man, but one would, prima facie, take bim for a moral philo- sopher rather than a phiiologer. Hermann's face is full of a mad fire like Porson's — and I suppose Nature meant him to be not a professor but a poet — in spite of the De Metris. Tom Gaisford's melancholy swarthy countenance has a certain fixed determined stare about it, that shows well enough he will ne- ver be weary of hunting authorities in the wildest thickets of that deep jungle-wood, which he mistakes for Parnassus. But the true, lively, keen, hair-splitting expression ofa genuine root- catcher, was never exhibited any where so broad and so brightly as in the physiognomy of Professor Young. INever was I more strongly reminded of the truth of that wise saying of the wisest of men, which the sceptical wits of the present age are pleased to scorn as much as any of the dicta of poor Spurzheim, — " A man may be known by his look, and one that hath under' standing by his countenance, when thou meetest him"* The intense power of general observation marked immedi- ately above the eye brows of this remarkable person, might be supposed to exist in many kinds of individuals, noways resem- bling him in the peculiar turn of his mind. I have seen it as strong about the sinus frontalis of a lawyer — a calculator — above all, a painter — or a poet fond of drawing the materials of his poetry from what he sees in the world about him, and its actual inhabitants and doings. It is not there that the system of Spurzheim leads one to expect to find the differentia, properly so called, ofa philological cranium. Gall says, that in his youth he had reason to be vexed, that, while several of his school- fellows learnt by heart, even things which they did not under- stand, with great facility, he had the utmost difficulty in en- graving on his memory a much less number of words; and by accident, first of all, he was led to make the observation, that in those individuals who possessed this extraordinary facili- ty of learning by heart, the eyes were very prominent. In his system, therefore, be has established, among others, a separate organ of words, the greater than common development of which is denoted by the greater than common prominence of the eyes. Refining by degrees on his observations and conclusions, he has said, that in some cases the eyes are not only prominent, but also depressed downwards, so that the under eye-lid pre- sents a sort of roll, or appears swollen and tumid ; and such persons, adds he, are fond of philology, that is, they like to study the spirit of different languages. * Eccles. xiv. £9. peter's letters. 431 I must own that this was one of the good Doctor's niceties, which I always regarded with some measure of scepticism; till I had an opportunity of observing the organization of this great Glasgow Philologist. The very appearance of the eyes, describ- ed so minutely and graphically by the German, is precisely the thing most remarkable in the whole of this remarkable coun- tenance. The eyes themselves are gray, and full of a bright gleaming intelligence, but their effect is peculiar, and quite dis- tinct from those of any bright eyes I ever observed; and, on close inspection, I can attribute their peculiarity to nothing but this most marked philological conformation in the way of their being set into the head. They are absolutely pushed out of their sockets by the redundance of this particular faculty be- low; their under lids siand forth, square, and distinct, from the texture of the face, as if half its muscular energy were concen- trated in that minute point. It is true, however, that this ef- fect is mightily favoured by the appearance of the other parts of the countenance— the broad girdle of wrinkles about the eyes themselves — the deep lines which converge from all the upper forehead upon the centre of the no4 peter's letters, hour I went, he was engaged, not in prelection, but in ex- amining his pupils on some of the subjects of a lecture he had delivered on the preceding day. Perhaps, however, the benefits derived from his teaching may be traced in no in- considerable measure to his peculiar excellence in this very branch of his duties. Such a clear manly method of putting his questions — such a ready manner of comprehending the drift of the replies he received — such skilful nicety in draw- ing out the workings of perplexed minds, and making those who were puzzled find for themselves the thread that should lead them out of their labyrinths — and ail this accompanied with such an honest, downright, paternal sort of kindness in voice, look, and gesture — I have really never before seen a more amiable combination of the faculties most precious in a teacher of youth. I think it no wonder, that they who have sat at the feet of this good man, should be very slow in losing their memory of so much moral worth and real talent, ex- erted in so rare a style of union for the furtherance of their improvement. It is no wonder, that the days spent in drink- ing wisdom from so pure and liberal a fountain, should form, in feeling and intelligent minds, some of the dearest of those youthful recollections, which afford throughout the years of active and bustting life, the most charming breathing-places of reposing meditation. In such feelings it must be that such a spirit finds the best reward of all its labours. Wherever such a man as this goes, throughout all the districts of the land in which he has so long exerted himself, he is sure to meet with eves that kindle into a filial flame, when they see once more the venerable lineaments of his well-known face- He has created for himself a mighty family, among whom his memory will long survive — by whom all that he said and did — his words of kind praise and kind censure — his gravity and bis graciousness — will, no doubt, be dwelt upon with warm and tender words and looks, long after his earthly labours shall have been brought to their close. The good such men do is of such a kind, that it cannot " die with them." I waited upon this excellent person soon after the conclu- sion of his examination, and delivered several letters I had for him from his friends in Edinburgh. He asked me to dine with him, to which I assented, and in the meantime he pro- posed we should go and see the Hunterian Museum together, as there was still an hour or two we had to spare. peter's letters. 436 This Museum is chiefly remarkable for the very fine col- lection of anatomical preparations it contains, and I am glad I had an opportunity of seeing the ID, as one of them strongly exemplified a fact concerning the junction of the vertebi eating a whole plate-full of hot veal cutlets, and talking between every mouthfuJ as loud as a campaigner. There was an old. fat dowager screaming for a bottle of porter — or interchanging rough repartees with a hiccuping baillie at the opposite side of the tabic. What a rumpus was here ! What poking at pyes with their gigantic battlements of crust! What sudden demolition of what pyramids oi potatoes ! What levelling of forests of celery ! What wheeling of regiments of decanters ! What a cannonade of swipes ! What a crash of teeth ! What a clatter of knives ! Old Babel must have been a joke to this confusion of sounds! The dancing was almost as novel a thing — I mean on the part of the gentlemen — for I must do the ladies the justice to say that they in general danced well, and that some of them danced quite exquisitely. The men seem to have no idea beyond the rudest conception of something like keeping time — and a passion for kicking their legs about them, apparently dictated b) the same kind of hilarity which would have prompted them elsewhere to shying of black bottles against the mantle-piece, or a choral ululation of " here's to jolly Bacchus \ n or, " variety is charming." Yet some of the cat- tle — yes, some of the most clumsy of them all, had the as- 454 I petek's letters. surance to attempt a quadrille — a dance which seems to have made still less progress here than in Edinburgh, for it ap- peared to be hailed and applauded as a kind of wonder. The moment the set was formed, which took place in a smaller apartment communicating with the great dancing-room, the whole of the company crowded to see it, and soon formed a complete serried phalanx of gazers all about the performers. Nay, such was the enthusiastic curiosity of some of the ladies in particular, that they did not scruple to get upon their feet on the benches and sofas all around the wall — from which commanding situation there is no question they had a better opportunity both of seeing and being seen. At some of the pauses in the dance, the agility of the figurantes was rewarded, not with silent breathings of admiration — but with loud roars of hoarse delight, and furious clapping of hands and drum- ming of heels all about — nor did these violent raptures of approbation appear to give the slightest uneasiness to those in whose honour they were displayed. In short, my dear Potts the last glimmering twilight hour of the Lord Mayor's ball, when the dregs of civic finery gesticulate, as is their will and pleasure, beneath the dying chandeliers in the Egyptian Hall — even that horrible hour is nothing to the central and most ambitious display of this iC at home" of Mrs. . It is needless for me to give you any more particulars — You will comprehend at one glance v»hat kind of scenes you would be introduced to, were you condescending enough to vouch- safe your presence for a week or two at the Buck's-Head> You will comprehend what a sensation you would create both among the males and the females — with what clear un- disputed supremacy you would shine the only luminary in this their night of unknowingness. Should you not approve of my Edinburgh widow — you would only need to look around you, and drop the handkerchief to any one of the un- disposed of, of the Glasgow ladies. Beauties they have some — heicesses they have many. The lower cushion of the tilbury would be pressed in a twinkling by any upon whom you might cast the glances of your approbation. I speak this the more boldly, because I observed that the Glasgow fair treated one or two young heavy dragoons from Hamil- ton Barracks, who happened to be present at this ball, with a kind of attention quite superior to any thing they bestow- ed on their own indigenous Dandies. The most audacious coxcombry of the cits had no chance beside the more modest peer's letters. 455 coxcombry of these Enniskillings. But, my dear fellow, what can the Enniskillings produce that could sustain a mo- ment's comparison with the untainted, unprofessional, tho- rough-bred Bond-Street graces of a Potts? Those true " Cupidinis arma," " quae tuto faemina nulla videt." I pledge myself, that in the ball-rooms of Edinburgh, still more indisputedly and alone in those of Glasgow, your fascinations will be surfeited with excess of homage. " Nulla est qua? lumina, tanta, tanta, Posset lumiraibus suis tueri Non statim trepidansque, palpitansque," &c. If the old proverb hold true, veniunt a veste sagittce, I pro- mise you there would not be many whole hearts the morning' after you had danced your first pas seul on the floor of the Glasgow Assembly rooms. Ever very truly vours, P.M. LETTER LXXL TO THE REV. DAVID WILLIAMS. The chief defect in the society of this place is, specifically,, pretty much the same as in every provincial town I have ever visited ; but I think it seems to be carried to a greater length here than any where else. This defect consists in nothing" more than an extreme fondness for small jokes and nicknames — the wit of the place being almost entirely expended in these ingenious kinds of paltrinesses ; — its object being, as it would appear, never to give pleasure to the present, otherwise than by throwing impertinent stigmas on the absent. Almost every person of the least importance is talked of, in familiar conversation, not by his proper name, but by some absurd designation, borrowed from some fantastical view of his real or imaginary peculiarities. It is really distressing to see how much countenance this vulgar kind of practice receives, even from the best of those one meets with here ; but the most amusing part of the thing is, that each is aware of the ex- istence of every nickname but his awn, and rejoices in mak- ing use of it, little thinking that the moment his back is turn- ed, he is himself subjected to the very same kind of treat- ment from those who have been joining in his laugh. 4<5b PETER'S LETTER3, Another favourite species of Glasgow wit, however, is ex- ercised in the presence of the individuals against whom it is levelled ; and it is not to be denied, that there is much more both of ingenuity and of honesty in this species. I believe I should rather say there are two such kinds of wit — at least I have heard familiar use of two separate designations for their quizzing. I do not pretend to have analyzed the matter very closely ; but, so far as I have been able to comprehend it, the case stands thus : — In every party at Glasgow, as soon as the punch has levelled the slight barriers of civil ceremony which operate while the cloth remains on the table, the principal amuse- ment of the company consists in the wit of some practised punster, who has been invited chiefly with an eye to i his sort of exhibition, (from which circumstances he derives his own nickname of a side-dish,) and who, as a fiddler begins to scrape his strings at the nod of his employer, open* his bat- tery against some inoffensive butt on the opposite side of the table, on a signal, express or implied, from the master of the feast. I say some punster, for punning seems to be the absolute sine qua non of every Glasgow definition of wit ; in whatever way, or on whatever subject, the wit is exerted, it is pretty sure to clothe itself in a garniture of more or less successful calembourgs ; and some of the practitioners, I must admit, display very singular skill in their honourable vocation. There are two ways, as I have hinted, in which the pun- ning side-dish may perform the office in behalf of which he has been invited to partake of the less offensive good things that are going on the occasion ; and for each of these ways there exists an appropriate and expressive trrm in the jocular vocabulary of the place. The first is Gagging; it signifies, as its name may lead you to suspect, nothing more than the thrusting of absurdities, wholesale and retail, down the throat of some too-credulous gaper. Whether the Gag come in the shape of a compliment to the Gagge, some egregious piece of butter, which would at once be rejected by any mouth more sensitive than that for whose well-known swallow it is intended,— or some wonderful story, gravely delivered with every circumstance of apparent seriousness, but evi- dently involving some sheer impossibility in the eyes of all but the obtuse individual who is made to suck it in with the eagerness of a starved weanling,— or. in whatever other way peter's letters. 467 the Gag may be (Jisguised, the principle of the joke is the same in its essence ; and the solemn triumph of the Gagger, an:' ( he grim applause of tbe silent witnesses of his dexterity, are alike visible in their sparkling eyes. A few individuals, particularly skilled in this elegant exercise, have erected them- selves into a club, the sole object of which is its more sedu- lous and constant cultivation. This club takes the name of fi the Gagg College," and I am sorry to tell you some of the very first men in the town ( I am told is one) have not disdained to be matriculated in its paltry Album. The seat of this enlighted University is in an obscure tavern or oyster-house; and here its eminent professors may always be found at the appointed hours, engaged in communicating their precious lore to a set of willing disciples, or sharpening their wits in more secret conclave among themselves — sparring as it were in their gloves— giving blows to each other more innocent, no doubt, than those which are reserved for the un- initiated. The second species is called Trotting — but I have not learn- ed that any peculiar institution has been entirely set apart for its honour and advancement. It is cultivated, however, with eminent industry, at all the common clubs of the place, such as the Banditti, the Dirty-Shirt, the Ifliat-you-please, fyc. fyc. The idea to which its name points, (although somewhat ob- scurely perhaps you will think.) is that picturesque exhibition of the peculiar properties of a horse, which occurs when the unfortunate individual of that race about to be sold, is made to trot hard upon the rough stones of a Mews-lane, kicking up and showing his paces before the intending purchaser, in presence of a grinning circle of sagacious grooms, jockeys, and black-legs. You have seen such an exhibi- tion. You have seen the agent of the proprietor seize the noble Houyhnmn by the white string fastened to his martingale, and urging him by hand and voice, to stretch his nerves and muscles to the cracking point — capering and flinging along as if the devil or the ginger were in him, till smack he comes against the brick wall at the end of the lane, where he is drawn suddenly up — his four extremities with difficulty collecting themselves so as to keep him upright upon the smooth round glossy knobs of granite, over which they have been moving with so much agility. You have seen the poor creature turned right about after the first trot — and compelled, invita Minerva, to a second no less brisk and galling — to a third — and to a fourth*— while all the time the 58 458 peter's letters. eyes of those concerned are fixed with Argus-like pertina- city on efrery quiver of his haunches. You have observed, above all, the air of pride and satisfaction, with which the generous animal sometimes goes through the trial — snuffing up the air with his nostrils — heaving his mane — and lashing the wind with his tail — and throwing superfluous vigour into all the ligaments of his frame at every step he takes — little knowing for what mean purposes the exhibition is intended — rejoicing with an innocent glee in the very acme and agony of his degradation, Even such is the condition of the poor Glasgow Trottee, upon whom some glorious master of the whip fastens his eye of cruelty, and his hand of guidance. He begins, perhaps, with a slight and careless assent to some unimportant remark, or a moderate response of laughter to some faint feeble joke, uttered by the devoted victim of his art. By degrees the as- sent becomes wanner, and the laughter louder— till at length the good simple man begins to think himself full surely either a wise man or a wit, as the case may be. It is not easy to say in which case the diversion afforded may be the most ex- quisitely delightful — whether it is most pleasing to see a dull man plunging on from depth to depth of grave drivelling, and finding in the lowest depth a lower still — laying down the law at last with the very pomp of a Lycurgus, on sub- jects of which he knows not, nor is ever likely to know, any- thing — his stupid features, with every new dictum of his newly-discovered omniscience, assuming some new addition of imposing solemnity — his forehead gathering wrinkles, and his eye widening in its lack-lustre glimmer as he goes on; it is not easy, I say, to decide whether this exhibition of gra- vity be more or less delightful, than that of the more frisky and frolicksome Trottee, who is, for the first time in his life, made to imagine himself a wit, and sets about astounding those who gaze upon him by a continually increasing nim- bleness, and alacrity of inept levities — pointless puns — and edgeless sarcasms — himself all the while dying with laughter at the conceptions of his own wonder-working fancy — first and loudest in the cachiunation which is at once the reward and punishment of his folly. [ must own that the evil prin- ciple was strong enough within me to make me witness the first two or three exhibitions of this sort of festivity with not a little satisfaction — I smiled, instigante plane Diabolo, and not having the fear of the like before my eyes. On an after occa- sion, however, one of the most formidable of the practi peter's letters. 459 tioners thought fit to attempt making Dr. Morris his butt, and I believe he did absolutely succeed in trotting me a few \ards to and fro on the subject of the shandrydan. But I perceived what was going forward in good time, and watch- ing my opportunity, transferred with infinite dexterity the bit from my own mouth to that of my trotter — aye, and made him grind it till I believe his gums were raw. I had the good sense, however, to perceive the danger of the prac- tice in spite of my own successful debut, and, God willing, from this moment, hope never to fill the roll either of Trotter- or Trottee. The ideas you will form of the style of society which pre- vails in this place, from these little data, cannot indeed be very high ones. Beware, however, of supposing that to faults of so detestable a nature, there are no exceptions. I have already met with many— very many — well-bred gentle- men in Glasgow, who neither trot nor are trotted — who never were so stupid as to utter a pun— nor so malicious as to invent or echo a nick-name. It is true, indeed, that they are the nigro simillimi cygno of the place; but their rarity only renders them the more admirable, and the less deserving of being crowded into the list of evil-doers, with whom they are continually surrounded. P.M. LETTER LXXH. TO THE SAME. $fc % w "*Jr tP After all, I am inclined to think that the manners of mercantile men are by no means so disagreeable as those of men engaged in most other active professions. In the man- ners of Glasgow, it is true, there is a sad uniformity of mer- cantile peculiarities ; but how could this be otherwise in a town where no nobility resides, and where there is no pro- fession that brings the aristocracy of talent much into view ? In such a town, it is obvious there must be a miserable de- fect in the mechanism of society, from there being nothing to counteract the overbearing influence of mere wealth, or to preserve the remembrance of any other species of dis- tinction. In a society where individuals claim importance 460 peter's letters, on many different grounds, there must, of course, be pro- duced an extension of thought, corresponding to the different elements which these individuals contribute to the general mass. But here, no doubt, the cup below is a dead one, and the one gilded drop floats alone and lazily upon the heavy surface. Yet, taking matters as they are, perhaps the influence of the mercantile profession, although bad enough when thus exclusively predominant, is not, in itself, one of the worst. It this profession does not necessarily tend to refine or en- lighten human nature, it at least does not distort it into any of those pedantries connected with professions which turn altogether upon the successful exercises of a single talent. The nature of the merchant is left almost entirely free, and he may enter into any range of feelings he pleases — but it is true he commonly saves himself the trouble of doing so, and feels only for Number One. In Glasgow, however, it would seem that the mercantile body is graced with a very large number of individuals, who are distinguished by a very uncommon measure of liberality of spirit. They are quite unwearied in their private and public charities ; and although not much tinged with literary or philosophical enthusiasm in their own persons, they ap- preciate the value of higher cultivation to the community at large, and are, on all occasions, willing to contribute in the most laudable manner, to promoting, sustaining, or erect- ing institutions friendly to the eause of such cultivation. Two institutions of this nature have of late owed their being to this fine spirit of the Glasgow merchants, and I should hope they may long flourish, to reflect lasting honour on the names of their founders. I allude to the Astronomical Observatory — a very pretty building, magnificently furnished -with all manner of instruments — and the New Botanic Gar- den, which is already of great extent, and which promises, I think, to be of amazing value. Both of these have been founded by private subscription among the leading members of the mercantile body in this thriving city — and the last mentioned is in the way of receiving continual augmenta- tions to its riches from the kindred enthusiasm of liberality which exists among those young men connected with the place, of whom so many hundreds are scattered over every region of the world. The productions of distant climates are forwarded on every opportunity by these young persons to this rising garden in their native city ; each, no doubt, peter's letters. 461 deriving a generous pleasure in his exile, from the idea that he is thus contributing to the ornament of the place, with the localities of which his earliest and best recollections are connected. But a few of the members of this profession, with whom I have bee >me acquainted since my arrival here, are really men of a very superior class in every point of view — and might, I take it, be presented, without the least alarm for their credit, in any European society in which it has ever been my chance to move. These are commonly persons de- scended from some of the old mercantile families in the place — who, although they pursue the calling of their fathers — (and indeed to desert such a calling would, in their case, be pretty much the same sort of thing with giving up a fine here- ditary landed estate) — yet enjoyed, in their earlier years, by means of the ancient wealth of their houses, every facility of liberal education, such as their native city could afford— and who, in not a few instances, moreover, have received many additional means of improvement from that foreign travel, in which a great part of their after and more strictly profes- sional education consisted. These men busy themselves in the mornings with their concerns in the town ; but in the evenings, they commonly retire to the beautiful villas which they have in the neighbourhood — and with the abundance of which, indeed, the whole face of the country round about Glas- gow, in every direction, is adorned and enriched. Here they enjoy as much, perhaps, of elegant leisure and domestic enjoy- ment as falls to the lot of any other class of British subjects. The collisions in which they are constantly engaged with each other, and with the world, are sufficient to prevent them from acquiring any narrow and domineering ideas of se- questrated self-importance ; while, on the other hand, the quiet and graceful method of their lives at home, softens and re- fines their minds from the too exclusive asperities of strug- gling self-interest, and the conflictions of the baser passions, I question whether our island can boast of a set of men more truly honourable to her character — more admirable both in regard to their principles and their feelings— more unaffect- edly amiable at home, or more courteous in their demeanour abroad, than some of those, the elite of the merchant-house of Glasgow, at whose hospitable mansions, during the later days of my stay in this neighbourhood, I have spent so many delightful hours. By degrees, it often happens, these gentle- men abstract themselves altogether from business, handing it 462 PETER'S LETTERS. over, I suppose, to some of their sons or relations. They purchase land, and then take their place in the great body of British gentry, with, for aught I see, as much propriety, as any that elevate themselves to that most enviable of all human conditions, from any of those professions which think themselves too exclusively entitled to the appellation of libe- ral. After becoming acquainted with some of those enlight- ened and amiable individuals, and seeing the fine elegant way in which the quiet evenings of their days and of their lives are spent, I could not help recollecting, with some little wonder, the terms of unmitigated derision in which I had lieard the lawyers of Edinburgh speak concerning " the people of Glasgow." Truly, I think such language is well becoming in the lips of your porers over title-deeds — your fustian sleeved writers — your drudging side-bar jurisconsults. I should like to know in what respect the habitual occupa- tions of these men are more likely to favour the culture of the general mind, than those of the great merchant, who sends his ships to every region of the habitable world, and receives them back loaded with its riches ; or the great manu- facturer who subdues the elements to his purpose, and by his speculations at once encourages the progress and extends the fame of those arts and sciences, in which not a little of the truest glory of his country consists. The respectable families of this place have to boast, moreover, of having produced not a few individuals, who, abandoning the profession of their fathers, have devoted themselves to other pursuits, and achieved things that cannot fail to reflect honour both to them and the city of their habi- tation. Such was that gentle and delightful poet, James Grahaine, the author of the Sabbath, who died only a few years ago in the midst of his family here, and over whose re- mains a modest and affecting inscription is placed in the choir of the Cathedral. I have been gratified more than once during my sojourn in Glasgow, with hearing the terms of deep and tender affection in which the memory of this good man is spoken of, by those whose admiration of his mild and solemn genius has been warmed and enriched into a yet nobler kind of enthusiasm, by the experience of his personal virtues — their own intimate knowledge of that fine heart, from which so many of his inspirations appear to have been derived, and with the pervading charm of which, each and all of his most beautiful inspirations appear to have $>een sanctified. It is, indeed, a precious pleasure which on* feter's letters. 465 receives in contemplating the sober endearing influences which survive the death of such a man, in the place where he was best known. This is the true embalming — such are the men who scarcely need the splendours of genius to pre>* serve their memories—who may trust The lingering gleam of their departed lives, To oral records and the silent heart. The author of the Isle of Palms, and the City of the Plague^ (whose exquisite lines on the death of James Grahame are engraved on the memory of not a few here, and elsewhere,) is himself also a native of this place, and connected by blood with many of the most respectable families of this vicinity. I mentioned this gentleman more than once to you in my letters from Edinburgh, and am glad that you were pleased with my account of his eloquence. The truth is, that I do not think justice is at all done in general to his genius — it is every where, indeed, admitted to be beautiful and various ; but I suspect its strength and originality are not adequately appreciated, even by those who ought to be most capable of studying its productions. The meed of poetical popu- larity, (in its proudest sense,) has been bestowed, in our time, in a way that cannot be considered in any other light than that of extreme partiality, by all who contemplate the poetical works which have been produced among us, with a calm and deliberate eye. The reputation of those who have acquired great reputation, is perfectly just and proper ; but there are not a few names which ought to share more than they do in the high honours which have been lavished on our first-rate favourites. Such, most assuredly, are the names of Coleridge, of Lamb, and of Wilson — three poets, distinguished by very different kinds of acquirement, and very different kinds of genius — but all agreeing in one par- ticular, and that no unimportant one neither — namely, that they have appealed too exclusively to the most delicate feelings of our nature, and neglected, in a great measure, to call upon those more wide-spread sympathies, whose respon- ses are so much more easy to be wakened — and, being once aroused, so much louder in their cheering and rever- berating notes. I should except, however, from this rule, as applied to Mr. Wilson's poetry, his last and longest poem, the City of the Plague — in which there is surely no want of passionate and powerful appeals to all those feelings and FETER ? S LETTERS. propensities which have been most excited and gratified by the most popular poets of our day. Of the comparative unpopularity of that poem, something, no doubt, may be attributed to the hasty nature of its plan and composition, and something also to the defective structure of its blank verse, which is certainly by no means what it should be- but I think no person who reads it, can doubt that it dis- plays altogether a richness and fervour of poetic invention, and, at the same time, a clear pathetic mastery of all the softer strings of the human heart — such as in a wiser or a less capricious age, would have long since procured for the poem very extensive popularity — and for the poet himself, a much more copious reward of serious admiration than seems, as yet, to have been bestowed by the general voice upon Mr. Wilson. It has often occurred to me, in thinking of other indivi- duals besides this poet, that early attainment of great fame is by no means most in the power of those who possess the great- est variety of capacities and attainments. A man who has only one talent, and who is so fortunate as to be led early to exercise it in a judicious direction, may soon be expected to sound the depth of his power, and to strengthen himself with those appliances which are most proper to ensure his suc- cess. But he whose mind is rich in a thousand quarters — who finds himself surrounded with an intellectual armoury of many and various kinds of weapons — is happy indeed if he do not lose much time in dipping into the surface of more ores than his life can allow him time to dig to their foundations — in trying the edge of more instruments than it is possible for any one man to understand thoroughly, and wield with the assured skill of a true master. Mr. Wilson seems to possess one of the widest ranges of intellectual capacity of any I have ever met with. In his conversation, he passes from the gravest to the gayest of themes, and seems to be alike at home in them all— but perhaps the fa- cility with which, in conversation, he finds himself able to make use of all his powers, may only serve to give him wrong and loose notions concerning the more serious pur- poses to which he ought to render his great powers subser- vient in his prose writings, in like manner, he handles every kind of key, and he handles many well — but this also, I should fear, may tend only to render him over careless in his choice — more slow in selecting some one field—or, it feter's letters, 465 you willj more than one — -on which to concentrate his ener- gies, and make a sober, manly, determinate display of what nature has rendered him capable of doing. To do every thing is impossible. To do many things well is a very in- ferior matter to doing a few things — yes, or one thing— as well as it can be done ; and this is a truth which I question not Mr. Wilson will soon learn, without any hints beyond those which his own keen observing eye must throw in his way. On the whole, when one remembers that he has not yet reached the time of life at which most of the great poets, even of our time, began to come before the public, there seems to be no reason to doubt that every thing is yet be- fore him — and that, hereafter, the works which he has al- ready published, may be referred to rather as curiosities, and as displaying the early richness and variety of his ca- pacities, than as expressing the full vigour of that " imagi- nation all compact," which shall then have found more per- fect and more admirable vehicles in the more comprehensive thoughtfulness of matured genius and judgment. I regret his comparative want of popularity, chiefly for this reason, that I think the enthusiastic echoes of public approbation, directed loudly to any one production, would have afforded a fine and immediate stimulus for farther exertions in the same way — and such is his variety of powers, that I think it a matter of comparatively minor importance, on which of his many possible triumphs his ambition should be first fully concentrated. You will observe that I have been speaking solely with an eye to his larger productions. In many of his smaller ones — conceived, it is probable, and executed at a single heat — I see every thing to be commend- ed, and nothing whatever to be found fault with. My chief favourites have always been, the Children's Dance — the Address to the Wild Deer, seen on some of the mountains of Lochaber — and, best of all — the Scholar's Funeral. This last poem is, indeed, a most perfect master-piece in concep- tion — in feeling — and in execution. The flow of it is en- tire and unbroken in its desolate music. Line follows line, and stanza follows stanza, with a grand, graceful, melancholy sweep, like the boughs of some large weeping willow, bending slowly and sadly to the dirges of the night-breeze, over some clear classical streamlet fed by the tears of Naiads. P. Iff. 59 46b * fETER S LETTERS. LETTER LXXIIF. TO THE SAME. It was in this part of Scotland, as you well know, that the chief struggles in behalf of the Presbyterian form of church government, in the latter part of the seventeenth century, occurred ; and, in spite of the existence of many such individuals as the Philosophical Weaver I mentioned the other day, and of no inconsiderable extension of the tenets of the sceptical school of Scotch philosophy among persons of a higher order, it is here that the same love for the national system of faith and practice, out of which those struggles sprung, is seen still to survive, in not a little of its original fervour, in the breasts of the great majority of the people. I have witnessed many manifestations of the preva- lence of tbis spirit since I came into the West of Scotland, and, I need not add, I have witnessed them with the sin- cerest pleasure. It is always a noble thing to see people preserving the old feelings and principles of their fathers ; and here, there can be no doubt, there would have been a peculiar guilt of meanness, had the descendants of men, who, with all their minor faults, were so honest and so up- right as these old Covenanters were, permitted themselves to be ashamed of adhering to the essentials of the system for which they did and suffered so much, and so nobly. It is not to the people of the West of Scotland that the ener- getic reproach of the poet can apply. I allude to the pas sage in which he speaks of " All Scotia's weary days of civil strife — When the poor Whig was lavish of his life, And bought, stern rushing upon Clavers' spears, The freedom and the scorn of after years. The idle and foolish whimsies with which the religious fer- vour of the Covenanters was loaded and deformed, have given away before the calm, sober influences of reflection and im- provement; but it is well that the spirit of innovation has spared every thing that was most precious in the cause which lent heroic vigour to the arms of that devout peasantry, and more than ghostly power to that simple priesthood. One of the most remarkable features which I have observ- ed in the manners of the Scottish people, is their wonderfully strict observance of the Sabbath — and this strictness zeems to peter's letters. 467 be carried io a still greater height here than even in Edin- burgh. The contrast which the streets afford on this day, to every other day in the week, is indeed most striking, They are all as deserted and still during the hours of divine service, as if tbey belonged to a City of the Dead. Not a sound to be heard from end to end, except perhaps a soli- tary echo answering here and there to the step of some member of my own profession — the only class of persons "who, without some considerable sacrifice of character, may venture to be seen abroad at an hour so sacred. But then what a throng and bustle while the bell is ringing— one would think every house had emptied itself from garret to cellar — such is the endless stream that pours along, gather- ing as it goes, toward every place from which that all- attractive solemn summons is heard. The attire of the lower orders, on these occasion's, is particularly gay and smart— above all, of the women, who bedizen themselves in this mercantile city in a most gorgeous manner indeed. They seem almost all to sport silk stockings and clean gloves, and large tufts of feathers float from every bonnet ; but every one carries a richly-bound Bible and Psalm book in her hand, as the most conspicuous pait of all her finery, un- less when there is a threatening of rain, in which case the same precious books are carried, wrapt up carefully, in the folds of a snow-white pocket handkerchief. When the ser- vice is over at any particular place of worship — (for which moment the Scotch have, in their language, an appropriate and picturesque term, the klrkskailing,) — the rush is, of course, still more huge and impetuous. To advance up a street, in the teeth of one of their congregations coming forth in this way, is as impossible as it would be to skull it up a cataract. There is nothing for it but lacing about, and allowing yourself to be borne along, submissive and resign- ed, with the furious and conglomerated roil of this human tide. I never saw any thing out of Scotland that bore the least resemblance to this; even the emptying of a London theatre is a joke to the stream that wedges up the whole channel of the main street of Glasgow, when the congre- gation of one of ihe popular ministers of the place begins to disperse itself. For the most part, the whole of the pious mass moves in perfect silence; and if you catch a few low words from some group that advances by your side, you are sure to find them the vehicles of nothing but some cri- T icisui on what has just been said by the preacher. Alto- 468 PETER'S LETTERS gether, the effect of the thing is prodigious, and would, in one moment, knock down the whole prejudices of the Quar- terly Reviewer, or any other English High-Churchman, who thinks the Scotch a nation of sheer infidels. Yesterday, being Sunday, I threw myself into the midst of one of these overwhelming streams, and al'owed myself to float on its swelling waves to the church of the most cele- brated preacher in this place, or rather, I should say, the most celebrated preacher of the day in the whole of Scot- land — Dr. Chalmers. I had heard so much of this remark- able man in Edinburgh, that my curiosity, in regard to him, had been wound up to a high pitch, even before I found myself in the midst of this popul tion, to which his extra- ordinary character and genius furnish by far the greatest ob- ject of interest and attention. I bad received a letter of introduction to him frotn Mr. J , (for the Critic and he are great friends,) — so I called at his house in a day or two after my arrival in Glasgow, but he had gone to visit his friends in a parish of which he was formerly minister, in the county of Fife, so that I was, for the time, disappointed. My landlady, however, who is one of his admirers, had heard of his return the evening before, and she took care to com- municate this piece or intelligence to me at breakfast. I was very happy in receiving it, and determined to go imme- diately ; upon which Mrs. Jardine requested me to accept the loan of her own best psalm-book, and her daughter, Miss Currie, (a very comely young lady,) was so good as to show me the way to her pew in the church. Such, I pre- sume, is the intense interest attracted to this preacher, that a hotel in Glasgow could not pretend to be complete in all its establishment, without having attached to it a spacious and convenient pew in this church for the accommodation of its visiters. As for trusting, as in other churches, to find- ing somewhere a seat unappropriated, this is a thing which will by no means do for a stranger who has set his heart upon hearing a sermon of Dr. Chalmers. I was a good deal surprised and perplexed with the first glimpse I obtained of his countenance, for the light that streamed faintly upon it for the moment, did not reveal any thing like that general outline of feature and visage for which my fancy had, by some strange working of presenti- ment, prepared me. By and bye, however, the light be- came stronger, and I was enabled to study the minutiae of his face pretty leisurely, while he leaned forward and read peter's letters* 469 aloud the words of the psalm — for that is always done in Scotland, not by the clerk, but the clergyman himself. At first sight, no doubt, his face is a coarse one — but a myste- rious kind of meaning breathes from evevy part of it, that such as have eyes to see, cannot be long without discover- ing. It is very pale, and the large half-closed eye-lids have a certain drooping melancholy weight about them, which interested me very much, I understood not why. The lips, too, are singularly pensive in their mode of falling down at the sides, although there is no want of richness and vigour in their central fulness of curve. The upper lip, from the nose downwards, is separated by a very deep line, which gives a sort of leonine firmness of expression to all the lower part of the face. The cheeks are square and strong, * in texture like pieces of marble, with the cheek-bones very broad and prominent. The eyes themselves are light in colour, and have a strange dreamy heaviness, that conveys any idea rather than that of dulness, but which contrasts, in a wonderful manner, with the dazzling watery glare they exhibit when expanded in their sockets, and illuminated into all their flame and fervour, in some moment of high en- tranced enthusiasm. But the shape of the forehead is per- haps the most singular part of the whole visage; and, in- deed, it presents a mixture so very singular, of forms com- monly exhibited only in the widest separation, that it is no wonder I should have required some little time to compre- hend the meaning of it. In the first place, it is, without ex- ception, the most marked mathematical forehead I ever met with — being far wider across the eye-brows than either Mr. Playfair's or Mr. Leslie's — and having the eye-brows them- selves lifted up at their exterior ends quite out of the usual line — a peculiarity which Spurzheim had remarked in the countenances of almost all the great mathematical or calcu- lating geniuses — such, for example, if I rightly remember, as Sir Isaac Newton himself — Kaestener — Euler — and many others. Immediately above the extraordinary breadth of this region, which, in the heads of most mathematical per- sons, is surmounted by no fine points of organization what- ever. — immediately above this, in the forehead of Dr. Chal- inersj there is an arch of Imagination, carrying out the sum- mit boldly and roundly, in a style to which the heads of very few poets present any thing comparable — while over this again there is a grand apex of high and solemn Vene- ration and Love—such as might have graced the bust of 470 PETER'S LETTERS. Plato himself — and such as, in living men, I had never be- held equalled in any bust but the majestic head of Canova The whole is edged with a few crisp dark locks, which stand forth boldly, and afford a fine relief to the death-like pale- Bess of those massive temples. Singular as is this conformation, I know not that any thing less singular could have satisfied my imagination after hearing this man preach. You have read his Sermons, and, therefore, I need not say any thing about the subject and style of the one I heard, because it was in all respects very similar to those which have been printed. But of all human compositions, there is none surely which loses so much as a sermon does, when it is made to address itself to the eye of a solitary student in his closet — and not to the thrilling ears of a mighty mingled congregation, through the very voice which nature has enriched with notes more expressive than words can ever be, of the meanings and feelings of its au- thor. Neither, perhaps, did the world ever possess any ora- tor, whose minutest peculiarities of gesture and voice have more power in increasing the effect of what he says — whose delivery, in other words, is the first, and the second, and the third excellence of his oratory, more truly than is that of Dr. Chalmers. And yet, were the spirit of the man less gifted than it is, there is no question these, his lesser pecu- liarities, would never have been numbered among his points of excellence. His voice is neither strong nor melodious. His gestures are neither easy nor graceful ; but, on the con- trary, extremely rude and awkward — his pronunciation is not only broadly national, but broadly provincial — distorting almost every word he utters into some barbarous novelty, which, had his hearer leisure to think of such things, might be productive of an effect at once ludicrous and offensive in a singular degree. But of a truth, these are things which no listener can at- tend to while this great preacher stands before him, armed with all the weapons of the most commanding eloquence, and swaying all around him with its imperial rule. At first, indeed, there is nothing to make one suspect what riches are in store. He commences in a low drawling key, which has not even the merit of being solemn — and advances from sentence to sentence, and from paragraph to paragraph, while you seek in vain to catch a single echo, that gives promise of that which is to come. There is, on the contrary, an appearance of constraint about him, that affects and distresses you — you peter's letters, 472 are afraid tbat his breast is weak, and that even the slight ex- ertion he makes may be too much for it. But then with what tenfold richness does this dim preliminary curtain make the glories of bis eloquence to shine forth, when the heated spirit at length shakes from it its chill confining fetters, and bursts out elate and rejoicing in the full splendour of its disimprison- ed wings ! — Qxl)}<; fMI getXOTOV TlVtC SfAlLBVOtl, ot/p%ov*. tfdVTTaq. AAA' ore £y p otFet rs (JuyxXr,* ex- ^r^icc, let Ovk *v fsreiT' OJW>j< y e^tTs-sie p^oToS «AA«5. Never was any proof more distinct and speaking, bow impos- sible it is for any lesser disfavours to diminish the value of the truer and higher bounties of Nature. Never was any better example of that noble privilege of real genius, in virtue of which even disadvantages are converted into advantages — and things which would be sufficient to nip the opening buds of any plant of inferior promise, are made to add only new beauty and power to its uncontrollably expanding bloom. I have heard many men deliver sermons far better arranged in regard to argument, and have heard very many deliver sermons far more uniform in elegance both of conception and of style. But most unquestionably I have never heard, either in England, or Scotland, or in any other country, any preacher whose eloquence is capable of producing an effect so strong and irresistible as his. He does all this too without having recourse for a moment to the vulgar arts of common pulpit enthusiasm. He does it entirely and proudly, by the sheer pith of his most original mind, clothing itself in a bold magni- ficence of language, as original in its structure— as nervous in the midst of its overflowing richness as itself. He has the very noblest of his weapons, and most nobly does he wield them. He has a wonderful talent for ratiocination, and pos- sesses, besides, an imagination both fertile and distinct, which gives all richness of colour to his style, and supplies his argu- ment with every diversity of illustration. In presence of such a spirit subjection is a triumph— and I was proud to feel my hardened nerves creep and vibrate, and my blood freeze and boil while he spake — as they were wont to do in the early innocent years, when unquestioning enthusiasm had as yet caught no lessons of chilness from the jealousies of discern - ment, the delights of comparison, and the example of the unimaginative world. 472 Jeter's letters. I trust his eloquence produces daily upon those who hear it effects more precious than the mere delights of intellectual excitement and admiring transports. I trust, that after the first tide has gone by, there is left no trivial richness of sedi- ment on the souls over which its course has been. I trust the hearers of this good man do not go there only because he is a great one — that their hearts are as open to his sway as their minds are ; and that the Minister of Christ is not a mere Orator in their eyes. Were that the case, they might seek the species of delight most to their taste in a theatre, with more propriety than in a church. I speak, I confess, from feeling my own feebleness in the presence of this man — I speak from my own experience of the difficulty there is in be- ing able, amidst the human luxury such a sermon affords, to remember with sufficient earnestness the nature of its object — and the proper nature of its more lasting effects. What is perhaps impossible, however, on a first hearing, may, no doubt, become easy after many repetitions — so I hope it is— -indeed why should I doubt it ? — The tone of serious deep-felt vene- ration, in which I hear this great preacher talked of l»y all about him, is a sufficient proof that mere human admiration is not the only element in the feelings with which they regard him — that with the homage paid to bis genius, there is mingled a nobler homage of gratitude to the kind affectionate warmth with which he renders this high genius subservient to the best interests of those in whose presence its triumphs are exhibited. The very delightful and amiable warmth of the preacher — the paternal and apostolic kindness which beamed in his up- lifted eyes, and gave sweetness now and then to his voice, more precious than if he had "robbed the Iiybla bees" — the affectionaleness of the pastor, was assuredly one of the things that pleased me most in the whole exhibition, and it did not please me the less because I had not been prepared to expect any such thing by the reports I had heard of him in Edin- burgh. He goes to that critical city now and then to preach a charity sermon or the like ; and J can easily understand how it may have happened, that the impression produced by him there on such occasions, may have in general been very different from that which I witnessed here in his own church. I can easily suppose, that on these occasions he may put him- self forward far more exclusively in the capacity of a com- bative reasoner — that then every look and gesture may speak too plainly his knowledge that he has hostile opinions all about him to grapple with. In fact, such a man must know that peter's letters. 473 when he preaches any where out of his own church, his con- gregation is of a very mixed description, comprising persons who entertain every variety of opinion in regard to matters of religion. In Edinburgh, in particular, he must be well aware the field on which he is sent to labour has its tares as well as its wheat, in abundance. The beadle at the door, who, by a long succession of sixpences, has had his mind expanded into principles of universal tolerance, admits with equal kindness birds of every different kind of plumage— he shoves the sane* tified hozier into the same pew with the disciple of David Hume, learned in the law. Having such dissimilar auditors to deal with, a preacher like Dr. Chalmers may very naturally be led to make use only of argumentation addressed to those reasoning facilities, wherewith all his auditors profess them- selves to be more or less endowed. There is no doubt argu- ment in the staple of his preaching even here — and so, in thia age of doubt and argument, it ought to be — but here, at least, he contrives to adorn his argument wilh abundance of gentler accompaniments, which perhaps his modesty, among other things, may contribute to render him more slow in using else- where. For myself, I have described him as I saw him in the midst of his daily audience — " In his allotted home a genuine Priest, The Shepherd of his Flock : or as a King Is stvled, when most affectionately praised, The Father of his People."— I shall not soon forget the looks of cordial love which seem- ed to beam from the pastor to his people, and back again from their eyes to their pastor, in the Tron Church of Glas- gow. I cannot help regarding it as a singularly fortunate thing, that the commercial population of this place should be fa- voured with the residence and habitual influence of such a man as Dr. Chalmers. In such a place, the existence of such a person is precious, a thousand-fold more than it could be almost any where else— precious and very precious as it would be every where. In the midst of the continual colli- sions of interest, smaller and greater, in which these busy traffickers are engaged, it must have a soothing and an en- nobling effect to turn round ever and anon, and contemplate a man of great and original genius, and well-nigh unrivalled reputation, pursuing among them the purer and simpler walk m 474 P£TEK ? S LETTERS. ef a profession, which in this, above all other countries, is a profession of humility and lowliness of mind. The high name of this great preacher is chiefly valuable to my mind — and I doubt not such would be his own modest sense of it — on account of the aid it must afford to the natural influence of his piety, and his pastoral exertions. Assuredly there is no profession in which the gratifications of personal distinc- tion are so compatible with the loftier gratifications derived, and only derived from the consciousness of doing good — " Truly the lines have fallen to him in pleasant places." After hearing this man preach, and seeing the faces of his congregation— -and, indeed, after every thing that I have seen since I came into this part of the country — I feel more and more sensible of the erroneousness of those opinions concerning the spiritual state of Scotland, which I myself formerly held. The fact is, my dear David, that, in my youth, I was a sharer, to my full measure, in all the usual pre- judices of Oxonians ; and that it is no easy matter to set me free in any one quarter from the clinging influence of those old prejudices. The plain truth of the whole matter is, that the ideas entertained in England respecting the state of reli- gion in Scotland, are just as absurd as those which used to be in fashion about the external appearance of that country. I positively believe, that if the bench of bishops were request- ed at this moment to draw up, with the assistance of the Ox- ford and Cambridge Heads of Houses, and Regius Professors, a short account of its spiritual condition, they would talk as if it had as few men of rational piety in it as the Cockney wits used to think it had trees. According to these received opinions, the Scottish peasants are universally imbued with the most savage and covenanting fanaticism — a fault for which ample atonement is made by the equally universal free- thinking and impiety of the higher orders of their country- men. Every Scotsman is a bigot to one or other of those equally abominable heresies — Atheism or Calvanism. They would represent the faith of this country as a strange crea- ture, somewhat after the fashion of old Janus, dressed on one side in a solemn suit of eustomary blue, and on the other in the rainbow frippery of a Parisian fille-de-joie — giving with her right hand the grasp of fellowship to John Knox, and leering and leaning to the left on a more fashionable beau, David Hume. The principal mouth-piece of this Southern bigotry is, I am very sorry to say, a work, for which I have in almost every PETEK ? S LETTERS. 475 other respect the greatest esteem— the Quarterly Review. It is a pity that that work, which exerts over the public mind of England so salutary an influence, as the guardian of her character— her true character, both political and religious — it is a great pity that this admirable work should in any way tend to keep up improper prejudices against the Scottish, among the majority of its readers. No doubt there is this excuse for them, that they view the mind of Scotland as re- presented in some measure in the Edinburgh Review. But I, who am certainly no admirer of the religion of the Edin- burgh Review, think it extremely unfair to represent it as be- ing either the oracle or symbol of the spirit of the country wherein it is produced. Why, although the Edinburgh Re- viewers sit at times in the chair of the scoffer, should the English be taught to think with disrespect of the religious condition of a country, which not long ago possessed a Blair, and an Erskine, and which at this moment can boast of Mon- crieff, Alison, and Chalmers f The truth is, that I believe no country in Europe is less tainted with the spirit of infidelity than Scotland. The faith of their devout ancestors has come down to them entire ; it is preached throughout this country by a body of clergymen, who, if they cannot pretend to so much theological erudition as some of our English divines, are in general far better informed upon matters of actual life than they are — far more fitted to be the friends and in- structors of their parishioners — far more humble in their de- sires, and, I may add, far more unexceptionably exemplary in their life and conversation. The Scotch have indeed got rid of a great many of those useless prejudices with which their forefathers were infected, and which still seem to linger in the bosoms of some of our own countrymen ; but the trunk has been strengthened, not weakened, by the lopping off of its rotten branches and excrescences, and although the tree of their neighbours may cast a broader shade, I have my doubts whether it be productive of better fruit. One of the most remarkable changes which has occurred in the religious thinking of the Scotch, is that which may be observed in regard to their mode of treating those who pro- fess a persuasion different from their own. Half a century ago, a Papist, or even an Episcopalian, appeared very little removed from the condition of a Heathen, in the eyes of a good Scots Presbyterian : here and there, people might be found who thought somewhat more judiciously, but the com- mon opinion certainly was, that the idolatry of a Roman Ca= 4T6 peter's letters. tholic is quite as bad as that of a Cherokee or a South-sea- islander. The Scotch now no longer consider it as a matter of perfect certainty, that the Pope is the Anti-cbrist, and the church of Rome the Babylon of the Revelations. They do full honour to those heroic and holy spirits who wrought the great work of the Reformation, but they do not doubt that even those who nominally adhere to the ancient faith, have derived great benefit from the establishment of the new. They refuse to consider the kingdom of Christ as composed only of the little province which they themselves inhabit. They are thankful, indeed, for the mode in which their own district is ruled ; they believe, perhaps, that their own muni- cipal regulations are wiser than those to which most of their neighbours submit, but they never doubt, that throughout the whole of the empire, the general principles of government are substantially the same, nor hesitate to consider themselves as linked by the firmest bonds of common loyalty and devotion, both to each other and to that authority which all true Chris- tians are equally proud to acknowledge and obey. But, above every thing, what shows the absurdity of the Quarterly's notions upon these subjects in a most striking point of view, is this simple fact, — that in spite of the cuts which it is perpetually giving themselves, the Quarterly Re- view is a very great favourite among the Scotch. The Scotch have no such prejudice against English education, and the English forms of religion, as the Review attributes to them. On the contrary, they are delighted to hear these defended in the Quarterly, from the malignant aspersions of their own Edinburgh Reviewers ; — so at least the enlightened and well- educated Scotchmen with whom 1 have conversed, have uni- formly represented themselves to be, and I believe them most sincerely. It is time that all this foolery should be at an end, and that people, who in fact are of the same way of thinking, should not be persuaded into supposing themselves enemies to ^ach other. I remain ever yours, P.M. peter's letters. 477 LETTER LXXIV. to the same. Dear David, You must attribute my silence during the last eight days entirely to the kindness and hospitality uf the good folks of Glasgow, who have really gained more upon me than I could have conceived possible in so short a space. Their attention has not been confined to giving me good dinners and suppers alone; they have exerted themselves in inventing a thousand devices to amuse me during the mornings also; and, in a word, nothing has been omitted that might tempt me to pro- long my stay among them. — In truth, I have prolonged it much beyond what I had at all calculated upon ; — indeed, much beyond what I could well afford, considering how the season is advanced, and how much 1 have yet before me ere I can bring my tuur to its conclusion. However, I shall pro- bably get on with less interruption, after 1 have fairly entered the Highlands, which, God willing, shall now be very soon, for I have arranged every thing for going by the steam-boat on Thursday to the Isle of Bute, from which I shall proceed in the same way, next morning, as far as Inverary, to tvhich place I have just sent forward the shandrydan, under the sure guidance of your old friend, the trusty John Evans. I have made good use of the shandrydan, however, in my own person, during the days I have lingered in this charming neighbourhood. In company with one or other of my Glas- gow friends, I have visited almost every scene at all interest- ing, either from its natural beauty, or from the historical re- collections connected with it, throughout this part of the country. I have seen not a few fine old castles, and seve- ral fields of battle. I have examined the town of Paisley, where some very curious manufactures are carried on in a style of elegance and ingenuity elsewhere totally unrivalled ; and where, what is still more to my taste, there are some very fine remains of the old Abbey, the wealth of which was transferred at the time of the Reformation to the family of the Abbot Lord Claud Hamilton, son to the Duke of Chalel- herault, whose descendant, the Marquis of Abercorn, now claims that old French title, as being the male representative of the House of Hamilton. The Duke of Hamilton, you know, derives his highest titles from a female ancestor, but is himself, by blood, a Douglas, and representative of the heroic 478 peter's letters. Earls of Angus, who, upon the downfall of the first House of Douglas, succeeded to not a little of its power, although they never attained to so dangerous a measure of pre-eini- nence. But my most delightful excursion was to Hamilton itself, which lies about ten miles above Glasgow upon the Clyde ; and is really one of the most princely places I have ever visited. This excursion was made in company with a most agreeable and intelligent young gentleman, Mr. J — — S , one of the chief booksellers of this town, who is the publisher, and indeed the friend of Dr. Chalmers. We met the Doctor riding, a few miles from the town, as we went along, and he was so kind as to accompany us also. His private manners and conversation are, I assure you, quite as admirable as his eloquence in the pulpit. He is, without any exception, the most perfectly modest man I ever met with — the most averse to all kind of display — the most simply and unaffectedly kind good man. Yet he is one of the most original men in con- versation I have ever had the fortune to meet with — and I think throws out more new ideas, in the course of a few plain sentences, apparently delivered without the smallest con- sciousness that they embody any thing particularly worthy of attention, than any one of all the great men I have become acquainted with since I came to Scotland. It is easy to see that he has a mind most richly stored with all kinds of infor- mation — -he is a profound master of Mathematics — and, at the same time, more passionately fond of ancient learning than any of the Scottish literati I have seen. But all his stores are kept in strict subservience to the great purposes of his life and profession — and I think, various as they are, they gain instead of losing, both in value and interest, from the uniformity of the object to which he so indefatigably bends them. It is the fault of the attainments of most of the gifted men of our time, that they seem to be in a great measure destitute of any permanent aim, with which these attainments are connected in any suitable degree. But with him there is ever present the sense and presiding power of an aim, above all others noble and grand — the aim, namely, and the high ambition of doing good to his countrymen, and of serving the cause of religion. We had a delightful ride after breakfast, along the side of the river, and reached, in a couple of hours, BothwelK, the seat of Lord Douglas, where we halted for a while to peter's letters. 479 inspect the ruins of the old Castle. The situation is beau- tiful in the extreme — on a fine green bank, which slopes into the stream, anaV overlooked from a grand screen of rocks on the other siae, covered with all kinds of wood. The Clyde is a majestic stream here — flowing calm, full, and clear as amber, between these massive crags on the one side, and the blooming verdure of the banks and trees below and around the old Castle on the other. The ruins themselves are very extensive, and in its day the fortress must have been a prodigiously powerful one indeed. They are pre- served in a style of exquisite propriety and tastefulness— • with a reverent feeling of their true character apparently,, and a just hereditary pride. They put me altogether very much in mind of the deserted parts of Warwick — and, in- deed, I do not think the circuit of the interior court is at all inferior in its dimensions. In many places around the but- iresses and angles of the keep, tower, and curtain, I could see the sorely mouldering armouries of the Morays, who were the first lords of the Castle — and in others, the better pre- served achievements of the family which succeeded them ; precious memorials of those days, when, on every occasion in the armies of Scotland, the Bloody Heart blazed in the van, Announcing Douglas' dreaded name." After we had satisfied our eyes with the luxury of gazing upon these fine remains, we proceeded on our way towards Hamilton, crossing the river by the Bridge of Both well — the same on which the poor insurgent whigs were so easily van- quished, and so cruelly slaughtered by the Royalists in 1677, The high gate-way between two towers, of which mention is made in the accounts of the battle, has been removed, but otherwise the appearance of the structure perfectly cor- responds with all the descriptions. There is a ridged bank on the opposite side, where the Covenanters had their camp* and which quite overlooks the whole of the way by which the troops of Monmouth made their approach — so that it is clear a very small measure of military skill might have been enough to render their position a veiy difficult one. But I suppose the account of their dissentions in Old Mortality, is a sufficiently accurate one, and it furnishes a very adequate explanation of the event as it occurred. Above the bridge,, the river is seen winding for a mile or two from Hamilton^ 430 meter's letters* through a flat piece of meadow-land — or, as they call it, haughs — and such was the infatuation of the routed Cove- nanters, that they chose to fly in this direction, instead of keeping upward to the hills. That bloody old Muscovite, ^General Dalzell, is said to have galloped his dragoons upon the flying peasants, and to have made the river run in blood with his butcheries, in spite of the remonstrances of the gentler and wiser Monmouth. After the battle, a great num- ber of the leading men, ministers and others, were hanged at the end of the bridge — where some hoary old willows, of enormous size, are still pointed out as having furnished the ready means of their execution. I met one day at Glasgow with a curious enough instance of the way in whieh these executions were regarded. A gentleman pulled a remarka- bly beautiful old chased silver snuff box out of his pocket, and asking him for a pinch — " Yes, sir," said he — " do take a pinch, and let me tell you, you shall have your finger in the box that was found in my grandfather's waistcoat-po< ket after he was hanged." It is a common saying that ki a man is scarce of news, when he tells you his father danced a jig upon nothing" — but the cause of this gentleman's communi- cativeness was sufficiently explained, when I learned from one of the company, who remarked my consternation, that his grandfather was " one of the martyrs o' Bothwell-brigg." We rode on to the town of Hamilton, having on either hand a fine prospect of the woods and lawns, which stretch for miles in every direction around the ducal mansion ; and then having left the shandrydan at the inn, proceeded to take a view of the interior of the Palace — for by that name it is call- ed — in compliment, I suppose, to the copious infusion of royal blood in the veins of this high lineage. The Palace is not a very splendid one — but it is very venerable, and furnished throughout in a grand old style, which I take to be a much finer thing than any of the gaudy pomps with which more modern and more fashionable mansion-houses are filled. — There is a noble suite of state apartments running the whole length of the edifice, all hung in rich crimson, (tbe colour of the family,) with roofs and doors of black oak, carved over every where with their bearings. From the windows of these, you have a most delicious view of long green lawns, interspersed with fine dropping elms on tbe one side — and on the other, a yet bolder and yet richer prospect of groves asrsnding upon groves into the midst of the higher grounds, where the deer-park is situated. But the chief ornament is feter's letters* 481 ihe collection of paintings— which is out of all sight the first in Scotland — and inferior indeed to very tew of those in England. It is an old collection, and has long been esteem- ed a rich one, but the taste of the present representative of the family, has added very much both to its extent and its value. There is a long gallery, in the first place, almost entirely filled with portraits, among which I could see, I fancy, not less than a dozen of the very finest Vandykes. One of these is King Charles on his white horse, another undoubted original, and quite as good in my mind as that which the Prince has at Carlton-House. The attitude is the very same, but the colour of the horse is more inclined to a creamy yellow — the Regent's is almost pure white. There are magnificent Vandykes also of the two brothers, Marquisses of Hamilton, in the civil wars— and of I know no! how many branches of the family. The finest of the whole, however, is the portrait of Lord Danby going a shooting, with a black boy in attend- ance, from which I am sure you must have seen an engraving somewhere. It is impossible that there should be a finer specimen of this master in the whole world — his grand grace- ful manner of conceiving every thing, and his soft delicate execution, are united in it in their utmost perfection of love- liness. In the middle of the gallery, there is the famous Ru- bens of Daniel in the Lions' Den, of which I need say nothing, as you are quite familiar with the prints. It is every way a princely gallery — you never saw a place more impregnated with the air of nobility. The other rooms are full of cabinet pictures, chiefly of the Italian masters — among which I could easily have spent an hour for every minute I remained. I cannot pretend to describing or even enumerating them— but the ones I chiefly delighted in, were some very bold ricii Spagnolettos in (he billiard-room — a Nicolas Poussic — the Burying of Abraham— and a Dying Magdalen, by Ludovico Caracci. The Poussin is really about the most wonderful of his works I ever saw. It represents the dawn of day, a thick blue mantle of clouds lying heavy upon the surface of the earth, and scarcely permitting the one cold stream of un- certain light to enter, which shows the sleeping patriarch folded in his long vestments, just sinking below the rock from the arms of his children. There is a deep primeval simplicity about the arrangement of the group, and a deserted lonely sort of weight in the heavens, and the earth all around, which 61 482 peter's LETtfAfcs; carries back the imagination into the very heart of the days ol" Shepherd Majesty. The Magdalen is preserved in a glass case — and truly it is worthy of all manner of attention. It is only a half length—it represents her as leaning backwards in that last gentle slumber, which slides unnoticed into the deeper slumber that has no end— her long golden tresses floating desolate and thin over her pale breast— her eye-lids weighed down with a livid pressure, and her bloodless lips closed meekly in a pensive smile of unrepinirtg helplessness. A few little cherubs are seen looking with calm and rosy smiles of welcome from among the parting garments of the clouds above — stealing the eye upwards from the dim and depressing spectacle of repentant feebleness and mortality, into a faint far-off perspective of the appointed resting-place. I question whether it be not a pity to see such a picture at all — unless one is to be permitted to look at it till every lineament and hue is stamped for ever on th£ memory. But short as my lime was, I treasured up something which I am sure I never shall forget. We then walked in the Duke's Park, up the romantic glen of the Evan, which river flows into the Clyde almost close behind the palace, to see the remains of Cadyow Castle, the original seat of the family, and the scenery of that exquisite ballad of Scott's, in the Border Minstrelsy. The banks of this stream are about the most picturesque I have ever seen, and the situation of the old Castle one of the most noble and sublime. Nothing remains of it, however, but a few damp mouldering vaults, from the loop-hole windows of which one has a terrific plunge of perspective down into the yawning ravine below — and the scanty traces of the moat and draw- bridge, by which, on the other side, the approach of the fast ness was defended. Originally, 1 believe, this was a roya! seat, and conferred upon the first of the Hamiltons that came into Scotland, about the end of the thirteenth century. The situation is so very grand, that I am at a loss to account for their having deserted it, in order to remove to the plain where the present mansion — itself now of some three hundred years standing — is placed. They talk of building a new house about the present time. If they do so, 1 hope they will take to the hill again, and look down once more in supremacy over the whole of the beautiful valley, which stretches at the foot of the rocks of Cadyow — whose towers and vaults have now for centuries, in the words of their poet, only PETERS LETTERS. 48# " Thrilled to the music of the shade, Or echoed Evan's hoarser roar." In the neighbourhood of these ruins, are still visible some of the finest remains I have ever seen, of the old original forest s with which the whole of our isjand was covered — the most ve- nerable trees, without question, that can be imagined — hoary, and crumbling, and shattered every where with the winds and storms of centuries — rifled and blasted in their main boughs — but still projecting here and there some little tufts of faint ver- dure — and still making a gallant show together, where their gray brotherhood crowns the whole summit of the hill — these are -" the huge oaks of Evandale, Whose limbs a thousand years have worn^' and among them I saw couched, most appropriately, the last relics of tbat breed of wild cattle, by which, in old times, the forests of Scotland were tenanted. " Mightiest of all the beasts of chase, That roam in woody Caledon ; Crashing the forest in his race, The mountain bull comes thund'ring on.. " Fierce on the hunters' quiver'd band, He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow ; Spurns with black hoof and horn the sand, And tosses high his mane of snow." The description in these lines is a perfectly accurate one-*' they are white or cream-coloured all over — but have their hoofs, and horns, and eyes, of the most dazzling jet. The fierceness of the race, however, would seem to have entirely evaporated in the progress of so many ages, for the whole of the herd lay perfectly quiet while Dr. C , Mr. S . and I passed through the midst of them. I wonder some of our nobility do not endeavour to transplant a little of this fine stock into our parks. It is by far the most beautiful breed of cattle I ever saw — indeed, it bears all the marks of being the nervous original from which the other species have descended, taking different varieties of corruption into their forms, from the different kinds of less congenial soil to which their habi- tation has been transferred. Hut perhaps the Duke of Ha- milton and Lord Tankerville, (for they are the only noblemen who are in possession of this breed,) may be very unwilling to render it more common than it is. I hope if it be so, they themselves, at least, will take good care to keep free from a(l contamination this " heritage of the woods," 484< peter's letters. The view we had from these heights, of the whole valley, or strath, or trough of the Clyde upwards, is by far the richest thing I have yet seen north of the Tweed. This is the Here- fordshire of Scotland, and the whole of the banks of the river are covered with the most luxuriant orchards. Besides, there is a succession of veiy beautiful gentlemen's seats all the way along — so that the country has the appearance of one conti- nued garden. We dined quietly at Hamilton, and returned to Glasgow in the cool of the evening. There is absolutely no night here at present, for the red gleams of day are always to be seen over the east before the west has lost the yellow tinges of the pre- ceding sunset. I sometimes laugh not a little when I reflect on the stories we used to be treated with long ago, about the chilness and sterility of the Land of Cakes, sojourning, as I now am, among some of the finest scenery, and under one of the most serene and lovely heavens, I ever saw in the whulc course of my wanderings. P. M. LETTER LXXV. TO THE SAME, I spent the Friday of last week very pleasantly at Hill, the villa of one of my Glasgow acquaintances, situated a few miles to the north of that city. In the course of talk after dinner, when I had been enlarging on the pleasures I had received from hearing Dr. Chalmers preach, and, altogether from observing the religious state of the peasantry in this part of the world, a gentleman who was present asked me, If I had ever yet been present at the giving of the Sacrament in a country kirk in Scotland ? and on my replying in the negative, expressed some wonder that my curiosity should not already have led me to witness, with my own eyes, that singular ex- hibition of the national modes of thinking and feeling in re- gard to such subjects. I allowed that it was strange I should not have thought of it sooner, and assured him, that it was a thing I had often had in my mind before I set out on my jour- ney, to inquire what the true nature of that scene might be, and how far the description, given in the Holy Fair of Burns, might be a correct one. He told me, that without question, many occurrences of a somewhat ludicrous nature sometimes take place at these Sacraments ; but that the vigorous, but peter's letters. 435 somewhat coarse pencil, of the Scottish bard, had even in re- gard to these, entirely overstepped the modesty of nature, while he bad altogether omitted to do any manner of justice to the far different elements which enter most largely into the general composition of the picture — adding, too, that this omission was the more remarkable, considering with what deep and fervent sympathy the poet had alluded, in " The Cotter's Saturday's Night," and many others of his compositions, to the very same elements, exerting their energies in a less con- spicuous manner. While we were yet conversing on this sub- ject, there arrived a young clergyman, a Mr. P *, a very agreeable and modest person, who, on understanding what we were talking of, said, That the safest and shortest way for the stranger was to go and see the thing; he himself, he added, was so far on his way to assist at this very ceremon}', at a parish some ten miles off, and nothing could give him greater pleasure than taking me with him. You may be sure I ac- ceeded to his proposal with great good-will, and I offered to take him to the field of action in my shandrydan. He hesi- tated a little about the propriety of deferring his march till the Sunday morning, but soon allowed himself to be over per- suaded by the kindness of our host, who also determined to make one of the party. Accordingly, at an early hour on the Sunday morning, we mounted, and took the highway to the Church of— , for it was there the Sacrament was to be given. As we went along, Mr. P prepared me for what I was about to witness, by telling me, that according to the practice observed in the Scot- tish kirk, the Eucharist is distributed, in general, only once and never more than twice, at any one place in the course of the year. In the country parishes, there is rarely more than one such festival; and the way in which the preparations for it are conducted, are sufficient to render it a very remarkable feature in the year of the rural parishioners. Before any young person is admitted to be a partaker in the Sacrament, it is ne- cessary to undergo, in presence of the minister, a very strict examination touching ail the doctrines of the Church; and. in particular, to be able to show a thorough acquaintance with the Bible in all its parts. Now, the custom of the country requires that at a certain age the Sacrament should be taken. otherwise, a very great loss of character must accrue to the delinquent; so that to prepare themselves by reading and at- tentive listening to what is said from the pulpit for undergoing 'his examination, forms universally a great point of ambition 48ti PETER'S LETTERS. among the young peasants of both sexes; and the first occa- sion on which they are to be permitted to approach the Altar, is regarded by them with feelings somewhat akin to those with which the youth of Old Rome contemplated the laying aside of the Praetexta, and assumption of the Toga Virilis. Never, surely, can the vanity of our nature be taught to exert itself in a more useful manner; for the attainment of know- ledge, and the preservation of moral purity, are alike necessary to the accomplishment of the young Scottish peasant's desire, and the object of his desire is, moreover, in itself the discbarge of one of the most elevating and affecting of all the duties which our holy religion has enjoined. The preliminary examinations of the young communicants being over, the first part of the more public preparations com- mences on the Thursday preceding the Sunday on which the sacrament is to be given. That day is denominated the day of fasting and humiliation, and is still, as Mr. P said, ob- served in the way which the letter of that designation would imply, by not a few of the more elderly and strict of the good people. By all it is observed with a measure of solemnity, at least equal to that which usually characterises a Scottish Sab^ bath, and two sermons are preached, the tone of which, from immemorial custom, is pitched in such a way as to favour all humility and prostration of spirit on the part of those who hear it. The Friday is allowed to intervene without any pub- lic worship, but on Saturday again the church doors are thrown open, and two more sermons are addressed to the peo- ple, the strain of which, in compliance with custom equally ancient and venerable, is of a more cheering and consolatory nature. These sermons are preached by different friends of the clergyman in whose church the sacrament is to take place, a considerable number of whom are in use to be congregated in his Manse on this occasion, ready to assist him in every way with their advice and support in the conduct of the im- portant scene over which it is his business to preside. The presence of these clergymen at the place in question, renders it necessary in most cases that their own churches should be left without service for that day : and this, taken together with the rarity of the spectacle, and the high interest which the Scottish peasantry lake in all manner of religious services and institutions, is enough to account for the enormous conflux of people which pours from every parish of the surrounding dis- tricts to the church where the sacrament is to be dispensed, on the morning of the Sunday, It is not to be denied, however. F£TER*S LETTERS.- 48^ ^aid my friend, that the very circumstance of the greatness of this religious conflux is sufficient to draw into its vortex an abundant mixture of persons, whose motives are any thing rather than motives of a devotional character. The idle lads and lasses all over the country think it a fine occasion of meeting together, and come to every sacrament in their vici- nity as regularly as the most pious of their seniors. Nay, to such a pitch of regularity has this been carried, that it is no uncommon thing for servants when they are being hired, to stipulate for permission to attend at so many sacraments — or as they style them in their way— occasions : exactly as is else- where customary in regard to fairs and wakes ; and from this circumstance, perhaps, as much as from any thing that ordina- rily occurs at these sacraments, the Poet of Ayrshire took the hint of his malicious nick-name.* When we came within a few miles of , the greatness of the conflux, of whose composition I had been, receiving some account, was abundantly apparent. The road along which we passed was absolutely swarming with country peo- ple, all bound for the same place, whatever differences there might be in their errands thither. Some of them cast inqui- ring glances at my worthy friend in black, as if desirous to know why he came among them in so unusual a kind of ve- hicle, and still more, if I mistook not their faces, what might be the character and purpose of his unknown companioo. For my part, I was busy — contemplating the different groupes, sometimes as a painter, sometimes as a metaphysician. The modes of progression exemplified around me were threefold, viz. — \mo. in carts ; 2do. on horseback ; 3tio. by the expedi- ent which a certain profound lawyer has denominated natural travelling (peregratio simplex,) being that which the wisdom of Nature (in order to check the exorbitant avarice of inn-keepers and hostlers) has made common to the whole human species. The carts were in general crowded with females, wrapt in large cloaks of duffle grey, or bright scarlet, which last might, perhaps, on this occasion, be considered as emblematical of their sins. In itself, however, it is without question not only a comfortable, but a very picturesque, and even graceful in- tegument ; and I thought I could perceive, by the style in which its folds were arranged, that some of the younger ma- trons were not quite careless of its capacities for fascination, * I have heard that the bargain sometimes is, " one sacrament or tw« fairs," which shows where the predilection lie*. $88 PETEH'S LETTERS. As for (he unwedded damsels who s*t by their sides, ttiey were arrayed in their gayest attire of ribbands and top-knots, and retained still more visibly a certain air of coquetry, which showed that the idea of flirtation bad not been entirely expel- led from their fancies by the solemn character of the day, and their destination. The elder ones exhibited a more demure fashion of countenance, and nodded their heads very solemnly in unison, as the cart-wheels jo'ted over the rough stones of their path. A bottle or two, and a basket of provisions, gene- rally occupied the space at their feet ; and the driver of the vehicle was most commonly some lint-haired boy, full of rosy life and vigour, but evidently a loather of the Shorter Cate- chism, and all manner of spiritual cross-questioning — one, no doubt, extremely desirous of liberty of conscience. I observ- ed one little fellow in particular, who, although he stared us in the face, seemed little inclined to recognize, by any gesture of reverence, the sacred function of my friend in the shandry- dan. But this omission could not escape the notice of his grim wrinkled grandmother in the corner of the cart, who forthwith admonished the youngster to be more courteous in Iiis demeauour, by a hearty thump over the elbow with her ponderous psalm-book — a suggestion, however, to which the urchin replied only by pulling his bonnet down more sulkily than ever over his freckled brows. This cart style of travelling seemed to be adopted chiefly by large families, a whole mighty household being sometimes crammed together in a way that must have precluded all possibility of sober reflection during their journey. On the other hand, some of those unfortunate couples whose union had not been blessed with any progeny, might be seen riding double on horseback, and thus making their way through the crowd with more eclat than any other person,— the affectionate housewife keeping her arm firm locked around th<* wai^t of her faithful John. A jolly, young, Few-married farmer, might be found here and there, capering lightly along in like fashion, with his bloomir.:.;' bride behind liim. But the class of pedestrian pilgrims was by far the most numerous, comprehending every variety of persons, from the blue-bonneted Patriarch, trudging slowly with his tall staff in his hand, and never for a moment lifting his solemn eyes from the dust which his feet set in motion, to the careless shepherd- boy, peeling a twig from the hedge, and in jeopardy every now and then, of drawing some heavier wand about his ears by breaking forth into a whistle, — a sound, than which, when beard on a Sabbath-day, there can be no greater abomination peter's letters. 489 to the tympanum of a Scottish peasant, male or female, but, above all, the latter. On reaching the village, we found the church-bell had not yet begun to ring, but a sufficient number had already arrived to fill completely the church-yard, and a considerable part of a grass field immediately adjoining. At the lower extremity of this field, a moveable sort of pulpit — (it is called a Tent)—- had been erected, — from which, as Mr. P — told me, those of the people who could not be accommodated in the kirk itself, were, throughout the whole of the day, to be addressed in succession, by some of the ministers who had come to assist the clergyman of the place. A beautifully clear little burn ran rippling along the side both of the church yard and the field; and on the green turf of its banks I saw the country maidens who had come a-foot seat themselves immediately on their ar- rival, and begin dipping their hands and their feet into its re- freshing stream. It is the universal custom of the females in thi3 quarter to walk their journeys bare-footed ; and even in coming to church, with all their finery in other respects, they do not depart from (his custom. Each damsel, however, car- ries in her hand a pair of snow-white stockings, and shoes, and these they were now preparing themselves to put on, by the ablutions I witnessed. It was a fine picturesque thing to see them laying aside their bonnets, and arranging their glossy ringlets into the most becoming altitudes, by help of the same mirror in which our first mother beheld the reflection of her own lovely form in Paradise. Among them many were ex- tremely well-favoured; and some of them displayed limbs as elegantly shaped as were those which the charming Dorothea exhibited in a similar method to the enraptured gaze of Don Quixote. There was a sweet Arcadian simplicity in this un- tutored toilette; and the silence in which it was performed, added not a little to its air of artlessness, for each damsel sat by herself, and not a sound was heard near them but the chirp- ing of the birds that hopped to and fro among the hawthorn bushes,— notes scarcely observed on any other day in the week, but heard clearly and distinctly at all times amidst the reve- rential stillness that pervades the atmosphere of a Sabbath-day in Scotland. My friend, however, seemed to think that I was spending rather too much time in contemplating these beautiful creatures, so I permitted him to guide my steps toward the gate of the church-yard. At each side of this gate was already drawn up a eonsiderable band of the lay Elders of the Kirk ; whose 62 490 Peter's letters. duty it is to receive the offerings of those who enter, and to superintend the distribution of them among the poor. Op- posite to each of the groupes stood a tall three-legged stool covered with a very white napkin, on the top of which was laid the flat pewter dish intended for the reception of the alms. These Elders were a most interesting set of persons, and I believe I could have studied their solemn physiognomies as long as I had done those of the young rural beauties at the burn-side. I regarded them as the elite of this pious peasan- try, men selected to discharge these functions on account of the exemplary propriety and purity of their long lives spent among the same people, over whom they were now raised to some priest-like measure of authority. Some among them were very old men, with fine hoary ringlets floating half-way clown their backs — arrayed in suits of black, the venerable antique outlines of which showed manifestly how long they bad been needed, and how carefully they had been preserved, for these rare occasions of solemnity — the only occasions, I imagine, on which they are worn. The heads of these were very comfortably covered with the old flat blue-bonnet, which throws a deep and dark shadow over the half of the coun- tenance. Others, who had not yet attained to such venera ble years, had adopted the more recent fashion of hats, and one could see more easily beneath their scantier margins the keen and piercing eyes with which these surveyed every per- son as he passed — scrutinizing with a dragon-like glance the quantum of his contribution to the heap of guarded copper before them. As for passing their capacious plates without putting in something, that is a thing of which the meanest Scottish peasant, that supports himself by the labour of his bands, would never dream for a moment. To be obliged to enter the house of God empty-handed, is the very hardest item which enters into the iron lot of their parish paupers — and of these paupers there are so few in such rural places as this, that they scarcely need to be talked of as furnishing an exception to the general rule. Even the youngest children who came, and I saw many who could do little more than tot- ter on their little legs — would think it alike a sin and a shame to put no offering into the Elders' plate. And yet there was no small degree of self-importance, I thought, in the way in which some of these little creatures dropped their halfpence upon the board — not hiding their candlestick under a bushel, but ringing metal against metal as loudly as they could, in order to attract the notice of the staid superintended of the JPETER'S LETTERS. i3i collection. By and by, the minister and bis assistants came down the bill from the Manse, he being distinguished from the rest by his Genera cloak while they wore no badge of their office but their bands. They were preceded by the beadle of the kirk, carrying with difficulty (for he was very ancient) a huge folio Bible clothed in black skin, and a psalm-book of corresponding dimensions. As the clerical groupe passed the Elders, a scene of cordial greeting occurred which it was de- lightful to witness — all shaking hands as they past.ed with those old men, and receiving from them looks and words of encouragement, as if to support and sustain them during the approaching exertions of the day. The minister of the place was a singularly primitive figure, with a long pale face, in which it was easy to trace the workings of anxious medita- tion, and eyes which I suspected had not been closed during the preceding ni^ht. His friends were about six in number, and most of them younger men than himself, and they all entered the church along with him save one, who took the way to the Tent, there to commence the service out of doors at the same moment when it should be commenced within. Mr. P introduced me to the minister's wife, who made her appearance almost immediately afterwards — a seemly matron, who received me with infinite kindness in her way, and con- ducted me to her pew. When we entered, ihe old men were all sitting in the church with their bonnets on, and they did not uncover themselves until the minister began to read aloud the psalm — which was then sung, in a style of earnestness that was at least abundantly impressive, by them all — not one voice in the whole congregation, I firmly believe, being silent. The impression that I first received on hearing the singing' in the Scottish churcbes was by no means an agreeable one, at least in regard to musical effect. After the psalm has been read by the clergyman, (which is often extremely well done,) no solemn instrumental symphony opens the concert with that sure and exact harmony which proceeds from an organ, but a solitary clerk, (they call him precentor,) who is commonly a grotesque enough figure, utters the first notes of the tune in a way that is extremely mechanical and disagreeable. The rest of the congregation having heard one line suns to an end, and having ascertained the pitch, then strike in. Most of them sing the air in unison with the precentor, without at- tempting to take any other part, or to form concords. This is certainly the safest way for them ; but even among those who sing along with the clerk, there are generally so many 492 with bad ears, that the effect on the whole is dissonant. To introduce organs into the Scottish churches, has been propo- sed at different times by some of the clergymen, but the majo- rity both of clergy and laity have always disapproved of that innovation. I have not heard what was the nature of the ar- guments employed against it ; but I can easily understand that the aversion might not be in all cases the result of mere in- considerate bigotry or blind prejudice. The modes of public worship are matters of such solemn usage, that they seldom undergo any sober, considerate, or partial alterations. They are left untouched, except in times when Ihe passions of man- kind are very deeply and terribly stirred, or when great revo- lutions of opinion take place— and then they are changed with a mad and headlong zeal — and certainly there would be some- thing very like indecent quackery, in rashly shifting about the forms of worshipping God, according to the mutable tastes of each successive generation. The prayer3 and sermons of Ihe old minister were very good in their style, but I waited with greater curiosity to witness the Scottish method of distributing the sacred symbols of the day. I used the word altar— but this you would easily see was a lapsus. They have no altar in the churches of Scotland — and, indeed, you know we had no altars, such as we have them now, in the east end of the churches in England, till that fa- shion was brought back by Archbishop Laud. Here the sacra- mental symbols were set forth at the upper extremity of along table covered with a white cloth, which extended the whole length of the church, from the pulpit to the gate. At the head of this table, around which as many were already seated as it could at once accommodate, the minister of the place took his seat also; after his sermon was concluded, and he had read aloud several chapters of the Bible, which are pointed out for this purpose in the Directory of the Scottish church, as con- taining words suitable to the occasion — words of encourage- ment to the worthy, and of warning to the presumptuous com- municant. He then craved a blessing, and having broken a single piece of bread, and given of it to those immediately be- side him, large loaves, cut into slices, were carried around the table, and distributed to all who sat at it by two or three of the lay-elders. The cup, in like manner, was sent round shortly afterwards — and during the time which elapsed in the distribu- tion of these symbols, the minister delivered an address to those who were partaking in them— an address which I think peter's letters, 493 had much better be spared—for silence surely is the only pro- per accompaniment to so awful a solemnity, — but in which, notwithstanding, he displayed a noble warmth and tenderness of feeling, which seemed to produce a very powerful effect upon those for whom it was intended, and which could not fail to excite a feeling of much respect for the person by whom it was dedvered. After the address was terminated, those who had been its immediate objects withdrew, and left their seats free for the oc- cupation of another company, and so in the same manner did company succeed company throughout the whole of the day — minister succeeding minister in the duty of addressing them, — which is called in their language serving the tables. Without pretending to approve of this method so much as of our own — nay, without attempting to disguise my opinion, that it is in many respects a highly improper method — it would he in vain for me to deny that there was something extremely affecting even in its extreme simplicity, and still more so in the deep and overwhelming seriousness which seemed to fill the spirits of the partakers. I have seldom been present at any scene so im ?re«sive ; but I think the effect of the whole is much weak- ened by the length of time to which the service is protracted. Out of doors, in the meantime, there v\as carried on, in all the alehouses of the village, and in many of the neighbouring fields, a scene of a very different nature. After bitting for an hour or two, I walked out to breathe the fresh air, and in parsing through the place, was quite scandalized to find such a deal of racketting and mirth going on so near the celebra- tion of sueh a ceemony, regarded and conducted by ihose engaged in it with a feeling of reverence so profound and ex- empary. Here, indeed, 1 doubt not, might not a little of what Burns has described be found going on among the thoughtless and unworthy idlers, who had flocked from every part of the surrounding country to be present at the sacrament of Mr. . I was overtaken in my wa ! k by a little girl, whom the minister's wife had sent after me to invite me to come and refresh myself m the Manse. I went accordingly, and partook of a huge round of beef, which seemed to be in- tended to satisfy half the congregation, and then, at the re- quest of my hostess, resumed my walk in her garden. — " Do not be seen strolling about the toon," said she ; " there's eneugh o' ill example without a friend o' Mr. P 's coming out of the Manse to set it to them. If ye ivill walk on the Sabbath —walk where naebody will see you," 494 PETER r S LETTERS. LETTER LXXVI. TO THE SAME. But the concluding evening scene was, without doubt, by far the most impressive of the whole. I have told you that a tent had been erected at the foot of the church-yard, and that from it different ministers preached to the multitude which overflowed after the church itself was tilled, during the whole of the day : but now, after the sacrament had been dispensed to all who were admitted to that privilege, the kirk was shut up, and the whole of the thousands who had assem- bled, were summoned to hear one parting sermon at the tent together. The minister's wife and I came down the hill from the Manse just as this part of the service was about to commence, and ere we had come within sight of the place, the sounds of the preparatory psalm they were all singing together, came to us wafted over the intervening bean-fields on a gale of perfume, and softened into the balmiest melody by the space over which they travelled, in the rich stillness of the evening air. There could not be a finer sight than that which presented itself to us when we came to the brink of the ravine which overhung, on the one side, the rustic amphitheatre now filled by this mighty congregation. All up the face of the opposite hill, which swept in a gentle curve before us- — the little brook I have mentioned flowing brightly between in the gleam of sunset — the soft turf of those simple sepulchres, rising row above row, and the little flat tomb-stones scattered more sparingly among them, were covered with one massy cluster of the listening peasantry. Near to the tent on one side were drawn up some of the carriages of the neighbouring gentry, in which, the horses being taken away, the ancient ladies were seen sitting protected from the dews of the twilight — while the younger ones occupied places on the turf immedi- ately below them. Close in front of the preacher the very oldest of the people seemed to be arranged together, most of them sitting on stools brought for them by their children from the village — yet fresh and unwearied after all the fatigues of the day, and determined not to go away while any part of its services remained to be performed. The exact numbers of those assembled I cannot guess, but I am sure they must have amounted to very many thousands. Neither you nor I, I am confident, ever beheld a congregation of the fourth of the ex- tent engaged together in the worship of their Maker. peter's letters. 49a The number was enough of itself to render the scene a very interesting one ; but the more nearly I examined their countenances, the more deeply was I impressed with a sense of respectful sympathy for the feelings of those who com- posed the multitude. A solemn devotion was imprinted on every downcast eyelid and trembling lip around me — their attitudes were as solemn as their countenances — each having bis arms folded in his shepherd's cloak — or leaning in pensive repose upon one of those grassy swells, beneath which, Each in his narrow tomb for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. Here and there I could perceive some hoary patriarch of the valley sitting in such a posture as this, with the old part- ner of his life beside him, and below and around him two or three generations of his descendants, all arranged according to their age and propinquity — the ancient saint content filling, the groupe ever and anon with a sad serenity — thinking, I suppose, how unlikely it was he should live long enough to find himself again surrounded with them all on another re- currence of the same solemnity of the Midsummer. Near them might be seen, perhaps, a pair of rural lovers, yet un- wedded, sitting hand in hand together upon the same plaid in the shadow of some tall tomb-stone, their silent unbrealhed vows gathering power more great than words could have given them from the eternal sanctities of the surrounding scene, The innocent feelings of filial affection and simple love can- not disturb the feelings of devotion, but mingle well in the same bosom with its higher flames, and blend all together into one softened and reposing confidence, alike favourable to the happiness of earth and heaven. There was a sober sublimity of calmness in tKe whole atmosphere around — the sky was pure and unclouded over head ; and in the west, only a few small fleecy clouds floated in richest hues of gold and crim- son, caught from the slow farewell radiance of the broad de- clining sun. The shadows of the little church and its tomb- stones lay far and long projected over the multitude, and taming here and there the glowing colours of their garments into a more mellow beauty. All was lonely and silent around the skirts of the assemblage — unless where some wandering heifer might be seen gazing for a moment upon the unwonted multitude, and then bounding away light and buoyant across the daisied herbage into some more sequestered browsing nlace. 496 FETER's LEl'TERS. In surveying these pious groups, I could not help turning my reflections once again upon the intellectual energies of the nation to which they belong, and of whose peculiar spirit such a speaking example lay before me. It is in rustic as- semblages like these that the true characteristics of every race of men are most palpably and conspicuously displayed, and it is there that we can best see, in multiplied instances, the natural germs of that which, under the influence of cul- ture, assumes a prouder character, and blossoms into the ani- mating soul and spirit of a national literature. The more I see of the internal life and peculiar manners of this people, the more am I sorry that there should not be a greater num- ber of persons in Scotland sufficiently educated to enter into the true feeling of literary works — so as to influence, b\ their modes of thinking, the tone of the compositions produced among them — so, by furnishing responses according to their united impressions, to keep men of genius true to the task of expressing the mind and intellect of their nation, and of re- cording all its noble dictates of more peculiar sentiment. No person, who considers circumstances with an attentive eye, can suppose that the Scots have already run their literary career. The intellectual power of the nation has never yet been strongly bent upon exploring what is peculiar to itself; and. until the time of Waller Scott, almost all it;- men of talent, who'had education, expended their powers in modes of com- position which were never meant to have any relationship with the native tastes of their country. If Burns had formed his mind among them, he would perhaps have left all his native thoughts behind him, and gone to write tragedies for a Lon- don theatre, in imitation of Otway and Rowe — in which case, I think it more than probable we should never have heard much about the divine genius of the Ploughman. The Scot- tish talent for ratiocination, has already been splendidly dis- played; but mere reason, like mathematics or chemistry, is, in all countries, the same — there is no peculiar triumph in its pos- session or its results. David Hume spent a great proportion of his earlier years in France, and carried on all his studies there just as successfully as he could have done at home. But poetry, imagination, fancy, sentiment, art, philosophical belief, whatever comes from the soul— these are things in which every nation displays a character of its own, and which it conse- quently requires a separate and peculiar literature to express and embody; but these are things in which Scotland has not yet formed any school of its own — which, in other words, i^ peter's letters* 497 has not yet cultivated upon principles sufficiently profound, or with enthusiasm sufficiently concentrated. If the national at- tention were more systematically directed toward these things, men of talent would have a definite object to aim at — they would seldom be led to exercise their powers in mistaken or unprofitable directions, and be seldom exposed to suffering the chagrin of failing to excite the interest of a public, which, in the very midst of its indifference, admits their ability. Neither, were such the case, would the peculiar veins of national thought be any longer left to be embodied in compositions written, like those of Burns, in the dialect of the lower classes. The bare circumstance of these compositions being so written, implies that they must be confined to a limited range of thought ; but, had the sentiments they express, such treatment as they deserve, they might be invested in the very highest and purest of forms, and applied, I nothing question, to adorn and enrich the most varied and boundless fields of conception. You will laugh, my dear friend, when I tell you what one of my chief thoughts was while surveying these crowds of listeners. I looked over them, and scanned every individual attentively, to see if I could trace any countenance resembling that of Burns. The assembly around me might be considered as the very audience he addressed ; and I understood every trait in his writings ten times better, from the consciousness of being among them. I felt from the bottom of my soul the sweet throes of tenderness with which be spake to'bem of all that filled up their existence, and produced the chequered spectacle of its hopes and fears ; and I recollected, with a new delight, the exquisite touches of humour and fancy by which he took hold of and sported with their imaginations. I said to myself— No dull and hopeless clods of earth are here, but men, who, in the midst of the toils and hardships of the life of husbandmen and shepherds, are continually experiencing all that variety of mental impressions which is to be found in tbe^ poetry of Ramsay and Burns. The sprightly rustic flute of old Allan utters only melodies similar to those which the real every-day life of these good folks copiously supplies — while the soiled and tattered leaves of the grand, the tender, the ini- mitable bard of Coila, placed on some shelf in every cottage, perhaps beside a bit of looking-glass, reflect, like it, true though broken snatches of the common scenes and transac- tions of the interior. The deep-toned Mantuan, when he wishes to draw out the moral interest of a rural life, was obliged to contrast its serene and peaceable enioyments with the more 63 49& PETER'S LETTERS. venturous occupations, and the perpetual anxieties of Romt< He probably did not think that the lives of Italian husband- men had sufficient character, or peculiar meaning, to make them much worthy of being pryed into. Quos rami fructus, quos ipsa volentia rura Sponte tulere sua, carpsit ; nee ferrea jura, Insanumque forum, aut populi tabularia vidit, Sollicitant alii remis freta caeca, ruuntque In ferrum, penetrant aulas et limina Regum, &c. But Robert Burns has shown, that within the limits and ideas of the rustic life of his country, he could find an exhibition of the moral interests of human nature, sufficiently varied to serve as the broad and sure foundation of an excellent superstruc- ture of poetry. I would there were more to choose their sites with equal wisdom, and lay their foundations equally deep ; but I am half afraid you ncay be inclined to turn the leaf, and to compare my harangue with that of Don Quixote over the Acorns and the Golden Age. You will admit, however, that my theme is a noble one, and that the scene which suggested it was eminently noble. I wish, from the bottom of my soul, you had come this tour with me, and so spared me the trouble of sending you these written ac- counts of things which it would have given you so much greater delight to see with 3 r our own eyes for yourself. I wish, above all, my dear Williams, you had been present with me at this closing scene of the Scottish Sacrament-Sabbath, the only great festival of their religious year. You would then have seen what a fine substitute these Presbyterians have found in the stirring up of their own simple spirits, by such simple sti- mulants, for all the feasts, fasts, and holidays — yes, and for all the pompous rites and observances with which these are cele- brated— of the Church from which they have chosen so widely to separate themselves. You would have seen, (for who that has eyes to see, and heart to feel, could have been blind to it?) that the austerities of the peculiar doctrinal system to which they adhere, have had no power to chill or counteract the ardours of that religious sentiment which they share with all that belong to the wide-spread family of Christians. You would have seen how compatible are all that we usually speak of as their faults, with every thing that we could wish to see numbered among the virtues of a Christian people. You would have seen it in the orderly and solemn guise of their behaviour —you would have heard it in the deep, and thrilling harmony LETTERS. 4-99 of their untaught voices, when they lifted them all up together in that old tune which immemorial custom has set apart for the last Psalm sung upon this sacred day, — a tune which is en- deared to them by the memcry of those from whose attach- ment its designation is derived, still more than by the low and affecting swell of its own sad composing cadences — "The plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name"* — -The faint choral falls of this antique melody, breathed by such a multitude of old and young, diffused a kind of holy charm over the tall whispering groves and darkening fields around — a thousand times more grand and majestic than all the gorgeous stops of an organ ever wakened in the echoing aisles of a cathedral There was a breath of sober enduring heroism in its long-re- peated melancholy accents — which seemed to fall like a sweet evening dew upon all the hearts that drank in the sacred mur- murs. A fresh sunset glow seemed to mantle in the palest cheek around me — and every old and haggard eye beamed once more with a farewell splendour of enthusiasm, while the air into which it looked up, trembled and was enriched with the clear solemn music of the departed devout. It seemed as if the hereditary strain connected all that sat upon those grassy tombs in bonds of stricter kindred with all that slept beneath them — and the pure flame of their Christian love derived, I doubt not, a new and innocent fervour from the deeply-stirred embers of their ancestral piety, # * * # # I had with some difficulty secured for myself a lodging at the little inn of the village, (for the Manse was so filled that the hospitable owner could not offer me any accommodation there,) and I was preparing at the close of the service to seek shelter beneath its tempting sign : pos<— "Porter, Ale, and British Spirits- Painted bright between twa trees :"' But one of the neighbouring gentlemen, (a Si* had, it seems, seen me in several parties during the spring at • This tune is a great favourite all over the west of Scotland, and was so among the ancient Covenanters, as the name import?, and the s taaz;; to which it is usually sung in their schools— " This is the tune the Martyrs sang When they, condemned to die Did stand all at the gallows-tree. Their God to Glorifr." 500 peter's letters. Edinburgh, and be now came up, introduced himself to me, and requested me to spend the night at his mansion, where he said I should be quite as welcome, and a little more comfort- able, than at the public-house. There was something so very frank in the address of the Baronet, that I immediately ac- cepted of his invitation, and as the ladies had already taken the carriage home with them, he proposed to walk across the fields — leaving John to bring up the shandrydan at his leisure. Our way lay at first up one of those beautiful narrow glens, covered on all sides with copse-wood, which are every where so common in this romantic country. A rude foot-path crept along the side of the burn, from which the glen takes its name, crossed and shaded at every step by some projecting arm of the luxuriant woods that ascended from its edge, up the airy height of the over-canopying bank. Here we walked in si- lence, and single, for the path was too narrow to admit of our proceeding side by side — ruminating, I believe, with equal seriousness, on all the affecting circumstances of the solemnity we had been witnessing. We sat down, however, for a con- siderable time, upon a log of newly cut oak, when we had reached the other extremity of the glen, and talked ourselves into a familiarity that might almost be called a friendship ere we rose again. To say the truth, I was more than I can well express delighted, to find that the fine character of this reli- gious peasantry is regarded as it ought to be by at least some of their superiors. It is not always that we find men of higher rank, and more refined habits, able to get over the first and ex- ternal rudenesses which sometimes cover so much of real pu- rity and elevation in the manners of those beneath them. This gentleman, however, appeared to have studied these good people with the eye of an elder brother, or a parent, rather than with any thing of the usual aristocratical indifference — an indifference, by the way, which was unknown to our an- cestors, and which I detest among the aristocracy of the pre- sent day, because I regard it as more likely than any thing else to weaken, in the hearts of the peasantry, those feelings of old hereditary attachment, for which so poor a substitute is found or sought in the flimsy, would-be liberal theories of the day. Sir talked of these rural worthies as if their virtues, in his eyes, * ere the dearest ornaments of all his possessions - — and repeated, with a proud enthusiasm, an expression of a Scottish author, which I feel to be true no less than you will admit it to be beautiful, — " It would take a long line," said he, Peter's leiters. 501 « to sound (he depths of a gray haired Scottish peasant's heart." Walking onwards we soon reached another little hamlet, at which its inhabitants had already arrived from the church by Some nearer way — for we could perceive here and there, as we passed through it, some old goodman standing by himself in his little garden, or reposing with his wife and children upon some of the low stone-seats, with which the doors of their cottages are always flanked. It was a delightful thing to see the still thankful faces of these old people, enjoying the rich even- ing breath of the roses and sweet-brier, clustering about their windows- — and the soft drowsy hum of their bee-hives. But here and there it was a still more delightful thing to hear, through the low door of the cottage, the solemn notes of a psalm sung by the family, or the deep earnest voice of the master of the household reading the Bible, or praying with his children and servants about him. " On the evenings of Saturday and Sunday," said Sir . " these fine sounds are sure to proceed from every cot-house in these villages — so that here every father is, in a certain sense, the Priest of his House. But among the goodmen, there are not wanting some who renew them every night of the week — and that in ray youth was still more generally the custom." It is thus that the habitual spirit of devotion is kept up, and strengthened from year to year among these primitive people. These cotters are priests indeed, " Detached from pleasure, and to love of gain Superior; insusceptible of pride, And by ambitious longings undisturbed ; Men whose delight is where their duty leads Or fixes them ; Whose least distinguished day Shines with some portion of that heavenly lustre. Which makes the Sabbath lovely in the sight Of blessed angels, pitying human cares." P. M. LETTER LXXVII TO THE SAME. I spent a very pleasant night at the Baronet's — sleeping in a fine old vaulted bed-chamber, in one of the toners of his castle, from the window of which I had a command of one of the most beautiful tracts of scenery I have ever seen in Scotland ^02 PETER'S LETTERS, Close beneath, the narrow little glen was seen winding away with its dark woody cliffs, and the silver thread of its burn here and there glittering from under their impending masses of rock and foilage. At the far-off extremity, the glen opens into the wider valley of the larger stream, from which the whole district takes its name — of this, too, a rich peep was afforded — and its fields and woods again carried the eye gradually upwards upon the centre of a range of mountains, not unlike those over the Devil's Bridge — hoary and craggy, traced all ever with tbe winter paths of innumerable now silent torrents. I walked out before breakfast and bathed in one of the pools of the burn — a beautiful round natural basin, scooped out immediately below a most picturesque water-fall, and shaded all around with such a canopy of hazels, alders, and mountain ashes, as might have fitted it to be the chosen resort of Diana and all her nymphs. Here I swam about enjoying the luxury of the clear and iey stream, till I heard a large bell ring, which I suppose was meant only to rouse the sleepers, for when I had hurried on my clothes, in the idea that its call was to breakfast, and ran up the hill with an agility which nothing but my bath could have enabled me to display — I found the breakfast parlour quite deserted — not even the cloth laid. By and by, however, the whole magnificent paraphernalia of a Scottish dejeune were brought in — the family assembled from their several chambers — and we fell to work in high style. In addition to the usual articles, we had strawberries, which the Scots eat with an enormous quantity of cream — and, of course, a glass of good whisky was rendered quite excusable in the «yes of a medical man, by this indulgence. After breakfast, the Baronet informed me that the Sacra- ment was not yet over; and that we must all to church again once more. As the Sunday set apart for this great festival is preceded by several days of preparatory worship, so, in order to break off the impression produced by its solemnities, and allow of an easier fall into the ordinary concerns of life, the day imme- diately following it is also considered as in some measure a holy one-— its observances, however, being conducted with a less profound air of seriousness, and its evening devoted to a kind of pleasant and innocent relaxation of mind, rather than to any studious preservation of the austere and unremitting spirit of devotion, exercised on the other days connected with the ceremony. There are two sermons, for sermons are great luxuries in the eyes of the Scottish peasantry, and they can never have too much of tbem; But after the sermons are over peter's letters. 508 it is expected that sober mirth shall occupy the rest of ths evening. So far, in short, their Monday after the Sacrament may be considered as bearing some resemblance to our style of keeping Easter Monday. We went to church, therefore, and heard two sermons — o? rather I should say to the church-yard — for both preachers ad- dressed us from the tent. The shandrydan was drawn up among the other vehicles to the right of the minister, and f flatter myself cut a very knowing and novel appearance there — but John would by no means occupy his place in it during the sermons, having already, as he said, had a copious belly- full of that sort of diet. And yet he might have had amuse- ment as well as edification, had he had the grace to listen— for one of the preachers was certainly as comical an original, in his way, as I have ever chanced to meet with. He was an old man, with a fine rotund friar-like physiognomy, which', for a time, he in vain attempted to clothe with the true Pres- byterian saturnity of expression. But after he had fairly got into the thread of his discourse, there was no occasion for so much constraint — the more jovial and saica&tic the language of his countenance, the better did it harmonize with the lan- guage of his tongue. This was a genuine relic of that old joking school of Puritans, of whose eloquence so many choice specimens have been preserved by certain malicious antiquari- ans. With him every admonition was conveyed in the form of a banter — every one of his illustrations, of however serious a subject, was evidently meant to excite something like a smile on the cheeks of his hearers; and, as if fearful that the ser- mon itself might be too scanty of mirth, the old gentleman took care to interrupt it every now and then, and address some totally extemporaneous rebuke or expostulation to some of the little noisy lads and lasses that were hovering around the outskirts of the congregation. As he has the character of being a great divine, and an eminently devout man in his own person, this peculiarity of his manner produced no want of respectfulness in the faces and attitudes of his auditors ; but, on the contrary, even the grimmest of the elderhood seemed to permit their stern and iron cheeks to wrinkle into a solemn grin, at the conclusion of every paragraph. As for the young damsels of the country, they tittered scandalously at some of the coarsest of his jokes — the severest of which, indeed, were almost all levelled against their own passion for dress, finery, and gadding about fairs, markets, and sacraments. He quot- ed not a few texts against these fine !adies : which, [ take it. 604 T?ETER 5 S LETTERS* i might have been quoted with greater justice and propriety against others more worthy of the name. However, vanity is perhaps more an equal possession of rich and poor, than one might be apt to imagine — and 1 thought I could see some little symptoms of the failing in our old preacher himself, when he observed the respectable attendance of gentry in their equipa- ges — above all, between ourselves, when his eye rested on the unusual and airy elegancies of the unharnessed shandrydan. I nothing question this was the first time a tent-preaching in Scotland was ever listened to by one seated in such a vehicle. Indeed, if they borrow it from me, as 1 don't much doubt they will, £ should not be a whit surprised to find them changing its name, and christening it a Peter, in honour of the individual that introduced its beauties to their attention. That nothing might be awanting to complete my idea of the whole of the scene, the minister was so good as to ask me to dine at the Manse after the sermon, and Sir was included in the invitation. We both accepted, and really I have very seldom eat a dinner which 1 should have been more sorry to have missed. I don't mean as to the viands in particular, although these too were not at all to be sneezed at. There was capital hotch-potch, a truly delicious kind of soup quite peculiar to Scotland, but worthy of being introduced into the very first leaf of the Almanack dcs Gourmands. It is made of mutton boiled — a complete chaos of vegetables of all sorts —green pease, however, being, I think, the predominant item. There was a dish of boiled, and another of broiled, herrings from Loch Fine — and I assure you I think this fish is supe- rior here to any thing I have met with in Wales. There were no less than three sheep's-heads singed in the hair, which I am sure you would like, with the addition of a little Harvey. There was prime old mutton, which the minister's wife took care to tell me had been sent by Lady . Lastly, there was a whole regiment of gooseberry pyes — and as much cream in bowls of all sizes as would have drowned Alderman Curtis — though I don't know, if that worthy knight were re- duced to the Duke of Clarence's choice, whether this would be the liquor in which he would prefer to be extinguished — " Like a dish of fresh strawberries smotherd in cream." After dinner, (which lasted a considerable time, and was done full justice to by all present,) we had a few bottles of ex- cellent port and sherry, and then two punch-bowls were intro- duced. The one was managed by our host himself at the head PETER'S LETTERS, 505 of the table, (for by this time his wife had departed,) and the other, at the lower extremity, acknowledged the sway of the* same jocular orator I have just been describing, who had now been advanced to the pre-eminence of croupier. The howl at the top was presently filled with hot whisky toddy — that at the bottom with the genuine Glasgow mixture, in compounding which our croupier displayed talents of the very highest order. By and by, we were all in a state of charming merriment, although nothing could be more moderate than the measure of our indulgence. The conversation of the ministers uas ex- tremely picturesque and amusing, and opened up to me new glimpses at every turn, into the whole penetralia of their own existence and that of their parishioners; They seemed all to be most worthy persons, but nothing could be more striking than the diversity in their carriage and demeanour. Our host himself, whose pale meditative face I have before noticed, seemed unable to shake from him, so much as he could have wished, the load of those official anxieties which had been bur- dening his mind during so many days of exertion. He sat, therefore, with rather an absent air in the midst of us, and smiling sometimes quite at the wrong moment. Some of his friends were old — some young — some silently disposed — some talkative. Some of them seemed to think it necessary or pro- per to be very sparing in their indulgence even of laughter — although it was easy to see that the jokes which were going were not lost upon them. The only thing they all agreed in? was enjoying prodigiously the good things of the reverend croupier, who really opened a budget that would make Mat- thews or Bannister rich for twelve months. Among other things, he gave us song upon song — one I got a copy of, which I liked very well. It is written by himself, and expresses no- thing but the true feelings of the man — for he is a great sports- man — although that part of his character is not quite to the taste of the peasantry. But I fear you will form but a very inadequate notion of the treat it afforded us, wanting the pre- cious accompaniments of the good man's fine clear pipe, and the liveliness of the air itself, which was one which I never heard before — but shall endeavour to procure for you. As for the words, I think they are not deficient either in spirit or character — they might almost have been produced by the great Bucolic Jamie of Ettrick. 64 566 meter's letters. THE SHOOTING MINISTER, When inclined for a shot, I am up with Aurora, My jacket lies ready — my hustings are brief ; I speak not a word at the Manse to the snorers, But whistle to Juno, and off like a thief. I leave dykes and hedges, and up to the muirlands, That stretch out so tempting, so brown, and so wide* ; To me they are rich lands that others think poor lands. As I stalk o'er the heather in freedom and pride. I grudge not my time, nor of powder am chary, i But roam, looking sharp after Juno's white back : "Mong the flows and the rough bits she scuds like a fairy- But, when fixed, she's like marble to wait for the crack : It may shower — it may shine — or the big clouds may sever; 4 And drift with long shadows o'er mountain and fell, But the muii -cocks still find that I'm their Fail-me-never. Nor will finish the day till I've tickled them well. When I spy at a distance a smoke gentl v curling, I can guess that some gudewife's small cottage is near r She knows that the Minister brings nothing sinister, And beckons me in to partake of her cheer. Her cheese is most rich, and her cakes are delicious, And a glass with clear sparkle concludes the repast-; O, long could I sit — but my wife is capricious — And home to the Manse I must trudge away fast. About nine o'clock we all departed. I was pressed very iieartily to return to Sir 's, but preferred, in spite of the hour, to proceed back to Glasgow, as 1 had been losing more time than I could well afford already. Before I mounted the shandrydan, however, I enjoyed a rich treat in witnessing the de- parture of the several Ministers for their respective habitations. — their visit being now concluded with this last not disagree- able part of the ceremonial. Some trudged away on foot, lightly bounding under the gentle and moderate influences of an inspiration than which nothing can be more innocent, 1 eetv (MTpiuq eXBsi. Others had their nags in readiness ; and among these was my good friend, the Croupier. J iorgot to mention that he had also his wife with him, but she now added very much to the effect of the farewell glimpse I had of him. They both rode on the same horse, which, indeed, had length of back been the sole requisite, might easily have accommodated a still larger company, The divine, of course, occupied the saddle before.- peter's letters, 507 but ere be mounted, his wife pinned up the skirts of his coat in a most careful manner, under his arms, in order, I suppose, to prevent them from catching any injury from the somewhat^ rough and tufted grey coat of Old* Mortality, for that was the name of the animal. Alas !. how different from the fine, smooth, milk-white coat of its synonym, the inimitable Old Mortality bestrode by the more knowing limbs of my friend John Ballan- tyne, in Edinburgh ! Such as it was, off they were at a round trot, the old lady shaking and jolting on her blue carpet-cover- ed cushion bebind'her spouse, and he sitting firm upon his sad° die, in a most bold and manly, if not in a graceful manner. Before they departed, however, the Croupier called loudly for the stirrup-cup, of which I also having partaken, ascended the shandrydan, and followed in the wake of this inimitable cou- ple. Our roads separated after a little way, and the Minister turned up into a narrow country-road, while I continued in the line of the king's highway. I heard him shouting out after I thought he had been out of sight, and looking back, saw him grinning a parting smile over the shoulder of his better half,, and heard his valedictory joke — " Post equitem sedet atra cura" The joke was, perhaps, not a new one ; but one cannot expect every thing at once. Buck's Head. Miss Currie received, and detains me with her kindest smiles; but on Thursday — my purposes are inflexible — on Thursday I am off for Rothesay. The weather seems to promise charm* ingly; so I look for a delicious trip in the steam boat. TO SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, ESQ, i MY DEAR COLERIDGE. Being desirous of adding a tew more last words to a new edition of my Letters from Scotland, 1 hope I may be pardoned for the liberty I have assumed, in addressing them more immediately to you. To say truth, as the only criticisms on my book to which I 508 POSTSCRIPT TO have paid any considerable attention, are those con- tained in your two very interesting letters of last month, 1 know not to whom I could with so much propriety address the very short explanation which I have judged necessary upon the present occasion. But for what has fallen from yourself, I should never, most certainly, have thought of saying one word more in regard to a book, which I myself had consi- dered so very much in the light of a bagatelle. The Letters were written in great haste, and published originally without much reflection; and if they fur- nished a little amusement and a little information to the " reading public" of the day, I should have been willing to suppose they had abundantly fulfilled all the purposes for which they were printed. That they have already done so, you are pleased to assure me — and so far I am satisfied. But it is easy for me to see, from the tenor of your remarks, that my ambi- tion has not in general been believed to have been so moderate as it really was ; — under the guise of a simple traveller, apparently desirous only of describing what he had seen and felt in the course of a few months' tour of idleness and relaxa- tion — it has been suspected or discovered, as you inform me, that I had really gone forth as the cham- pion of a particular set of literary, philosophical, and political opinions — and the nature of these opinions, it seems, has been such as to call down upon my head a measure of graver spleen, and severer criticism, than usually falls to the share of the letter-writer or the tourist. Although 1 must deny that my intentions were of so serious a kind as has been imagined— and still assure you that my book was written mainly with a view, not to the inculcation of opinions, and the de- fence of dogmas, but the description of men and things— yet, as the opinions which have excited so much reprehension are most truly my opinions, 1 cannot refuse to stand by the consequences of having expressed them, even in this trivial shape and man- peter's letters, 509 ner. The more I consider the present state of Eng- land, either in a literary or in a political point of view, the more am I confirmed in my belief that those opinions are just— and— (in spite of all the objections you have made to my Letters as to matters of minor moment)— it is my consolation and my pride to find, that both my opinions, and my mode of expressing them, are justified, in the main, by the approbation of a man whom I have always regarded as occupying one of the highest places among the intellectual ornaments of our most intellectual age. In the first place, however, I would fain be permit- ted to make a single remark or two, in answer to the censures which, you assure me, have been lavished by many on my choice of a vehicle for the expression of these my opinions— That the nature of these opin- ions themselves lies at the root of all, or almost all, the objections which have been made to their vehicle, has been pretty distinctly hinted by yourself— and such, I have not the slightest doubt, is the truth of the case. Of all the classes of men with whose char- acter 1 have ever had any opportunity of becoming acquainted, the Scottish Whigs are, without question, the most uniformly and consistently arrogant. Their consummate, unconquerable, and unapproachable coolness of self-conceit, may indeed be regarded as a very singular phenomenon in the present situation of the world. While the self-love of almost every other order of human beings has been reduced into some decent limits, or at least compelled to adopt some decent measure of disguise, among the keen collisions of our quick-sighted and ever ready generation— the members of this northern oligarchy alone suppose themselves, and are supposed by their dependants and worshippers, to be entitled not only to feel, but to exhibit, on every occasion, and in the most pro- minent shapes, the most entire and unquestioning confidence in the absolute perfection of themselves, and every thing and every body that in any sort be- JIG POSTSCRIPT 'TO longs to them. They all believe (and few of them have any hesitation in confessing the belief) that among themselves alone is to be found the faultless standard of all human wit, wisdom, and excellence. They are the ideal of humanity— the very salt of the earth. The world has been going on for the last six thousand years— (we know not how much longer a period some of them may assign to it)— it has been the theatre of all manner of moral, intellectual, and physical convulsions— it has witnessed the generation of mountains and the transmutation of seas— thun- ders, lightnings, whirlwinds, and earthquakes, have blasted and desolated, and deformed, and beautified its surface— the air around it has a million times pas- sed through all the shapes and forms into which fire, frost, hail, snow, and stormy vapour, can diversify its substance;— its surface has been trod by innumer- able successions of all living, moving, and breathing things— by corporeal and intellectual giants, and cor- poreal and intellectual dwarfs— by poets and philoso- phers, and princes and heroes, and knaves and fools, and madmen and hypocrites, of every hue and feature and tongue and kindred ; — all the great games of wisdom, valour, love, hatred, ambition, pride, vanity, have been lost and won over and over again, by hundreds of generations that are all mouldered or mouldering into dust. And for what magnificent re- sult has all this mighty round of nature and of man- all this experience of the globe and its inhabitants- prepared us ? Why, truly— that at length our species might be reared to the divine altitude of its utmost possible perfection— and exhibit in these latter days, to the admiring gaze of men and angels, that fault- less monster to which the world never saw any thing comparable before— that glorious compendium of all reason and all knowledge— that spirit extract— that oil essential of the universe— the Scottish Whig! But one might pardon to these men somewhat of their extravagant self-esteem, were it accompanied LETTERS. 514 With any thing of that lofty tranquillity which poets and philosophers have ascribed to the possessors of super-human excellence. Raised as they are, or as they suppose themselves to be, far above the compe- tition, even above the comprehension of the ordinary brethren of the species, it might be fair to expect that these " MuKxptot v^urxToi" should survey, with some- thing at least of a placid and benign indifference, the petty sayings and doings of those to whom they look down from such an ethereal eminence of superiority. The little clouds and blasts that darken and disturb the lower surface of the world, could scarcely be sup- posed likely ever to agitate, in any degree, the serene summit of their Olympian region. As of the fabled divinities of old, so it might have been imagined of these modern demigods, that neither the hymns of those who worship, nor the scoffs of those who de- spise them, could approach with any effect, either of exaltation or depression, the calm uniformity of that self-sufficient enjoyment, which they could not fail to derive from the consciousness of so many sovereign perfections— and that of the Northern Whig, as of the Epicurean Demon, it might have been said, in the words of the great Poet of Nature— " Nee bene promeritis capitur nee tangitur ira." But alas ! my dear sir, had any such beautiful ima- ginations been in fashion heretofore, I fear it must have been made abundantly evident that they had all proceeded throughout the ivory gate— by the woful,.. and undignified display of clamorous indignation with which these self-elected Suferi received the blasphemous sarcasms, and the scarcely (as they seem to have taken them) less blasphemous praises* of the unfortunate Peter Morris. That the sarcasms, indeed, even of such a lowly individual, should have appeared to these high per- sons in the light not only of impious, but of disagree- 512 POSTSCRIPT TO able things— might have excited less astonishment among those not acquainted with them, and the ex- act nature of the homage with which their ears are entertained, and with which alone their ears will condescend to be gratified. But, in every other region of the world, men are accustomed to find even the most elevated characters enduring the admiration of those who are immeasurably their inferiors ;■— satisfied, on most occasions, when this admiration is expressed in a manner not exactly suited to their no- tions of propriety, to take, in part at least, the will for the deed ; and accept, without any visible symp- toms of disgust, the well-meant tribute, however small may be its intrinsic or supposed merit, which they are convinced is all that those who offer it are in a condition to lay at their footstool. In an evil day, however, it would seem, and in an evil hour, did poor Peter put trust in these ordinary tricks of sovereign graciousness, and approach with his unhal- lowed lips, the sublime merits of our northern wor- thies. There is, in truth, no accounting for the fasti- dious delicacies of beings as far removed from the common motives and habits as from the common excellencies of mankind. The doubt— the dissent — even the scorn of an uninformed and uninitiated stranger, might have been passed over with compara- tive mildness— but to be delineated, and described, and praised by one who had never requested their per- mission to do so— by one who had approached and admired the shrine without soliciting password or safe-conduct, either from the deities or the priests— to be made the subjects of common-place human dis- cussion and commendation by one of the profanum vulgus, who had neither right nor title to gaze upon the intima penetralia of their mysterious greatness— this was indeed an insult that might move the spleen both of Pythoness and Python— this was indeed an intrusion for which no prostrate humility of the un- happy culprit could furnish any apology— this was 513 indeed a sin worthy of being visited on the head of the rash Gentile who had committed it with all the indignation even of the Animce Ccelesles. As the lordly Brahmin, who believes that there is nothing either high, or holy, or pure, or tolerably, about an3 r man that wears not the linen thread of Vishnu— who regards all the rest of the world as alike impious and obscene— and who, refusing to admit of any distinc- tions, even between the good and the evil intentions of the contaminated millions, among whom it is, for a season, their lot to move — would hold in equal detestation the blessing and the curse of any unhappy stranger to their peerless caste ;-— so, it would appear, have these hyperborean sages shuddered and shrink- ed, with horrescent purity, at the very idea of receiv- ing a single salaam by the wayside from the Paria Peter. That a being, of line so abject, should have dared, for a moment, to lift his eyes from the dust as they were passing, would have been wickedness enough— but that he should have knelt down and reached forth his polluted hand to touch the hem of their garments, was the sin of sins, and the horror of horrors. What solemn lustrations must be necessary —what sequestered condolences— what choral sooth- ings — before the stain can be washed away, and the pang assuaged, and the devout Brahmin enabled to resume the contemplation of his own sublime umbilicis with the same awful serenity which had been dis- turbed by the benediction of the accursed ! But— to descend from these altitudes, which, to say truth, are scarcely more unsuitable to the writer than to the subject— the haughty partizans of this northern oligarchy, have not dared, in spite of all their conceit, to proclaim to the world the real grounds of their displeasure against me ; and, since they have had recourse to pretences, it is proper, that even in regard to these, I should not leave them in undisturbed possession of the public ear. Far, how- ever, be it from me to trouble either you or myself with an examination of all the pretences, to which. 514 POSTSCRIPT TO on this occasion, they have resorted. It will be enough, and more than enough, if I select one or two of those which have been most in vogue with them, and having detected their absurdity, leave the reader to exercise a little of his own penetration in the inves- tigation, which, I nothing question, will end in the rejection of the rest. And, first of all, what can be more exquisitely ri- diculous, than the charges which they have brought against me, of having violated the laws of delicacy and social confidence by those parts of my letters which contain sketches of the visits I made to some of the present great literary characters of Scotland ? In an- swer to this, nothing at all could be necessary for the satisfaction of you, my dear sir, or of any person who k iows any thing whatever of the literary practices and hi.-'tory of all the ages of the world. I have done no- thing that has not been done a hundred times, and a hundred times more, by all the memoir-writers — and letter- writers— and tourists— and travellers of every nation, that ever knew the use of the pen. Let any, the most simple individual, that hears me blamed for what I have done in this respect, go to the library that is nearest him, and turn over the first twenty pages of the first book of travels that comes into his hands — and then judge for himself with what justice the guilt of innovation has, on this score, been laid to the charge of Peter Morris. That the ground on which I have sometimes trod was of a very delicate nature, is too obvious to require any confession of mine — but I am very willing to put it to the decision of any one of the eminent individuals that are immediately and personally concerned in what I have done— to say, whether— granting the thing were to be done at all — it were possible to do it with a more sacred regard to all that is really confidential and really sacred in the nature of such communication as occurs between any great literary character and any stranger who visits him only on account of his greatness. I have told no secrets — 1 have betrayed no confidence — I PETER 5 S LETTERS. 61a have ministered to no evil passion, either in myself or in others ; and if, in any instance, I have stepped be- yond the mark, and said a little more than I ought to have done, I throw myself upon the candour of my readers, to decide whether, ex facie at least, my trans- gression has not proceeded from the exuberance of good, and kindly, and reverent feelings, and not from any encroaching admixture of spleen that would fain be'concealed, and malice that would fain be gratified, I cannot have done with this without alluding, in a single sentence to the rapturous reception which these very Scottish Whigs gave only two or three years ago, to a book written on a plan, in essence, similar to mine. I mean that of the American Simond— a book in which liberties of the very same species are taken with, in many instances, the very same individuals of whom I have spoken ; and in which, in spite of all the prais- es it received, that offence was really committed — which has been falsely, and blindly, and stupidly, al- leged against me. Let any unconcerned and impar- tial person compare my accounts of the Scottish Whigs, with some of this American's notices of Scot- tish Tories, out of all comparison their superiors, both in intellect and in station ; and then say on whom the charges of insidiousness, and scandal, and malice, and misrepresentation, should have been laid. The squeamishness of these people, however, has gone much further than this. They have carried their notion of the violation of delicacy to a point, which I should apprehend it cannot require even the most trivial acquaintance with books and the privi- leges of authors to pronounce altogether and ineffably absurd. I allude to the extraordinary and unheard of extent wnich these people have been pleased to give to the idea of privacy, when they have accused me of violating the rights of privacy in my delineation of the public appearances and public merits of indi- viduals, whom, till these oracles pronounced the re- verse, I had, all my life, been in the habit of consider- ing, as without exception, the most public of men. 516 pesgrscRiPT 10 In good sooth, I should like very much to hear what places and what men are public— if churches, and colleges, and courts of law, and preachers, and pro- fessors, and barristers, be not so. Is St. Stephen's Chapel a private chamber ? Is the stage of Drury- Lane the closet of Mr. Kean ? There would scarcely be more absurdity in thinking that a traveller has no right to tell you his opinion of the dinner he swallow- ed, or could not swallow, at a tenpenny table d'hote, than in this chimera, which would prevent a man from describing the impression that was made on his mind by a speech delivered before multitudes by a man hired for a certain number of guineas to com- pose and utter it. I can believe almost any thing of the stupidity of some people ; but I really cannot bring myself to be- lieve that any of those individuals of the Scottish Bar (in particular) who are described in my letters, have themselves been guilty of such a piece of stupidity as this. I have described none but men of sense and talent ;»and is it possible that any such men should have betrayed so much weakness, and at the same time so much ignorance ? What ? can a man whose whole object it is to make himself be talked about, be blind to the ridicule — the exquisite ridicule — of showing wrath and indignation, 'because, once in his life, it has been his fortune to be written about? These gentlemen are conscious surely that they live, and breathe, and move, in the troubled air of noto- riety-r-they know that their names and their merits are every day the most common of all common-places in the mouths of thousands of litigants ; and that, un- less it were so, their very existence as barristers would be at an end ; nay more, they know that their names and their merits are not the only things about them, liable every day and every hour to the conta- mination and criticism of the multitude. They know that their very persons are continually at the mercy of all manner of vulgar contrectation — that they un- dergo, and rejoice in undergoing, all the miseries feter's letters. oil which the tongue and the touch of doers and clerks can inflict — that the vilest hands in the world may., at any moment, approach them, provided they bring with them the all-hallowing propitiation of a fee — that, by an unfailing charm, the thief, the robber, the murderer, can at any moment conjure all their mightiness into the circle of his cell— and that bofore he does so, he consults with all the noxious vermin of his prison, concerning the proper subject on which to exert his magic— They know, in a word, that their minds and their bodies are, like the enslaved genii of the oriental tale, compelled at all times to start up. and execute the bidding of him, whosoever and how- soever vile he be, that rubs the Golden Ring— the omnipotent mistress of their energies. And yet these, forsooth, are the persons who complain with a grave- face that the dignity of their privacy has been inva- ded—that the noiseless tenor of their calm sequester- ed lives has been disturbed-— that the purest ray se- rene of their virgin bashfulness has been insulted — and that they can no longer breathe their pomatum on the barren air with the same lovely sense of secu- rity and retirement in which their delicate unsunned souls delighted before the ruffian intrusion of the Ra- visher Peter! — words surely must be wanting to clothe the horrors of so much depravity— such cool, wanton, unrelenting barbarity as mine." Surely, -duris permit me cautibus horrens Caucasus — Hyrcanseque admorunt ubera tigres. But of this part of my alleged guilt, you, my clear Sir, appear to have heard nothing ; and truly I doubt whether it be possible to persuade any man who is familiar as you are with the customs of Eng- land, that allegations of such a nature have really been listened to in Scotland with any thing more for- midable than the scornful smile they deserve. In our end of the island, thank God, such fooleries, if they ever did exist, have long, very long since, been exploded: and our barristers, and all who share 6io ^OSfSCRtPT T© among us the notoriety of barristers, have, for ages, been perfectly accustomed to see their minutest pe- culiarities of merit or demerit, scanned and re-scan- ned by all that please to do so, with at least as much boldness as I have thought fit to exhibit. The very mention of these northern qualms will, I am satisfied, excite nothing but a laugh among the less sensitive oracles of the Hall of Rufus. I confess I would wil- lingly give something for a peep at the physiognomy of Sir Samuel Shepherd, while listening to the que- rulous or clamorous tones in which one of these stricken deer might breathe forth the soul of his ago- ny. As for Charley Bush, (if you cross the water,) I believe the poor fellow would choak at the very mention of such a crying absurdity. I shall certainly get Ellis to tell the thing at the Beaf-steak. Enough, however, and more than enough of this. I well know that I have been fighting with shadows, and that the true causes of the spleen that has been poured forth so lavishly against me, must be sought for, not in the supposed indelicacy of my intrusions, or my descriptions, but in that true and unpardonable audacity which led me to beard the lion in his den, and strong, not in myself, but in the armour of an- cient loyalty and ancient faith, proclaim myself, even in the midst of its myrmidons, an enemy to the pesti- lent genius of Scottish republicanism and Scottish infidelity. The candour with which I acknowledge —nay, the fervour with which I expatiated upon the talents and merits of individuals, served only to exa- cerbate the collective indignation of the sects, against whose principles I had dared to avow my animosity. Praise proceeding from such a quarter was not listen- ed to with surprise merely, but with scorn ;— and the language of every victim of this more than Dardan jealousy, was not timeo, but Odi Danaum vel dona ferentem. « At a distance, nevertheless, from the immediate sphere ini which these fixed stars of the north have peter's letters. 519 accustomed themselves to suppose they possess a per- petual monopoly of light, I am far from suspecting that the wanderings of my less ambitious course have excited, or will hereafter excite any symptoms of the same imperious indignation. The generous people of England— for whom only, or chiefly, it was my ambition to write— will not take my character on trust from my enemies, while my conduct is as open to their own examination, as it ever was to that of any of their neighbours, and while they can examine that conduct with feelings of calmness and impartiality, very different from what must be suspected to lurk beneath the moody and frantic gestures of those, with the result of whose investigations they have now been made acquainted. Were my book to be written over again, there are, indeed, not a few things in it which I would omit— and not a few surely which I would alter ; out of these, you may be assured, no one of all the passages, which have raised for me such a host of criers, would form a part. I well know the deep-root- ed pride of the prejudices I have assaulted ; I well know the pampered and bloated luxury of the self-love against which I have dared to aim a wound. But if I comprehend inadequately, at least most sacredly do I venerate, the nature of that high t)ld spirit of En- glish thought and belief, against which those haughty prejudices have ever been enlisted; and in the utter ruin of which alone that long-spared, and foolishly dreaded self-love, hopes one day to accomplish the great end of all its exertions, and to realize all the cherished visions of its hoodwinked malice. To that spirit I shall never be a traitor ; and while, in spite of all that its enemies can do or say against it, its influ- ence continues to be the paladium of our island, I shall never be without my sufficient consolation for all the worst injuries these enemies can heap on my own head : In every assertion of English honour— in every spectacle of English glory— I shall well know that I contemplate what must abundantly revenge mc 9 and suffuse their inmost souls with the worst bitter- 329 postscript to, &e. ness of gall and wormwood. The whole course ana tenor of our national triumphs was one unbroken se- ries of confusion and disappointment, and wrath and envy to them ; and now, when the sky is overcast for a moment, and afflictions, beyond the reach of human aid, have been interpreted by a much suffering, and (little as they will acknowledge it) a much pitied po- pulace, into ? he symbols and consequences of a fancied oppression— mark only with what a relentless perti- nacity of spleen these short-sighted men have roused themselves from the silence to which their own faults and folly had compelled them, to pour oil upon the kindling embers of disaffection, and to hail the inter- nal enemies of our peace with the same encouraging huzzas and prophetic hosannas, which waited faith- fully through so many years of more perilous encoun- ter, upon the march of that external tyranny, which would fain have swallowed up those that resisted, and those that aided its efforts, in one sweeping flood of undisiinguishing abasement. If sin there be in thirst- ing for abundance of such revenge as this— freely and unblushingly do I confess myself in that sort the chief of sinners. Long have they invited us to sup full upon their horrors— long, very long, may it be before their black arts are able to scare us from our posts of duty. Believe me, My dear Coleridge, With the highest admiration and respect. Your faithful friend and servant, Peter Morrt^. Pensharpt-HfML November^ 1319- , 7 < # »S 58L MM DATE DUE ~ r New* fee- j^V/V i-^v GAYLORD & WM tm C Stlffii!ft l .VE ERS,TY LIBRARIES //7 JUHf 1 2 198? ■ jltltil - ftfi! J ; ^ll'tll flfjti * « t* J ?I *f