DR. SCOTT'S FAREWELL TO BRAEMAR. AIR-" Lochaber." 1. FAREWELL, then, ye mountains in mystery piled, Where the birth-place and home of the tempest is found; And farewell, ye wide plains, where the heath and the fern To the lone ear of Nature his orison hymning. 2. And farewell to thy shadow, thou Queen of Pavillions, 3. And farewell to the friends that I leave in thy shade, Still, whate'er may be absent, my heart shall be here; And the beauty of Kelvin-the grandeur of Clyde- 4. Yet one cup ere we part, ye dear friends of my bosom ! In dulness to meet, and in dryness to part, Suits the barren of feeling, the narrow of soul-- Long did every straining eye follow the Doctor, till the last green gleam of his umbrella faded in the distant woods. "An honesterbetter-cleverer fallow 's no in a' Scotland than that very same Doctor whom we have lost," said the Shepherd; with which eulogy we all cordially agreed; while Buller, turning toward our own person, repeated sonorously from Aristophanes Νυν' σον ἔργον ἐς', ἐπειδη 1819.] THE ROLL-CALL. Και βλεπειν αὖθις το δεινον. Αὖθις αίρεσθαι σ' αναγκη Εςι παλιν τα ςρώματα. 47 We did not, however, come to the Tent to indulge unavailing sorrow; so we issued two regimental orders, one for our breakfast and dinner conjoined, without loss of time; and another for a general muster of Contributors in the Tent after mess, to take into consideration the state of the Magazine. There is no occasion to describe the déjeunér á la fourchette; and after it the Editor hung out his wellknown signal-"SCOTLAND EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS DUTY." We knew that the eyes of our country were upon us, and felt confident of the result. On the roll being called by the Adjutant, not a man was missing from his post. The coup d'œil was most imposing. Wastle took his seat at one corner of the table, almost in the open air, in the same full court-dress which attracted so much notice last May when he walked with the Commissioner; immediately opposite the Laird, Morris sported his black silk stock, and richly-furred surtout;* on the Physician's right hand sat, in earnest confabulation, Buller of Brazennose in his cap and gown, both he and Seward having brought their academical dress down to Scotland to astonish the natives; between ourselves and Buller sat Mr. Price in the cap, or, as Tims called it, the black silk bonnet of the Surrey hunt, and kept his eyes fixed, with unceasing wonder, on Bailie Jarvie, who, in a full suit of black, with his "three cockit" and gold chain, looked up gashly in our face from the right, and obviously contained within himself the germ or elements of future Dean of Guild and my Lord Provost of Glasgow; on the Bailie's right shoulder, that is behind it, for he of the Salt-market absolutely turned his back on him of Ludgate, sat Tims, with a strange mixture of self-importance from feeling himself one of the Tent, and of personal fear from being at such an immense distance from the sound of Bow-Bell, which expression of face was not lessened by the consciousness of the immediate contiguity of Tickler, who had stretched as many feet of his legs beneath the table as possible, to bring his head on a line with the organization of the other in-door Contributors; behind Dr. Morris sat Kempferhausen, who had mounted his Hanseatic Legion cap; and on his right stood uncovered the jocund Bibliopole, with a face incommunicable both to copper and canvas; in front sat Seward, with all the gracefulness of a Christchurch man, on a cask of whisky, from which John of Sky ever and anon let off a quech of the dew, unnoticed from behind; at Seward's In Peter's Letters there is a description of this suit (a deputy-lieutenant's uniform of blue and red,) with the little cross of Dannebrog), and the frontispiece (an imaginary portrait) shows Dr. Morris, attired in a coat with a collar of-rich fur.-M. right hand lay in his plaid the Ettrick Shepherd, his attention wholly absorbed by a large salmon that was floating exhausted to the bank in tow of Wastle's tall valet, who had become quite a prime angler under the tuition of Walter Ritchie; but we refer the world to the Frontispiece, which was sketched on the spot by Odoherty, the only departure from truth of any great moment, being the introduction of Dr. Scott, whom the literary and scientific world will easily recognize in the portly figure smoking a pipe of tobacco on the foreground to the left of the chairman. The affection of the Adjutant could not be satisfied without this tribute to his much-regretted brother bard, and he has introduced his own figure with foraging-cap, &c., reposing close by the side of the Odontist.* When Kempferhausen sat down, after reading an essay on the character and manners of the Tyrolese, we must say, that the feeling uppermost in our mind was one of regret that he should have brought it so speedily to a termination. In looking round the Tent, however, it is not to be denied that we observed some slight symptoms, as if the whole of our friends had not been quite so uniformly and uninterruptedly delighted as ourselves. In short, Tickler, Odoherty, and the Ettrick Shepherd, manifested pretty plainly, that they thought the Hamburgher was still somewhat subject to his old infirmity of amplification. Wastle and Morris, on the contrary, Jarvie, Mullion, and Buller of Brazennose, were enthusiastic in their applauses of the German's Essay; and, supported by their decision, we could not hesitate to express to the Essayist himself, our conviction that his powers were expanding themselves in a manner most luxuriantly promising, and our hope and confidence that henceforth he would form one of the most efficient and vigorous of all our Contributors. The Shepherd remarked, that "the Essay might be a braw essay for aught he kenned, but he was sure it was an unco lang ane-and luik," quoth he, “gin Hector be not shaking himself frae side to side, and yawning and nuzzling as if he had been listening to ane of Mr. R of Y————❜st very weariesomest action-sermons. The lad will not be the worse of a glass to weet his whistle-ony way."—".Gie him a bumper * This refers to an outline sketch, so indifferent in execution, that we do not think it worth while to have it engraved. In later editions of this number of Maga this sketch was not given.-M. † Of this excellent gentleman we embrace this opportunity of recording an interesting anecdote. Some years ago, when the Ettrick Shepherd had Dr. Anderson (editor of the British Poets) and Mr. Wordsworth (author of the Excursion) as his guests in Yarrow, he carried them one forenoon to eat some bread and cheese in the manse, and taste the minister's home-brewed, which is proverbial for its good qualities in that part of the country. During this cold collation, a great deal of highly instructive and intellectual conversation occurred, as might have naturally been expected, at a meeting of four such gifted men. As they were going away, the minister called back Hogg, and-" Faith, Jemmy," said he, "he's a fine chiel that Wordsworth-he's very discreet and well-informed. I really never heard of a horse-couper quoting poetry before in all my life." It is almost needless to observe, that the excellent minister had supposed himself to be entertaining the eminent horse-dealer of Leith Walk,-a conjecture which was doubtless sufficiently natural, considering Hogg's well-known love for appearing at the weekly sales at that gentleman's repository. The Shepherd, we suppose, now undeceived him.-C. N. 1819.] EDINBURGH REVIEW. 49 by all means," quoth Jarvie ;-" indeed, if he were to get his right, he would get mair nor ane, for here's twa or three that have not been dry listeners-only look, Mr. Tickler, we've scarcely left enough to fang anither bowl."- "You may make the next one yourself, Bailie," says Tickler, "for it's my turn to be spokesman-you know the article goes round the opposite way from the bottle." Then turning to the chair,-"Mr. Editor," continued the Senior, "we've got a new Number of the Edinburgh Review since you left us, and, if you please, I shall read a few remarks I have jotted down concerning it. I would not have taken so much trouble, only I was surprised to see them holding up their heads so briskly on some points, considering what a nailer you gave them so very lately." "Go on, Mr. Tickler," we interrupted; "you need not hesitate to enter upon any topic from fear of being tedious. As yet nihil quod tetigisti non ornasti; and even here we have no doubt, materiam superabit opus!"—Encouraged by these words, the Sage drew down his spectacles from his forehead, and after clearing his throat with a few portentous hems, he thrust his left hand in his waistcoat pocket, and stretching forth the dexter with its MSS. to within a few inches of ourself, began to read as follows in a distinct voice. The mysterious music of some of his solemn cadences, seemed at first to alarm and astonish the southern part of his hearers, but the strong sense of the man soon overcame all these lesser emotions, and seldom has even a Tickler been listened to by a more attentive auditory. [Mr. Tickler's comments on an old number of the Edinburgh Review so little suit the humor which prevailed in "the Tent," that they are omitted altogether.] Here Tickler ceased, and a low breathing of applause from every auditor around hailed him on the conclusion of his labors. The veteran was then invited by Mr. Mullion to refresh himself with a glass of Mrs. Weddel's best cherry brandy from a private bottle, which that worthy produced for the first time on this occasion. Dr. Morris pledged him, and then, with great good humor, made a number of little remarks on the elaborate performance he had just been hearing. We ourselves made only one single observation, and it referred entirely to the last sentence of Mr. Tickler's paper, in which allusion is made to the soft sighs breathed by the Edinburgh Reviewers over some of the supposed inconveniences of the present situation of the Ex-Emperor. Among other things we remarked, the Reviewers seemed to pity Bonaparte very much, because he is restricted from reading their journal-in spite, as they would insinuate, of his earnest * We believe, that to fang a well signifies to pour into it sufficient liquid to set the pump at work again.-C. N. † Napoleon. He did not die until May, 1821.-M. quarterly longings after a participation in that great intellectual banquet-and indeed they show pretty plainly that they consider this a still more grievous kind of restriction than the short commons to which their hero is supposed to be reduced, in regard to bread, cheese, mutton, garlic, and charenton.* Now it so happens, that we have good reason to know this is a point on which Bonaparte himself is very far from soliciting the sympathies of his admirers. Our excellent old friend, Colonel Fehrszen of the 53d, was lately in St. Helena, on his way to India, and he writes to us, that he paid a visit of several hours' length to the Emperor, with whom, on a previous occasion, he had formed a very considerable intimacy. Thinking it might amuse the illustrious captive, the colonel carried a late number of the Edinburgh Review with him to Longwood, and laid it on the table when he was about to take his leave. “Ha!” cried Bonaparte -(the Reviewers themselves have remarked with what power this monosyllable expresses the feeling of contempt, when uttered by those imperial lips,)"Ha! quoi donc! encore plus de ces brochures, à bleu et à jaune? Je croyois que cette Turlupinade là étoit tombée tout-à-fait il-y-a longtemps."-Then turning over the leaves, he came upon something about himself,-"Peste!" cried he, "Ce petit Jeffré pourquoi fait-il toujours de telles sottises sur mon sujet? Je hais ce Nain envieux-Il n'entend rien sur les grandes choses ni sur les grands hommes, et voilà comme il parle!" A few minutes afterwards, he asked Colonel Fehrszen why he had not rather brought a number or two of Blackwood's Magazine with him? adding, that he had seldom laughed so heartily as when Mr. Baxter sent him the Number containing the first part of Odoherty's Memoirs. Our modesty prevents us from repeating all that he said in our praise, but we may be pardoned for mentioning the last of the sentences he addressed at this time to the colonel. "Je vous conjure, mon cher colonel, d'écrire à votre ami M. le Conducteur, qu'il m'envoye ce journal aussi régulierement qu'l soit possible. Pour l'Edinburgh Review— ma foi !—Ils sont culbutés-renversés-écrasés,—abimés—Au diable avec ces vieux fripons lâ! Ils ont perdu la tête !” After such a narration as this, we could not do less than propose a bumper to the good health of General Bonaparte‡—a toast which was accepted in high glee by the whole of this assemblage; even the Ettrick Shepherd felt all his old prejudices entirely thawed by the sweet though distant rays of ex-imperial admiration, and chanted an extempore parody on "Tho' he's back be at the wa'," the sentiments of which would not, on reflection, be thoroughly approved by his legitimate understanding. On looking 'round for the next article, *Said to be the favorite beverage of Napoleon Bonaparte and Timothy Tickler, Esq.—C. N. †The present surgeon to Sir Hudson Lowe.-C. N. We may add, in excuse of this toast, that Bonaparte hinted to the Colonel his intention of being, at no distant date, a contributor to our Miscellany.-C. N. |