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a rival publication started by Constable. There are four chapters, containing two hundred and eleven verses, all of which, with the exception of the first thirty-seven, were from Hogg's pen; but the production is not of the slightest interest now. Very different were the "Noctes Ambrosianæ," printed in the same publication some five years later. These imaginary conversations were supposed to be between "Christopher North," the Ettrick Shepherd, and some minor celebrities, but they hardly do justice to the Shepherd. They represent him as a pompous and bombastic individual, ready to give an opinion on any subject, and quite confident about the infallibility of that opinion. The James Hogg of real life was a much more lovable personage than the boasting Falstaff of the "Noctes," as those who knew him and Mrs. Garden's excellent biography amply. testify.

A good deal has been said about Hogg's social habits. One reviewer, we believe, has somewhere described him as "a boozing buffoon." There is more of alliteration than of truth about this statement, which is, in fact, maliciously inaccurate. The author of a recent book on Yarrow and its poets tells us that he has conversed with many persons who knew the Poet intimately, and their unanimous testimony is that he was thoroughly temperate in his habits. Of course, the times of Hogg were in this respect very different from the times of to-day, and it was only to be expected that a man in his position-a farmer, and a good-natured fellow to boot-should conform to the social customs of his day. The jovial hours spent with "Christopher North" and others under the kindly roof of "Tibbie Shiels" were not spent without some handling of the cup which both cheers and inebriates, and there is some suspicion about Hogg's morning order, given in a stentorian voice from beneath the blankets, to "bring in the loch." But all this proves nothing in favour of Hogg's being a confirmed tippler. It simply shows that he had an occasional spree, and that is showing no more than could be shown of many a worthy member of the kirk to-day. Nothing would ever have been heard of the little. irregularities of Hogg, any more than of Burns, if his literary genius had not set him before the eyes of all men.

The Shepherd's frequent breaches of kid-glove and drawingroom etiquette must have given many a shock to those who could not, as Scott did, look beyond his manners to his naturally kind and simple heart. "Well as Scott knew," remarks J. G. Lockhart, "that reflection, sagacity, wit, and wisdom were scattered abundantly among the humblest ranges of the pastoral solitudes of Scotland, there was

here a depth and a brightness that filled him with wonder, combined with a quaintness of humour and a thousand little touches of absurdity which afforded him more entertainment, as I have often heard him say, than the best comedy that ever set the pit in a roar." That droll story which Lockhart tells must have been one of those that competed with "the best comedy that ever set the pit in a roar." The Shepherd was invited by Scott to dinner. He came dressed "precisely as any ordinary herdsman attends cattle to the market." Mrs. Scott, being in a delicate state of health, was reclining on a sofa. The Shepherd, after being presented and making his best bow, forthwith took possession of another sofa placed opposite hers, and stretched himself thereupon at all his length, for, as he said afterwards, "I thought I could never do wrong to copy the lady of the house." His foul shoes and greasy hands smeared the chintz; but Hogg saw nothing. He dined heartily and drank freely. He jested, sang, told stories. Soon the wine operated, and let loose his vulgarity. From "Mr. Scott" he got to "Sherra" (i.e. Sheriff), from "Sherra" to "Scott," from "Scott" " to Walter," from "Walter" to "Wattie," and finished by calling Mrs. Scott "Charlotte," which fairly convulsed the whole party. Such is Lockhart's story; but we fear he was as little capable of appreciating the real merits of the Shepherd as Professor Blackie is of appreciating an Italian song in a Scotch drawing-room.

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In person Hogg was manly and prepossessing, being a little above the middle height, and of a stout, well-set figure. His hair was light, and even so far on as his sixtieth year he looked so ruddy and vigorous that men half his age might have envied him, as no doubt they did. Carlyle has left this interesting sketch of him. "Hogg is," says the author of "Sartor," "a little red-skinned, stiff rack of a body, with quite the common air of an Ettrick Shepherd, except that he has a highish, though sloping brow, and two clear little beads of blue or grey eyes that sparkle, if not with thought, yet with animation. Behaves himself easily and well; speaks Scotch, and mostly narrative absurdity therewith. Appears in the mingled character of zany or raree show. All bent on bantering him, especially Lockhart; Hogg walking through it as if unconscious, or almost flattered. His vanity seems to be immense, but also his good-nature. I felt interest for the poor herd-body; wondered to see him blown hither from the sheep-folds, and how, quite friendless as he was, he went along cheerful, mirthful, and musical. I do not well understand this man ; his significance is perhaps considerable. His poetic talent is authentic, yet his intellect seems of the weakest; his morality also

limits itself to the precept, 'be not angry.' Is the charm of this poor man to be found herein, that he is a real product of Nature, and able to speak naturally, which not one in at housand is? An unconscious talent, though of the smallest, emphatically naïve. Once or twice

in singing (for he sang of his own) there was an emphasis in poor Hogg's look-expressive of feeling-almost of enthusiasm. The man is a very curious specimen. Alas! he is a man; yet how few will so much as treat him like a specimen, and not like a mere wooden Punch and Judy." There is a kind of patronising air about all this that one does not like, and the picture is, besides, not particularly

accurate.

The closing years of Hogg's life afford but little material for the biographer. One of the last outstanding incidents of his career was a visit to London, where he was received with every mark of distinction by all classes of society. We read of a great festival being given in his honour, which was "attended by nearly two hundred persons, including noblemen, members of Parliament, and men of letters." We strongly suspect the Shepherd must have felt very much like a fish out of water in the midst of all the fêting and feasting of this time. A story is told of his being taken to the Opera, where he very soon gave unequivocal signs of drowsiness; yet to any inquiry. implying a doubt of his feeling entertained he replied, "Eh! I like it gae weel, sir." When he did give his attention to any part of the performance, his eyes were observed to be fixed on Costa, the conductor. At length he could no longer restrain his curiosity in regard to the man with the bâton, and exclaimed, "Wha, and what the deil's that fellow that aye keeps wagging the stick yonder?"

Hogg's misfortunes pursued him almost to the end. When old age began to creep on him he was anxious to make some provision for his family, and the only way he could think of doing this was by issuing a collected edition of his works. It was, we believe, about this time that he wrote to Byron asking a recommendation to Murray. In the letter he speaks of his last publisher in no friendly terms, declares his "bills" are never "lifted," and adds, totidem verbis, "God d―n him and them both." Byron, telling a friend about this incident, remarks: "The said Hogg is a strange being, but of great though uncouth powers. I think very highly of him as a poet; but he and half of those Scotch and Lake Troubadours are spoilt by living in little circles and petty societies." But Byron was unable to help Hogg, and the latter got into the hands of a publisher who failed after the first volume of the poet's works had been issued. Thus was Hogg's last hope left unrealised. In the autumn of 1835

he was seized with a dropsical complaint, and in a few months Wordsworth had sung :

The mighty minstrel breathes no longer;

'Mid mouldering ruins low he lies, And death upon the braes of Yarrow

Has closed the shepherd-poet's eyes.

The shepherds carried him over the hills that divide Yarrow from Ettrick, and laid him in his own Ettrick kirkyard, a few steps from the cottage in which he was born.

Hogg's perpetual losses, as already indicated, led to much "potboiling" literary work, which has now passed into oblivion, as work of that kind should be allowed to do. But no shades of oblivion are ever likely to close round his "Bird of the Wilderness," or "Cam' ye by Athole?" or "Flora Macdonald's Lament," or " Come o'er the Stream, Charlie," or "When the Kye comes Hame," to mention only a few songs the production of which must always give a glory to the Vale of Ettrick, already consecrated by the memory of the old balladsingers. These songs, it is safe to predict, will keep the Shepherd's memory green as long as there are Scottish men and maidens to sing them. Apart from his songs, Hogg's real strength lay in the realm of the supernatural. "I'm king o' the mountain and fairy school" he said to Scott, and he was right. No other poet has ever described Fairyland so well. It is his genius in this direction that makes "The Queen's Wake" his best poem, and "The Brownie of Bodsbeck" his best prose fiction. The rest of his works might very well be forgotten, and the world of literature would be none the poorer; but these must live.

J. CUTHBERT HADDEN

ENGRAVEN IN THE

H

IN THE STONES:

A RECORD OF WORCESTER CATHEDRAL.

In the more restricted sense it

ISTORY is of two kinds. implies the narrative of events contained in written documents; but in the widest application of the term is comprehended all knowledge of facts derived from external sources, written or otherwise ; the almost synonymous Latin and Greek words mean strictly "a matter of record." It is with this broader definition that I am tempted to notice some of the fragments of history enshrined within the fabric of Worcester Cathedral, which are more ancient than the Bible itself, or than any manuscript that the world has ever known, for they are inscribed in the very stones.

Approaching the cathedral from the river-side, we are at once impressed with the varying tints of the sandstone, the material used throughout in the main structure of the building. Excavated in the neighbourhood of Ombersley, in Worcestershire, this New Red sandstone, as distinguished from the Devonian, or Old Red, is from a substratum of the Triassic system of rocks; it lies beneath the saliferous marls of Droitwich, and a capital section is exposed in a cutting of the Midland Railway at Bromsgrove station. The stone being warm in tone, compact in texture, and fairly durable, is eminently suited for the building of the early English church; and the varying shades of colour render the effect peculiarly attractive from an artistic point of view when the newness of the surface has somewhat worn away, or been mellowed in the lapse of time.

In order to appreciate more fully the teaching of the stones it is necessary to travel far afield beyond the portals of the peaceful shrine on the banks of the placid Severn.

Vast ages back in geological time, before the Tertiary sediment, the chalk, the Cotswold Oolites, or the Lias clays were deposited, the interstratified beds of the Worcestershire Trias were formed in lakes or lagoons, communicating, perhaps, with the ocean, from the disintegration of still more ancient gneiss and micaceous schist.

In the

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