The Genius of Scotland Part 3

"By catching at crag after crag, and digging their fingers into the interstices of the rocks, they succeeded in mounting a considerable way; but the weather was now so thick, they could receive but little a.s.sistance from their eyes; and thus they continued to climb, almost in utter darkness, like men struggling up a precipice in the night-mare.

They at length reached a shelving table of the cliff, above which the ascent, for ten or twelve feet, was perpendicular; and having fixed their ladder, the whole party lay down to recover breath.

"From this place they could hear the tread and voices of the 'check watches,' or patrol, above; and, surrounded by the perils of such a moment, it is not wonderful that some illusions may have mingled with their thoughts. They even imagined that they were seen from the battlements, although, being themselves unable to see the warders, this was highly improbable. It became evident, notwithstanding, from the words they caught here and there in the pauses of the night-wind, that the conversation of the English soldiers above related to a surprise of the Castle; and at length these appalling words broke like thunder on their ears: 'Stand! I see you well!' A fragment of the rock was hurled down at the same instant; and as rushing from crag to crag it bounded over their heads, Randolph and his brave followers, in this wild, helpless, and extraordinary situation, felt the damp of mortal terror gathering upon their brow, as they clung with a death-grip to the precipice.

"The startled echoes of the rock were at length silent, and so were the voices above. The adventurers paused, listening breathless; no sound was heard but the sighing of the wind, and the measured tread of the sentinel who had resumed his walk. The men thought they were in a dream, and no wonder; for the incident just mentioned, which is related by Barbour, was one of the most singular coincidences that ever occurred. The shout of the sentinel and the missile he had thrown, were merely a boyish freak; and while listening to the echoes of the rock, he had not the smallest idea that the sounds which gave pleasure to him carried terror and almost despair into the hearts of the enemy.

"The adventurers, half uncertain whether they were not the victims of some illusion, determined that it was as safe to go on as to turn back; and pursuing their laborious and dangerous path, they at length reached the bottom of the wall. This last barrier they scaled by means of their ladder; and leaping down among the astonished check-watches, they cried their war-cry, and in the midst of answering shouts of 'treason!

treason!' notwithstanding the desperate resistance of the garrison, captured the Castle of Edinburgh."

Sit down here on the edge of this parapet. That huge cannon there is called Mons Meg, from being cast at _Mons_, in Flanders, and reminds us, somewhat significantly, of the terrible use to which all the arrangements of the Castle are applied.[12] How singular, that men have to be governed and controlled like bull-dogs, that castles and dungeons, halters, and cannon, are necessary to keep them from stealing each other's property, or cutting each other's throats! Surely mankind have ills enough to bear without turning upon each other like tigers.

[Footnote 12: At present it is used as a barracks for soldiers and a magazine of arms.]

"Many and sharp the numerous ills, Inwoven with our frame!

More pointed still we make ourselves, Regret, remorse, and shame; And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn."

BURNS.

But all is quiet now. The tendency of the times is to peace; and Edinburgh Castle, Mons Meg, and the whole array of cannon bristling over the precipice, are but objects of natural curiosity or of poetical interest.

Do you see yonder turreted building, with high pointed gables and castellated walls, in the Elizabethan style, just beyond the Gra.s.s Market. That is George Heriot's Hospital, one of the proudest monuments of the city, and one of the most beautiful symbols of its peaceful prosperity. It was founded by the rich and benevolent George Heriot, jeweller to King James the Sixth, "Jingling Geordie," as he is quaintly termed in the "Fortunes of Nigel." It is of vast extent, as you perceive, and presents a good specimen of the mixed style of architecture prevalent in the days of Queen Mary. The object of this n.o.ble inst.i.tution is the maintenance and education of poor and fatherless boys, or of boys in indigent circ.u.mstances, "freemen's sons of the town of Edinburgh." Of these, one hundred and eighty receive ample board and education within its walls. By this means they are thoroughly prepared for the active business of life, each receiving at his dismissal a Bible, and other useful books, with two suits of clothes chosen by himself. Those going out as apprentices are allowed $50 per annum for five years, and $25 at the termination of their apprenticeship. Boys of superior scholarship are permitted to stay longer in the inst.i.tution, and are fitted for college. For this purpose they receive $150 per annum, for four years. Connected with this inst.i.tution are seven free schools, in the different parishes of the city, for the support of which its surplus funds are applied. In these upwards of two thousand children receive a good common school education.

The girls, in addition to the ordinary branches, are taught knitting and sewing.

In addition to these provisions for the education of the poor, there are also ten "bursaries," or university scholarships, open to the compet.i.tion of young men, not connected with the inst.i.tution. The successful candidates receive $100 per annum for four years. No wonder that Sir Walter Scott felt authorized to put into the mouth of the princely founder of these charities the striking sentiment: "I think mine own estate and memory, as I shall order it, has a fair chance of outliving those of greater men."

Edinburgh abounds in charitable hospitals, and particularly in free educational inst.i.tutions, in the support of which the citizens evince a laudable enthusiasm. Thus, for example, we have Watson's Hospital, the Merchant Maiden's Hospital, the Trades' Maiden Hospital, Trinity College Hospital, Cauvin's Hospital, a little out of the city; Gillespie's Hospital, Donaldson's Hospital, Chalmers's Hospital, the House of Refuge, the House of Industry, the Strangers' Friend Society, the Inst.i.tution for the Relief of poor old Men, and another for the Relief of indigent old Women, and many others.

Below us, on one side of High Street, you see the fine old Gothic Cathedral of St. Giles. It was founded in the twelfth or thirteenth century, and named after St. Giles, abbot and confessor, and tutelar saint of Edinburgh in the olden time. The Scottish poet, Gavin Douglas, bishop of Dunkeld, was sometime provost of St. Giles. He translated Virgil into English, the first version of a cla.s.sic ever made in Britain, and was the author of "The Palace of Honor," from which some have absurdly supposed that John Bunyan borrowed the idea of the "Pilgrim's Progress." This edifice is interesting, chiefly as connecting the past with the present condition of Scotland, and indicating the mighty transitions through which it has pa.s.sed. In the fifteenth century incense ascended from forty different altars within its walls; now it contains three Protestant places of worship. Once it enshrined the relics of St. Giles; now its cemetery contains the body of John Knox! On the 13th of October, 1643, "the solemn League and Covenant" was sworn to and subscribed within its walls, by the Committee of the Estates of Parliament, the Commission of the Church, and the English Commission.

The sacred vessels and relics which it contained, including the arm-bone of the patron saint, were seized by the magistrates of the city, and the proceeds of their sale applied to the repairing of the building.

Puritanism has thus often showed itself a rough and tempestuous reformer; nevertheless it possesses wonderful vitality, and has conferred upon Scotland the blessings of civil and religious liberty.

Its outer form is often hard and defective, and its movements irregular and convulsive, but its inner spirit is ever generous and free. Its rudeness and excess none will approve; its life, energy, and activity, all will admire. It came forth, like a thunder-cloud, from the mountains. Its quick lightning-flashes went crashing amid the old images of papal worship. The atmosphere of spiritual pollution was agitated and purified. Upon the parched ground fell gentle and refreshing showers.

The sun of freedom began to smile upon hill and valley, and the whole land rejoiced under its placid influence.

CHAPTER IV.

John Knox's House--History of the Reformer--His Character--Carlyle's View--Testimony of John Milton.

Let us now descend from the Castle, and, pa.s.sing down High Street, turn to the left, at the head of the Nether-bow, where we shall see the house of that stern but glorious old reformer, John Knox. There it is, looking mean enough now among those miserable gin-shops, paint-shops, and so forth; yet hallowed by the recollections of the past. Over the door is an inscription, invisible from the numerous sign-boards that cover it, containing the spirit and essence of that lofty Puritanism which Knox preached:

"LUFE . G.o.d . ABOVE . ALL . AND . YOUR . NICHBOUR . AS . YOURSELF."

In this house Knox lived many years; here also he died in holy triumph; and from that little window he is said frequently to have addressed the populace. A rude stone effigy of the Reformer may be seen at the corner, and near it, cut in the stone, the name of G.o.d, in Greek, Latin, and English. It is gratifying to know that measures have recently been taken to erect a monument to Knox, near this spot, which shall be worthy of his memory.

The character of Knox has been terribly blackened by heartless and infidel historians, and especially by sickly sentimentalists of the Werter school. Nevertheless, he was a n.o.ble-hearted, truth-loving, sham-hating, G.o.d-fearing, self-sacrificing man; a hero in the proper sense of the word, a minister of righteousness, an angel of Reform. Not, indeed, a soft, baby-faced, puling sentimentalist; but a lofty, iron-hearted man, who "never feared the face of clay," and did G.o.d's will, in spite of devils, popes, and kings. His history possesses the deepest and most romantic interest. It is one of the most magnificent pa.s.sages in Scottish story. Bruce battled for a crown; Knox battled for the truth. Both conquered, after long toils and struggles; and conquered mainly by the might of their single arm. But the glory which irradiates the head of the Reformer far outshines that of the hero of Bannockburn, for the latter is earthly and evanescent; the former celestial and immortal.

John Knox was born in Haddington, not far from Edinburgh, of poor but honest parents, in the year 1505; grew up in solitude; was destined for the church; received a thorough collegiate education; became an honest friar; wore the monk's cowl for many years; adopted silently and unostentatiously the principles of the Protestant Reformation; spent much of his time in teaching, and in the prosecution of liberal studies, of which he was considered a master; was suddenly and unexpectedly called, at St. Andrews, by the unanimous voice of his brethren, to the preaching of the Word, and the defence of their religious liberties; after a brief struggle with himself yielded to the call, n.o.bly threw himself into the breach, at the hazard of his life, attacked "Papal idolatry" with unsparing vigor, was seized by the authorities, and sent a prisoner to France in 1547, where he worked in the galleys as a slave, but evermore maintaining his lofty courage and cheerful hope; was set at liberty two years afterwards; preached in England in the time of Edward the Sixth; refused a bishopric from the best of kings; retired to the continent at the accession of Mary, residing chiefly at Geneva and Frankfort; returned to Scotland in 1555; labored with indomitable perseverance to establish Protestantism; rebuked the great for immorality, profaneness and rapacity, and succeeded in greatly strengthening the cause of truth and freedom. At the earnest solicitation of the English congregation in Geneva, he went thither a second time; there he published "The First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment (Government) of Women," directed princ.i.p.ally against Mary, Queen of England, and Mary of Guise, Regent of Scotland, two narrow-minded miserable despots; returned to Scotland in 1559; continued his exertions in behalf of Christ's truth; did much to establish common schools; finally saw Protestantism triumphant in Scotland; and died in 1572, so poor that his family had scarce sufficient to bury him, but with the universal love and homage of his countrymen, a conscience void of offence, and a hope full of immortality. "He had a sore fight of an existence; wrestling with popes and princ.i.p.alities; in defeat, contention, life-long struggle; rowing as a galley-slave, wandering as an exile. A sore fight, but he won it.

'Have you hope?' they asked him in his last moment when he could no longer speak. He lifted his finger, 'pointed upwards with his finger,'

and so died. Honor to him! His works have not died. The letter of his work dies, as of all men's; but the spirit of it never."[13]

[Footnote 13: Carlyle--"Hero Worship," p. 174.]

Knox has been much abused for his violent treatment of Queen Mary. His addresses and appeals to her have been characterized as impudent and cruel; but, thoroughly inspected, they will be found the reverse. Strong and startling they were, but neither impudent nor cruel. Doubtless they fell upon her ear like the tones of some old prophet, sternly rebuking sin, or vindicating the rights of G.o.d. Mary was a woman of matchless beauty; and had she been educated differently, might have blessed the world with the mild l.u.s.tre of her Scottish reign; but she was the dupe of bad counsels, in spirit and practice a despot, the plaything of pa.s.sion, and the reckless opposer of the best interests of her country.

Her beauty and sufferings have shed a false l.u.s.tre over her character; above all, have aided in concealing the terrible stain of infidelity to her marriage vows, and the implied murder of her wretched husband, charges which her apologists can extenuate, but not deny. But, forsooth, it is an insufferable thing for a plain honest-hearted man like John Knox to tell the truth to such an one! She was young, beautiful, fascinating; and however recklessly, madly, ruinously wrong, he must not advise her--above all, must not warn her! Now, such a notion may possibly commend itself to your "absolute gentlemen, of very soft society, full of most excellent differences and great showing; indeed, to speak feelingly of them, who are the card and calendar of gentry;"

but it cannot be imposed upon our plain common sense. Mary was a queen, however, and John Knox a poor plebeian! Aye, aye! that is a difficulty!

Kings and queens may do what they please. The people are made for them, not they for the people. And sure enough it is a vulgar thing to oppose them in their ambitious schemes, or to tell them the honest truth be-times! Poor John Knox! thou must fall down and worship "a painted bredd" after all. A beautiful queen must be spared, if Scotland should perish. But looking at the matter from the free atmosphere of New England, we maintain that John Knox was of higher rank than Mary Queen of Scots. He was more true, more heroic, more kingly, than all the race of the Stuarts. He had a right, in G.o.d's name, to speak the truth, "to reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with all long-suffering." Hence, though his words were stern and appalling, they were uttered with a kind and generous intention. "Madame," said Knox, when he saw Mary burst into tears from vexation and grief, "in G.o.d's presence I speak; I never delighted in the weeping of any of G.o.d's creatures, yea, _I can scarcely well abide the tears of mine own boys_, when mine own hands correct them, much less can I rejoice in your Majesty's weeping; but seeing I have offered unto you no just occasion to be offended, I must sustain your Majesty's tears, rather than I dare hurt my conscience, or betray the commonwealth by silence."

Yes, he was a stern old puritan, a lion of a man, who made terrible havoc among the "painted bredds" of Popery, and turned back the fury of wild barons and persecuting priests. "His single voice," says Randolph, "could put more life into a host than six hundred bl.u.s.tering trumpets."

Single handed, he met the rage of a disappointed government and an infuriated priesthood, and conquered by the silent might of his magnanimous audacity. In the wildest whirl of contending emotion, he never lost sight of the great end of his being, as a servant of G.o.d, nor swerved a hair's breadth from truth and right.

Yet this stern old Covenanter was not without a touch of gentleness and even of hilarity. He loved his home, his children, and his friends. An honest, quiet laugh often mantled his pale earnest visage. "They go far wrong," says Carlyle, whose thorough appreciation of such men as Luther, Cromwell, and Knox, is truly refreshing amid the vapid inanities or coa.r.s.e prejudices of ordinary historians, "who think that Knox was a gloomy, spasmodic, shrieking fanatic. Not at all. He is one of the solidest of men. Practical, cautious, hopeful, patient; a most shrewd, observing, quietly discerning man. In fact, he has very much the type of character we a.s.sign to the Scotch at present: a certain sardonic taciturnity is in him; insight enough; and a stouter heart than he himself knows of. * * An honest-hearted, brotherly man; brother to the high, brother also to the low; sincere in his sympathy with both."

Knox, doubtless, had his faults; and what of that? He made some mistakes! and what, too, of that? Was he not a true man, and a true minister of G.o.d's Word? Did he not accomplish a great and beneficial work of Reform; and, having done this, did he not die a sweet and triumphant death? G.o.d has set his seal upon him, and upon his work; and that is enough for us.

We hesitate not, with Carlyle, to name the Reformation under Knox as the great era in Scottish history, as the one glorious event which gave life to the nation. Thence resulted freedom, activity, purity of morals, science, national and individual greatness. Previous to this event Scotland possessed only a rough, tumultuous physical life; her politics--dissensions and executions; her religion--a puerile superst.i.tion;--her literature--ballads and monkish legends; her joy--hunting, fighting, and drinking! But the Reformation breathed into her the breath of a spiritual existence. Her national prosperity dates from that era. Thence proceeded faith and order, education, industry, and wealth. "It was not a smooth business; but it was welcome surely, and cheap at that price, had it been far rougher. On the whole, cheap at any price, as life is. The people began to _live_; they needed first of all to _do that_, at what cost and costs soever. Scottish literature and thought, Scotch industry, James Watt, David Hume, Walter Scott, Robert Burns. I find Knox and the Reformation acting in the heart's core of every one of these persons and phenomena; I find that, without the Reformation, they would not have been. Or what of Scotland? The Puritanism of Scotland became that of England, of New England. A tumult in the High Church of Edinburgh spread into a universal battle and struggle over all these realms; and there came out of it, after fifty years' struggling, what we all call 'the Glorious Revolution,' a Habeas Corpus Act, Free Parliaments, and much else."

It has become fashionable of late, in certain quarters, to undervalue the Reformation, and contemn those great and rugged spirits by whom it was accomplished. A sentimental, baby-hearted, superst.i.tion-smitten generation, cannot appreciate those mighty men, and mightier reforms of the olden time. But how well and worthily does the large-hearted and ethereal Milton speak of it: "When I recall to mind, at last, after so many dark ages, wherein the huge over-shadowing train of error had almost swept all the stars out of the firmament of the church; how the bright and blissful Reformation, by Divine power, struck through the black and settled night of ignorance and anti-Christian tyranny, methinks a sovereign and reviving joy must needs rush into the bosom of him that reads or hears, and the sweet odor of the returning Gospel imbathe his soul with the fragrancy of Heaven. Then was the sacred Bible sought out of the dusty corners, where profane falsehood and neglect had thrown it, the schools opened, divine and human learning raked out of the embers of forgotten tongues; the princes and cities trooping apace to the new-erected banner of salvation; the martyrs, with the unresistible might of weakness, shaking the powers of darkness, and scorning the fiery rage of the red old dragon."[14] A n.o.ble testimony like this far outweighs all the cant of a whining sentimentalism. Its truth, as well as its eloquence, all must admit.

[Footnote 14: "Of Reformation in England." By John Milton.]

CHAPTER V.

Edinburgh University--Professor Wilson--His Life and Writings, Genius and Character.

We will now re-enter High Street, and thence turn at right angles into South-bridge Street, and proceed to the University. It is a large and imposing structure, but fails to produce its proper impression from the circ.u.mstance of being wedged in among such a ma.s.s of other buildings. We enter by a magnificent portico on the right, supported by Doric columns, twenty-six feet in height, each formed of a single block of stone, and find ourselves in a s.p.a.cious quadrangular court, surrounded by the various college edifices. The buildings are of free stone, beautifully polished, and of recent erection, the old buildings, which were unsightly and incommodious, having been taken down to make way for this elegant and s.p.a.cious structure. The University itself was founded by King James the Sixth, in the year 1582, and has enjoyed uninterrupted prosperity to the present time. The average number of students is from ten to twelve hundred. The Rev. Dr. Lee, one of the most amiable and learned men, is at present Princ.i.p.al of the University, and the various chairs are filled by gentlemen of distinguished talent. The students are not resident within the college, but choose their boarding-houses, at pleasure, in any part of the city. They are not distinguished, as at Glasgow and Oxford by any peculiar badge; are of all ages, and enjoy the liberty of selecting the cla.s.ses which they attend. Those however who take degrees are required to attend a particular course, but this is not done by more than one-half or at most two-thirds of the students. The government of the University is not particularly strict. The examinations are limited and imperfect; and hence it is very possible for a young man to slip through the University, without contracting any great tincture of scholarship. It is mainly the talent of the professors, and the high literary enthusiasm they inspire, which sustain the inst.i.tution. There are thirty-four foundations for bursaries or scholarships, the benefit of which is extended to eighty students. The aggregate amount is about fifty dollars a year, for each. The Annual Session lasts from October to May, with an occasional holiday, and a week or two's vacation at Christmas. The rest of the year which includes most of the summer and autumn is vacation, which gives the professors an opportunity for rest and preparation, and the students facilities either for private study, or for teaching and other employments. This order prevails in all the other Scottish Universities, and is attended with many advantages. But a truce to general remarks.

We have not time to visit the Museum, which is quite extensive and admirably arranged, nor the Library, which is distinguished by its ample dimensions and beautiful decorations. Neither can we dwell upon the celebrated men who have encircled this Inst.i.tution with a halo of literary and scientific glory. But we will step into that door in front of us, ascend the stairs, and enter the lecture-room of Professor Wilson, the far famed "Christopher North," poet and novelist, orator, critic and philosopher. The young gentlemen have a.s.sembled, but the Professor has not yet come in. Good looking but noisy fellows these!

Some of them, you perceive, are very young, others are considerably advanced in years. Most of them are well dressed, some poorly so. A few look studious and care-worn, but the majority hearty and joyous. How their clear loud laugh rings through the hall! They are from all ranks of society, some being the sons of n.o.blemen, others of farmers and mechanics. Most of them probably have wherewithal to pay their college expenses, but not a few, you may rely on it, are sorely pinched. The Scots are an ambitious, study-loving race, and quite a number of these young men are struggling up from the depths of poverty; and if they do not die in the effort, will be heard of, one of these days, in the pulpit, or at the bar.

But there comes the Professor, bowing graciously to the students, while he receives from them a hearty "ruff," as the Scots call their energetic stamping. What a magnificent looking man! Over six feet high, broad and brawny, but of elegant proportions, with a clear, frank, joyous looking face, a few wrinkles only around the eye, in other respects hale and smooth, his fine locks sprinkled with gray, flowing down to his shoulders, and his large l.u.s.trous eye beaming with a softened fire. His subject is "the Pa.s.sions." He commences with freedom and ease, but without any particular energy,--makes his distinctions well, but without much precision or force; for, to tell the honest truth, philosophical a.n.a.lysis is not his particular forte. Still, it is good, so far as it goes, and probably appears inferior chiefly by contrast. But he begins to describe. The blood mantles to his forehead, thrown back with a majestic energy, and his fine eye glows, nay, absolutely burns. And now his impa.s.sioned intellect careers, as on the wings of the wind, leaping, bounding, dashing, whirling, over hill and dale, rises into the clear empyrean, and bathes itself in the beams of the sun. His audience is intent, hushed, absorbed, rapt! He begins, however, to descend, and O!

how beautifully, like a falcon from "the lift," or an eagle from the storm-cloud. And, now he skims along the surface with bird-like wing, glancing in the sunlight, swiftly and gracefully. How varied and delicate his language, how profuse his images, his allusions how affecting, and his voice, ringing like a bell among the mountains. At such seasons his style, manner and tone, are unequalled. Chaste and exhilarating as the dew of the morning in the vale of Strathmore, yet rich and rare as a golden sunset on the brow of Benlomond. But listen, he returns to his philosophical distinctions,--fair, very fair, to be sure, but nothing special, rather clumsy perhaps, except in regard to his language. True, undoubtedly, but not profound, not deeply philosophical, and to me, not particularly interesting. His auditors have time to breathe. You hear an occasional cough, or blowing of the nose. A few of the students are diligently taking notes, but the rest are listless. This will last only a moment, and now that he is approaching the close of his lecture, he will give us something worth hearing. There, again he is out upon the open sea. How finely the sails are set, and with what a majestic sweep the n.o.ble vessel rounds the promontory, and anchors itself in the bay.[15]

[Footnote 15: The writer describes not an imaginary, but an actual lecture of Professor Wilson's, which he heard some years ago.

We have honestly given our own impressions relative to Wilson's metaphysical powers, and stated simply what we heard and saw while attending his Lectures in Edinburgh University. Others however may have different impressions; and we cheerfully append the following from _Gilfillan_ as an offset to our strictures:

"It is probable that the very variety and versatility of Wilson's powers have done him an injury in the estimation of many. They can hardly believe that an actor, who can play so many parts, is perfect in all.

Because he is, confessedly, one of the most eloquent of men, it is doubted whether he can be profound: because he is a fine poet, he must be a shallow metaphysician;--because he is the Editor of _Blackwood_, he must be an inefficient professor. There is such a thing on this round earth, as diffusion along with depth, as the versatile and vigorous mind of a man of genius mastering a mult.i.tude of topics, while others are blunderingly acquiring one, or as a man 'multiplying himself among mankind, the Proteus of their talents,' and proving that the Voltairian activity of brain has been severed, in one splendid instance, at least, from the Voltairian sneer and the Voltairian shallowness. Such an instance as that of our ill.u.s.trious Professor, who is ready for every tack,--who can, at one time, scorch a poetaster to a cinder, at another cast illumination into the 'dark deep holds' of a moral question, by a glance of his genius; at one time dash off the picture of a Highland glen, with the force of a Salvator, at another, lay bare the anatomy of a pa.s.sion with the precision and force of an Angelo,--write, now, the sweetest verse, and now the most energetic prose,--now let slip, from his spirit, a single star, like the 'evening cloud,' and now unfurl a _Noctes_ upon the wondering world,--now paint Avarice till his audience are dying with laughter, and now Emulation and Sympathy till they are choked with tears,--write now 'the Elder's Deathbed,' and now the 'Address to a Wild Deer,'--be equally at home in describing the Sufferings of an Orphan girl, and the undressing of a dead Quaker, by a congregation of ravens, under the brow of Helvellyn."--_Literary Portraits_, p. 209.]

Instead of spending our time gazing at public buildings, let us continue our conversation about the Professor, whose life has been a tissue of interesting and romantic events. We shall find it profitable as well as pleasant, to glance at the princ.i.p.al points in his history, as they tend to throw light on the Genius of Scotland.