branately shut. I contrived, however, to get then looked so kindly. The Scotch venerate him, introduction to Mr--, the historical painter, as well they may :-suum magnum ingenium howith whom I knew the poet was acquainted, and norem illis facit.' I gazed on this extraordinary w whom it appears he spends many an hour, man until his image was indelibly engraven on was just thirty minutes too late! Sir Wal-my organs of vision; and, were la portrait painthad been there, had told the painter some er, I could now paint his likeness from recollectes which he assured me threw him into tion. Observing I was a stranger, placed in the avisions, and that he had been laughing ever advocates' seat, and no advocate, and appearing, Race; and I believed him, for he was hardly out I have no doubt, very curious, he gazed upon me a convulsion when I entered. Disappointed— -we looked at each other, like poor Sterne and I proceeded to the Parliament-house (where Sir the fair glover, for some time-it was curiosity Water sits as chief clerk to the Lord Commission- in me, but condescension in him.» en, and as soon as I found out my way into seart. I had the good luck to find the object of By pursuit. I needed no monitor to point him - knew him instantly. I had never seen him before in my life; but I had read some of he works, and, from the pictorial and ideal togeder. I had formed in my mind his face exactly— at had I seen him hobbling in his favourite Prince's-street,' I should have known him to Sir Walter Scott. I pushed on to the advotes bench (a place reserved exclusively for the advocates), to be as near him as possible—there I hai no right to be, certainly, but, much to the get of Scotch manners, they saw I was a stran-knew no better-and they suffered me to emain.-On first beholding Sir W. Scott, I felt at the veneration which is due to the good and It is not generally known that there was a poet of the name of Walter Scott, before the present celebrated bard. He lived about the middle of the seventeenth century, and describes himself as great. I confess I could have knelt down and hipped him, though to man I never bent a ine. I shall endeavour to describe his personbis tall, five feet ten or eleven inches, rather at than otherwise, but not corpulent-appears to be about sixty-is healthy, but lamed in one his legs, and walks with difficulty. His hair Apare white, and, falling thinly over his ruddy head, gives him a venerable aspect. You fancy him the Village Preacher' of OliGoldsmith, and his costume heightens the reblance. His complexion is ruddy. His head gularly formed; uncommonly high from the brows to the crown, and tapers upwards, what in the conical form, but there is no ction of forehead, the bump which philosoArts lay so much stress upon as being a sign of reat intellect. His eyes are small, and I think t-blue-you can seldom catch their expreson account of the great projection of the brows; but when you do, the look is divine; they express a mine of intellect, and a kind heart. Is oder many who have seen him say, his coun An old souldier and no scholler; But just the letters of his name. On the death of his grandfather, Sir Robert Scott, of Thirlstone, his father, having no means to bring up his children, put this Walter to attend cattle in the field; « but," says he, I gave them the short cut at last, and left the kine in the corn; and ever since that time, I have continued a souldier abroad and at home." He left a poem written at the age of seventy-three, dedicated to two gentlemen of the name of Scott, which he thus concludes: Begone my book, stretch forth thy wings and fly, more. Lately at a private dinner-party, Sir Walter Scott, Mr H. Mackenzie,' and Mr Alison2 happened to be present. In taking their seats, sans cérémonie, the baronet found himself placed between these two illustrious individuals. The relative position of these three celebrated characters soon attracted the attention of a gentleman present, who exclaimed Our host hath his guests most happily placed; We know of no species of composition so de ance is expressive of shrewd cunning-lightful as that which presents us with personal anecdotes of eminent men; and if its greatest re is no cunning in his looks-nothing but piness and genius. His manners are preposing, and he is very accessible. I perceived, never an advocate or law-man came to speak with him, he took him kindly by the baud-and The celebrated author of the « Man of Feeling.» 2 Author of «Essays on the Nature and Principles of Taste,» supernatural, and of popular superstitions. read to him my Eve of St John and Glenfinlaand he requested my permission to insert the two poems in his Tales of Wonder.' DR PICHOT. I should apprehend that t Monk of Lewis is a little out of fashion.' charm be in the gratification of our curiosity, it is a curiosity, at least, that has its origin in enthusiasm. We are anxious to know all that is possible to be known of those who have an honoured place in public opinion. It is not merely that every circumstance derives a value from the person to whom it relates; but an apparently in- SIR WALTER SCOTT.-'It is a work written wi significant anecdote often throws an entirely new power. It produced an effect, although it car light on the history of the most admired works: after the romances of Mrs Radcliffe. Like t the most noble actions, intellectual discoveries, latter, Lewis chose the south as the seat of 1 or brilliant deeds, though they shed a broad and action: in a southern atmosphere, passions lasting lustre round those who have achieved well as vegetation have more energy; passionthem, occupy but a small portion of the life of wanted in works of this kind. The marvello an individual; and we are not unwilling to pe-alone will not suffice for so sceptical an age netrate the dazzling glory, and to see how the this. I should have liked Mrs Radcliffe more, remaining intervals are filled up-to look into she had been less anxious about the explanati the minor details, to detect incidental foibles, and of her mysteries. Lewis wrote as if he believec to be satisfied what qualities they have in com- DR PICHOT. Might not Mrs Radcliffe, as mon with ourselves, as well as distinct from us, woman, be in dread of passing for superstitious entitled to our pity, or raised above our imitation. SIR WALTER SCOTT.-- It may be so. E The heads of great men, in short, are not all we works, compared with the common novel, a want to get a sight of; we wish to add the limbs, what melo-drames are, compared with traged the drapery, the back-ground. It is thus that, in and comedies. Terror is their chief spring the intimacy of retirement, we enjoy with them action. But there are some good melo-dram calm contemplation and poetic ease.» We see Walpole created the melo-dramatic romance: b the careless smile play upon their expressive fea- Mrs Radcliffe surpassed Walpole. Lewis and M tures; we hear the dictates of unstudied wisdom, turin have alone come near Mrs Radcliffe. T or the sallies of sportive wit fall without disguise Montorio Family is a very astonishing work.' from their lips; we see, in fine, how poets, and philosophers, and scholars, live, converse, and behave. With these sentiments, our readers will not be surprised at our introducing here the following literary and miscellaneous dialogue, translated from the tour of an eminent foreigner. << SIR W. SCOTT.-Well, doctor, how did you like the banks of the Tweed and Melrose Abbey?' DR PICHOT. They are worthy of the bard who has sung them. I, besides, paid a visit to Abbotsford, and surveyed with interest your Gothic sculptures, your armoury, and pictures, some of which are speaking representations. I shall now re-peruse, with double pleasure, the Lay of the Last Minstrel, and your other works.' SIR WALTER SCOTT.-- Are you acquainted with the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border?' DR PICHOT. A great part of it; but more especially with your own imitations of the old border ballads. It was, I believe, your first publi cation?' SIR WALTER SCOTT.—‘Not exactly. I made my début in 1799, with an imitation of some ballads of Bürger, and a translation of the chivalresque drama of Goethe, Goetz von Berlichingen. These essays procured me the acquaintance of the famous Lewis, author of the Monk, and surnamed Monk Lewis. He was a very agreeable man, whose imagination was particularly fond of the DR PICHOT.—' Was your Goetz von Berlichi gen published at Edinburgh?' SIR WALTER SCOTT.-- No, I published it London, where I then was. It is from the sat epoch that my acquaintance with Messrs Canni and Frere commenced.' DR PICHOT. You have contributed to trar fer a portion of the English bookselling busin to Edinburgh.' SIR WALTER SCOTT.- Authors doubtless ma publishers; but Mr Archibald Constable has do much for Scotch authorship.' DR PICHOT.— Scotland has always suppl great men to the literary republic.' SIR WALTER SCOTT. The patriarch of o authors is Mt Henry Mackenzie, who knew lium and Robertson intimately. In his Life of Joh Home, he has charmingly described the literar society of Edinburgh during the second half o the last century. He is a poet and romance writer; a poet in versification, and a poet als in his prose fictions; indeed, it is difficult for good romance-writer not to be so in some degre He is an ingenious critic in his periodical essay (the Mirror and Lounger), and a pathetic autho in his novels. There is a little of Sterne's manne in his Man of Feeling; the pathos of Julia d Roubigné is more natural and pure.' DR PICHOT.- Scotland continues to enrich English literature with its best works. Thomas a son twenty years of age, a lieutenant in the Campbell is a Scotchman.' S WALTER SCOTT.- are? army." The late dreadful crisis in the commercial world, which began with the bankers and ended with the booksellers, caused the failure of the house of Constable and Co. of Edinburgh, who were not only the publishers of our author's works, but with whom he was associated in business, as a sleeping partner. This disastrous SWALTER SCOTT. I received a letter from vesterday. We are in correspondence, and w of an amicable and intimate description.' DR PicnoT. He has scoffed a little at Scot-event necessarily removed the thin veil which SIR WALTER SCOTT.- Like all young barris- Isball here add, from the authority of Mr Lockhart, that Sir Walter, when called to the bar, at the age of twenty-one, gave but few testimois of his talent. He once, however, had an pportunity of speaking before the General Asely, and the question having suddenly kinded his powers, he expressed himself with a flood quence. The famous Dr Blair was present, and said aloud, This young barrister will be a great man.' LADY SCOTT. It is a St Andrew's cross, which ladies of Scotland have commissioned Sir Water to present to his majesty before he alights. the work of a lady of high rank and great anty. had hitherto concealed the. « Great Unknown» from the full gaze of an admiring public. The avowal of Sir Walter himself was made at the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund Dinner, the details of which, from their peculiar interest in relation to the subject of this sketch, we are bound to lay fully before our readers. The first Annual Dinner of the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund was held yesterday (24th Feb. 1827), in the Assembly Rooms, Sir Walter Scott in the chair; and near whom sat the Earl of Fife, Lord Meadowbank, Sir John Hope of Pinkie, Bart., Admiral Adam, Baron Clerk Rattray, Gilbert Innes, Esq., James Walker, Esq., Robert Dundas, Esq., Alexander Smith, Esq., etc. After dinner the usual toasts were given, when the chairman, in an appropriate speech, proposed the memory of his late Royal Highness the Duke of York.-Drank in solemn silence. It was « The chairman (Sir WALTER SCOTT) then requested that gentlemen would fill a bumper, as full as it would hold, while he would say only a few words. He was in the habit of hearing speeches, and he knew the feeling with which long ones were regarded. He was sure that it was perfectly unnecessary for him to enter into any vindication of the dramatic art, which they had come here to support. This, however, he considered to be the proper time and proper occasion for him to say a few words on that love of representation which was an innate feeling in human nature. the first amusement that the child had-it grew greater as he grew up; and, even in the decline of life, nothing amused so much as when a common tale is well told. The first thing a child does is to ape his schoolmaster, by flogging a chair. It was an enjoyment natural to humanity. It was implanted in our very nature, to take pleasure from such representations, at proper times, and on proper occasions. In all ages the theatrical art had kept pace with the improvement of mankind, and with the progress of letters and the fine arts. As he has advanced from the ruder stages of society, the love of dramatic representations has increased, and all works of this nature have been improved, in character and in structure. They had only to turn their eyes to the history of ancient Greece, although he did not pretend to be very deeply versed in ancient history. Its first tragic poet commanded a body of troops at Marathon. The second and next were men who shook Athens with their discourses, as their theatrical works shook the theatre itself. If they turned to France, in the time of Louis the Fourteenth, that era in the classical history of that country, they would find that it was referred to by all Frenchmen as the golden age of the drama there. And also in England, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, the draina began to mingle deeply and wisely in the general politics of Europe, not only not receiving laws from others, but giving laws to the world, and vindicating the | rights of mankind. (Cheers.) There have been various times when the dramatic art subsequently fell into disrepute. Its professors have been stigmatised, and laws have been passed against them, less dishonourable to them than to the statesmen by whom they were passed, and to the legislators by whom they were adopted. What were the times in which these laws were passed? Was it not when virtue was seldom inculcated as a moral duty, that we were required to relinquish the most rational of all our amusements, when the clergy were enjoined celibacy, and when the laity were denied the right to read their bibles. He thought that it must have been from a notion of penance that they erected the drama into an ideal place of profaneness, and the tent of sin. He did not mean to dispute that there were many excellent persons who thought differently from him, and they were entitled to assume that they were not guilty of any hypocrisy in doing so. He gave them full credit for their tender consciences, in making these objections, which did not appear to him relevant to those persons, if they were what they usurp themselves to be; and if they were persons of worth and piety, he should crave the liberty to tell them, that the first part of their duty was charity, and that if they did not chuse to go to the theatre, they at least could not deny that they might give away, from their superfluity, what was required for the relief of the sick, the support of the aged, and the comfort of the afflicted. These were duties enjoined by our religion itself. (Loud cheers.) The performers are in a particular manner entitled to the support or regard, when in old age or distress, of those who had partaken of the amusements of those places which they render an ornament to society. Their art was of a peculiarly delicate and precarious nature. They had to serve a long apprenticeship. It was very long before even the first-rate geniuses could acquire the mechanical knowledge of the stage business. They must languish long in obscurity before they can avail themselves of their natural talents; and after that, they have but short space of time, during which they are fort nate if they can provide the means of comfort the decline of life. That comes late, and las but a short time, after which they are left di pendent. Their limbs fail, their teeth are loose ed, their voice is lost, and they are left, afte giving happiness to others, in a most disconsola state. The public were liberal and generous } those deserving their protection. It was a s thing to be dependent on the favour, or, he mig say, in plain terms, on the caprice of the public and this more particularly for a class of person of whom extreme prudence is not the characte There might be instances of opportunities beir neglected; but let them tax themselves, and co sider the opportunities they had neglected, ar the sums of money they had wasted; let ever gentleman look into his own bosom, and să whether these were circumstances which woul soften his own feelings, were he to be plunge into distress. He put it to every generous boso to every better feeling-to say what consola |tion was it to old age to be told that you migł have made provision at a time which had bee neglected (loud cheers)—and to find it objecter that if you had pleased you might have bee wealthy. He had hitherto been speaking of wha in theatrical language, were called stars, but the were sometimes fallen ones. There was anothe class of sufferers naturally and necessarily con nected with the theatre, without whom it w impossible to go on. The sailors have a say ing, every man cannot be a boatswain. If ther must be persons to act Hamlet, there must als be people to act Laertes, the King, Rosencrant: and Guildenstern, otherwise a drama cannot g on. If even Garrick himself were to rise from th dead, he could not act Hamlet alone. There mus be generals, colonels, commanding-officers, an subalterns; but what are the private soldiers t do? Many have mistaken their own talents, an have been driven in early youth to try the stage to which they are not competent. He would knov what to say to the poet and the artist. He would say that it was foolish, and he would recommen to the poet to become a scribe, and the artist u paint sign-posts-(loud laughter).—But he coul not send the player adrift, for if he cannot play Hamlet, he must play Guildenstern. Where there are many labourers wages must be low, and no man in such a situation can decently support a wife and family, and save something off his income for old age. What is this man to do in latter life? Are you to cast him off like an old hinge, or a piece of useless machinery, which has done its work? To a person who has contributed to our amusement, this would be unkind, un guished person, to say, if he were able, what grateful, and unchristian. His wants are not of is own making, but arise from the natural vares of sickness and old age. It cannot be sed that there is one class of sufferers to whom as imprudence can be ascribed, except on first ng on the profession. After putting his Lad to the dramatic plough, he cannot draw , but must continue at it, and toil till death ease him, or charity, by its milder assistance, ops in to render that want more tolerable. He Little more to say, except that he sincerely A ped that the collection to-day, from the numerd respectable gentlemen present, would meet the views entertained by the patrons. He hoped would do so. They should not be disheartenThough they could not do a great deal, they Sir WALTER SCOTT certainly did not think that, ht do something. They had this consolation, in coming here to-day, he would have the task at every thing they parted with from their su- of acknowledging, before three hundred gentlepelaay would do some good. They would sleep men, a secret which, considering that it was combetter themselves when they have been the municated to more than twenty people, was reBeans of giving sleep to others. It was ungrate-markably well kept. He was now before the bar tl and unkind, that those who had sacrificed of his country, and might be understood to be ar youth to our amusement should not receive on trial before Lord Meadowbank as an offender; be reward due to them, but should be reduced yet he was sure that every impartial jury would hard fare in their old age. We cannot think bring in a verdict of Not Proven. He did not now Falstaff going to bed without his cup of think it necessary to enter into the reasons of w, or Macbeth fed on bones as marrowless as his long silence. Perhaps he might have acted use of Banquo — (loud cheers and laughter). As from caprice. He had now to say, however, that believed that they were all as fond of the the merits of these works, if they had any, and matic art as he was in his younger days, he their faults, were entirely imputable to himself. ald propose that they should drink The The- (Long and loud cheering.) He was afraid to think cal Fund, with three times three. on what he had done. Look on't again I dare not.' He had thus far unbosomed himself, and he knew that it would be reported to the public. He meant, when he said that he was the author, that he was the total, and undivided author. With the exception of quotations, there was not a single word that was not derived from himself, or suggested in the course of his reading. The wand was now broken, and the rod buried. You will allow me further to say, with Prospero, 'T is your breath that has filled my sails; and to crave one single toast in the capacity of the author of these novels; and he would dedicaté a bumper to the health of one who has represented some of those poor Mr MACKAY rose on behalf of his brethren, to arn their thanks for the toast just drunk. After advocating the cause of the Fund, he conby tendering to the meeting, in the name his brethren and sisters, their unfeigned Lasks for their liberal support, and begged to pose the health of the Patrons of the EdinTheatrical Fund. (Cheers.) Lord MEADOWBANK begged to propose a health, ch, in an assembly of Scotsmen, would be reed, not with an ordinary feeling of delight, with rapture and enthusiasm.-He knew that ald be painful to his feelings if he were to ak to him in the terms which his heart prompt-characters, of which he had endeavoured to give and that he had sheltered himself under his modesty from the applause which he deBut it was gratifying at last to know at these clouds were now dispelled, and that Great Unknown—the mighty magician-(here room literally rung with applauses, which Here continued for some minutes)- the minstrel ur country, who had conjured up, not the atoms of departed ages, but realities, now stands revealed before the eyes and affections of & country. In his presence it would ill become as it would be displeasing to that distin the skeleton, with a degree of liveliness which rendered him grateful. He would propose the health of his friend Baillie Nicol Jarvie (loud applause),—and he was sure, that when the author of Waverley and Rob Roy drinks to Nicol Jarvie, it would be received with that degree of applause to which that gentleman has always been accustomed, and that they would take care that, on the present occasion, it should be PRODIGIOUS! (Long and vehement applause.) Mr MACKAY, who spoke with great humour in the character of Baillie Jarvie. My conscience! |