GENIUS.-AMBITION.

33

English Opium-Eater. I do not disesteem your national enthusiasm, Mr Hogg, but I must not suffer it to disturb the course of my observations ; and I was about to say, that in richer and merry England, there may be less of that dignity of which I spoke, because less is overcome, the spirit may

be less free even, perhaps, in some respects, because the body is better endowed;-yet hath not such a people great conceptions? Yea, the people of England feel the greatness of their country-because they know that she has been always free and enlightened from Alfred-Magna Charta—the Reformation-the Armada-the SIXTEEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-EIGHT —that she has ever been awful in the sight of nations.-And since, sir, you speak of France, our Harry it was that, like a lion, ramped among the Lilies--our Black Prince, that, in his tent with captive kings

Shepherd. 'Twas lucky for them baith that they never tried the fechtin on this side o' the Tweed, wi' Scotchmen, or aiblins, wi' bluidy noses, they would hae bitten the dust at Roslin or Bannockburn.

English Opium-Eater. I forget the precise lines, sir, but Shakespeare makes some one in that noble drama, Henry the Fifth, speak of the "weasel Scot," who, during his conquest of France, “stole in, and sucked his princely eggs "

Shepherd. And a great goose he was for layin them in an unprotected nest amang the nettles. Haw, haw, haw!

North. Gentlemen, gentlemen! But let me throw a little light upon the subject.

and I feel

[MR NORTH touches a spring, and the chandelier pendant from the roof of the Arbour is set suddenly in stars. Shepherd. My sowl burns and loups within me as if I could write upon the spat a glorious poem Tickler. On what subject?

!

Shepherd. On ony subjeck, or on nae subjeck. Oh! but it's a divine idea-the idea o' immortal fame!

English Opium-Eater. There are two great sources of the energy of the human mind, Mr Hogg ;-one, Delight in the works of God, from which the energy of Genius springs-and one, Pride in its own powers, from which springs the energy of Ambition.

Shepherd. In ma opinion, baith thae twa sources o' energy are in a' minds whatsomever, sir.

VOL. III.

34

THE BENEFACTORS AND THE AFFLICTERS OF MANKIND.

English Opium-Eater. Yes, Mr Hogg, they are; but in different allotment. One, either by nature, or by the sources of life, will be predominant. If the delight in good, in natural and moral beauty, be the stronger principle, then all the energy that springs from the consciousness of strength and skill, and from the pleasure of activity, falls into subservience to the nobler power; and those men are produced, who, if their talents are great, and fall in with great occasions, receive the name of teachers, deliverers, fathers of their countries. But if imagination is weak-and the delight in contemplation of all that is great and beautiful in the world, has little sway in the mind, but the pride in its own powers is strong, then spring up the afflicters of mankind, then comes that Love of Glory, which is not, as in nobler minds, a generous delight in the sympathy and approbation of their fellow-men, but an insatiable thirst for renown, that the voice of mankind, though it were of their groans, may bear witness to their transcendent might, and feed their own consciousness of it, then come those disordered and tormenting passions, stung by rival glory, and maddened by opposition, which engender the malignant character of genius. For if there be genius in such a mind, it cannot maintain its nature against such evil influences, but lends itself to any the most accursed work.

North. Nor matters it what the power may be, sir, whether merely external, as from birth and place, which, without much native power, has made the common tyrants of the world—or whether it be the intensest power of an extraordinary mind. If it be intellectual glory and empire among men which it seeks, it will tear down Truth and set up Falsehood

Shepherd. Ay, gin it can.

North. And it can, and often does, shaming morality and even religion out of the world. In all cases alike, there is the same subserviency of the energies of genius to the energy of ambition. But look, James, to their respective works. The spirit of genius is naturally creative; its works have in themselves a principle of duration because it creates in conformity to the laws of nature-and therefore the laws of nature preserve its works. The arts which genius has invented, maintain themselves by their importance to mankind. Its beautiful productions are treasured up by their love, and

NAPOLEON.-ALFRED.

35

delivered over from one generation to another, the laws it has given blend themselves with the existence of society,— the empires it has established stand by the wisdom in which they were founded. But the spirit of ambitious power is naturally a destroyer; and when it attempts to create, it departs from its character and fails. It creates against nature, and therefore nature rejects its works, and the process of her laws shall overthrow them. It shall build up in the kingdom of mind, error, superstition, and illusion, which shall tyrannise for a time, and then pass away for ever. It shall build up military strength and political dominion-a fabric reaching to heaven, and overshadowing the earth. But it is built up, not in wisdom, but in folly; its principle of destruction is within itself, and when its hour is come, lo! it crumbles into dust.

Tickler. Good, North; at least tolerable-not much amiss. Shepherd. A hantle better nor onything ye'll say the nicht.

Tickler. Napoleon and Alfred!-The one is already deadthe other will live for ever. Alfred! the mighty Warrior, who quelled and drove afar from him the terrible enemy that had baffled the prowess of all his predecessors-the Father of his people, who listened to all complaints, and redressed all wrongs the Philosopher, who raised up a barbarous age towards the height of his own mind, and founded the civilisation of England-the Legislator, whose laws, after a thousand years, make part of the liberties of his country!

Shepherd. Better than I expected. Tak breath, and at it again, tooth and nail, lip and nostril.

Tickler. Our imagination cannot dream of a greater man than this, or of one happier in his greatness. Yet, we do not, I opine, Mr De Quincey, think of Alfred as strongly possessed by a Love of Fame. We think of him as conscious of his own high thoughts, and living in the elevation of his nature. But he seems to us too profoundly affected by his great designs, to care for the applauses of the race for whose benefit his mighty mind was in constant meditation. He seems to us rather absorbed in the philosophic dream of the wide change which his wisdom was to produce on the character of his country; and all that he did for man, to have desired the reflection, not of his own glory, but of their happi

ness. The thoughtful moral spirit of Alfred did not make him insensible to the sympathies of men; but it was selfsatisfied, and therefore sought them not; and accordingly, in our conception of his character, the Love of Glory makes no part, but would, I think, be felt at once to be inconsistent with its simple and sedate grandeur.

Shepherd. You've acquitted yoursel weel, Mr Tickler, and had better haud your tongue for the rest o' the nichtNorth.

"Lest aught less great should stamp you mortal."

Shepherd. O man! Timothy, what for are you sae severe, and satirical, and sardonic, in your natur? A girn—or a toss o' your head-or a grumph, 's a' you aften condescend to gie in answer to a remark made in the natural order o' discoorsebut it's no richt o' you-for folk doesna like the superceelious in society-though it may pass current wi' a tall man on the streets.—I'm thinkin you've forgotten your face?

Tickler. I vote we change the Arbour for the Lodge. 'Tis cold-positively chill-curse the climate!

English Opium-Eater. Our sensations are the sole

Shepherd. If you're cauld, sir, you may gang and warm yoursel at the kitchen fire. But we'se no stir

Tickler. Curse the climate!

Shepherd. Cleemat! Where's the cleemat like it, I would wush to ken? Greece? Italy? Persia? Hindostan ? Poopoo-poo! Wha could thole months after months o' ae kind o' wather, were the sky a' the while lovely as an angel's ee? Commend me to the bold, bricht, blue, black, boisterous, and blusterin beauty o' the British heavens.

Tickler. But what think ye, James, of a tropic tornado, or hurricano?

Shepherd. I wouldna gie a doit for a dizzen. Swoopin awa a toun o' wooden cages, wi' ane bigger than the lave, ca'd the governor's house, and aiblins a truly contemptible kirk, floatin awa into rottenness sae muckle colonial produce, rice, rum, or sugar, and frichtenin a gang o' neeggers! It mayna roar sae loud nor sae lang, perhaps, our ain indigenous Scottish thunner; but it rairs loud and lang aneuch too, to satisfy ony reasonable Christian that has the least regard for his lugs. Nae patriot, Mr Tickler, would undervalue his native kintra's

A HIGHLAND THUNDERSTORM.

37

thunner. Hear it spangin-hap, step, and loup-frae Cruachan to Ben Nevis! The red-deer-you micht think them a' dead— and that their antlers were rotten branches-sae stane-like do they couch atween the claps-without ae rustle in the heather. Black is the sky as pitch-but every here and there, shootin up through the purple gloom,-for whan the lichtnin darts out its fiery serpents it is purple,-lo! bricht pillars and pinnacles illuminated in the growlin darkness, and then gone in a moment in all their glory, as the day-nicht descends denser doun upon the heart o' the glens, and you only hear the mountain-tap; for wha can see the thousand-year-auld cairn up-by yonder, when a' the haill heaven is ae coal-cloud -takin fire every noo and then as if it were a furnace-and then indeed by that flash may you see the cairn like a giant's ghost. Up goes the sable veil-for an eddy has been churnin the red river into spray, and noo is a whirlwind-—and at that updriving see ye not a hundred snaw-white torrents tumblin frae the tarns, and every cliff rejoicin in its new-born cataract? There is the van o' anither cloud-army frae the sea. What 'ill become o' the puir ships! A dismal word to think on in a tempest-lee-shore ! There's nae wund noo-only a sort o' sugh. Yet the cloud-army comes on in the dead-march-and that is the muffled drum. Na-that flash gaed through my head, and I fear I'm stricken blind! Rattle-rattle-rattleas if great granite stanes were shot out o' the sky doun an invisible airn-roof, and plungin sullenly intil the sea. The eagles daurna scream— -but that demon the raven, croaks— croaks—croaks,—is it out o' the earth, or out o' the air, cave, or cloud? My being is cowed in the insane solitude. But pity me-bless me- -is that a wee bit Hieland lassie sittin in her plaid aneath a stane, a' by hersel, far frae hame, ha'in been sent to look after the kids-for I declare there is ano lyin on her bosom, and its mither maun be dead! Dinna be be frichtened, my sweet Mhairi, for the lichtnin shanna be allowed by God to touch the bonny blue ribbon round thy yellow hair!-There's a bit o' Scottish thunner and lichtnin for you, Mr Tickler, and gin it doesna satisfy you, aff to the troppics for a tornawdoe!

English Opium-Eater. You paint in words, mine admirable Shepherd, Nature in all her moods and aspects

Shepherd. Few poets are fonder o' the face o' Natur than