tility of Scott's genius was to be its most wonderful distinction. In 1806 the Whigs came into power. John Clerk was appointed Solicitor-General, Henry Erskine was replaced as Lord Advocate, and the Earl of Lauderdale became the real Scotch minister. A provision was now made for Dugald Stewart. A new office, called the Printer of the Edinburgh Gazette, was created, and given to him, with a salary of £300, and some emoluments arising from the sale of the paper. It was at a public dinner given on the 27th June, 1806, in honour of the acquittal of Lord Melville, that Scott and James Ballantyne sang the song so often brought against him afterwards, in which, Fox being then in his last illness, there is a line, cheering Tally Ho to the Fox.' Lord Cockburn's remarks on this subject are worthy of extract: If (he remarks), as was said, Scott really intended this as a shout of triumph over the expiring orator, it was an indecency which no fair license of party zeal can palliate. But I am inclined to believe that nothing was meant beyond one of the jocular and not unnatural exultations over the defeated leaders of the impeachment, of which this song is composed. There were some important persons, however, whose good opinion, by this indiscretion, was lost to Scott for ever. When the Tories returned to power in 1807, Henry Cockburn happened to be in London. He was sent for by Lord Melville, and his nephew Robert Dundas, the Lord Chief Baron. He was surprised on being offered one of the Advocate Deputyships, and objected to take it on the ground that his opinions were not those of the Government. To this it was answered that the place was offered and its acceptance urged solely from family connexion, and without the understanding of any political tie. Cockburn consulted Horner, who saw no good likely to come of it, and yet no decent ground on which the place could be refused from kindred. Cockburn therefore accepted. In July, 1810, Lord Cockburn states he had the honour of being dismissed by the Lord Advo cate. 87 The grounds of dismissal were, that he had never been adequately of the Lord Advocate's party, and that he had voted against him at a faculty meeting a few days before. Cockburn reminded the functionary of the terms on which he had unwillingly accepted the office; to which it was replied, that the Lord Advocate and the friends to whom he owed the place deemed his scruples a 'youthful fervour' which was expected to wear off. Cockburn married in March, 1811, and became a twenty-acred laird at Bonaly,' close by the base of the Pentland Hills. Here the boy who never got a prize, and who once sat boobie, tells us he read one summer every word of Tacitus, in the sheltered crevice of a rock eight hundred feet above the level of the sea. Though Whig opinions were dangerous accompaniments at this season to success in Scotland, yet the small band of Scotch Whig lawyers, though not very cordially received by their seniors on their own side, were working their way upwards. The Edinburgh Review, with which many of them were connected, fixed upon them a large portion of the general fame of the work. They were also aided by the fame of such of their fellows as were rising into importance in England,namely, Horner, Brougham, Sydney Smith, Allen, Kennedy, and others. Among the foremost of these advccates were Cranstoun, J. A. Murray, Thomson, Bell, Macfarlane, Moncrieff, and Cockburn himself. At this period, and for many years before, Henry Mackenzie's excellent conversation, and the interest attached to age and reputation, rendered his house one of the pleasantest in Edinburgh. The title of the 'Man of Feeling' adhered to him till the last. Strangers used to fancy that he must be a sentimental Harley, whereas he was a hardheaded practical man; as full of wisdom' (says Lord Cockburn)' as most of his fictitious characters are devoid of it.' In person he was thin and shrivelled, with something of the clever, wicked look of Voltaire. The Edinburgh folk used to be divided at this time, Lord Cockburn tells us, as to the superiority of His Scott's poetry or his talk. novels had not yet begun to suggest another alternative. It is said, however, by this very competent authority, that scarcely even in his novels was Scott more striking or delightful than in society, Where the halting limb, the burr in the throat, the heavy cheeks, the high Goldsmith forehead, the general plainness of appearance, graced by gaiety, simplicity, and kindness, made a combination most worthy of being enjoyed. Jeffrey, Scott's twin star, made, says our memorialist, a good contrast. He was sharp English, with few anecdotes and no storiesbright in moral speculation, wit, and colloquial eloquence, and beloved for the constant transpiration' of an affectionate and cheerful heart. Lord Cockburn graphically tells of the impression produced in Edinburgh by the publication of the Waverley novels. Except the opening of the Edinburgh Review, no work in Scotland made such an instant and universal impression. The concealment completely succeeded in heightening the mystery. Henry Mackenzie, George Cranstoun, William Erskine, Jeffrey, and Scott's brother, were all mentioned as the authors; but the Great Unknown, says Lord Cockburn, always took good care, with all his concealment, to supply sufficient evidence for the protection of his property and fame. In 1815 (says this agreeable reminiscent), Jeffrey set up his rustic household gods at Craigcrook, where all his subsequent summers have been passed. This was scarcely a mere private ar rangement. No unofficial house in Scotland has had a greater influence on literary or political opinion. Nothing can efface the days that have passed there from the memory of his friends, -the Craigcrook Saturdays during the summer session. Escape from the court and the town: scenery, evergreens, bouts, talk, mirth, friendship, and wine, inspire better luxury than the Castle of Indolence, without any of its dulness. No one of those eminent Scotchmen who had emigrated from Edinburgh to London enjoyed the progress of sound opinion more than Francis Horner. But the seeds of a fatal complaint had exhibited themselves in 1816, and Horner died in Italy, in February, 1817. Every virtuous heart,' says Lord Cockburn, pay. The valuable and peculiar light in which Horner stands out-the light in which his history is calculated to inspire every right-minded youth, is this-he died at the age of thirty-eight, possessed of greater public influence than any other private man, and admired, beloved, trusted, and deplored by all except the heartless or the base. No greater homage was ever paid in Parliament to any deceased member. Now let every young man ask how was this attained. By rank? He was the son of an Edinburgh merchant. By wealth? Neither he nor any of his relatives ever had a superfluous sixpence. By office? He held but one, and only for a few years, of no influence, and with little very By talents? His were not splendid, and he had no genius; cautious and slow, his only ambition was to be right. By eloquence? He spoke in calm good taste, without any of the oratory that either terrifies or seduces. By any fascination of manner? His was only correct and agreeable. By what, then, was it? Merely by sense, industry, good principles, and a good heart-qualities which no well-constituted mind need ever despair of attaining. It was the force of his character that raised him, and this character not impressed upon him by nature, but formed out of no peculiarly fine elements by himself. Horner was born to show what moderate powers, unaided by anything whatever except culture and goodness, may achieve, even when these powers are displayed amidst the competition and jealousy of public life. Lord Cockburn gives a full account of our contemporary, Blackwood, and states that it was to its personality, far more than even to its unquestionable talent and spirited writing, that its influence for a long time was owing. Lord Cockburn also gives the history of the scandalous Beacon newspaper, but it were better for all parties that these matters were buried in oblivion. After an absence of nearly half a century, Lord Erskine revisited his native country early in 1820, and remained in Edinburgh for about two months. William Adam was then living in Edinburgh, and showed off the great advocate and ex-Chancellor excellently. The 1856.] Chalmers-Whig Dinners. Whigs gave him a public dinner. Erskine spoke several times, always elegantly, gently, and with liveliness; and once or twice disclosed gleams of his better days. His strange superstitiousness survived. He repeated the story of having seen and talked with his mother's gardener or his ghost after he was dead, and said that since he had come to Edinburgh he had stood on the very spot where the interview took place. Of the great luminary of the Scottish Church, Chalmers, Lord Cockburn gives interesting details: When I first became acquainted with him (says Lord Cockburn) he used to leave his parish of Kilmany twice or thrice a-week to lecture in St. Andrew's on chemistry. In the position of an indifferent minister, and a lecturer rather ardent than exact, he produced a strong impression of his energy and ability on all within his range. But it was only on being elevated with the deep religious feelings which afterwards took possession of him that his powers were deve loped in their full force. Though awkward, and with a low, rough, husky voice, a guttural articulation, a whitish eye, and a dingy countenance, he became a great orator-in spite of external disadvantages and unusual plainness of Scotch accent. For effect (says Lord Cockburn) he was unapproached in our day. The Fox dinner was given in Edinburgh on the 24th of January, 1825. Jeffrey presided (Moncrieff was vice-chairman), and spoke with great thought and beauty of diction. This was the last of these political banquets, and they did great good: they animated and instructed and consolidated the Whig party. A kindred gathering was held in April, 1825, when a public dinner was given to Henry Brougham 89 upon his first return to Edinburgh. About eight hundred and fifty persons were present, more than had ever attended a public political dinner in Scotland; and of these, seven hundred and fifty openly professed Whiggism. Lord Cockburn was in the chair, and Brougham told him that he would rather endure the Speaker's call in St. Stephen's a hundred times, than rise and address the audience before him, which was the largest he had ever spoken to under a roof. Lord Cockburn gives a melancholy account of the bankruptcy of Scott, and of the ruin of Constable and Ballantyne: How humbled we all felt (he mournfully says, speaking of Scott) when we saw him, the pride of us all, dashed from his lofty and honourable station, and all the fruits of his well-worked talents gone. He had not then even a political enemy. In January, 1830, Sir Samuel Shepherd resigned his Chief Baronship, and James Abercromby, to his amazement, was sent for by the Duke of Wellington, and offered the place, which, after great hesitation, he accepted. In the close of the year Earl Grey came into power, and under his government Jeffrey was made Lord Advocate, and Cockburn Solicitor-General of Scotland. With this announcement Lord Cockburn closes his interesting Memorials of his Time- a work written in a candid, generous, and most gentlemanly spirit-distinguished by the vivacity, clearness, and colour of its style, and by the impression which it conveys that the writer possessed a clear head, a sound judgment, and an honest and kindly heart. SKETCHES ON THE NORTH COAST. BY A NATURALIST. No. III. THE SHORES OF THE SCAMANder. THE evenings of this season of the year, when spring is bursting into summer,-are often very lovely, and to the naturalist full of interest. Through the open window I hear the trout leaping in the burn that whimples through the glen, and the sullen plunge of the rat as he takes the water from his hole. From the opposite side of the bay come at intervals the hoarse and querulous notes of the partridge, and the shrill and plaintive call of the curlew, who have their nests among the sandhills beside the sea. A great grey moth stirs into uneasy life against the window-pane, while a pair of bats flit noiselessly through the twilight. Along the West the purple tinge grows slowly fainter and more faint, and now the goldencrested clouds hang athwart the sky like faded drapery. The sea, as I have mentioned, forms, some miles to the Nor'ard' a large estuary, which swells into a miniature lake when the tide is full, but where, at low water, the whole space of sand and sea-weed is left bare, except the narrow channel in the centre, through which are carried the scanty waters of the Scamander. There twice a-day the Severn fills, The salt sea-water passes by, I have frequently, when fishing at light begins slowly to gather upon the sullen sky. When we are able to look abroad, the world is motionless and inanimate, and a cloud of stifling mildew hangs over the river. The sheep had begun to bleat when it was yet dark, and now the voices of countless water-birds, who have been waiting for the deposit which the retreating tide leaves behind, answer each other mournfully through the damp air of the early morning. more The estuary of the Scamander is a favourite resort of the sea-troutthe most beautiful of its scaly brethren. Fishing in the tide-way, as it is practised on (or rather in, for the fisher is commonly up to the armpits) the rivers of the north of Scotland, does not require such delicate manipulation as the more recondite subtleties of the craft. The fly is nothing better than a rough imitation of the sand-eel, which in these situations is the abundant and favourite food of the trout. It is trolled rapidly some two or three inches below the surface, in a succession of primitive jerks which would sadden the soul of Stoddart; but the most accomplished angling could not prove effective and on a breezy morning the basket of the merest tyro may be speedily filled with splendid fellows, weighing from two to four pounds. Splendid fellows, indeed!as in the white scales of their burnished armour they cast themselves, panic-stricken, high into the sunlight, or with dogged pertinacity strain the line along the bottom of the pool, in the wild hope to rid themselves of the obstinate little enemy who, despite their struggles, will viciously cling to them till death. But if the lift be too clear, and the breeze too fickle, there is still no lack of occupation for any man who knows how to use his eyes. It is, you perceive, a thriving locality,-densely peopled. A line of sentry herons, standing sedately, and with an affectation of infinite gravity, are posted along the margin of the river. They have not moved a muscle of their long faces for the last hour, and their reflec tion on the still water is as steady and consistent as if they had been carved in stone. Wading birds of all kinds are scattered over the sands and among the pools of salt water which the tide has left in the hollows. Both the whaup and the whimbrel appear in considerable force, and there are dense clouds of the dunlin and the green-brown sandpiper. Every minute, touched by some imaginary alarm, they take to wing, and shift and wheel and retreat, and execute the flank movement against the enemy with exquisite dexterity and precision,-the noise of their many wings sounding as they approach like the beat of summer rain upon the water. The bank on the opposite side is decorated with the architectural designs of the sand-martin; and the swallows, who have their nests in the eaves and crannies of the old castle upon the shore, have come up the river for their mid-day meal. Marching majestically about are a pair of the great black-backed gulls, and a crowd of young mottled kittiwakes are bending and bowing over the water, just resting the tips of their wing-feathers upon it, as they pick, with shrill screams, the sea-weed from its surface. Some years ago I caught one of the former here, whose wing had been injured by a shot, and earried him off captive to the kitchen-garden, where he was introduced to a select society of the smaller gulls. For some days he was extremely shy and obstinate, resolutely refused to eat, and shut himself up in a pet within the shelter of an inaccessible pricklythorn. His voracity, however, proved stronger than his obstinacy, and he eventually capitulated-at discretion. He soon became nearly as tame as his companions, though an attentive observer might always perceive a certain dignity and reserve in his character. No familiarity from the other gulls would he permit, and one day he almost killed outright an unfortunate kitty who had incautiously possessed herself of a tit-bit which he 91 had destined for himself. Indeed, the only bird with whom he ever manifested any desire to become on intimate terms was a female peregrine, whose lustrous black eyes had evidently won his affections. As the admiration, however, was not returned, he prudently kept out of reach of her claws; but he would stand by the hour on his yellow legs, and gaze with drowsy emotion on the charmer through the barred windows of her cage. He was choked last year while indiscreetly attempting to swallow a large perch, and, like the German lover, died with his eyes fixed on the abode of his mistress. A few pairs of the common sheldrake burrow among the bents by the water-side, and the trail that passes near where we are sitting, indicates the route they follow from their nests to the sea. It is so with the puffin, one of the few birds that burrow like rabbits in the earth, and they sometimes go so far down that it is difficult to dig them up. The holes which they select have generally two entrances, so that,' says an old Swedish naturalist, if the one is not stopped, it is in vain to look for the bird at the other.' The young make for the water immediately upon being hatched, and I have frequently seen a large family in the middle of the stream, all of whom, to judge from their size, must have been in the shell on the previous morning. They swim, for such morsels, with remarkable rapidity, but if the water is low and clear they are easily kept in sight. When alarmed, they dive at once about half way to the bottom, and then swim straight out, until, obliged to rise for air, they gradually approach the surface. But even at that early age they are quite acquainted with the necessity of concealment for instinct is, as it were, born with the bird, and the point of the bill is the only part of the whole body which shows above the water. They are wild little morsels, when caught, and are so delicate and fastidious that it is difficult to rear them. The old drakes, however, are gorgeous birds, and the rich red and white of their plumage give colour and vivacity to our 'grey sea' and sombre bents. Notwith |