mentioned by the author of Waverley, 'when the bar-gown ' of our pleaders was often flung over a blazing uniform*,') -the time when

"Grave discourse might intervene→
Of the good horse that bore him best,
His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest:
For, like mad Tom's, our chiefest care
Was horse to ride, and weapon wear."

Introduction to Canto IV.

And in one of his minor poems, 'written,' as he says, 'after a 'week's shooting and fishing,' he celebrates with enthusiasm the hardy sports of Ettrick Forest +.

Their passion for martial subjects, and their success in treating them, form a conspicuous point of resemblance between the novelist and poet. No writer has appeared in our age (and few have ever existed) who could vie with the author of Marmion in describing battles and marches, and all the terrible grandeur of war, except the author of Waverley. Nor is there any man of original genius and powerful inventive talent as conversant with the military character, and as well schooled in tactics as the author of Waverley, except the author of Marmion. Both seem to exult in camps, and to warm at the approach of a soldier. In every warlike scene that awes and agitates, or dazzles and inspires, the poet triumphs; but where any effect is to be produced by dwelling on the minutiae of military habits and discipline, or exhibiting the blended hues of individual humour and professional peculiarity, as they present themselves

* Waverley, vol. i. ch. 10.

Miscellaneous Poems. Edinburgh, 1820. Page 153.

in the mess-room or the guard-room, every advantage is on the side of the novelist. I might illustrate this position by tracing all the gradations of character marked out in the novels, from the Baron of Bradwardine to Tom Halliday: but the examples are too well known to require enumeration, and too generally admired to stand in need of panegyric.

Both writers, then, must have bestowed a greater attention on military subjects, and have mixed more frequently in the society of soldiers, than is usual with persons not educated to the profession of arms. And without presuming to inquire into the private connexions and intimacies of our admired lyric poet, I may at least observe that the rich and animated pictures of martial life in Old Mortality and the Legend of Montrose, are exactly such as might have been expected from a man of genius, who had recently conversed with the triumphant warriors of Waterloo on the field of their achievements, and commemorated those achievements both in verse and in prose*.

It may be asked why we should take for granted that the writer of these novels is not himself a member of the military profession? The conjecture is a little improbable if we have been right in concluding that the minuteness and multiplicity of our author's legal details are the fruit of his own study and practice; although the same person may certainly, at different periods of life, put on the helmet and the wig, the gorget and the band; attend courts and lie in trenches,

It may not perhaps be strictly justifiable to assume without argument, that Paul's Letters and the Field of Waterloo are written by the same author; but the illustrations to be drawn from the Letters are so few, and comparatively unimportant, that I have not thought it necessary to trouble you with any preliminary discussion on this point.

head a charge and lead a cause. I cannot help suspecting, however, (it is with the greatest diffidence I venture the remark), that in those warlike recitals which so strongly interest the great body of readers, an army critic would discover several particulars that savour more of the amateur than of the practised campaigner. It is not from any technical improprieties (if such exist) that I derive this observation, but, on the contrary, from a too great minuteness and over curious diligence, at times perceptible in the military details; which, amidst a seeming fluency and familiarity, betray, I think, here and there, the lurking vestiges of labour and contrivance, like the marks of pickaxes in an artificial grotto. The accounts of operations in the field, if not more circumstantial than a professional author would have made them, are occasionally circumstantial on points which such an author would have thought it idle to dwell upon. A writer who derived his knowledge of war from experience would, no doubt, like the author of Waverley, delight in shaping out imaginary manœuvres, or in filling up the traditional outline of those martial enterprizes and conflicts, which have found a place in history; perhaps, too, he would dwell on these parts of his narrative a little longer than was strictly necessary. But in describing (for example) the advance of a. party of soldiers, threatened by an ambuscade, he would scarcely think it worth while to relate at large that the captain reformed

6

his line of march, commanded his soldiers to unsling their 'firelocks and fix their bayonets, and formed an advanced ' and rear-guard, each consisting of a non-commissioned 'officer and two privates, who received strict orders to keep ' an alert look-out:' or that when the enemy appeared, 'he ' ordered the rear-guard to join the centre, and both to close up to the advance, doubling his files, so as to occupy with

his column the whole practicable part of the road,' &c.* Again, in representing a defeated corps retiring and pressed by the enemy, he would probably never think of recording (as our novelist does in his incomparable narrative of the engagement at Drumclog+) that the commanding officer gave such directions as these- Let Allan form the regiment, and do you two retreat up the hill in two bodies, "each halting alternately as the other falls back. I'll keep 'the rogues in check with the rear-guard, making a stand ' and facing from time to time.' I do not offer these observations for the purpose of depreciating a series of military pictures, which have never been surpassed in richness, animation, and distinctness; I will own, too, that such details as I have pointed out are the fittest that could be selected for the generality of novel-readers; I merely contend that a writer practically acquainted with war would either have passed over these circumstances as too common to require particular mention, or if he had thought it necessary to enlarge upon these, would have dwelt with proportionate minuteness on incidents of a less ordinary kind, which the recollections of a soldier would have readily supplied, and his imagination would have rested on with complacency. He would, in short, have left as little undone for the military, as the present author has for the legal part of his narratives. But the most ingenious writer, who attempts to discourse with technical familiarity on arts or pursuits with which he is not habitually conversant, will too surely fall into a superfluous particularity on common and trivial points, proportioned to his deficiency in those

* Rob Roy, vol. iii. ch. 3.

+ Tales of my Landlord, First Series, vol. iii, ch. 3.

nicer details which imply practical knowledge. I cannot better illustrate this remark than by quoting the description of a fox-chase given by an excellent writer, but a lady, who probably never made her observations on this exercise in person.

'Count O'Halloran now turned the conversation to field'sports, and then the captain and major opened at once.

Pray now, sir?' said the major, you fox-hunt in this 'country, I suppose; and now do you manage the thing 'here as we do? Over night, you know, before the hunt, 'when the fox is out, stopping up the earths of the cover 6 we mean to draw, and all the rest for four miles round. 'Next morning we assemble at the cover's side, and the 'huntsman throws in the hounds. The gossip here is no small part of the entertainment: but a s soon as we hear the hounds give tongue-'

"The favourite hounds,' interposed Williamson. The favourite hounds, to be sure,' continued Benson; there is a dead silence, till pug is well out of cover, and ⚫ the whole pack well in; then cheer the hounds with tallyho! till your lungs crack. Away he goes in gallant style, and the whole field is hard up, till pug takes a stiff country: then they who haven't pluck lag, see no more of him, • and, with a fine blazing scent, there are but few of us in at 'the death.'

"Well, we are fairly in at the death, I hope,' said Lady Dashfort: I was thrown out sadly at one time in 'the chase.''-Tales of Fashionable Life. Absentee, ch. 8.

In this description all the circumstances are (as far as I know) correctly given, and the phrases properly applied; the whole has no doubt been compiled with great care, and I cannot find that the writer has omitted any material part