assuredly reach a memorable development in that rising poet, in proportion as he shall feed upon the manna that is now falling from heaven, instead of vainly striving to sustain a contemporary life on that which fell in any other age; a thing the latter, which this particular artist is too brawny and alive to do. Never was a man better fitted by nature, and also by the peculiar cultivation which his idiosyncrasy instinctively pursued, as well as by the circumstances of his life, to set forth the underlying ideas and the pervasive sentiments of science in artistic symbols, than the late David Scott of Edinburgh. A painterpoet by birth, born among a people prone to an extremely intellectual way of considering even the phenomena of the religious life, addicted all his days to a sceptical or scientific view of things, mingling intellection with all his feelings, speculating even when painting, thought ever accompanying his sense of beauty and holiness, yet deeply pious and unfathomably enthusiastic in art, the pictures of this remarkable man were more original and great in thought, as well as more individual and profound in feeling, than they were successful in those outward properties which have usually been recognised as conducing to the perfection of a plastic work. An excess of thoughtfulness, or rather an excess of the tendency to think analytically or scientifically, seems to have, in some degree, defeated this aspirant's aim at original catholicity in art; as it certainly in some degree diminishes the artistical integrity of Robert Browning, the poet. The predominant scientific spirit of the last three hundred years, in fact, has asserted its claims somewhat too potently over these naturally great artists. They have been too great and representative men to escape the epochal influences of their age, and not quite great enough to subjugate them entirely to the older spirit, and the still nobler purposes of true art-a problem which no man, indeed, has yet solved with memorable distinction, with the single exception of Goethe-a problem, however, which is openly. proposed by the times to every candidate for the poetic representation of the nineteenth century. The very excesses and defects, it is to be observed, which rendered the artistic completeness of David Scott impossible, save and except on the condition of a longer grant of life (for, alas, he died yet young) were highly favourable to the poetic illustration of science, especially such a science as astronomy. Too much thought is congenial to the subject, and to the spiritual mood induced by vivid contact with it; the emotions of the theme are deep and still, few and simple, vast and impersonal, as well as religious and almost intellectual; while the very nature of illustrative designs both lessens the artist's temptations to self-expression, and facilitates a more ideal treatment. The illustrations of firmamental astronomy, which Dr. Nichol and his publishers have been so original and courageous as to adorn this remarkable book withal, are accordingly worthy of the exalted subject. At the same time, the critic may readily detect some of those daring peculiarities in these drawings, which have usually been urged against the designs, and even the great paintings, of Scott. In order, however, to a just valuation of their surpassing merits, it is necessary to consider them in the spirit of an inquirer as well as of a judge. Above all, it is absolutely to be demanded that the student of the designs be also a student of the printed work. He must read Dr. Nichol with docility and sympathy, and suffer himself to be filled with the same thoughts as lifted up Scott to the level of illustrative composition, before pronouncing upon the united labours of the Professor and his departed friend. He must penetrate to the idea of the astronomer and the artist, and then he will be in a condition to criticise the manner in which it is set forth-a necessity which is equally applicable to the eloquent climaces of the writer, and to the highly ideal designs of the painter. These unique productions seem to show what untried, but not inaccessible, regions there exist for the developments of high art, in connexion with other great subjects, than either the Greek mythology or Roman-catholic Christianism. As works of design, they are surely beautiful and sublime; and if the drawing of the figures is uncommon, it must not be forgotten that each and all of those images are purely symbolical personages; but what distinguishes these illustrations is the astonishing wealth of thought which they contain. The clue to the right understanding and feeling of them may not always be easy to find, uneducated as modern public taste undoubtedly is to the perception of symbolical meanings; but if the ingenuous student be so happy as to lay hold of it, he will certainly not lose his reward, if it is beneficial to have one's scientific reflections and philosophical conclusions baptized in the mellow, moral, and almost religious light of beauty. 57 ART. V.—Memoirs of a Literary Veteran. Including Sketches and Anecdotes of the most distinguished Literary Characters from By R. P. Gillies, Esq. 3 vols. London : 1794 to 1849. IF literature were rewarded according to the merit and painstaking of those who sustain its spirit and vigour, we should have fewer revelations of the description now before us. Nothing nobler or purer than the labours of the mind untrammeled exists; but nothing is so wearing, so fatiguing, so unrewarding, as the pursuit of literature as a means of gain, or as the hope of livelihood. It is, unhappily, too well known that we are far behind other countries in this respect. We do not, as a nation, sufficiently welcome an author; we do not encourage him, or feel towards him one-half the enthusiasm that we do for a public singer or figurante at the opera. The loftiest flights of intellect sink to nothing when compared with the astounding feats of a ballet-dancer. In France, the writer even of moderate abilities is sought, fêted, received with smiles, however poor he may be. Here, in England, bare civility is accorded him; and those who would derive deep pleasure from the perusal of his work, who are indebted to him for many happy hours, yet shun all contact with his rusty coat or shabby hat. We take and accept the results of a man's labours, but ungratefully reject the man himself. Mr. Gillies, albeit in early life, not aware that he should ever require to write for gain, has learnt the bitter truth in a long life of misfortunes and anxieties, which he is candid enough to reveal to his reader. His story is one of warning to many; but in all Mr. Gillies's reveries, it seems as though they were attributable entirely to the force of circumstances, and not to any fault of his own. His early youth was passed in quiet and pleasant study, on his father's estate, under the care of a judicious and laborious tutor, who instilled into the mind of his pupil a love of study and research, which has never forsaken him. His childhood, and the relation of those extraordinary anecdotes by which young geniuses are discovered to be such at six or seven months old, are entirely dispensed with; and our author wisely plunges at once into an era of his life likely to be of more general interest. Dr. Glennie, Mr. Gillies's tutor, was the son of a Presbyterian clergyman, who, not possessing affluence, was open to any engagement that might present itself. Coming on a visit to our author's father, the latter one day jocularly asked him if a certain room called 'school-room' could by any means be converted into a dwelling-house. The answer he received was an unhesitating affirmative; and, accordingly, the next day, carpenters were set to work, the floor was boarded, a bed placed in a recess, wardrobes and shelves were put up, so that when the contented pastor next saw the apartment, he was as pleased with it as if it had been a royal mansion. Here, then, the boy received his early education. Poetry, history, and classical pursuits, alternately engaged his attention. The only drawback to the perfect felicity of the tutor and his pupil was, the fact that the chimney smoked incessantly. Various remedies were vainly tried; but Dr. Glennie, in spite of a cloud that would have driven many in despair from the apartment, quietly proceeded with his studies, and took little heed of the occurrence. After several years spent in this agreeable life, it became necessary that young Gillies should proceed to Edinburgh, for the purpose of matriculating at the university, and attending certain lectures which were considered essential to the completion of his education. Quitting the happy school-room, he accordingly departed, and entered for six months upon a somewhat novel career. Schools, and all establishments resembling them, have, it is well known, undergone remarkable alterations of late years. They had come to be regarded as petty states, in which cruelty and ill-usage and neglect were constantly practised with impunity, and the master and pupils were in a state of perpetual warfare. The bad name they, deservedly in most cases, arrogated to themselves, has and will long continue to abide by them until a more extensive reformation takes place; the most extortionate terms were demanded; and for this, little food, and less learning, was all they received. In this respect, however, the last quarter of a century has shown a remarkable superiority over former days. Much remains still to be done; but few establishments on a par with Do-the-boys Hall' exist even in the far-famed Yorkshire districts. Mr. Gillies, however, did not go to school, which makes his treatment the more unpardonable. He went to board with a master who received a limited number of pupils,' and proffered to treat them as if they were in their own home! He was, moreover, a graduate in the University of St. Andrews, and was assisted by a French teacher, who was the major-domo, as it were, of the establishment, and whose especial province it seemed to be to look after the cooking department of the home, instead of assisting the pupils, to any great extent, with their French studies. His chief attempts in this way were made in private lessons in the town. The abode was situated in one of the obscurest and most illfamed streets of Edinburgh, and consisted of a 'flat,' in one of the edifices called 'lands. Each floor formed a separate domi cile; and a gloomy, winding, common stair led up to every one. It happened that Mr. Gillies's future residence was situated seven or eight stories high; though, as he says, 'there were beings so horribly perverted and abandoned, that they lodged even higher than he. Every home, or lodging, at Edinburgh used at that time to exhibit the name of its owner blazoned athwart the door on a brass plate; but the graduate proceeded so far as to set a miserable lamp of rushlight, fed with train-oil, over the door in the long winter nights. The whole suite consisted of a diningroom, commanding a magnificent prospect over the Old Town, a drawing-room, overlooking the street, and three other rooms, divided amongst the master, pupils, and servant girls. The menage, utterly different from what Mr. Gillies had hitherto been accustomed to, was so ill-arranged that it inspired him with infinite disgust at once, although he came quite prepared to make the best of it. The chamber was illumined by two lank mutton candles, by the aid of which, at a table covered with an unsteady rag of green-baize, sat the master with the two younger pupils, all three solemnly engaged in writing out portions of Levizac's French exercises. The senior pupil sat in dignified repose by the fireside, affecting to read De Lolme on the British Constitution.' The greatest appearance of discomfort pervaded the place; there was no sign of order or regularity. It was plainly visible that the master had assembled his pupils together with the idea of making as much out of them as possible, and of yielding in return just as little as it was practicable for him with any show of reason to do. At half-past nine, the major-domo entered, after having disposed of all his out-door work for that day, and announced supper. He then briskly lifted the candles and writing apparatus, twitched off the green-baize, and bawled for Marie to bring the supper, 'tout de suite!" A nappe de table, considerablement tachée, having been spread by the beautiful Marie, we were served with a so-styled omelette at one end, and a dish of pommes de terre frits at the other. Three or four hard eggs, cut into halves, set into some dingy milk and water, like floating islands, this formed the omelette; and the other delicacy consisting of thin slices of cold boiled potatoes, which had been placed to warm on a gridiron, and were now nicely blackened and smoked. For second course, as this was our fête night, we were indulged with six square little morsels of cheese, and a plate of raw apples, so green and sour that to eat one would, I thought, have been a certain means of incurring illness for a week. And, to crown all, when the nightly feast drew to its close, a bottle was mysteriously placed on the table, containing a little remnant of that most exhilarating and delightful beverage, whisky distilled from potatoes. Of this precious fluid each |