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 reasoning. 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.

The Scottish literati of the present day have inherited the ideas of these men, and acted upon them in a great measure -with scarcely more than the one splendid exception of Walter 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 reflection, 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 resistance to the influence of works such as his-I mean their more solid, and serious, and abiding influence upon the characters 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 altogether the most remarkable phenomenon in the age of wonders-produced among a people, whose taste had been well nigh weaned from all these ranges of feeling, on which their main inspiration and main power depend-they have, of themselves, 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 Facillime 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. S———, representing 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 Border renown -how its walls are covered with hauberks, jacks, actons, bills, brands, claymores, targets, and every weapon of foray warfare. 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. I have at least a week of my 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. Once more adieu!" A stout heart to a stiff brae," as we say in Scotland; 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 inmy 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. J, in his way home from the Parliament-House-Mr. P, immediately after delivering his lecture-and sometimes Professor L- and the Ettrick Shepherd, in the course of their walks, were among my morning visiters; and I had a regular succession of poets, artists, and young lawyers, sipping coffee in my view every evening. An old maiden lady, nearly related to Mr. W, was also particularly kind to me. She sent her foot-boy every morning, with compliments and inquiries, and some small jar of sweetmeats, or bottle of cordial, 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 abont "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 a little while to-morrow forenoon.

In the meantime I have had my sofa removed close to the window, which commands a view of a short street communicating 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 knowledge are to be brought into something like contact with the busy sounds and sights 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 1 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 satisfaction which inspires a favourable idea of all parties concerned. I observed only this minute, a thin, hardy-looking minister, in a blue spenser over his sables, arrested immediately 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? 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 you are not behind me in that particular-twins, Doctor! O, the luck of 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 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 goggling in his head, and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He was accosted by an old lawyer, whom I had often remarked in the Parliament-House, and who seemed to delight in reviving their juvenile remembrances, by using the broadest 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 had pappit aff," &c. &c. &c. 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 your's.

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 Watson, the young painter, of whom I have said something in a former letter. I did this at the urgent request of Mr. Blackwood, the bookseller, who has taken a vehement desire to have my effigy among those of some other 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.