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is not always disposed to do, and is animated, his eye lightens up

"With all a poet's extasy."

This poet likes conviviality, and tells well, and con amore, such stories as are told here only after dinner. He is a great tory, and consequently a warm friend of liberty (in Spain), a disposition, I have already observed, characteristic of his party. His disapprobation of a certain article in the Edinburgh Review, on Cevallo's book, induced him to withdraw his name from the list of subscribers. This article is, in one sense, friendly to Spanish liberty, but then not in the right sense. Mr Scott has a valuable place, which had been promised him by the ministry which preceded Mr Fox's, but he was not in possession when they went out, and some of Mr Fox's colleagues objected to his having it, saying it was a job. "It is at least a job in favour of genius," answered Mr Fox, with that liberality and generosity which distinguished him so particularly, "it does not happen often, and is not dangerous.' Mr Scott had the place;-and I hope does justice to the memory of his whig patron.

The celebrated Braham is here, and we have heard him in the opera of the Siege of Belgrade, a most wretched performance,-too bad even for the British public to bear with patience, accustomed as it is to modern stupidities. I perceived many signs of weariness and impatience amongst the audience. Braham has an astonishing voice, and of the most uncommon sort-a fine counter-tenor, clear, and powerful; but he wants simplicity and feeling. The petite pièce was the Village Lawyer; a mediocre translation of our excellent Avo

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cat Patelin. The Edinburgh theatre is diminutive, paltry, and little frequented. A town of the same rank in France would have a large theatre, always full. Here people spend their evenings generally at home, their main dependence for happiness is there; and the pleasures found abroad are mere casualties. The French will not envy this mode of life. Yet the incapacity of enjoying simple and natural pleasures, does not imply an aptitude for others. The French often feel satiety and ennui abroad,-which is the worst that could have happened at home.

The late scandalous pillory scene in the Haymarket having been mentioned lately in company here, one of the Scotch judges (Lords of Session) expressed his marked disapprobation of the prosecution and punishment, and declared their courts would not countenance any such proceedings. Several persons of distinction were mentioned, now prosecuted in England, or threatened with vexatious charges of the same nature; which, true or false, inflict provisionally shame, ridicule, and exile.

Jan. 1. 1811.-There is no sleeping the first night of the year at Edinburgh. It is a received custom for the common people to give a kiss to any woman met in the streets, about midnight, on foot, or in carriages. Few women expose them selves to this rude salutation. But the streets are full, notwithstanding, of unruly boys, who knock at house doors, and make a noise all night. This is a little relic of the coarse manners of former times, which is still tolerated; and, considering what this country was before its union with England, there is, perhaps, more reason to be asto

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nished at the advanced state of its police, than otherwise.

Fier comme un Ecossois, is said proverbially in France, and the English are not sparing of their reproaches against Scotland, for the pride of its inhabitants; yet you certainly meet with more prevenance from them than from their neighbours; more of the essentials of politeness, under forms perhaps less gentle and elegant. It is certainly remarkable enough, that the Scotch accuse the English of" soft and washy manners ;"-a novel sort of imputation against them assuredly, and most unexpected.

There existed in England, during the greatest part of the last century, a sort of jealous ill-will against the Scotch. It was the fashion to rail at their poverty, their rapacious industry, the proud servility of their manners, their uncleanliness, and, finally, their itch. The works of the best writers of the time, the conversations and bon mois, recorded in letters and memoirs, published since, the very speeches in Parliament, were full of ill-natured and vulgar remarks, of flat jokes, in the very worst taste. This theme, which appeared so fertile, is at last quite exhausted; and all this local wit strikes now as very dull. The facetious witticisms of our Voltaire on Freron, on M. le Franc de Pompignan, and so many other unfortunate adversaries, which amused France and all Europe at the time, have had the same fate, and inspire now no other interest or sentiment than those of pity, surprise, and disgust. Dr Johnson, the giant of English literature, was one of the last who indulged in satirical remarks and coarse abuse against the Scotch. His admirable historian, Boswell, has

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transmitted them to posterity, in a work more ainusing than the best novel, and more useful than the best history. As a portrait from nature of the manners, customs, and ways of thinking of his own time, delineated with a simplicity, and a candour of vanity, which sets criticism and ridicule at defiance, you find yourself in the best society the country could afford; the most learned, the cleverest, and the most witty. It is conversation, all substance and spirit, never languid, weak, or insignificant; enjoyed without the painful effort of bearing a part in it, or the fidgetty consciousness of your own dulness and silence. Something like reading by your fireside of mighty battles and sieges, of distant voyages, of hair-breadth escapes, you feel all the enthusiasm, and you partake of all the glory, without any of the drudgery and toil, weariness, fatigue, and danger.

I do not know whether the Scotch ever shewed much resentment at so many insults; they certainly shew none at present; and disarm calumny more effectually by this good sense and moderation, than they could by any other means. I have seen on the stage, in London, a tolerably good play, The Man of the World, admirably acted by Cooke, in which a Scotchman, Sir Pertinax Macsycophant, is the principal personage; a designing fawning scoundrel, who, in order to initiate his son into the ways of the world, which have made his own fortune, tells him, very improbably, but very pleasantly, of all his base practices and maxims. This play is acted in Scotland, and received with great good-humour.

Edinburgh is the Birmingham of literature;-a new place, which has its fortune to make. The two great universities, Oxford and Cambridge, re

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pose themselves under the shade of their laurels, while Edinburgh cultivates hers. The exterior of the establishment of education is very modest indeed. The professors are soldiers of fortune, who live by their sword,—that is to say, by their talents and reputation. They generally depend for their income on the number of students who attend their lectures, and who pay each L. 3, 6s. for the course. The number is from 30 or 40 to 300 or 400. Mr Playfair, professor of natural philosophy; Dr Hope, of chemistry; Dr Brown, successor of Mr Dugald Stewart, of moral philosophy; Dr Gregory, of medicine; Mr Leslie, of mathematics; Dr Thomson, of surgery, &c. are, I believe, those who have the greatest number of students. The students do not appear to me subject to much, if any, collegial discipline. They board out, wear no parti cular dress, and make what use they please of their time. I understand, however, they are in general studious, and I have certainly observed much zeal and emulation among them. A few of the richest live in some of the professors' fa milies. It is not uncommon to see grown men, even old men, inhabitants of the place, and stran gers, attend such of the lectures as interest them. Half of the audience of the professor of agricul ture, Mr Coventry, appeared to me composed of farmers. This professor is, I am told, a person of eminent merit. I wish his friends would advise him to speak a little louder. From the third seat, I was not able to hear more than half he said, and I have no reason to suppose that his country auditors caught more than I did. The learned profes sor loses, I am persuaded, by this bad habit, at least one hundred students; but the fields of Scotland must be the greatest sufferers.