Shepherd. I wuss the conversation would tak something mair o' a leeterary turn-or wax philosophical, or theological, or even political. Has ony gude body o' Divinity been published since I was last at Ambrose's, Mr Tickler? Tickler. No. A few volumes of Discourses, Sermons, Lectures, Charges, and so forth, but nothing worth taking with you to Yarrow, James. They want unction sadly. North. In every sermon I have written and the number is not few-I have carefully avoided subdivisions and practical conclusions. I have inspired a vital spirit through the whole composition. My sermons have always been exhortations— extreme length thirty minutes. They have in general been successfully preached to crowded congregations-little sleep, and no snoring-and have pleased both town and country. Shepherd. Havers. Either you or Mr Tickler would be an awfu' sight in a poupit-though I have seen some grim carls there, it maun be confessed, dreigh' at the thocht, and dour at the delivery. But let me see, is there onything stirring in the poetical way? Alas! poor Byron. North. People say, James, that Byron's tragedies are failures. Fools! Is Cain, the dark, dim, disturbed, insane, hell-haunted Cain, a failure? Is Sardanapalus, the passionate, princely, philosophical, joy-cheated, throne-wearied voluptuary, a failure? Is Heaven and Earth, that magnificent confusion of two worlds, in which mortal beings mingle in love and hate, joy and despair, with immortal-the children of dust claiming alliance with the radiant progeny of the skies, till man and angel seem to partake of one divine being, and to be essences eternal in bliss or bale,—is Heaven and Earth, I ask you, James, a failure? If so, then Apollo has stopt payment promising a dividend of one shilling in the pound and all concerned in that house are bankrupts. Tickler. You have nobly-gloriously vindicated Byron," North, and in doing so, have vindicated the moral and intellectual character of our country. Miserable and pernicious creed, that holds possible the lasting and intimate union of the first, purest, highest, noblest, and most celestial powers of soul and spirit, with confirmed appetencies, foul and degrading lust, cowardice, cruelty, meanness, hypocrisy, 1 Dreigh-tedious. Dour-harsh. Lat. durus. 3 In Blackwood's Magazine for February 1825. avarice, and impiety! You,-in a strong attempt made to hold up to execration the nature of Byron as deformed by all those hideous vices,-you, my friend, reverently unveiled the countenance of the mighty dead, and the lineaments struck remorse into the heart of every asperser. You wrote a noble prose commentary on those verses of my friend Charles Grant1 -although, perhaps, you never saw them-but congenial spirits speak one language on all great themes, in every age and in every country, separated though they may be by lands or seas, or by the darkness of centuries. Beautiful verses they are. "Talents, 'tis true, quick, various, bright, hath God And all the dread sublimities of song These, Virtue! these to thee alone belong!" Shepherd. Gude safe us, man, Mr Tickler, but these be bonny, bonny verses. Wha's the composer ? Tickler. College-University-Cambridge-Prize verses, James. Shepherd. The deevil they are-that's maist extraordinary. North. It is the fashion to undervalue Oxford and Cambridge Prize Poems-but it is a stupid fashion. Many of them are most beautiful. Heber's "Palestine!" A flight, as upon angel's wing, over the Holy Land! How fine the opening! "Reft of thy sons! amid thy foes forlorn, Mourn, widow'd Queen! forgotten Zion, mourn! No prostrate nations in thy temple wait, Afterwards Lord Glenelg. 60 MACAULAY AND PRAED. No prophet-lords thy glittering courts among Folds his dark wing beneath the ivied shade." Tickler. More than one of Wrangham's Prize Poems are excellent-Richard's "Aboriginal Britons" is a powerful and picturesque performance-Chinnery's "Dying Gladiator" and Milman's "Apollo Belvidere" splendid, beautiful, and majestic. magnificent North. Macaulay and Praed have written very good Prize Poems. These two young gentlemen ought to make a figure in the world. By the way, you would be glad to see, Tickler, that Knight's Quarterly Magazine is rediviva? Tickler. I was so. May it flourish. It is an able and elegant miscellany. Methinks I see the Opium-Eater in last number. Having now connected himself with gentlemen, may his career be bright and prosperous, for he is a man of a million. North. His original genius and consummate scholarship speedily effected the damnation of Taylor and Hessey's Magazine, according to my prophecy. All the other contributions looked such ninnies beside him, that the public burst out a-laughing in the poor Magazine's face. Then one and all of them began mimicking our friend, and pretended to be Opium-eaters. Now, the effect of the poppy upon the puppy is most offensive to the bystanders, and need not be described. A few grains were administered to the Ass's head in the Lion's skin,' who forthwith opined himself to be an editor, and brayed upon the contributors, in the language of Shakespeare, Friends, countrymen, and Luddites," LEND ME YOUR EARS. Taylor and Hessey, hearing "the din of battle bray," fled from the field. Tickler. I fear the commissariat department is at present badly conducted. The army is in great want of provisions. Shepherd. Puir fallows! they seem sairly disheartened, and to have lost a' discipline. What's the use o' their aye tantararaing wi' the trumpet, and rat-a-tooing on the drum, 1 The Lion's Head was the title under which Taylor and Hessey's Magazine addressed its "Notices to Correspondents." 2 Luddites-rebels when the troops are maistly a' without muskets or beggonets,1 have never got richtly out o' the aukward squad, keep trampin on ane anither's heels, and aye cursin and swearin like so mony limmers lugged alang by the poleish to Bridewell? Tickler. Political Economy is not a subject for a Magazine. Its principles should be explained at once-brought continuously before the mind. They may be applied to important subjects of trade and polity in a Magazine, as they often have been in yours, North-but the elements of the science must be given in a volume. The Opium-Eater frittered away his philosophy of that science in detached papers that produced no effect on the public mind.* North. I agree with you perfectly. Would that we had his promised" Romance!" For, with all his logic, he is a man of imagination, and, bating a little formal pedantry now and then, a master of the English language, God bless him. Tickler. James, you are the worst smoker of a cigar in Christendom. No occasion to blow like a hippopotamus. Look at me or North-you would not know we breathed. Shepherd. It's to keep mysel frae fallin asleep. I never heard you baith muckle mair stupider than you have been a’ the nicht. A' my wonder is, how you contrive to keep up that Magazine. It's a waefu' sicht to see a' the other Magas pining awa in a kind o' green sickness, just for want o' contributors, little bigger in bulk than the Living Skeleton now in London. But there gangs our ain Maga, a strapping quean, wi' a satisfied ee, a lilting voice, and a step o' elasticity, and, may I say it without coorseness, she's perpetually in the family-way. But Maga's your honest wedded wife, Mr North -and all her productions are legitimate. Hear till that auld watchman, crawing the hour like a bit bantam. What's the cretur screeching? Twa o'clock!! Mercy me!- -we maun be aff. (Exeunt omnes.) 1 Beggonets-bayonets. 2 Limmers-worthless characters, usually applied to women. 3 Poleish-police. 4 Of these "detached papers" which have since been republished in Mr De Quincey's collected works, Mr M'Culloch says (in his Literature of Political Economy) that "they are unequalled, perhaps, for brevity, pungency, and force. They not only bring the Ricardian theory of value into strong relief, but triumphantly repel, or rather annihilate, the objections urged against it by Malthus, Say, and others. They may indeed be said to have exhausted the subject." (DECEMBER 1825.) NORTH, SHEPHERD, TICKLER. North. Thank heaven for winter! Would that it lasted all year long! Spring is pretty well in its way, with budding branches and carolling birds, and wimpling burnies, and fleecy skies, and dew-like showers softening and brightening the bosom of old mother earth. Summer is not much amiss, with umbrageous woods, glittering atmosphere, and awakening thunder-storms. Nor let me libel Autumn in her gorgeous bounty, and her beautiful decays. But Winter, dear coldhanded, warm-hearted Winter, welcome thou to my fur-clad bosom! Thine are the sharp, short, bracing, invigorating days, that screw up muscle, fibre, and nerve, like the strings of an old Cremona discoursing excellent music-thine the long snow-silent or hail-rattling nights, with earthly firesides and heavenly luminaries, for home comforts, or travelling imaginations, for undisturbed imprisonment, or unbounded freedom, for the affections of the heart and the flights of the soul! Thine too Shepherd. Thine too, skatin, and curlin, and grewin,1 and a' sorts o' deevilry amang lads and lasses at rockins and kirns. Beef and greens! Beef and greens! O, Mr North, beef and greens! North. Yes, James, I sympathise with your enthusiasm. Now, and now only, do carrots and turnips deserve the name. The season this of rumps and rounds. Now the whole nation sets in for serious eating-serious and substantial eating, James, half leisure, half labour-the table loaded with a lease 1 Grewin-coursing. |