Masonic Poets Of Scotland—No. Ii.

mon father , " said Heriot ; " therefore they are the bolder to press into } r our gracious presence . " "I ken I am pater patrice well enough , " said James ; " but one would think they had a mind to squeeze ¦ my puddings outthat they may divide the

inherit-, ance . " Every one who has studied the annals of the time must know how accurate , in many points , this description is . Macaulay , in that most graphic but incomplete portion of his long-proposed "

History of England "—that splendid torso which he has bequeathed to his countrymen—could not have hit salient and characteristic points more aptly .

We have hitherto been adverting more to the humour of Scott than to other high qualifications which he possessed as a writer of fiction . In this respect he can elicit laughter without the slightest approximation to indecency or coarseness—the

too frequent sin of the life-painting ficfcionists , Fielding and Smollett , whom , after a long interval , lie followed . He has shown us , to quote the words of another , and by no means unsuccessful follower of Scott ' s poetical endeavours—Professor

Aytoun— "how the simple feelings of peasants , and the homely pathos of humble life , ancl the relenting-s of feeline * - amone- the outcasts of humanity , mig ht be made to blend with scenes of high imagination . His writings are fitted to strengthen

the ties of our common humanity . " They do not tend to foster a bad , or " generally to throw ridicule upon a good or virtuous feeling , " while , in a literary point of view , they taught lessons of

simplicity , good taste , ancl skill ; m seizing the best points , both of character and description , which have had a salutary effect in directing the aim of others , in diffusing feelings of interest and sympathy , in contributing to augment that sense

of brotherhood , with its obligations , which promises to be a feature of our own , ancl , still more , of the coming time . The great service he has done to his native land and to his countrymen are now generally acknowledged . Scott has

called attention to many of the proudest periods in our national history . The past has been brought before us ; the old traditions have been revived . We feel ourselves bound anew by ties of nationality ; over all and around all there hangs

the curtain of romance . Romance ! some say . In reply , it may be alleged that none of the great Creator ' s gifts have been imparted in vain . We are not to be tied to the conventionalities or the petty cares of life . Genius beckons us from her

Masonic Poets Of Scotland—No. Ii.

throne . Nationality binds us together ; the rushing stream , the soaring hills , the heather braes ,

"The burn running under the lang yellow broom , " can never be forgotten . We can think of Australian sheepwalks , of Canadian forests , of wilder scenes than these , where man in his civilisation is but planting his foot and digging his plough into

the border of the wilderness , and there Scott's genius has been acknowledged . Why should we not cling to and embrace the records of our country ' s past ? Of Brace and Wallace , of Knox and Melville , of Burns and Scott , we need not

be ashamed . We are not cold-hearted nor prosaic . There is more sentiment in a Scotchman than he usually gets credit for . To the lay of childhood , to the murmur of the waves , to the soughing of the wind , as it sweeps down the mountain passto the ripple of the stream—he is alive . Walter Scott—we now finish our remarks—is a dying

man . Not the vine-clad hills of the Rhine , any more than the storied buildings of Some , have brought him comfort . Sad , feeble , exhausted , he goes home that he may die . Nothing to him is so dear as the breeze that sweeps over the

heather braes , or the tower that stands in its lonely eminence beside the stream , or the house he has erected by the silver Tweed . Torpor and unconsciousness have preyed upon him , and he is helplessly lifted upon his couch . Rome , with its

many memories — the Drachenfells , with their legends—have failed to awake him ; but he passes the mnrmurino- of the Teviot and the Tweed . His home is seen ; he is with difficulty held in his place by kind and faithful friends and attendants . It is his own soil , his own dear land , his own house , the distant towers of which have caught his

— " A light on Marmion's visage broke , And fired his glazing eye . " There , after a short interval , he expires , leaving a name which his country never will let die , and is borne to his resting-place , a true Scotchman , a noble heart , a man whose fellow we may look for , and , perhaps , for whom we may look long in vain .

Correspondence.

CORRESPONDENCE .

The "Editor is not responsible for ihe opinions expressed by Correspondents * THE BOARD OF GENERAL PURPOSES . IO THE EDITOK 01 ? THE PltEE-JASONs' 3 IAGAZINE AXD 3 IAS 0 I . IC 1 IIEK 0 It . Sut ATTD BEOTHEE , —Will you allow me to ask , through the pages ¦ of the FEEEMASOJT ' MAOAZII-IE , whether it is politic on the part of the Board of