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— W-n, in proposing the health of the Ettrick Shepherd. I had heard a great deal of W-n 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▬▬▬▬ W▬▬▬▬▬▬▬n. 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 feelfeeling. 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-all 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. W-n, 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. Wn has not only a great admiration, but a great private friendship for Mr. H, 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 connection 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. Wn's speech produced on Hhimself, 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 he 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. Wn poured out to do honour to his genius; for nothing could be more visibly unaffected than the air of utter blank amazement with which he rose to return his thanks. He rose, by the way, long before the time came. He had listened to Mr. Wn 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, His voice, when he 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: "Fve aye been vera proud, gentlemen," (said he) "to be a Sets poet-and I was never sae proud o't as I am just noo. Ielieve 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. Wn 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 H, and introduced to Wn 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 H-; 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 be gan 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 muic, 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 toa became so interlaced and interlarded, that nobody could think of taking up the thread of "The Jolly Beggars" again. By the way, this inimitable Cantata is not to be found in Currie's edition, and I suspect you are a stranger even to its name; and yet, had Burns left nothing more than this behind him, I think he would still have left enough to justify all the honour in which his genius is held. There does not exist, in any one piece throughout the whole range of English poetry, such a collection of true, fresh, and characteristic lyrics. Here we have nothing, indeed, that is very high, but we have much that is very tender. What can be better in its way, than the fine song of the Highland Widow, "wha had in money a well been douked?” "A Highland lad my love was born, |