ambition, hatred, revenge, pleases masculine minds in the same manner as the flashing of lightnings and the roaring of cataracts. But there are other things in man and in nature, besides tumultuous passions and tempestuous scenes-and be that is a very great poet, may be by no means a very popular one.

The critics who ridicule Mr. Wordsworth, for choosing the themes of his poetry among a set of objects new and uninteresting to their minds, would have seen, had they been sufficiently acute, or would have confessed, had they been sufficiently candid, that, had he so willed it, he might have been among the best and most powerful masters in other branches of his art, more adapted to the generality of mankind and for themselves. The martial music in the hall of Clifford was neglected by the Shepherd Lord, for the same reasons which have rendered the poet that celebrates him such a poet as he is.

"Love had he seen in huts where poor men lie,
His daily teachers had been woods and rills;
The silence that is in the starry sky,

The sleep that is among the lonely hills."

Before a man can understand and relish his poems, his mind must, in some measure, pass through the same sober discipline a discipline that calms, but does not weaken the spirit -that blends together the understanding and the affections, and improves both by the mixture. The busy life of cities, the ordinary collisions of sarcasm and indifference, steel the mind against the emotions that are bred and nourished among those quiet valleys, so dear to the Shepherd Lord and his poet. What we cannot understand, it is a very common, and; indeed, a very natural thing, for us to undervalue; and it may be suspected, that some of the merriest witticisms which have been uttered against Mr. Wordsworth, have had their origin in the pettishness and dissatisfaction of minds unaccustomed and unwilling to make, either to others or to themselves, any confessions of incapacity.

But I am wandering sadly from him, who, as Wordsworth has beautifully expressed it,

"walked in glory and in joy,

Following his plough along the mountain side."

However, I shall come back to him in my next.

P. M.

LETTER XII.

TO THE SAME.

DEAR DAVID,

In order to catch the post a few days ago, I sent off my letter before my subject was half concluded; which, doubtless, you will attribute chiefly, or entirely, to my old passion for parentheses and episodes. To return to my epos -the Burn's dinner.

One of the best speeches, perhaps the very best, delivered during the whole of the evening, was that of Mr. J Wilson, in proposing the health of the Ettrick Shepherd. I had heard a great deal of Wilson from W, but he had been out of Edinburgh ever since my arrival, and indeed had walked only fifty miles that very morning, in order to be present on this occasion. He showed no symptoms, however, of being fatigued with his journey, and his style of eloquence, above all, whatever faults it might have, displayed certainly no deficiency of freshness and vigour. As I know you admire some of his verses very much, you will be pleased with a sketch of his appearance. He is, I imagine, (but I guess principally from the date of his Oxford prize poem) some ten years your junior and mine-a very robust athletic man, broad across the back-firm set upon his limbs -and having altogether very much of that sort of air which is inseparable from the consciousness of great bodily energies. I suppose in leaping, wrestling, or boxing, he might easily beat any of the poets, his contemporaries-and I rather suspect, that in speaking, he would have as easy a triumph over the whole of them, except Coleridge. In complexion, he is the best specimen I have ever seen of the genuine or ideal Goth. His hair is of the true Sicambrian yellow; his eyes are of the lightest, and at the same time of the clearest blue; and the blood glows in his cheek with as firm a fervour as it did, according to the description of Jornandes, in those of the "Bello gaudentes prælio ridentes Teutones" of Attila. I had never suspected before I saw him, that such extreme fairness and freshness of complexion could be compatible with so much variety and tenderness, but above all, with so much depth

of expression. His forehead is finely, but strangely shaped; the regions of pure fancy, and of pure wit being both developed in a very striking manner-which is but seldom the case in any one individual-and the organ of observation having projected the sinus frontalis to a degree that is altogether uncommon. I have never seen a physiognomy which could pass with so much rapidity from the serious to the most ludicrous of effects. It is more eloquent, both in its gravity and in its levity, than almost any countenance I am acquainted with is in any one cast of expression; and yet I am not without my suspicions, that the versatility of its language may, in the end, take away from its power.

In a convivial meeting-more particularly after the first two hours are over-the beauty to which men are most alive in any piece of eloquence is that which depends on its being impregnated and instinct with feeling. Of this beauty, no eloquence can be more full than that of Mr. J— Wilson. His declamation is often loose and irregular to an extent that is not quite worthy of a man of his fine education and masculine powers; but all is redeemed, and more than redeemed, by his rich abundance of quick, generous, and expansive feeling. The flashing brightness, and now and then the still more expressive dimness of his eye--and the tremulous music of a voice that is equally at home in the highest and the lowest of notes-and the attitude bent forward with an earnestness to which the graces could make no valuable addition—al! together compose an index which they that run may reada rod of communication to whose electricity no heart is barred. Inaccuracies of language are small matters when the ear is fed with the wild and mysterious cadences of the most natural of all melodies, and the mind filled to overflowing with the bright suggestions of an imagination, whose only fault lies in the uncontrollable profusion with which it scatters forth its fruits. With such gifts as these, and with the noblest of themes to excite and adorn them, I have no doubt, that Mr. Wilson, had he been in the church, would have left all the impassioned preachers I have ever heard, many thousand leagues behind him. Nor do I at all question, that even in some departments of his own profession of the law, had he in good earnest devoted his energies to its service, his success might have been equally brilliant. But his ambition had probably taken too decidedly another turn; nor, perhaps,

would it be quite fair, either to him or to ourselves, to wish that the thing had been otherwise.

As Mr. Wilson has not only a great admiration, but a great private friendship for Mr. Hogg, his eloquence displayed, it is probable, upon the present occasion, a large share of every feeling that might most happily inspire it. His theme was, indeed, the very best that the occasion could have thrown in his way; for what homage could be so appropriate, or so grateful to the manes of Burns, as that which sought to attain its object by welcoming and honouring the only worthy successor of his genius? I wish I could recall for your delight any portion of those glowing words in which this enthusiastic speaker strove to embody his own ideasand indeed those of his audience-concerning the high and holy connexion which exists between the dead and the living peasant-both " sprung from the very bosom of the people,' both identifying themselves in all things with the spirit of their station, and endeavouring to ennoble themselves only by elevating it. It was thus, indeed, that a national assembly might most effectually do honour to a national poet. This was the true spirit for a commemoration of Robert Burns.

The effect which Mr. Wilson's speech produced on Hogg himself, was, to my mind, by far the most delightful thing that happened during the whole of the night. The Shepherd was one of the stewards, and in every point of view he must have expected some particular notice to be taken of his name; but either be had not been prepared for being spoken of at so early an hour, or was entirely thrown off his balance by the extraordinary flood of eloquence which Mr. Wilson poured out to do honour to his genius; for nothing could be more visibly unaffected than the air of utter blank ainazement with which he rose to return his thanks. He rose, by the way, long before the time came. He bad listened to Mr. Wilson for some minutes, without comprehending the drift of his discourse; but when once he fairly discovered that he himself was the theme, he started to his feet, and with a face flushed all over deeper than scarlet, and eyes brimful of tears, devoured the words of the speaker,

"Like hungry Jew in wilderness,
Rejoicing o'er his manna."

His voice, when be essayed to address the company, seemed at first entirely to fail him; but he found means to make us

hear a very few words, which told better than any speech could have done: "I've aye been vera proud, gentlemen," (said he) "to be a Scot's poet--and I was never sae proud o't as I am just noo. I believe there was no one there who did not sympathize heartily with this most honest pride. For my part, I began to be quite in love with the Ettrick Shepherd.

In process of time, the less jovial members of the company began to effect their retreat, and W- and I, espying some vacant places at the table where Mr. Wilson and the Ettrick Shepherd were seated, were induced to shift our situation, for the sake of being nearer these celebrated characters. I was placed within a few feet of Hogg, and introduced to Wilson across the table, and soon found, from the way in which the bottle circulated in this quarter, that both of them inherited, in perfection, the old feud of Burns against the " aquæ potores." As to the bottle, indeed, I should exclude Hogg; for he, long before I came into his neighbourhood, had finished the bottle of port allowed by our traiteur, and was deep in a huge jug of whiskey toddy--in the manufacture of which he is supposed to excel almost as much as Burns didand in its consumption too, although happily in rather a more moderate degree.

After this time, I suspect the prescribed order of toasts began to be sadly neglected, for long speeches were uttered from remote corners, nobody knew by whom or about what; song after song was volunteer'd; and, all the cold restraints of sobriety being gradually thawed by the sun of festive cheer,

"Wit walked the rounds, and music filled the air."

The inimitable "Jolly Beggars" of the poet, which has lately been set to music, was got up in high style, the songs being exquisitely sung by Messrs. Swift, Templeton, and Lees, and the recitative read with much effect by Mr. B. But even this entertainment, with all its inherent variety, was too regular for the taste of the assembly. The chairman himself broke in upon it the first, by proposing a very appropriate toast, which I shall attempt to naturalize in Cardiganshire; this again called up a very old gentleman, who conceived that some compliment had been intended for a club of which he is president; in short, compliments and toasts became so interlaced and interlarded, that nobody could think of taking up the thread of "The Jolly Beggars" again. By the way, this