UNIVERSITY.
Sir Walter was placed in the University of Edinburgh, October 1783. The usual course at this famed seminary is, for the first year, to attend the classes of Latin and Greek, to which, during the second, are added Mathematics and Logic; the third and last year of the course of a merely liberal education is spent in attending the lectures on Moral and Natural Philosophy. It would appear that Sir Walter did not proceed regularly through this academical course. He was matriculated, or booked, in 1783, at once for the Humanity or Latin class under Professor Hill, and the Greek class under Professor Dalyell; and for the latter, once more in 1784. But the only other class for which he seems to have matriculated at the college was that of Logic, under Professor Bruce, in 1785. Although he may perhaps have attended other classes without matriculation, there is reason to believe that his irregular health produced a corresponding irregularity in his academical studies. The result, it is to be feared, was, that he entered life much in the condition of his illustrious prototype, the Bard of Avon—that is, ‘with a little Latin and less Greek.’
Between his twelfth and fifteenth year, young Scott had a particularly favourite companion of his own age, John Irvine, the mutual attraction being a love of fictions of a chivalrous description, furnished by an eminent circulating library, which had been founded in Edinburgh by Allan Ramsay, and situated in the High Street, a short way above the Tron Church, and then belonged to Mr James Sibbald, a person of literary tastes, who edited theEdinburgh Magazine, and acollection of Scottish poetry. This old-fashioned library, the first of its kind, passed in time into the hands of Mr Alexander Mackay; and was finally sold off in 1831. With a volume from this precious repository, the two youths sometimes adjourned to the picturesque sides of Arthur’s Seat, where, seated together so as to read from the same page, they revelled in the adventures of heroes and heroines of romance.
It will thus be observed that Sir Walter’s acquirements in his early years did not lie nearly so much in ordinary branches of education, as in a large stock of miscellaneous reading, taken up at the dictation of his own taste. His thirst for reading is perhaps not described in sufficiently emphatic terms, even in the above narrative. It amounted to an enthusiasm. He was at that time very much in the house of his uncle, Dr Rutherford, at foot of Hyndford’s Close, near the Netherbow, and there, even at breakfast, he would constantly have a book open by his side, to refer to while sipping his coffee, like his own Oldbuck in theAntiquary. His uncle frequently commanded him to lay aside his book while eating, and Sir Walter would only ask permission first to read out the paragraph in which he was engaged. But no sooner was one paragraph ended than another was begun, so that the doctor never could find that his nephew finished a paragraph in his life. It may be mentioned that Shakspeare was at this period frequently in his hands, and that, of all the plays, theMerchant of Venicewas his principal favourite.
Another choice companion at this period was young Adam Ferguson—afterwards known as Sir Adam Ferguson—son of Dr Adam Ferguson, author of theHistory of the Roman Republic, and who remained anintimate friend during life. The house of Dr Ferguson was a villa situated on the east side of a southern suburb of Edinburgh, calledThe Sciennes, from its proximity to the remains of an ancient monastery, dedicated to St Catherine of Sienna. Dr Ferguson’s house is remarkable as that in which young Walter Scott had an opportunity of being in the company of Robert Burns. Scott had read Burns’s poetry, and he ardently desired to see the poet. An opportunity was at length furnished, when Burns, on visiting Edinburgh in 1787, came by invitation to the residence of Dr Ferguson. Of the meeting, Scott has communicated an unaffected description to Mr Lockhart. Sir Adam Ferguson favoured me with some particulars of the visit of Burns to his father’s house on this occasion.
It was the custom of Dr Ferguson to have a conversazione at his house in the Sciennes once a week, for his principal literary friends. Dr Dugald Stewart, on this occasion, offered to bring Burns, a proposal to which Dr Ferguson readily assented. The poet found himself amongst the most brilliant literary society which Edinburgh then afforded. Sir Adam thought that Black, Hutton, and John Home were among those present. He had himself brought his young friend Walter Scott, as yet unnoted by his seniors. Burns seemed at first little inclined to mingle easily in the company; he went about the room, looking at the pictures on the walls. The print described by Scott, from a painting by Bunbury, attracted his attention. It represented a sad picture of the effects of war: a soldier lying stretched dead on the snow, his dog sitting in misery on one side, while on the other sat his widow, nursing a child in her arms. The print was plain, yet touching;beneath were written the following lines, which Burns read aloud:
‘Cold on Canadian hills or Minden’s plain,Perhaps that parent mourned her soldier slain;Bent o’er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew,The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,Gave the sad presage of his future years,The child of misery baptised in tears.’
‘Cold on Canadian hills or Minden’s plain,Perhaps that parent mourned her soldier slain;Bent o’er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew,The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,Gave the sad presage of his future years,The child of misery baptised in tears.’
‘Cold on Canadian hills or Minden’s plain,Perhaps that parent mourned her soldier slain;Bent o’er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew,The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,Gave the sad presage of his future years,The child of misery baptised in tears.’
‘Cold on Canadian hills or Minden’s plain,
Perhaps that parent mourned her soldier slain;
Bent o’er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew,
The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,
Gave the sad presage of his future years,
The child of misery baptised in tears.’
Before getting to the end of the lines, Burns’s voice faltered, and his big black eye filled with tears. A little after, he turned with much interest to the company, pointed to the picture, and, with some eagerness, asked if any one could tell him who had written these affecting lines. The philosophers were silent—no one knew; but, after a decent interval, the pale lame boy near by said in a negligent manner: ‘They’re written by one Langhorne.’ An explanation of the place where they occur (poem ofThe Country Justice) followed, and Burns fixed a look of half-serious interest on the youth, while he said: ‘You’ll be a man yet, sir.’ Scott may be said to have derived literary ordination from Burns. Somewhat oddly, the name Langhorne is quoted at the bottom of the lines, but in so small a character that the poet might well fail to read it.1