The elder Cameron used to be up in Glasgow every day, and frequently for several days together. The younger one also was frequently away on brief flights of excursion here and there. The Loch and the Cottage, he would tell his friends, were very pretty for a day or two, but slow, decidedly slow, and after all there was nothing like the town for a man of energy and mind. Besides, it was home after all, and he wanted a change. He should like to go to Balmoral, he should like to go to England, he should like to go to the Continent. And as Mr. Cameron is rich enough, and not at all unwilling that his son should see a little of the world, there is no doubt he will go, and as the Dunbars are not at present in the neighbourhood, before very long. His destination is not quite settled, but he has nearly determined to begin his tour with the English Lakes.

THE REV. DR. ROGERS AGAIN.

SUPPLEMENTARY VOLUME OF "THE MODERN SCOTTISH MINSTREL." EDINBURGH, 12th January, 1858.

DEAR MR. EDITOR,-I am certain that, in common with myself and all who take an intelligent interest in our national literature, you will be gratified to learn that the Rev. Dr. Rogers is now engaged in the preparation of a seventh or supplementary volume of his "Modern Scottish Minstrel," in the course of which he proposes to introduce to the world a good many men of fine genius of whom it has not perhaps hitherto heard, and thus give to his great work something of that character of completeness, which as it now stands, and with all the undeniable merits set forth in your late cordial and appreciative criticism, it can scarcely be held to possess. As a Scotchman (it is unnecessary of course to say that I "glory in the name,") it would greatly delight me to be of service to the Rev. gentleman in his patriotic labour of love; and should you be so happy as to have his address, you would greatly oblige me by informing him without delay, that I have been fortunate enough to secure for him the services of a poet, in every way fit for his purpose. Having occasion sometime ago to be in Glasgow, I went forth to meditate at eventide after the manner of Isaac, in the streets of that holiest of cities, and found myself, towards the hour of nine, musing in the neighbourhood of the Tron steeple. Respectable burgesses were passing to and fro in great numbers, a little unsteady with liquor, the business of the day being over, and here and there a smart clerkish-looking young gentleman might be observed peering under the bonnet of a pretty servant maid, who did not seem savagely disposed to resent the polite attention. To the mind meditative at eventide-after the manner of Isaac--there was food here for pious contemplation. Among the other edifying figures with which the unsteady pavement seemed to reel, my attention was *The gross exaggeration, not to say utter untruthfulness, of this picture is of course obvious to the reader; and we were sorely minded to retrench it. We have, however, a delicacy in mutilating a communication in other respects so replete with valuable suggestion. The writer, it will be observed, is an Edinburgh man, and as we perceive at once, from obvious similarities of style, occasionally writes leaders in the Scotsman. It is unnecessary, perhaps, to say more.-ED.

presently drawn to that of a gentleman, in whom, from his generally disreputable aspect, and particular condition of drunkenness, I instinctively recognised a Bard. The seedy symptoms, which need not perhaps be minutely specified, were too obvious to admit of a doubt; and as I had just finished with great pleasure the sixth volume of the "Modern Scottish Minstrel," naturally my immediate impulse on beholding so palpable a lyrist was to secure him to Dr. Rogers for the seventh or supplementary volume, which, I had been given to understand that he meditated. As he approached, he lurched frightfully, and severely impinged upon a lamp post, experiencing a decided repulse from which, he spun perilously across the pavement, and was brought up in the nick of time by the Tron steeple, of whose friendly aid he availed himself, preparatory to continuing his journey. Whilst he was poising himself there in a dubious manner, I went up to him and politely solicited the honour of his acquaintance. He was a picturesque object, in dress somewhat approximating to the Irish. national type; with his right cheek-bone a little damaged by its late contact with the lamp-post, a nose much inflamed from other causes, and eyes rolling in drink and the "fine frenzy" described by Shakspere. He did not, I regret to say, meet my friendly advances, in the most cordial spirit, but in fact requested me to go I decidedly decline to say whither. Recognising in this, however, simply that somewhat of over-fastidious reserve, not unfrequently found in conjunc tion with the sensitive temperament of genius, and determined, as I said, to secure him if possible for Dr. Rogers, I of course persisted in addressing him; and on my expressing a willingness to "stand something, he softened and became more accessible. The poetic dignity was propitiated, and he signified as articulately as he could his readiness to partake of "anither gill." I was confirmed in my opinion that he must be a very great poet indeed, who would prove an acquisition to Dr. Rogers; and preparing myself to enjoy the companionship of genius, I followed him to a pot-house of the lowest character, and was rather surprised with the alertness he exhibited in leading the way. The prospect of renewed stimulant seemed to revive him much, and induce in him to a certain extent the blessed effects of sobriety. The proposed "gill," as in fact I had expected, progressed into a halfmutchkin, and was thence indefinitely extended. The precise quantity of raw spirits which between us we contrived to absorb, perhaps I may be excused stating. It is not every day that I am privileged to meet with so great a poet, and of course I "improved the occasion." I have the pleasure to know several poets of some mark, and with most of them upon occasion have partaken of "the cup which cheers," and inebriates if you take enough of it. As a pleasant companion of an evening, however, commend me before each and all of these, to my friend Mr. Duncan Ferguson, whom I have secured for Dr. Rogers' seventh or supplementary volume. A more altogether gentlemanly person under his abrupt exterior, (as a preliminary piece of courtesy he requested me, as the reader remembers, to proceed-I still decline to say whither,) it has seldom been my happiness to meet with over liquor. Of our interesting aesthetic communion, turning for the most part on the Platonic "doctrine of Beauty ".

most ingeniously developed by Mr. Ferguson in a manner at once jocose and philosophic, which recalled my friend Professor Blackie, the Hebe who brought us the noggins, affording to the sage throughout a convenient illustrative diagram-no record can unhappily in this place be furnished. It is sufficient to state that I parted from my friend Mr. Ferguson, bearing with me a fixed conviction of his high poetical genius, and in testimony of his extreme fitness for the purposes of Dr. Rogers, a small collection of printed pieces, which he generously made me a present of for a nominal equivalent of sixpence. To the specimens of these which I proceed to give, I would solicit the earnest attention of the poetical public in general, and of the Rev. Dr. Rogers in particular, for whose last or supplementary volume the services of this invaluable minstrel may be considered as good as secured.

The graceful motto of Mr. Ferguson's volume is as follows:

Expect not in this book to find

Genius, and art, and grace combined;
But in the desert blooms the rose,

And here perchance some wild flower blows.

One or two of the choicest of these wild flowers let me cull and present to the public. Perhaps, in its slightly peculiar way, the reader has not lately met with anything much more perfect than the following sonnet:—

And art thou gone in thy youthful prime,

And left this scene for a fairer clime!
Thy sun had scarcely dawned when he
Was set for ever upon thee!

Thy voyage short on life's wild sea,

No roaring tempests swept o'er thee:

Thou rose in the morn like a bright star,

And died away in the regions afar.

Methinks I see thy image at

The place of business, where thou sat.

Thy manhood's bloom began to spread,

Then thou wast numbered with the dead.

For thy demise we sadly mourn,

For gone art thou, ne'er to return.

66

It was a considerable stroke of art in our friend, Mr. Ferguson, to label this piece a sonnet," because, if he had not most distinctly done so, we might probably have been disposed to think it was intended for something else. Mr. Ferguson, we suspect, holds somewhat lax views as to the form or structure of the sonnet. His principle seems to be, that anything in fourteen lines is a sonnet-an erroneous theory, in our opinion, into which we suspect him to have been led by the example of two contemporaries, of genius nearly equal to his own, certain of whose "Sonnets on the War" were by no means at first sight recognisable as such, except by the light of the title-page. Of the general genius of the man, the reader may judge from this speciIt is not of course, however, as a writer of general poetry, but in his special character of lyrist, that he will prove an acquisition to Dr. Rogers for his "Scottish Minstrel." In this character it fortunately is, that Mr. Ferguson especially shines. Are there, I would confidently

men.

ask, in the compass of Dr. Rogers' six volumes already published, excellent as they all admittedly are, very many pieces quite equal in merit to the following gem, which decidedly must be approriated in his seventh or supplementary one?

There's whiskey lads, baith east and wast,

Fu' keen to sell a gill,

But yet their door I hae ga'en past,
Nor sought them ance to fill;
But yet there is a corner shop,
And folks baith free and frank,
And if ye want to ken the spot,
It is the Bank, the Bank.

The traveller there may gang and try,
He'll get a' his desire-

And though he's wat, he'll sune be dry,
They keep sae gude a fire.

And let it not forgotton be,

Though you're in greatest want,

Great kindness they will show to thee

If ye gang to the Bank.

There's Jock, and Rab, and Joe sit here,
Aft quaffin' at their glass,

And aye the liquor's gude and clear,
Beyond what I express.

Great sympathy is shown to a'
That do this house frequant;
It is the house o' regular ca'-
The corner house, the Bank.
The lordly knicht, the weaver lad,
That comes in wi' his reed,
The postman, wi' his leather bag,
The letters for to speed-

The bookman and the coalman too,
Wi' hearts that never daunt,
If they but tak their whack o' blue,
Are welcome to the Bank.

"Their whack o' blue,"- -an exquisite touch of colour, which Tennyson himself might envy. It is the merest commonplace of criticism that any true poem, to be really and deeply felt, must be read in the spirit in which it was written; and the full comic spirit and nicety of graphic talent exhibited in these really remarkable verses; the inmost refinement and flavour of them are scarcely to be apprehended by any one who has not got drunk with Mr. Ferguson on the premises described, as the writer on the occasion already adverted to had the rare privilege of doing. Even without this inestimable advantage, however, the reader, if anything of a critic, must feel that here is no ordinary bard, whom the Rev. Dr. Rogers, with his nice perceptions in such a matter, will seize upon with rapture as a treasure. That gentleman who writes in the Athenæum, and classical persons who have had the misfortune to be educated at the English Universities, may be obstinately blind to his merits when he appears in the supplementary volume, I can on the other hand perfectly well believe, and will even venture to predict.

But I hope we already sufficiently understand in this quarter, what is the real value of opinions pronounced by such people. The modest offer of the editor of the Times, about a year ago, to indite off hand, if required, a square mile or so of "poems in the style and manner of Burns," still lingers, a little, let me hope, in the memory of the great Scottish people. Returning to my friend Mr. Ferguson, I really wish much, that I had space to favour Dr. Rogers and the world with a few farther specimens of him. "David's Lament over Saul and Jonathan," a piece which may be read with pleasure even beside the noble simplicities of the Scriptural model; " The Fiddler Lad," humorous though a little indecent; "Lines on the death of my daughter, Margaret Ferguson, who died of disordered bowels," a thing to choke a stoic and draw tears to the unwilling eyes! These and others, very particularly a short series of" Hymns," breathing the most exalted piety, I should have very much liked to give, but unhappily must not. My grief in suppressing them for the present is, however, a little assuaged by reflecting that, along with many other " gems of purest ray serene" from the same hand, they will of course be very soon placed before the world in the pages of the seventh, and "positively last," volume of the "Modern Scottish Minstrel," of which I fondly anticipate that my friend Mr. Ferguson will be as prominent and attractive a feature as Lady Nairn was of the first, and Mr. Stewart Lewes of the third Would you kindly take the trouble to forward the little volume to Dr. Rogers, (for which purpose I enclose along with it sixpence in postage stamps,) with the accompanying card of its author, "9 Old Vennel, Glasgow." It occurs to me as nearly certain that by diligently "excavating" in the purlieus adjacent, (an operation in aid of which the city missionaries would perhaps be able to make themselves of some little use,) a good many other "new Poets" might be found, not much inferior to Mr. Ferguson, who have hitherto eluded the vigilance of the Rev. Dr. Rogers and his friend Mr. Gilfillan, and by means of whom the first mentioned gentleman would be enabled to give to his Great Work a very high degree of completeness indeed. Mr Ferguson empowers me to state, by the way, what in fact I had nearly forgotten, that if the Rev. Doctor will do him the favour of a call when next in Glasgow in quest of minstrels, he will undertake, for a modest consideration in spirits to be consumed at the meeting, to communicate such facts in his eventful career as might be matter for a pretty biography to go as a preface to the poems. I sincerely trust Dr. Rogers will not neglect to run down this valuable game, which I have been at some pains, and even expense (in liquor discussed as aforesaid) thus to unearth and set a-foot for him. With every good wish for the prosperity of his noble edifice in connection with one very ornamental brick of which I shall hope that my name may be remembered,

one.

I am, &c.,

THOS. T. TODD, A.M.