room for the whole of it, but shall
take a few pages here and there.
"There blossom'd suddenly a magic bed
Of sacred ditamy, and poppies red:
At which I wonder'd greatly, knowing well
That but one night had wrought this flow-
ery spell;

And, sitting down close by, began to muse
What it might mean. Perhaps, thought I,
Morpheus,

In passing here, his owlet pinions shook;
Or, it may be, ere matron Night uptook
Her ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth,
Had dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth
Came not by common growth. Thus on I
thought,

66

Until my head was dizzy and distraught.
Moreover, through the dancing poppies stole
A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul," &c.
Methought the lidless-eyed train
Of planets all were in the blue again.
To commune with those orbs, once more I
rais'd

My sight right upward: but it was quite

dazed

By a bright something, sailing down apace,
Making me quickly veil my eyes and face:
Again I look'd, and, O ye deities,
Who from Olympus watch our destinies !
Whence that completed form of all com-
pleteness?

Whence came that high perfection of all

sweetness?

Speak, stubborn earth, and tell me where,

O where

Hast thou a symbol of her golden hair?
Not oat-sheaves drooping in the western sun;
Not thy soft hand, fair sister! let me shun
Such follying before thee-yet she had,
Indeed, locks bright enough to make me

mad;

And they were simply gordian'd up and
braided,

Leaving, in naked comeliness, unshaded,
Her pearl round ears," &c.

"She took an airy range,
And then, towards me, like a very maid,
Came blushing, waning, willing, and afraid,
And press'd me by the hand: Ah! 'twas
too much;

Methought I fainted at the charmed touch,
Yet held my recollection, even as one
Who dives three fathoms where the waters run
Gurgling in beds of coral: for anon,
I felt upmounted in that region
Where falling stars dart their artillery forth,
And eagles struggle with the buffeting north
That balances the heavy meteor-stone ;--
Felt too, I was not fearful, nor alone," &c.
Not content with the authentic love
of the Moon, Keats makes his hero cap-
tivate another supernatural lady, of
whom no notice occurs in any of his
predecessors.

"It was a nymph uprisen to the breast
In the fountain's pebbly margin, and she
stood

Mong lilies, like the youngest of the brood.

To him her dripping hand she softly kist,
And anxiously began to plait and twist
Her ringlets round her fingers, saying,
• Youth!

Too long, alas, hast thou starv'd on the ruth,
The bitterness of love: too long indeed,
Seeing thou art so gentle. Could I weed
Thy soul of care, by Heavens, I would offer
All the bright riches of my crystal coffer
To Amphitrite; all my clear-eyed fish,
Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish,
Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze;
Yea, or my veined pebble-floor, that draws
A virgin light to the deep; my grotto-sands
Tawny and gold, ooz'd slowly from far lands
By my diligent springs; my level lilies,
shells,

My charming rod, my potent river spells;
Yes, every thing, even to the pearly cup
Meander gave me,-for I bubbled up
To fainting creatures in a desert wild.
But woe is me, I am but as a child
To gladden thee; and all I dare to say,
Is, that I pity thee: that on this day
I've been thy guide; that thou must wan-
der far

In other regions, past the scanty bar
To mortal steps, before thou can'st be ta'en
From every wasting sigh, from every pain,
Into the gentle bosom of thy love.
Why it is thus, one knows in heaven above:
But, a poor Naiad, I guess not. Farewell!
I have a ditty for my hollow cell.'"
But we find that we really have no
patience for going over four books fill-
ed with such amorous scenes as these,
with subterraneous journeys equally
amusing, and submarine processions
equally beautiful; but we must not
omit the most interesting scene of the
whole piece.

"Thus spake he, and that moment felt en

dued

With power to dream deliciously; so wound
Through a dim passage, searching till he
found

The smoothest mossy bed and deepest, where
He threw himself, and just into the air
Stretching his indolent arms, he took, O bliss!
A naked waist: "Fair Cupid, whence is
this?

A well-known voice sigh'd, Sweetest, here

am I !

At which soft ravishment, with doting cry
They trembled to each other.-Helicon !
O fountain'd hill! Old Homer's Helicon !
That thou wouldst spout a little streamlet

o'er

These sorry pages: then the verse would soar
And sing above this gentle pair, like lark
Over his nested young: but all is dark
Around thine aged top, and thy clear fount
Exhales in mists to heaven. Aye, the count
Of mighty poets is made up; the scroll
Is folded by the Muses; the bright roll
Is in Apollo's hand: our dazed eyes
Have seen a new tinge in the western skies:

1818. Letter occasioned by the Report of the Committee of Dilettanti.

titled to walk before their works, I shall begin with you.

The Society by which you seem to
have been appointed to examine and
comment upon Mr Elliot's plans, has
long been regarded by me with great
affection and some respect. I became a
member of it because I understood that
there was an excellent hot supper in the
wind every Thursday evening, at the
moderate expense of one shilling a head;
that Bill Young keeps tolerable rum,
and very good Glenlivet whiskey; and
that the chair is usually filled by a cer-
tain literary friend of ours, whose ta-
lents in that department are of the
very highest distinction. These were
my reasons for entering the Society of
Dilettanti; I did not at that period
suspect the true nature of the honour
to which I had attained: I conceived
that your sole object in meeting toge-
ther was to drink a few sober tumblers
of hot toddy, and crack a few good
tempered jokes on each other, after the
fatigues of the easel or the writing-
desk. I by no means knew that you
considered yourselves as the arbitri
elegantiarum to the "Good Town;"
or that you were, in your official ca-
pacity, to undertake the support of
any such clever and reputable Miscel-
lany as that in which your Report has
been inserted. It is, however, a plea-
sure to be disappointed on the favour-
able side. I am delighted to find,
that your powers of taste are no long-
er confined, as of old, to deciding on
the merits of Davy Bridges' bowls of
punch, or Jamie Hogg's pitchers of
that "
a
toddy. The proverb says,
work begun is half done." Go on,
dear Dilettanti, and there is no say-
ing but in time you may really come
to rival the architectural skill of Bai-
lie Johnston himself, although, as yet,
certainly you are not worthy to tie the
latchet of that accomplished magis-
trate's shoes. Go on, and prosper.

"Novus rerum incipit ordo."
You may all be so many Palladios ere
you die, although many of you, at the
present stage of your progress, will
have need, I doubt not, like the be-
fore-mentioned Bailie, to turn up Lem-
priere before you can form any guess
what sort of compliment I am paying
you when I say so. At present, to tell
the plain truth, I fancy a great majo-
rity of you are much better acquainted
with the flavour of the modern Palla-

525

dio's tongues and hams, than with the
beauties of his defunct namesake's
temples and palaces. I dare say you
might have been able to frame a tole-
rable enough report on the compara-
tive merits of draught or bottled por-
ter, hot or cold punch, Finnan or riz-
zard haddies, or any thing in that way;
but as to gothic architecture and St
Giles' cathedral, do not be offended,
my dear Committee, if I assure you,
that you are publicly esteemed to
have gone in this instance, to say the
least of it, a little ultra crepidam.
Do not, however, be disconcerted or
dissatisfied with yourselves. You are
really, without flattery, to use the
child-bed expression, doing as well
as could have been expected;" your
first-born is certainly a poor creature,
and cannot survive long, but next time
you may have better luck. "Rome,"
as the saying goes, "was not built
in a day." In process of time, it is
undoubtedly within the range of pos-
sibility, that the Dilettanti Society
may be converted from a drinking and
smoking club into an academia dello
gusto. You have a longish walk be-
fore you; it would never do to lose
heart at the first galling of the heel.

But now for the Report itself; and
you will please to observe, I am not,
like our good friend Mr George Thom-
son, writing against it before seeing
it.

I have really read it with my
own eyes, in No XVI. of Black-
wood's Magazine, and I honestly tell
you, that I consider it by far the most
trashy thing that has ever yet ap-
peared in that publication. On look-
ing over the rest of the contents of
No XVI. I cannot help suspecting,
that the other contributors will be
very little flattered with the introduc-
tion of the virtuoso stranger into their
company. To say nothing of the ano-
nymous authors, whose compositions
are stitched up along with yours, I
dare say Messrs Wastle, Tickler, and
Lauerwinkel-above all, old wicked Ti-
mothy, the executioner of your brother
Gray-will take your intrusion in high
dudgeon. For my own part, I should
not wonder if Timothy should cut
the concern on the occasion, though
I make no doubt the Editor would
willingly purchase the continuance of
his favours by a promise to sport oak
in future against the Dilettanti Com-
mittee and all their works. The ab-

H

surdity of your opinions is only to be rivalled by the solemn affectation of your high-flown style. Your rumbling long-winded sentences, which look as if they had been measured off upon the ell-wand-your apparent happy self-complacency-your polite contempt of the labours of an accomplished artist, whose merits you are totally incapable of appreciating-all are'somewhat original in their way, and must undoubtedly have struck with surprise even the readers of Blackwood's Magazine, well as they have been drilled for these eight or ten months past not to start at trifles.

much for your criticisms on the exterior.

The subject upon which you have been pleased to make your critical debut, is one of some little importance to those who set any value on the appearance of Edinburgh, otherwise I should not have bothered myself with taking any notice of your fine flights. The external part of the church of St Giles is supposed, by all men of sense who have ever seen it, to be about the poorest piece of patchwork extant in this land of "shabby kirks.” It is a disgrace to so fine a city as Edinburgh, and the sooner it be got rid of the better. Mr Elliot's plan, which I could almost suspect you have never seen, preserves every thing that is worth preserving in the old exterior, with the exception of one or two little niches; and it gives to the city a beautiful gothic church, in place of a vile ricklety of jails, police offices, shops, and kirks, all jumbled together, with a degree of bold barbarity only to be paralleled by the late and present alterations, on the sister pile of the Parliament House over the way. But the Dilettanti have some fine ideas in their heads about the impropriety of altering ancient buildings any other way than after the Westminster and York method of refacciamento-taking out the old stone, and putting in a new one exactly like it. Truly, opera pretium foret, to take out the old stones of St Giles and put in new ones. The stones so removed and replaced on the buttresses of Henry the Seventh's chapel, are elaborately and exquisitely carved, and therefore worthy of so much trouble. Those of St Giles are only plain black stones, which never saw carving, and therefore, if you have nothing better to propose, you had better let them stay as they are. So

With regard to the interior, I cannot but think you should have been a little more cautious, before you ventured to attack that part of Elliot's design. You might at least have tried your hand, to begin with, on your own hall of assembly in Young's Tavern; the sky-blue ceiling, pink cornices, and transparent linen blinds, of which do little credit either to the Committee under whose inspection it was fitted up, or to Bill himself, who ought to be ashamed to have such a glaring specimen of vulgar taste in his well-frequented house. You are for having "two churches in the nave"there is nothing very new in thatand "a hall for music, sculpture, and painting, in the transept!" O most rare Committee of Dilettanti! is it possible that you are the same persons who apostrophise in such moving terms the bones of John Knox, Andrew Melville, and the Covenanters, about two pages before? How would the

"Iron eye

That saw fair Mary weep in vain," have scowled upon a Committee from a tavern club, who should have waited upon the Bailies of that day with any similar proposal. "Music!" that I can understand-vocal, I suppose, like that of St George's Church, or the psalm concerts. But "painting and statuary!" Why, the very mention of this is horror to any Presbyterian ears. Granting, however, that you had the hall, to do as you please with, let me ask you wherewithal you propose to adorn it? Which of the Edinburgh artists do you mean to employ? I observe Allan's name among your number. Does that elegant artist mean to cover the house of God with luxurious representations of Circassian beauties? Does Mr Schetky propose to furnish its walls with effects from the Pyrenees? Will Williams convert the whole circumference into a panorama of Rome or Athens? Or, will Peter Gibson vouchsafe to occupy a compartment, with a distant view of the rising academy of Dollar?-Or, do you rather wish to fill St Giles with the work of the old masters? You expect, no doubt, that the whole country is to be laid under contribution-that the College of Glasgow are to send you their famous picture of Leda and the Swap

1818.3

Letters of Timothy Tickler.

-that Mr John Clerk will give you his Europa riding upon the BullMr Gordon his Danae-Mr Crawford his Potiphar's Wife-and the Duke of Hamilton his Magdalene. I wonder whether Dr Ritchie and Principal Baird will approve of all this, as likely to edify the younger part of their congregation, particularly the ladies, who, I regret to say, occupy so disproportionate a part in all other Edinburgh congregations, as well as in theirs. As to sculpture! I am really quite at a loss to understand what you mean. There is no statuary here that ever I heard of, and very few any where else, worthy of being known either to you or me. Plasterof-Paris casts, however, are probably all you look to; and I dare say, by means of proper interest, you may get tolerable copies of the Venus, the Antinous, the Hermaphrodite, &c. at a I very reasonable expense. Do so. give you fair warning, gentlemen, that I am a ruling elder of the kirk, and that I will certainly bring in an overture against you and all your doings, if I be spared till next meeting of the General Assembly.

The last of your proposed improvements tickles me mightily. You can't sit in pews like other Christians, forsooth, you would have St Giles furnished with sofas screwed to the floor." I wonder you omitted to mention an ottoman or two for the Dilettanti Society in the midst, or perhaps an easy fauteuil for the spokesman of You the Architectural Committee. are too fine by half for your age and country. We plain Scots true-blues are still contented to sit on wooden benches, and hear the gospel just as our forefathers used to do; but you can't think of going to church unless you have velvet cushions to loll upon, and pictures and statues to stare at in the intervals of the discourse. In your next Report, I expect to see you dropping hints that you mean to bring your pipes and tumblers with you, and sit on your ottoman, like so many captains of Knocktarlitie, puffing tobacco and swigging gin-twist, as if you were still at Young's tavern. There is no saying what fine things the world might come to, if the Dilettanti Society had the inspection of all churches and chapels consigned to their care by an act of parliament. To VOL. III.

be serious, you had better have a meet-
ing with Bailie Johnston and Sir Wil-
liam Rae, at Bill Young's, burn the
Report, and get tipsey as you used to
do, without troubling your heads any
Your affectionate
farther about matters you don't under-
stand. Farewell.
Brother,

MORDECAI MULLION, F.D.S.E.
From the Sign of the Hen-Coop,
Candlemaker's Row, Edinburgh.

LETTERS OF TIMOTHY TICKLER TO
EMINENT LITERARY CHARACTERS.

LETTER V.-To the Editor of Black-
wood's Magazine.

MY DEAR EDITOR,

WILL you allow me to write a very short article (two pages at the most) on a pamphlet published t'other day in Glasgow, against my friend Dr Chalmers, by a raffish sort of a fellow calling himself Menippus? I hope you will. It is a perfect specimen of that low ribaldry which men of power, genius, and virtue, like Dr Chalmers, are at all times sure to meet with from half-witted and uneducated dunces. On the first hasty glance, it looked sorely like a composition of the Bagman, whose marriage with Miss Spence is, I understand, now quite a settled thing, unless, to use a common but forcible phrase," they split upon settlements." The strain of its wit reminded me of that sort of talk which is heard from literary travellers at the ordinary of a commercial inn, and may be described somewhat generally by a word well understood in Lancashire, and which has, I believe, been lately introduced into my native city of Glasgow, though I am sure it never can become naturalized in so intellectual a place, TROTTING. The merit of this practice consists in turning into the ridicule of a set of vulgar fools, some person whose good sense and good manners preserve him from suspecting the brutal blackguardism of the rude knave who is playing off upon him. Menippus, accordingly, would fain TROT Dr Chalmers. But unluckily there is something about the Doctor that all at once converts the TROTTER INTO THE TROTTEE; so that when Menippus eyes the company assembled to witness this refined

3 X