greeted some of our author's former productions: | they are commonly conducted, are apt to be a yet they undoubtedly possess considerable merit, little insipid to a mere critical spectator,—and and, amidst much that is feeble, uninteresting, that while they consequently require more and absurd, bear evident marks of sense and talent.

To sum up our observations on the Waverley Novels, in a few words, we think their author has succeeded by far the best in the representation of rustic and homely characters, and not in the ludicrous or contemptuous representation of them --but by making them at once more natural and more interesting than they had ever been made before in any work of fiction; by showing them, not as clowns to be laughed at, or wretches to be pitied and despised,-but as human creatures, with as many pleasures, and fewer cares, than their superiors — with affections not only as strong, but often as delicate, as those whose language is smoother—and with a vein of humour, a force of sagacity, and very frequently an elevation of fancy, as high and as natural as can be met with among more cultivated beings. The great merit of all these delineations is their admirable truth and fidelity, the whole manner and cast of the characters being accurately moulded to their condition; and the finer attributes, so blended and harmonized with the native rudeness and simplicity of their life and occupations, that they are made interesting and even noble beings, without the least particle of foppery or exaggeration, and delight and amuse us, without trespassing at all on the province of pastoral or romance.

Next to these, we think, he has found his happiest subjects, or at least displayed his greatest powers, in the delineation of the grand and gloomy aspects of nature, and of the dark and fierce passions of the heart. The natural gaiety of his temper does not indeed allow him to dwell long on such themes; but the sketches he occasionally introduces are executed with admirable force and spirit, and give a strong impression both of the vigour of his imagination and the variety of his talent. It is only in the third rank that we would place his pictures of chivalry and chivalrous character, his traits of gallantry, nobleness, and honour, and that bewitching assemblage of gay and gentle manners, with generosity, candour, and courage, which has long been familiar enough to readers and writers of novels, but has never before been represented with such an air of truth, and so much ease and happiness of execution.

Among his faults and failures, we must give the first place to his descriptions of virtuous young ladies, and his representations of the ordinary business of courtship and conversation in polished life. We admit that those things, as

heightening than strange adventures or grotesque persons, they admit less of exaggeration or ambitious ornament: yet we cannot think it necessary that they should be altogether so lame and mawkish as we generally find them in the hands of this spirited writer, whose powers really seem to require some stronger stimulus to bring them into action, than can be supplied by the flat realities of a peaceful and ordinary existence. His love of the ludicrous, it must also be observed, often betrays him into forced and vulgar exaggerations, and into the repetition of common and paltry stories; though it is but fair to add, that he does not detain us long with them, aud makes amends, by the copiousness of his assortment, for the indifferent quality of some of the specimens. It is another consequence of this extreme abundance in which he revels and riots, and of the fertility of the imagination from which it is supplied, that he is at all times a little apt to overdo even those things which he does best. His most striking and highly-coloured characters appear rather too often, and go on rather too long. It is astonishing, indeed, with what spirit they are supported, and how fresh and animated they are to the very last; but still there is something too much of them, and they would be more waited for and welcomed, if they were not quite so lavish of their presence. I was reserved for Shakspeare alone to leave al his characters as new and unworn as he found them, and to carry Falstaff through the busines of three several plays, and leave us as greedy o his sayings as at the moment of his first introduc tion. It is no light praise to the author befor us, that he has sometimes reminded us of this and, as we have before observed, of other inimi table excellencies in that most gifted of all in ventors.

He is above all things national and Scottish and never seems to feel the powers of a giant ex cept when he touches his native soil. His countrymen alone, therefore, can have a full sense o his merits, or a perfect relish of his excellencies. and those only, indeed, of them, who have mingled, as he has done, pretty freely with the lowet orders, and made themselves familiar not only with their language, but with the habits and traits of character of which it then only becomes expressive. It is one thing to understand the meaning of words, as they are explained by other words in a glossary or dictionary, and another to know their value, as expressive of certain feelings and humours in the speakers to whom they are native, and as signs both of temper and

ort.

ondition among those who are familiar with their proud, cruel, selfish, profligate-but with the love-letters of the gentle Alice (written thirty We shall make no apology to our readers for years before), and his verses to her memory, found wroducing here, the following animated deline-in his pocket after his death; in the same volume ation of the author of Waverley, from the pen of Old Mortality, is that lone figure, like one in dan acute critic.

Scripture, of the woman sitting on the stone, at Sir Walter, says this writer, « has found out the turning to the mountain, to warn Burley that that facts are better than fiction; that there is no there is a lion in his path; and the fawning Claromance like the romance of real life; and that verhouse, beautiful as a panther, smooth-looking, can we but arrive at what men feel, do, and say, blood-spotted: and the fanatics, Macbriar and nking and singular situations, the result will Mucklewrath, crazed with zeal and sufferings; le more lively, audible, and full of vent, than and the inflexible Morton, and the faithful Edith, the ane-spun cobwebs of the brain. Our author who refused to give her hand to another, while has conjured up the actual people he has to deal her heart was with her lover in the deep and th, or as much as he could get of them, in dead sea.' In The Heart of Mid-Lothian, we have their habits as they lived. He has ransacked Effie Deans (that sweet faded flower), and Jeanie, chronicles, and poured the contents upon his her more than sister, and old David Deans, the papage: he has squeezed out musty records; he has triarch of St Leonard's Crags, and Butler, and salted way-faring pilgrims, bed-rid sibyls; Dumbiedikes, eloquent in his silence, and Mr he has invoked the spirits of the air; he has con- Bartoline Saddletree, and his prudent helpmate, versed with the living and the dead, and let them and Porteous, swinging in the wind, and Madge their story their own way; and by borrowing Wildfire, full of finery and maduess, and her others, has enriched his own genius with ever-ghastly mother. Again, there is Meg Merrilies, ng variety, truth, and freedom. He has taken standing on her rock, stretched on her bier, with a materials from the original, authentic sources, her head to the east,' and Dirk Hatteraick, (equal in large concrete masses, and has not tampered to Shakspeare's Master Barnardine), and Glossin, with, or too much frittered them away. He is the soul of an attorney, and Dandie Dinmont, only amanuensis of truth and history. It is with his terrier-pack and his pony Dumple, and posible to say how fine his writings in conse- the fiery Colonel Mannering, and the modish old pace are, unless we could describe how fine counsellor Pleydell, and Dominie Sampson : and are is. All that portion of the history of his Rob Roy (like the eagle in his eyrie), and Baillie try that he has touched upon (wide as the Nicol Jarvie, and the inimitable Major Galbraith, se, the manners, the personages, the events, Rashleigh Osbaldistone, and Die Vernon, the best de scenery, lives over again in his volumes. No- of secret-keepers; and in the Antiquary, the ingeg is wanting-the illusion is complete. There nious Mr Oldbuck, and the old bedesman, Edie startling in the air, a trampling of feet upon Ochiltree, and that preternatural figure of old round, as these perfect representations of Elspeth, a living shadow, in whom the lamp a character, or fanciful belief, come throng of life had been long extinguished, had it not ack upon the imagination. We will merely been fed by remorse and thick-coming' rea few of the subjects of his pencil to the collections; and that striking picture of feudal ader's recollection, for nothing we could add tyranny and fiendish pride, the unhappy Earl of ty of note or commendation, could make the Glenallan; and the Black Dwarf, and his friend, sion more vivid. Hobbie of the Heughfoot (the cheerful hunter), There is first and foremost, because the earliest and his cousin Grace Armstrong, fresh and laughour acquaintance), the Baron of Bradwardine, |ing like the morning; and the Children of the kind-hearted, whimsical, and pedantic; Mist, and the baying of the blood-hound, that Flora Mac-Ivor (whom even we forgive for tracks their steps at a distance (the hollow echoes obitism), the fierce Vich lan Vohr, and are in our cars now), and Amy and her hapless [hu, constant in death, and Davie Gellat- love, and the villain Varney, and the deep voice nating his eggs, or turning his rhymes with of George of Douglas—and the immoveable Balasolubility, and the two stag-hounds that fré, and Master Oliver, the barber, in Quentin Waverley, as fine as ever Titian painted, or Durward-and the quaint humour of the Fortunes Veronese:-then there is old Balfour of of Nigel, and the comic spirit of Peveril of the brandishing his sword and his Bible with Peak-and the fine old English romance of IvanMed fury, trying a fall with the insolent, gi-hoe. What a list of names! What a host of asBothwell, at the 'change-house, and van-sociations! What a thing is human life! What a ag him at the noble battle of Loudon-hill; power is that of genius! What a world of thought Bere is Bothwell, himself, drawn to the life, and feeling is thus rescued from oblivion! How

L

greeted some of our author's former productions: | they are co yet they undoubtedly possess considerable merit, little insip and, amidst much that is feeble, uninteresting, that whi and absurd, bear evident marks of sense and ta- heighten lent. tesque

-

To sum up our observations on the Waverley ambit Novels, in a few words, we think their author has cessa succeeded by far the best in the representation of and rustic and homely characters, and not in the lu-hai dicrous or contemptuous representation of them s -but by making them at once more natural and more interesting than they had ever been made before in any work of fiction; by showing them not as clowns to be laughed at, or wretches to l pitied and despised,-but as human creatur with as many pleasures, and fewer cares, their superiors with affections not on' strong, but often as delicate, as those whos guage is smoother-and with a vein of hu force of sagacity, and very frequently tion of fancy, as high and as natural. met with among more cultivated b great merit of all these delineations mirable truth and fidelity, the v and cast of the characters be moulded to their condition; an1 butes, so blended and harmon tive rudeness and simplicity of cupations, that they are ma even noble beings, without foppery or exaggeration, an us, without trespassing at pastoral or romance.

Next to these, we thin piest subjects, or at le powers, in the delin gloomy aspects of na

fierce passions of the of his temper does i long on such the n sionally introduce force and spirit both of the v. variety of h

rank that w and chive noblenes

assemb

genero long

of n

3.

a respective

1

#th the poems and the no

of mind in this respect

it be designated even

e had eaten down on

tire, another bega nd growth shot u pin the second. Ther 'ance between the tw pared. It would be har

et or the novelist were th

nt of his words. In both, ele

splendid and profluent a natur

the form, and might assume th lendid loquacity. The labour wit cois seems to have been merely that

ng from the folds of the brain to th of their paper. Facility in compositionwhen we say this, we do not mean fluent. thout a considerable degree of solidity,-is t liacation in which these two great writers r semble each other, and that, perhaps, in whi they most surpass all their contemporaries. W allow there is much difference between t

weighty bullion' of Childe Harold, or Wave eley, and the 'French wire' into which the sm he portion of sterling ore, forming the real worth t, of Sardanapalus, or Redgauntlet, is drawn; but sti they the same ease of language, the same wealth ace of imagery, is everywhere displayed, even in the semely, most precipitate works, by each writer,—and wi about equal claims on our admiration. Sir W between ter, like his late noble competitor for the crow wows:- of fame, in his more recent works, seems to ha this age, depended almost wholly on the power of writi comble each ad infinitum, agreeably upon any or no subje But all-powerful as those two great writers m ld to Don be considered, in the department of eloquen sock, though and what may be generally described as comp ext, and sub-sition, they are both radically, though not p particulars.haps equally, impotent in the province of char a remarkable ter, variously modified by the different circu , and each be- stances in which it is placed throughout all Lo 1ikewise a singu- Byron's poems,-that of a noble-minded, but c qualification and praved being, of fine feelings, but irregular p a both, viz. extra-sions, more or less satirical and misanthropical ... as far as respects his disposition, gloomy, heart-withered, reckle avention as far as and irreligious. Sir Walter Scott has taken a c hoes are about equally cle of somewhat greater circumference, but with wer, and (if the ex-which he is just as strictly confined. He has e stence of mind, in cogitated, or his experience has furnished h with a certain definite number of characters, at

omvention.

espon. The prodigal ef

hilde Harold, the

, almost overwhelmed A to be paralleled by the lutely expended in the ivy, Guy Mannering, etc., a we can see indeed no pro

these he plays as he would chess-men, sometim bringing one forward, sometimes another, b without the power of increasing the number men on the board. »

The Waverley novels were highly admired Byron; he never travelled without them. Th are,» said he to Captain Medwin one day,

i, even.

t literary trea- | had ever a kinder heart for sympathy, or a more r with new open hand for the relief of distress; and no mind was ever more formed for the enthusiastic admired ration of noble actions, provided he was con

1 been

sup e, is a

see how tinued his

this bon mot

; this observa-
yet the ideas are
Scott was not aware
It is a bad thing to
I should not like to
observed Captain Medwin.
In a thief, was the reply.
of the illustrious Byron, Sir Wal-
d his candour and liberality of
following tribute to his lordship's

vinced that the actors had proceeded on disinterested principles. But his wonderful genius was of a nature which disdained restraint, even when restraint was most wholesome. When at school, the tasks in which he excelled were those only which he undertook voluntarily; and his situation as a young man of rank, with strong passions, and in the uncontrolled enjoyment of considerable fortune, added to that impatience of strictness or coercion which was natural to him as an author; he refused to plead at the bar of criticism. As a man, he would not submit to be morally amenable to the tribunal of public opinion. Remonstrances from a friend, of whose intentions and kindness he was secure, had often great weight with him; but there were few who could venture on a task so difficult. Reproof he endured with impatience, and reproach hardened him in his error; so that he often resembled the traighty genius, which walked amongst gallant war-steed, who rushes forward on the something superior to ordinary mortality, steel that wounds him. In the most painful abse powers were beheld with wonder, and crisis of his private life, he evinced this irritabithing approaching to terror, as if we knew lity and impatience of censure in such a degree, whether they were of good or of evil, is laid as almost to resemble the noble victim of the a soundly to rest as the poor peasant whose bull-fight, which is more maddened by the squibs, ideas never went beyond his daily task. The darts, and petty annoyances of the unworthy wace of just blame, and that of malignant cen- crowds beyond the lists, than by the lance of his mre, are at once silenced; and we feel almost as nobler, and (so to speak) his more legitimate anthe great luminary of heaven had suddenly tagonist. In a word, much of that in which he ppeared from the sky, at the moment when erred was in bravado and scorn of his censors, mery telescope was levelled for the examination and was done with the motive of Dryden's deat the spots which dimmed its brightness. It is spot, to show his arbitrary power.' It is needet now the question what were Byron's faults-less to say that his was a false and prejudicial bed as what his mistakes: but how is the blank which view of such a contest; and, if the noble bard te has left in British literature to be filled up? gained a sort of triumph, by compelling the are we fear, in one generation, which, among world to read poetry, though mixed with baser reet or any highly-gifted persons, has produced none matter, because it was his, he gave in return an approach Byron in originality, the first at- unworthy triumph to the unworthy, beside deep wirl,bate of genius. Only thirty-seven years old sorrow to those whose applause, in his cooler momach already done for immortality-so much ments, he most valued. time remaining, as it seems to us short-sighted Bertals, to maintain and to extend his fame, and in stone for errors in conduct and levities in "position: who will not grieve that such a na has been shortened, though not always keepng the straight path—such a light extinguished, thingh sometimes flaming to dazzle and to be*ider? One word on this ungrateful subject ere quit it for ever.

nter,-n ation. $ r for the

ower of w

bost

taken i

The errors of Lord Byron arose neither from pavity of heart,-for Nature had not committhe anomaly of uniting to such extraordinary Lents an imperfect moral sense,-nor from feelngs dead to the admiration of virtue. No man

"It was the same with his politics, which on several occasions assumed a tone menacing and contemptuous to the constitution of his country; while, in fact, he was in his own heart sufficiently sensible, not only of his privileges as a Briton, but of the distinction attending his high birth and rank, and was peculiarly sensitive of those shades which constitute what is termed the manners of a gentleman. Indeed, notwithstanding his having employed epigrams, and all the petty war of wit, when such would have been much better abstained from, he would have been found, had a collision taken place between the different parties in the state, exerting all his energies in

C

ment of levity, but contributing his fortune, a hazarding his life, in behalf of a people only e deared to him by their past glories, and as fello creatures suffering under the yoke of a heath oppressor. To have fallen in a crusade for fre dom and humanity, as in olden times, it wou have been an atonement for the blackest crim and may in the present be allowed to expia greater follies than even exaggerated calum has propagated against Byron.>>

The first person on whom his Majesty Geor IV., conferred a baronetage, was Sir Walter Scot and in August, 1822, when the king honour Edinburgh with a visit, Sir Walter acted as cro pier, or vice-president, at a dinner given by t Lord Provost and corporation, to the royal gue In the summer of 1825, Sir Walter paid a v sit to Ireland, where he was most hospitably r

defence of that to which he naturally belonged. We are not Byron's apologists, for now, alas! he needs none. His excellencies will now be universally acknowledged, and his faults (let us hope and believe) not remembered in his epitaph. It will be recollected what a part he has sustained in British literature since the first appearance of Childe Harold, a space of nearly sixteen years. There has been no reposing under the shade of his laurels, no living upon the resource of past reputation; none of those petty precautions which little authors call taking care of their fame. Byron let his fame take care of itself. His foot was always in the arena, his shield hung always in the lists; and although his own gigantic renown increased the difficulty of the struggle, since he could produce nothing, however great, which exceeded the public estimate of his genius, yet he advanced to the ho-ceived by the sons of the Shamrock. During nourable contest again and again, and came always off with distinction, almost always with complete triumph. As various in composition as Shakspeare himself (this will be admitted by all who are acquainted with his Don Juan), he has embraced every topic in human life, and sounded every string on the divine harp, from its slightest to its most powerful and heart-astounding tones. There is scarce a passion or a situation which has escaped his pen; and he might be drawn, like Garrick, between the weeping and the laughing muse, although his most powerful efforts have certainly been dedicated to Melpomene. His genius seemed as prolific as various. The most prodigal use did not exhaust his powers, but seemed rather to increase their vigour. Neither Childe Harold, nor any of the most beautiful of his earlier tales, contain more exquisite morsels of poetry than are to be found scattered through the cantos of Don Juan, amidst verses which he appears to have thrown off with an effort as spontaneous as that of a tree resigning its leaves to the wind. But that noble tree will never more bear fruit or blossom! It has been cut down in its strength, and the past is all that remains to us of Byron. We can scarce reconcile ourselves to the idea-scarce think that the voice is silent for ever, which, bursting so often on our ear, was often heard with rapturous admiration, sometimes with regret, but always with the deepest interest:

All that's bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest.

With a strong feeling of awful sorrow, we take leave of the subject. Death creeps upon our most serious as well as upon our most idle employments; and it is a reflexion solemn and gratifying, that he found our Byron in no mo

stay in Dublin, he frequently visited the libra adjoining St Patrick's cathedral; on one of the occasions the deputy librarian, who happened be a collegian, having got into conversation wi the (then) « Great Unknown,» wished to take hi by surprise, and thereby prove his own dext rity. With this view he exclaimed, «Oh, S Walter, do you know that it is only lately I hav had time to get through your Redgauntlet.» «Sir replied Sir Walter, 1 never met with such book. The librarian stood rebuked, and sai nothing.

Th

As Sir Walter and a friend were one day slowl sauntering along the High-street, Edinburgh, the ears were saluted by the cries of an Italian ves der of images, who, in broken English, was e tolling his brittle ware to excite custom. chief burthen of the itinerant merchant's song however, was the bust of de Grate Unknown, whic he declared to be a perfect likeness. He now o fered his wares to the inspection of our two gen tlemen, still dwelling upon « de Grate Unknown, as de « most parfaite likeness of de vonderful ori ginal himself. The friend of Sir Walter desire him to look at the features of the latter, when th poor fellow, in an ecstacy of joy, exclaimed, «'ti he, 't is de grand unknown! I make my most pro fits by him, and I vill beg him to take von, two tree images, all vat he like, for not any ting.

The following lively description of Sir Walter personal appearance was written by a gentleman who visited Edinburgh about two years ago:My departure from was so sudden that I had no time to seek letters of introduction and the Scotch are not naturally fond of introductions which only give them trouble; but I had resolved upon seeing Sir Walter Scott before left Edinburgh, and, had Constable been open, could have been at no loss, but his door was un