THE PROSE OF JOHN WILSON 
 
 BY 
 
 AGNES GRIEVE WALKER 
 
 A. B. Coe College, 1920 
 
 THESIS 
 
 » 
 
 Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the 
 
 Degree of 
 
 MASTER OF ARTS 
 IN ENGLISH 
 
 IN 
 
 THE GRADUATE SCHOOL 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 1921 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 
 
 https://archive.org/details/proseofjohnwilsoOOwalk 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
SEP 21 e<mta. 
 
 \^7lS 
 
 Yvi\^ 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Intro luct ion 
 
 
 Chap ter 
 
 I 
 
 Criticism 
 
 Chapter 
 
 II 
 
 — Descriptive Narration 
 
 Chapter 
 
 III 
 
 - Miscellaneous Works - 
 The Noctes Ambrosianae 
 
 Bibliography 
 
 
 Page 
 
 1-12 
 
 13-30 
 
 31-52 
 
 53-76 
 
 79-61 
 
1 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 JOHN WILSON (1785 - 1854) 
 
 Were it possible to turn back for a moment the pages of the 
 book of life, and to stand once more upon the threshold of a by- 
 gone age, how startling would be the revelations that would greet 
 us there: History, literature, society, all would be enveloped 
 
 in a new atmosphere, endowed with a new meaning. Events which 
 now impress us as the. vital problems of the age would pale in 
 the light of intense flaming zeal in contemporary issues of the 
 day. Men whom we now revere would sink into comparative insig- ' 
 nif icance : men whom we have permitted to fall into oblivion 
 
 would stand forth in all the glory of fam$ and achievement. So 
 it is with the opening of the nineteenth century. With the 
 changing spirit of the times, new customs, new manners, new lit- 
 erary ideals, new political institutions, much of the local color 
 and contemporary atmosphere of that period has been forgotten. 
 
 And with the fading of such interests have gone many names once 
 
 prominent in oolitics and letters. Yet could we step back into 
 
 would 
 
 the heart of that glorious age of Romanticism, we /find ourselves 
 in the midst of a brilliant group of literary men. Coleridge 
 had given to the world his humanly sympathetic dream poems: 
 
 Scott had produced his stirring martial poems of the Scottish 
 border: Wordsworth was publishing his great interpretations 
 
 of nature: and Eyron was singing of the passion and splendor 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 of Europe and the Orient: while in the field of pro3e Scott was 
 
 kindling afresh popular enthusiasm for national history by re- 
 animating in hi 3 novels the 3pirit of the past: and De Quincey 
 
 was preparing to publish his famous criticisms and autobiographies. 
 
 Prominent among these men, however, stands a figure now 
 almost forgotten, one who "looms on the horizon of the pa3t, 
 the representative of a vanished race of physical and intellec- 
 tual giants, the historical legend revealing him as beyond all 
 things a good man of his inches, the soul and center of a bril- 
 liant circle of literary critics" “ Christopher North. TsL 1, 
 muscular, athletic, of powerful physical frame and boundless 
 mental energy, John Wilson by force of his vibrant personality 
 and exuberant spirit, reigned gloriously for many years as one 
 of the foremost literary dictators of his age. Among his friends 
 were numbered Scott, Coleriige, Wordsworth, and Pe Quincey, with 
 all of whom he exchanged periodic visits. Indeed it was at 
 Wordsworth’s home in Grasmere that he first met Coleridge and 
 
 De Quincey, as is very interestingly narrated in the latter's 
 
 ( 2 ) 
 
 "Sketches of Wilson." 
 
 But the real center of his power lay in Edinburgh, where 
 was assembled the famous Blackwood Group, Lockhardt, Galt, 
 
 Ferrier, and Hamilton, Here it was that Wilson ruled as chief: 
 here it was that his opinions received the greatest credit and 
 
 (1) Douglas - Blackwood Group" - (Famous Scott Series) pp .9-10 . 
 
 (2) De Quincey Works. Ed. Masson, v. 5. p.262. 
 
3 
 
 respect, and here hi3 power was mo3t widely acknowledged and felt. 
 Minor writers who came immediately under his influence felt that 
 one word from his pen might exalt them to immediate fame and 
 glory, or, on the other hand, "blast forever their hopes of recog- 
 nition. From him Tennyson suffered an onslaught that would have 
 silenced forever a lesser poetj to him Wordsworth himself owed 
 much of his wide recognition and appreciation in Scotland. "How 
 the public did watch and weary for the first of the month: for 
 it was sure to bring with it either a sunny and splendid morning 
 of poetic eloquence, or a terrible and sublime invective of 
 satiric power. 'Who is next/’ was the general question, 'to be 
 
 crowned as by the hand of Apollo or to be searched as by a 
 
 (3) 
 
 wafture from the torch of the Furies?'" Such was the general 
 sentiment of the national capital, and, indeed, his reputation 
 if not his recognition as a literary critic was nation-wide. 
 
 So much for contemporary criticism: let us now turn to 
 
 the verdict of later years, which robbed of the influence of 
 personality and local color, is at once more just, sane, and 
 unprejudiced. Perhaps the most penetrating criticism ever 
 written upon Wilson is that delivered by Carlyle, who, in a 
 single paragraph sums up admirably the one defect which prevented 
 Wilson from standing in the front rank of literary artists. 
 "Wilson had much nobleness of heart and many traits of noble 
 
 (3) Gilfillan - "Literary Portraits, ""Professor Wilson" -pp . 374. 
 
- 4 - 
 
 geniu3, but tbs central tie beam seemed wanting always: Toryism 
 
 with sansculott ism : Methodism of a sort with total incredulity: 
 
 a noble, loyal, and religious nature not strong enough to vanquish 
 the perverse element it is born tc . Hence being all split into 
 precipitous chasms and the wildest volcanic tumults: rocks over- 
 grown indeed with tropical luxuriance of leaf and flower, but 
 knit together at the bottom only by an ocean of whiskey punch. 
 
 On these terms nothing can be done. Wilson seemed to me always 
 by far the most gifted of our literary men, either then or still. 
 And yet intrinsically he has written nothing that can endure. 
 
 U) 
 
 The central gift was wanting.” 
 
 In close accord with the spirit of the critism is that of 
 
 H. J. Millar when he says. "There is nothing easier than to 
 
 under-rate Wilson's abilities and in a moment of exasperation 
 
 to believe that he was no more than a superior sort of Professor 
 
 Black ie He was a creature of moods, the sport of contending 
 
 emotions, destitute of what i 3 called ballast His failings 
 
 his 
 
 are as conspicuous as tc throw/many excellent and admirable 
 
 qualities into the background, but they must not blind us to 
 
 his genius, for genius he unquestionably had, though of an ir- 
 „ " (5) 
 
 regular and spasmodic kind. De Quincey, also, in his semi- 
 satiric manner, touches upon the same central defect in the 
 Professor's work. ” 'Had he,' it is said, 'thrown the same 
 
 fiery genius into a less desultory shape, it is hard to compute 
 
 ^ (4) Millar, « Literary History of Scotland" - p.510. 
 
 (5) Saintsbury, "Essays in English Literature," v.I, p.271 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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how enormous and systematic a bock he might have written.' That 
 is true: had he worked a little at the book every day of his 
 
 life, by this time it would have towered into an altitude a3 to 
 require long ladders and scaffolding for studying it, and, like 
 the Vicar of Wakefield's family portrait, could find its way 
 into no human chambers without pulling down the sidea of the house. 
 In the footnotes, where the streetlamps would keep him in crier, 
 the professor might have carried on 3cb=?rly enough. But in the 
 upper part of the page where he would feel himself striding in 
 nubibus, ah crimini! what larkings there would have been, what 
 sprees with the Aurora Borealis l What a rise he would have taken 
 out of us roor mortals below! Even the man in the moon would 
 
 (6) 
 
 have been frightened into apogee by the menaces of his crutch.” 
 
 Yet Ee Quincey does net totally condemn Wilson. Cautious 
 critic a3 he ordinarily is, he proceeds to declare that from 
 Wilson's contributions to Elackwocd's magazine, and more espec- 
 ially from his meditative examinations of the great poets, both 
 modern and ancient, «a florilegium might be compiled of thoughts 
 more profound and more gorgeously illustrated than exists else- 
 where in human composition.” ” the re is another and a far ampler 
 philosophy,” he writes concerning the criticism of Wilson's 
 lectures, ”a philosophy of human nature, like the philosophy 
 of Shakespeare, and of Jeremy Taylor, and of Edmund Burke, which 
 is scattered through the miscellaneous papers of Professor Wilson. 
 
 (B) De Quincey Works, Ed. Massen. v.5, p. 294. 
 
6 
 
 Such philosophy by its very nature is of a far higher and more 
 inspiring nature than -any which lingers as mere scholastic con- 
 undrums. It is a philosophy that cannot be represented in ab- 
 stract forms, but hides itself as an incarnation in voluminous 
 mazes of eloquence and poetic feelings. Lock for this among 
 
 the critical essays of Professor Wilson which for continual 
 
 glimpses and revelation of hidden truth are perhaps absolutely 
 
 unmatched and in which he displays his own genius, its origin- 
 
 (7) in 
 
 ality and power.” What this genius is, and just /what its 
 
 power consists, is admirably expressed by James Eannay: "When 
 
 a writer like Wilson appears, who, even without transcendent 
 
 genius, for a great genius he is not, is in thorough communication 
 
 with nature: writing as he acts, and talking as he does both; 
 
 (6) 
 
 a man ’all symmetry, perfectly healthy.” Gilfillan and 
 
 Saintsbury proceed to analyze this peculiar genius into its 
 constituent parts, good and bad respectively. ” We pass to 3peak 
 of the elements cf his genius,” says the former. "These are 
 distinguished by their prodigal abundance and variety. He was 
 
 what the Germans call an "all-sided” man His imagination was 
 
 large, rich and ungovernable: His humor was one of the most 
 
 lavish of his faculties. Add to this great memory, keen sharp 
 intellect, wide sympathies, strong passion, and a boundless com- 
 mand of a somewhat loose but musical and energetic diction, and 
 
 ( 9 ) 
 
 you have the outline of his gifts and endowment s ." "Only rarely, 
 
 ( 7 ) De Quincey, Works. Ed. Masson, p.301. 
 
 (6) Hannay, "Characters and Criticisms,” p. 313. 
 
 (9) Gilfillan, "literary Portraits", p.383. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 82 ^s Saintsbury, writing from the other view-po int ,"ha6 he even 
 
 written good pages, in the sense of pages good throughout. Even 
 
 the almost inconceivable haste with which he wrote would not of 
 
 its self account for the puerilities, the touches of tad taste, 
 
 the false pathos, the tedious burlesque, the more tedious 3 act- 
 
 ( 10 ) 
 
 at ion, which disfigure hi 3 work.” » A general chaos,*' he say 3 
 
 ( 11 ) 
 
 "but first of all, and I fear last of all, chaotic." 
 
 The difference between the verdicts of these two critics 
 illustrates in general the wide division of critical opinion 
 regarding the prose of John Wilson. Even concerning his individual 
 works this is in a large measure true. As a novelist, however, 
 he was generally regarded a failure. A 3 Sir George Douglas says 
 in his sketches of the Blackwood Group, "His stories are de- 
 liberately localized in some other world than ours, and if there 
 thence ensues a certain aesthetic gain it is accompanied by more 
 than proport ionate less in vari semblance and moral force. To 
 speak more plainly, if the world of Wilson’s tales is a better 
 one than ours it yet remains an artificial one: his stories 
 
 develop in accordance with the rules of a preconceived ideal, 
 
 and a ’weakening of their interest is the result.- The vices 
 
 of prettiness, self consciousness, artificiality, and sentiment 
 suffice to stamp his work a3 an imitation decadent from the 
 
 (13) • 
 
 lofty source of its original, Wordsworth." Gilfillan, moreover, 
 
 (10) Saintsbury, "Essays in English Literature," VI. p. 242. 
 
 (11) Saintsbury, "Essays in English Literature , v.3, p.476 
 
 (12) Douglas, "Blackwood Group," p.30. 
 
6 
 
 takes up another source of their weakness when he say 3 , ” Wilson 
 
 is too Ossianic in his style of narration and description, and 
 
 had he attempted a novel in three or four volumes, it had been 
 
 absolutely illegible. Even '’Margaret Lindsay,” his longer tale, 
 
 rather tires before the close through its sameness of eloquence 
 
 and monotony of pathos; only very short letters should be all 
 
 (13) 
 
 written in tears and blood.” 
 
 As a poet he was scarcely more successful. True, many 
 
 beautiful passages may be pointed out in verse, but no one would 
 
 probably maintain that it bids fare to have a long life. Gil- 
 
 fillan blames the failure upon the early influence of Wordsworth, 
 
 when '^e says, "Wilson was by nature fitted to be as a poet, a 
 
 great compound of the subjective, and the subjective with the 
 
 objective somewhat preponderating, but the influence of Wordsworth, 
 
 counteracted only in part by that of Scott, made the subjective 
 
 predominate unduly in the verse, and he who might have been almost 
 
 a Shakespeare had he followed this natural tendency, became in 
 
 (14) 
 
 poetry only a secondary member of the lake school." And 
 
 with this judgment Saint sbury on the whole seems to agree; 
 
 "His poems are now matters of interest to very few mortals. It 
 
 are 
 
 is not that they are bad, for they are not, but they/almost wholly 
 without distinction. He came just late enough to have got the 
 seed of the great romantic revival; and his verse work is rarely 
 more than the work of a clever man who has partly learned and 
 
 (13) Erilf illan "Literarv Portraits." p. 385. 
 
 (14) Gilf illan "Eiterary Portraits." p. 371 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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9 
 
 partly divined the manner of Burns, Scott, Campbell, Coleridge, 
 
 (15) 
 
 Wordsworth, Byron, and the rest.” 
 
 Turning next to the field of criticism, we meet with perhaps, 
 the greatest amount of disagreement. There is so much to be 
 said in his favor, and yet as a whole he is generally unreliably 
 so that the critical estimates are unduly at variance. Perhaps 
 Saintsbury best expresses the source of true worth in his criti- 
 cism when he says, "Throughout hi3 critical works there are scat- 
 tered the most intelligent ideas, the neatest phrases, and the 
 
 de) 
 
 most appreciative judgements," while on the other hand he 
 
 touches upon his worst fault in the statement, "Diffuseness, a 
 
 bad fault anywhere, is an absolutely fatal one in critical liter- 
 
 (17) 
 
 ature that wishes to live." And later he elaborates this when 
 
 he mentions, "critical incivility of the worst sort, political 
 
 and other part isanship s, and a prevailing capriciousness which 
 
 (16) 
 
 makes his critical utterances almost valueless:" while Millar, 
 
 in his "Literary History of Scotland," sums up both opinions 
 
 admirably: "In criticism Wilson is an extraordinary mixture of 
 
 perspicacity and blindness, of the sound and the perverse, oi 
 
 the sagacious and the wayward, of the brilliant and the provok- 
 ( 19 ) 
 
 ing." "But though he is condemned as a poet, tale teixer, and 
 
 critic," 3 avs Saintsbury, "this leaves untouched the attraction 
 
 (15) Saintsbury, "Essays in English Literature." 
 
 (16) Saintsbury, "Essays in English Literature." p. 294 
 
 (17) Saintsbury, "A History of Criticism." p. 477. 
 
 (18) Saintsbury, "A History of Criticism." p. 473. 
 
 (19) Millar, "Literary History of Scotland," p. 511. 
 

 
 ? 
 
10 
 
 of this miscellaneous work, ani its suitableness for the purpose 
 of recreation. For that purpose I think it to be among the very 
 best work in all literature. Its unfailing life and vigor, its 
 
 vast variety, the healthy and inspiring characteristics which 
 
 ( 20 ) 
 
 make its volumes easy chair books of the best order.’' His 
 
 "drunken Noctes", as Carlyle calls them, are a wondrous series 
 
 of contributions, grave and gay, satiric and serious, fierce and 
 (31) 
 
 original." "The English language contains nothing 30 grotesque 
 
 as some of their humorous descriptions, nothing so graphic, so 
 
 intense, so terrible, as some of their serious pictures; no 
 
 dialogue mors elastic, no criticism more subtle, no gossip more 
 
 delightful; no such fine diffusion, like the broad eagle wing; 
 
 no such vigorous compression, like the keen eagle talon; but 
 
 when we remember besides that the Noctes combine ail these merits 
 
 into a wild ani wonderous whole, our admiration of the powers 
 
 ( 22 ) * 
 
 displayed in them is intensified to astonishment." And closely 
 allied to the "Noctes" are the "Recreations of Christopher North," 
 in which are tc be found some of the most beautiful prose de- 
 scriptions of natural scenery ever penned." "In nc modern, not 
 even Scott, do we find prose passages so gorgeous, so filled 
 with the intense spirit of pcetrv and rising so finely into \its 
 
 T20) Saint sburv , "Essays in English Literature." p. 302. 
 
 (21) Gil f ill an, "Literary Portraits." p. 343. 
 
 (22) Gilf illan, "Literary Portraits." p. 345. 
 
11 
 
 (33) 
 
 language and rhythm a 3 these,” says Gilfillan, while Henry 
 
 Hallam characterizes him as ”a living writer of the most ardent 
 
 and enthusiastic genius, where eloquence is as a rush of mighty 
 <34) 
 
 waters.” And such eloquence is not confined to description 
 
 alone. "His sketches of boyhood and youth cannot be matched 
 
 (35) 
 
 for variety and eloquence.” "The progress of the sportsman 
 
 has never been better given than in "Christopher North in His 
 
 <26) “ 
 
 Sporting Jacket," writes Saintsbury of Wilson's essays on sport; 
 
 while he sums up the whole case in the following quotation; 
 
 "Wilson's renown as an athlete, a sportsman, and a lover of nature 
 
 who had a singular gift of expressing his love, has not yet died, 
 
 and there is ample audience now for men who can write about 
 
 (3?) 
 
 athletics, about sport, and about scenery." 
 
 Summing up, therefore, the various estimates of Wilson's 
 genius, we find a continual conflict of opinion, occasioned al- 
 most entirely by that peculiar compound of good and evil that i3 
 ever present in his works. A 3 a poet he obviously discarded a 
 certain realism of the first order to become a mere imitator of 
 the subjective Romanticists; a.s a critic he is at once brilliant 
 and unreliable; while as a novelist he marred a power of drawing 
 exquisitely beautiful scenes by an ever present artificiality 
 and overstrained pathos. Even in those works which undoubtedly 
 1 ssr Gilfillan, "Literary Portraits." p. 365 
 
 (24) Hallam, H. "Introduction tc the Literature of Europe. ”v. 2. 
 
 T3 .3 1 cti • 13 • 
 
 (25) Millar, "Literary History of Scotland," p. 514. 
 
 ( 26 ) Saint shury, "Essays in English Literature," p. 298. 
 
 (27) Saintsbury , "Essay s in English Literature," p. 395. 
 

12 
 
 display his genius at its "best - the Noctes Ambrosianae and his 
 descriptive writings - his fav.lt s pursue him. He i3 diffuse, 
 desultory, unable to confine himself to the subject in hand. 
 
 And to some critics these faults are inexcusable; they completely 
 overshadow even the most celebrated of his descriptive passages. 
 
 On the other hand, there are critics who maintain that his 
 merits predominate, that in view of his eloquent descriptions 
 of sport and scenery, his profound observations on human life, 
 and his real knowledge and love of literature, his failings may 
 be regrettable but cannot be considered unpardonable . It is 
 therefore, with the aim of giving just consideration to both 
 standpoints, of carefully estimating both his merits and his 
 faults that we take up the present study of the prose of John 
 Wilson. Former studies have frequently stated mere general 
 impressions based no doubt upon a full and complete reading of 
 his works and containing each one its separate element of truth. 
 Eut such impressions are too often merely impressionistic, 
 records of emotional or intellectual reactions without regard 
 for specific justification, therefore exaggerated alike in praise 
 and blame. In the present case, however, we purpose to make a 
 broader, more extensive study. For the purpose of simplifying 
 such a study we shall consider his writings in the three main 
 divisions into which they naturally fall: namely criticism, 
 descriptive narration, and the Noctes Ambrosianae. 
 
13 
 
 CRITICISM. 
 
 Vfaen one tries to appreciate Christopher North a3 a critic 
 he inevitably meets with a certain amount of difficulty, arising 
 in the first place from the fact that Wilson's criticism is not 
 confined to his formal critical essays, but i3 distributed promis- 
 cuously throughout all of hi3 collected writings. Moreover, 
 such criticism is never twice of equal value; his best work is 
 liable to be found in his wor3t book, and his worst work in hi3 
 
 best book, or as Saint sbury r>uts it, "He is a writer unequalled 
 
 ( 1 ) 
 
 in his equality." On the other hand he accumulated repeated 
 provocation to Nemesis and Oblivion: He is immensely diffuse, 
 
 he i3 frequently extravagant alike in praise and blame, and, 
 worst of all, he is sriven to capriciousness, resulting f rom hi3 
 lack of any fixed critical theory, ani a certain amount of crit- 
 ical incivility that leads on occasion to excess and vituper- 
 ation. On the other hand, however, he i 3 endowed with an enthus- 
 iastic knowledge and love of literature, which, combined with a 
 keen and well educated intellect, give him a real capacity for 
 judging whenever he allows such a capacity really to exercise 
 itself. He is generous, appreciative of the works of national 
 and foreign poets alike, and capable of expressing his opinions 
 in straighf orward and energetic diction. 
 
 Before taking up any detailed discussion of such a strange 
 
 compound of good ani evil, however, 1st us consider Wilson's 
 
 criticism as a whole, in order to determine the general method 
 Tl) Saint sbury , "Essays in English Literature," p. 290. 
 
- 14 - 
 
 which he employs. "Now there are", says Professor Stuart Pratt 
 Sherman, "three possible methods of criticism, which we may 
 designate in the order of their appearance as: the judicial or 
 
 classical method: the impressionistic or romantic method: the 
 
 historic or naturalistic method." Each of these methods, moreover 
 is distinctive in purpose; the judicial aiming primarily to 
 judge or rank a work by testing its conformity with set critical 
 principles and comparing it with the great masterpieces of liter- 
 ature; the impressionistic aiming to feel, to enjoy, and so to 
 convey that sensibility and pleasure to the reader that he will 
 be stimulated to become acquainted with the originals themselves; 
 and the historic aiming to explain and understand, with special 
 
 reference to background, literarv relations, and circumstances 
 
 (3) 
 
 of composition. Of course it is not to be expected that any 
 critic will employ one of these methods exclusively, he will no 
 doubt use all to a limited extent, but as a general rule one 
 method will predominate. Thus Dr. Johnson is judicial, Kazlitt 
 impressionistic, and Taine historic. With reference to the 
 subject in hand, therefore, the question naturally arises as to 
 where Wilson’s criticism may be classified. Certainly he is not 
 judicial, he put 3 too much of himself into his criticism for that; 
 nor is he historic, for he never stops to consider the literary 
 antecedents, connections, or probable influences of the work 
 he is discussing. 
 
 (2) Mat 'the w Arnold; 
 
 "How to Know Him," p. 150. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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There is hut one possibility left, impressionist ic, and it 
 i 3 here, I believe that we may place the criticism of Wilson. 
 Impressionists are not in the least concerned with critical 
 theory or literary history. Neither is Wilson. Indeed his 
 critical essays are but an eloquent expression of his own personal 
 likes and dislikes. Impressionists are interested solely in 
 voicing their appreciation of a certain work, in bringing to 
 the reader instances of its particular attraction, and in inter- 
 esting him thereby in the whole. Whether the work may claim a 
 place amongst standard literature concerns them not al all; 
 their interest centers wholly in the power of its personal appeal. 
 And this, indeed, is the method which Wilson employs. With 
 what passionate, whole-souled enthusiasm doe 3 he voice his love 
 or hate, illustrating hi 3 points by continual citation of pass- 
 ages and carrying the reader along by sheer gusto rather than 
 logic. Ke preaches delightful sermons on what he likes at the 
 moment, or makes formidable attacks on what happens to displease 
 him, with at times an exquisite beauty in the former case, or a 
 comparatively rare justice in the latter. But never does he 
 pause to state directly what qualities he thinks essential to 
 good prose or poetry; never does he formulate any consistent 
 critical theory. His ideas are not so chosen and advanced as 
 to fit into one central proposition, but are dispersed, varient, 
 at times even contradictory. Not that he failed to appreciate 
 
16 - 
 
 good literature when he found it; except on occasion when preju- 
 dice or pure caprice was allowed to sway his judgment he seems 
 to respond unfailingly to the be3t. Eut of the tracing of lit- 
 erary cause and effect, of any coherent and co-ordinated concep- 
 tion of good and had in literature and the reasons therefore, 
 there is none. He may possess, and he undoubtedly does possess, 
 deep in his inner consciousness some definite standard of judg- 
 ment by which he measures all literature. Yet never does he 
 undertake to indicate specifically why a particular work accords 
 with that conception, or, falls short of it. For him a work is 
 to be judged wholly upon the strength of its appeal to the reader; 
 therefore he proceeds to present first his own impressions, and 
 second, examples cf the passages from which they are derived. 
 
 He quotes incessantly, choosing such passages as stimulate his 
 own emotions most powerfully, and presenting them with vigor and 
 enthusiasm. But, while such criticism may be of value in induc- 
 ing the readers tc become familiar with the originals, there is 
 a decided question as to the fulfillment cf the true purpose of 
 criticism, the determination of the value of a work in the field 
 of literature. 
 
 In order to appreciate Wilson's true ranking as an impres- 
 sionistic critic, however, it is necessary to discuss such 
 characteristics as are evidenced in the general subject matter 
 of tbe essays. Perhaps the first thing of interest is to deter- 
 mine, as nearly as it is oossible to determine anything with 
 
17 
 
 Wilson, just what his literary likes and dislikes are, and how 
 such tastes illustrate his characteristics aa a critic. Fore- 
 ir.ost amongst the former stands hi3 love of any piece of liter- 
 ature, he it poetry or prose, that can reproduce with accuracy 
 and animation the grandeur and the sweep of warfare. With the 
 clash of the battle, with the elementary passions it represents, 
 with the vigor and the energy of it all, his very spirit seems 
 to be akin. Again and again he thrills to it, becoming enthus- 
 iastically appreciative of the war descriptions in the poetry 
 of Homer, Macaulay, or Scott. 
 
 (3) 
 
 T ake the long passage concerning the wrath of Achilles , 
 
 for example, and note how Wilson traces the progress of that 
 
 quarrel through all its various stages of fierce passion, dumb 
 
 rage, and withering scorn. Again how keenly he responds to the 
 
 thrilling martial call and rapid onward movement of Lori Macaulay b 
 
 "Lavs of Ancient Rome”, whether it is "Horatius at the Bridge", 
 
 of which he says, " We do dearly love to see a poem of action get 
 
 over the ground;*' or the life and fire, the appropriate rhythm 
 
 and swing of the "Eat tie of Lake Regillus," "It is that blind, 
 
 fierce tumult that gives to war it 3 essential grandeur," he 
 
 says, and then proceeds to elaborate. "The unconquerable powers 
 
 of courage and thought, struggling and maintaining their own 
 
 supremacy in the midst of horrible and raging destruction, is 
 
 essentially sublime Then there is the effect of the beauty 
 
 of material power, the splendor of arms and array - the magnifi- 
 
 ce ncs cf horses charg ing through cloud3 of smoke, throngs of men, 
 T5) VIII, pp . 14 - 33. 
 

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- 16 - 
 
 or rivers - the admiration with which we look upon the strength 
 
 stature, ani speed of men when ministering' to the work of their 
 
 spirit. The very thunder of the cannon is sublime, because it 
 
 is a voice of destructive power, as the peal that rolls through 
 
 the heavens - the bellowing of volcanoes, - the flash in which 
 
 the concentrated essence of destruction is visible to the eye. u 
 
 "War”, he sums up, "brings the usually indefinite shapes of the 
 
 great agencies and processes of national events for a moment 
 
 into distinct and palpable reality, giving to the indefinite, 
 
 ( 4 ) 
 
 invisible powers a momentary presence in human life." 
 
 Nor is Wilson's appreciation confined to the long and mar- 
 tial ballads of Lord Macaulay; indeed he displays a decided 
 fondness for the true hallai or song wherever found. "Some of 
 our old ballads, breathed in the gloom of forests or glens by 
 Shephards or woodsmen, are in their earnest simplicity inimitahle- 
 
 Shepherds and woodsmen too, there have been in later years who 
 
 (5) 
 
 have sometimes caught the spirit of the antique strain." 
 
 Such men, indeed, are few, but when they do appear they cannot 
 be mistaken. The reader feels in their songs, not any light, 
 careless mood assumed for the moment , no tone of moralizing or 
 philosophizing, no spirit of bravado or defiance, but a note of 
 absolute sincerity - a voice from the very innermost soul of 
 the singer that cannot fail to awaken a responsive chord in his 
 
 U) VII. pp . 366 - 42C 
 (5) VI. p. 143. 
 
- 19 
 
 hearers. The very passion of the utterance, the very genuineness 
 
 of the feeling, make such songs, says Wilson, ’’cleave to the 
 
 ( 6 ) 
 
 heart until your dying day,” and cause u3 to echo the sentiments 
 
 of the Shepherd, "A man may he sair mistaken about mony things - 
 
 such as yepies, and tragedies, and tales, and hymns, and the 
 
 (?) 
 
 like - but he canna be mistaken about a sang." 
 
 Again, Wilson, is keenly responsive to the broad historical 
 
 pageantry of Sir Walter Scott - his canvass crowded with the 
 
 mighty men of the past, his action reproducing the great and 
 
 glorious events of many ages, with all the vitality and animation 
 
 of the life itself. "There are as many real men in his poetry 
 
 as the mighty men of old in cur annals and history- we find 
 
 ourselves hurried from this our civilized age back into the 
 
 troubled bosom of semi -barbarous life, and made keen partakers 
 
 ( 6 ) 
 
 in ail its impassioned and poetic credulities." He touched 
 
 the tombs with a divining rod and turf streamed out ghosts - 
 
 some in woodsmen's dresses - most in warrior's mail; green 
 
 archers leaped forth with yew bow and quivers - and giants stalked 
 
 shaking spears. The grey chronicler smiled; and, taking up 
 
 his pen, wrote in lines of light, the annals of the chivalrous 
 
 (9) 
 
 and heroic days of auld feudal Scotland." 
 
 In this connection also there comes Wilson's treatment of 
 
 (6) I. . p. 183. 
 (?) I. p. 163 
 
 (8) V . p . 368 
 
 (9) IX, p. 192. 
 
- 20 - 
 
 Byron's "Childe Harold," in which, indeed, he mingles both praise 
 and blame. In as far is the poem lacks fire and passion - the 
 first two cantos - it is condemned; in a3 far as it is imitative 
 of Wordsworth's nature descriptions - the third canto - it is 
 praised with reservations. But when he reaches the fourth canto, 
 Wilson's enthusiasm is inflamed and he pronounces it « glorious ." 
 "With all the fair and great objects in. the world of art Byron 
 
 here dealt like a poet of original genius The impetuosity of 
 
 his career is astonishing; never for a moment does his imagin- 
 ation flag; ever and anon he stoops but to soar with a more 
 
 ( 10 ) 
 
 majestic sweep." "Eyron locks back to the tombs of these great 
 men 'that stand in assured rest,' and, gazing as it were on the 
 bones of a more gigantic race, his imagination then teems with 
 corresponding births, and he holds converse with the mighty in 
 language worthy to be heard by the spirits of the mighty. His 
 
 (ii) 
 
 poetry is then a dark, but still a divine revelation." 
 
 The stir and firs of battle or the steady onward march cf 
 history are however, not the only things in litera.ture to which 
 Wilson is responsive. A keen lover cf nature he loves whatever 
 works successfully reproduce it, whether in its broad outlines, 
 simple beauties, or as a revelation cf the depper, mystic elements 
 lof life. Herein too he displays on occasion a real capacity for 
 judging, mingled with a prevailing generousity and a keen sympathy 
 
 (10) XX, p . 192. 
 
 (11) V. p. 390. 
 
21 
 
 with many different temperaments. How sympathetically he treats 
 the preternatural dream poems of Coleridge, with all their elu- 
 sive music and haunting beauty. Beauty of structure and form 
 Coleridge certainly has; rhythm and melody are present in every 
 line; while the loveliness of his nature description is not the 
 least part of his charm. Yet on none of these things does Wilson 
 choose to dwell. Instead, he signals out the one quality that 
 is distinctive in these works, that strange quality of imagination 
 that enters into and colors all that Coleridge writes. "His wak- 
 ing thoughts had all the vividness of vision, all the v-rious 
 of dreams; his beautiful reveries were often like revelations, 
 for Fancy and Imagination arrayed life in such many colored rad- 
 ience that they grew all divine «0 f the beauty and grandeur of a 
 thousand dreams, one beautiful or grand dream is built; and 
 there it gleams or glooms among entities recognized as illustra- 
 tions of the mystery of life - unsubstantial but real - a fiction 
 but a truth." 
 
 So, too, in the midst of his scathing criticism of Tennyson's 
 early poems he is by no means blind to the qualities that were in 
 future to make the poet laureate. His remarks on the quality of th 
 words - the relation of sound and sense illustrated in the ex- 
 quisitely pathetic atmosphere of the "Deserted House" - give 
 evidence of acute and generous appreciation. Indeed it is note- 
 worthy that he closes this essay with a note of prophecy concern- 
 ing the poet's future - "that the day would come when beneath 3 un 
 
 i* 
 
- 22 - 
 
 and shower, his genius would grow up and expand into a 3tately 
 
 tree, embowering a solemn 3hade within its wide circumference , 
 
 and that millions would confirm his judgment 'that Tennyson is 
 
 (12) 
 
 a p oe t ^ 1 " 
 
 Eut it is in his treatment of Wordsworth that both hi 3 
 
 appreciation and his powers of discrimination reach their highest 
 
 point. Again and again he pays him tribute in the " Noe tes , " 
 
 in the introduction to "A Stroll to Grasmere," and in the long 
 
 (13) 
 
 and decidedly irrelevant preface to" The Moors." His "sublime 
 
 benignity," his devotion to the "stillness of contemplation," 
 
 his sincere Christianity, all are touched upon. "His seeming 
 
 self abstraction from the turmoil of life scives to his highest 
 
 (14) 
 
 poetry a still and religious quality that is truly sublime." 
 
 "Wordsworth takes it for granted that people can see and hear, 
 
 ’ (15) 
 
 he wants to make them feel and understand." "He imbued and 
 
 made Nature pregnant with spiritualities till the mightv Mother 
 
 (16) 
 
 teems with beauty for more beauteous." "Eis imagination 
 possessed a beautifying and transmit! ing power over the objects 
 
 of the inaminate world He is the high priest of nature, the 
 
 benefactor of humanity who has purified its passions by the same 
 processes; that magnify their power, and showing how the soul in 
 ebb and flow and when its tide is at the full, may be at once as 
 
 (12) Mrs. Garden. Christopher North, pp . 340 -344. 
 
 (13) III, pp. 234 - 236. 
 
 (14) V. pp. 3S0, 394, 400. 
 
 (15) V . p . 
 
 (16) IX, p. 164. 
 
- ?3 - 
 
 ( 1 ?) 
 
 strong and serene as the sea." Yet, much as he admired the 
 serenity and beauty of Wordsworth's poetry, he was not blind 
 to its faults, as evidenced by the following comment in hi3 
 essay on Shakespeare: "Re wa3 a poet of meditation: his sym- 
 
 de) 
 
 pathieSewith passions were very imperfect.” Therefore he is 
 inferior to the master dramatist; therefore, although he may 
 be perfect in his own field, he lacks the universal genius of the 
 world's greatest poet." 
 
 And lastly Wilson entertains at all times a profound rev- 
 erence for noble womanhood, and values whatever literature pre- 
 sents it. Tennyson's "delicate perception of the purity of 
 female character" is immediately and favorably signalized. Of 
 Claribel , Isabel, Mariana, Oriana, and the rest he says, "Their 
 names and their natures are delightful, sound and sight are 
 
 spiritualized thev are the objects not of passion but of 
 
 (19) 
 
 affection." Something of the same attitude is seen too in his 
 treatment of Calppso, beautiful, loving, and about to be deserted. 
 The exquisite beauty of the mythical setting, the utter hopeless- 
 ness of her love, and the stern finality of her renunciation, 
 
 all are dwelt upon in a manner that serves to bring out the 
 
 ( 20 ) . 
 
 element of nobility in her nature. 
 
 Such merits, however, are all too frequently obscured by 
 the numerous and totally inexcusable faults that are perpetually 
 
 (17) X. p . 344. 
 
 (16) VII. p.429. 
 
 (19) VI, p . 136. 
 
 .(SO) VIII, pp. 341-367. 
 
24 - 
 
 in evidence in all Wilson's criticisms. Perhaps the most glaring 
 of these is his continual iiffuseness and desultoriness. It is 
 true that in the essays on Shakespeare and Wordsworth he does 
 make an attempt to be systematic, but in the main "he cannot 
 
 (31) 
 
 resist the temptation to course any hare that starts." Take 
 the essay on Lord Macaulay's "Lays of Ancient Rome," for example. 
 Here Wilson spends exactly eight pages in getting started - pages 
 devoted indeed to a more or less interesting statement of the 
 critic's own views on the comparative merits of contemporary 
 poetry, but nevertheless related to the main topic by the slender- 
 est kind of connection. Thus "by pleasant circumbendibus" as 
 he himself states does he reach the real start ing po int , where- 
 upon, the reader is undoubtedly ready tc admit the circumbendibus 
 while at the same time he questions the pleasure. Not content 
 with one deviation however, Wilson has scarcely settled down to 
 the subject in hand when we find him going off on another tangent, 
 and for several paragraphs we are compelled to listen to a long 
 digression on the poetic possibilities of war - a theme treated 
 
 with eloquence and enthusiasm it is true, and containing material 
 
 ( 22 ) 
 
 enough for an essay in itself, but none the less irrelevant. 
 
 In hi3 criticism on Tennyson, also, Wilson refusea to abide 
 absolutely by any set subject, but branches off in one place in 
 an intense appreciation of the beauties of Scottish scenery, 
 
 (21) Saint sburv, "A History of Criticism," v, 3, p. 475. 
 
 (22) VII, p P , 366 - 430 . 
 
25 
 
 evidenced in particular by the "heron haunted isle a" of Lech 
 (23) 
 
 Lamond. "An Hour's Talk about Poetry" contains several 3 uch 
 
 digressions, as, for example, on the comparative merits of female 
 
 (24) ‘ (24) 
 
 writers, the quality and power of Scotch 3ongs and songsters, 
 
 and a spirited defense of the Scotch treatment of Burns a3 com- 
 
 (24) 
 
 pared with the English attitude toward Bloomfield. 
 
 It is this very fault more than anything else that haa de- 
 prived of any permanent value Wilson's longer essays. "The 
 Spenser," for example, is full three hundred pages in length, yet 
 it is almost entirely devoted to the first book of the Faerie 
 Q.ueen alone. "Dies Boreali3" is a discussion of certain of 
 Shakespeare's plays and"Paradi3e Lost," but shows a decided in- 
 ability to settle to the subject in hand. And the "Specimens of 
 the British Critics" - an all conclusive title - proves to be 
 but a copious treatment of the critical utterances of Dry den and 
 Pope. Moreover it abounds in irrelevant material, discussing 
 these men as satirists, and playwrights, dwelling upon the respect- 
 ive merits of their rhymes, -■ , and even introducing a long digres- 
 sion, on the works and verse of Geoffrey Chaucer. 
 
 Besides being immensely diffuse, however, Wilson is decidedly 
 capricious. Nor can this cap riciousne 33 be excused by a decided 
 change of critical principles at any period of his life. Indeed 
 it seems to be due solely and completely to the constantly vary- 
 ing humors of the author. What he happened to feel at the moment, 
 
 (23) VI, pp . 145-146. 
 
 (24) IX, pp. 194: 205: 216. 
 
26 - 
 
 he wrote, whether it were praise or blame. But the difficulty 
 lay in the fact that his moods were seldom twice alike, so that 
 a compilation of his opinions regarding any one writer would 
 necessarily prove grossly inconsistent. Nor is this capricious- 
 ness in any sense confined to the lesser authors of the age; it 
 extends even to the leading literary figures. Indeed, not the 
 least incomprehensible part of his character as a critic is his 
 seemingly unconquerable tendency to attack even those whom he 
 ranked among his friends, and whom under ordinary circumstances 
 he reverenced and admired. Thus, in 3 pite of the sound criticism 
 elsewhere delivered upon these men , we find Scott and Coleridge 
 both rather violently assailed in different Noctes. "Scott's 
 
 poetry is often bad. Except when his martial soul is up he is 
 
 ( 35 ) 
 
 but a feeble and tame writer," while in another place the 
 
 Shepherd remarks, "The author of 'Cristabel' and 'The Ancient 
 
 Mariner' had better just continue to see visions and to dream 
 
 (26) 
 
 dreams, for he's no fit for the wakin' world." Nor is Words- 
 worth allowed to pass unscathed: "He often writes like an idiot— 
 
 a few ballads, pret ty at best, two or three moral fables, some 
 natural descriptions of scenery and half a dozen variations of 
 common distress or hapriness. Not cne single character has he 
 created, not one incident, not cne tragical cat ast rophe-- — . And 
 then how ludicrously he over-rates his own powers. This we all 
 
 do, but Wordsworth's pride is like a straw-c rowned King of 
 
 ( 3 ?) 
 
 Bedlam ." 
 
 (25) I . p . 37 . 
 
 (26) I , p . 350 
 
 (37) I. np . 34 - 36 . 
 
- 27 - 
 
 This leads to the discussion of another and equally deplor- 
 able weakness in Wilson's criticism, namely that he frequently 
 quiltv of critical incivility of the worst sort, total disregard 
 of the strength and even at times absolute coarseness of his 
 blows. Perhaps the best illustration of this is to be found in 
 the famous onslaught on Tennyson's early poems, characterized as 
 
 "the queerest jumble of sound and unsound criticism that exists 
 
 (26) 
 
 in the archives of that art." Here we find ridicule, gross 
 personalities and even indulgence in terms of the most violent 
 abuse. To the critic the young poet was a "Cockney," and there- 
 fore suffered accordingly, for of all the faults in Wilson's 
 category, " Cockney ism" was the worst. "Were they to church," he 
 
 (29) 
 
 remarks, satirically, "we should be tempted to break the Sabbath." 
 
 Whereupon he proceeds to indulge in a long and bitter attack upon 
 
 mere versifiers, calculated to counteract effectively any praise 
 
 they may have received. The poems, he declares, are "a perfect 
 
 specimen of the superhyperbol ical ultra extravagance of outrageous 
 „ , . (30) 
 
 Cockney eulogistic foolishness." Nor does he refrain from in- 
 dulging in undisguised abuse: "Versifying operatures are almost 
 
 always half-witted creatures, adiicted to drinking, and sell their 
 songs for alms." Indeed at times he even becomes directly per- 
 sonal, as in his comments on the shorter nature poems: "-Alfred 
 
 is greatest as an Owl all that he needs is to be shot, stuffed, 
 
 (28) Saintsbury, "Essays in English Literature." p. 292. 
 
 (29) VI, p. 109, 
 
 (3$) VI, p. 124. 
 
28 - 
 
 (31) 
 
 and stuck in a glass case, to be made immortal in a museum.” 
 
 Were such rabid statements as these Wilson's only critical 
 diet a, it is evident that his criticism would long ere now have 
 been forgotten. But that real and permanent judgments are to be 
 found elsewhere in no way excuses Wilson's giving free rein to 
 what Saintsbury calls his "ugly moods.” And it is just such 
 outbursts as these, unchecked and unjustified, that deprive his 
 criticisms of any lasting worth. 
 
 Concerning Wilson's general critical style but little need 
 be said. That the diction is in all cases forceful and energetic, 
 and that the vocabulary is rich and varied show 3 beyond doubt 
 that had his substance been cf value, Wilson had ability to give 
 it adequate expression. At times indeed he even displays a cer- 
 tain faculty of neat and pointed phraseology, which duly culti- 
 vated, might have resulted in critical statements that all who 
 read would remember. Of the Daphn&ida he says, ” Thus here are 
 many elegies in one: but that one is as much a whole as the 
 
 sad sky with all its misty stars.” Of Tennyson's word melody 
 he 3ay3, ”It is not necessary that ws should understand fine 
 poetry in order to feel and enjoy it, any more than fine musicj” 
 while speaking of Homer and the Classics he says with an attempt 
 at epigram, ”The animosities are mortal, but the humanities live 
 forever,” Hundreds of these things, indeed, II# scattered about 
 his rage 3 , dicta that may not display any particular profundity 
 
 (31) VI, pp . 130 - 131 . 
 
29 
 
 of thought, hut which in their strai ghtf orwardne ss and simplicity 
 give evidence of a peculiar aptness of phrase, that, had Wilson 
 chosento develops it, might have lent distinction to his writings. 
 
 But far too frequently such phrasing is permitted to sink 
 into bombast on the one hand, or bathos on the other. Instead 
 of being master of his emotions and thoughts, Wilson allows them 
 to master him, and his language suffers accordingly. While he 
 is indulging in bitter tirades against his fellow authors, his 
 expression generally becomes colloquial or crude; while he is 
 voicing his intense and enthusiastic appreciations of the things 
 he likes it becomes florid and extravagant , Never is it consist- 
 ently good for any length of time, nor, on the other hand, is 
 it ever entirely bad. Indeed even in his poorest work there are 
 present many redeeming qualities. But where so much of hi3 work 
 is bad, where glaring mistakes continually arrest our attention, 
 the meritorious is liable to b s so completely eclipsed that it 
 escapes our notice. 
 
 Thus, although Wilson's criticism presents some outstanding 
 merits, the faults seem fated to predominate. Suggestive and 
 stimulating he undoubtedly is, life and energy and direct forceful 
 expression abound in all he wrote. But when hi3 readers are 
 compelled to -wade through pages upon pages of totally irrelevant 
 material in order to arrive- at anything of lasting worth, it is 
 safe to conclude that the public as a whole will pass him by. 
 
30 
 
 Diffuseness is a bad fault anywhere, but absolutely fatal in 
 critical literature that wishes to live. A critic has consider- 
 able difficulty in reaching posterity at any time, but When hi3 
 work is overwhelmed with superfluous material, often fantastic, 
 and sometimes not even remotely connected with the subject, he 
 
 is bound to fail. "To terseness," says Saintsbury, "the critics 
 
 (32) 
 
 owe half their immortality." 
 
 Thus Wilson's faults result in lack of directness, method, 
 clean and clear critical grip that is continuous and all pervad- 
 ing. In short, although we are keenly alive to such merits as he 
 does possess, we are on the whole compelled to agree with the 
 final dictum of Gilfillan concerning Wilson's critical writings: 
 "Splendid passages and inestimable thoughts of course abound in 
 all that he wrote, but the want of persuasive purpose, of con- 
 densation, and of finish has denied true unity and perhaps per- 
 
 (33) 
 
 manent power to his writings.” 
 
 32) "A History of Criticism," p. 477. 
 
 33) "A Gallery of Literarv Portraits,” p. 3£9 . 
 
r 31 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE NARRATION 
 
 Leaving; the field of Wilson's criticise, however, for we 
 have alreadv decided that no permanent fame can ever rest upon 
 that, we turn to a second and very extensive division of his 
 work, namely his essays upon sport, athletics, and scenery.* 
 
 Here it is that Wilson really succeeds in reaching- the ear of the 
 public, for while criticism is very seldon read by any but critics 
 or students, there is ever an ample audience for the man who can 
 write of the great cut cf doors. Unquestionably, toe, Wilson 
 is at his best on these subjects, for, although it must be ad- 
 mitted that his faults pursue him even here, and that he is apt 
 to digress at any moment on politics, religion, or morals, yet 
 these faults are nowhere so little in evidence as when he loses 
 himself in some rapturous description of natural beauty, or some 
 enthusiastic reproduction of the scenes of sporting life. 
 
 Before taking up any detailed analysis cf these essays, 
 however, let us take a brief survey of their general themes, 
 noting which subjects Wilson chooses to discuss, and which he 
 avoids entirely. Sneaking generally, the essays fall into two 
 main divisions, - those dealing with sport itself, those dealing 
 with the scenery of English Lakes or Scottish Highlands. Out Aide 
 this field Wilson seldom if ever ventures, although he seems to 
 have had ample opportunity for broadening his sphere of interest. 
 
 Undoubtedly he must frequently have visited the coast, who can 
 
32 
 
 live long in Scotland and neglect to do so? - yet never does the 
 ocean figure in his descriptions other than in general references 
 or allusion. His home for many years was in Edinburgh, the 
 historic Scottish capital, yet rarely does he respond to the 
 romantic charm of the place, its shadowy traditions, its old 
 fashioned undeviating method of life, and its echoes of bygone 
 ages. Not even Edinburgh castle has power to arouse his interest 
 sufficiently to induce him to write about it. No, Wilson does 
 not re si? oni to the beauty created bv men: his field is limited 
 
 to the one phase of nature he knew and understood, But in that 
 one field he not infrequently displays himself a master. Of the 
 scenery of loch and lake, hill and mountain, he was at once an 
 ardent lover and an enthusiastic describer. The cloud capped 
 mountain peaks and purple moors, silent glens, and dusky mountain 
 tarns of the Scottish Highlands: the smooth green lawns and cloud 
 
 effects of the fleecy white, the extensive forests of oak and 
 placid mirrcr-like surface of the 7/aters in the English lake 
 district: the progress of the sportsman from youth to maturity, 
 
 through all the stages in fishing in burn and river and lake, or 
 3hccting and coursing on mountain and moor - all these things 
 alike stimulated his interest and fired his imagination. He 
 does not, however, stop to note individual beauties of these 
 scenes he loved - the delicate tracery of the moss fiber, ex- 
 quisite tints of the woodland flowers, or infinite variety of 
 mountain fern. Such things do not interest him beyond a passing 
 glance. It is the broad, sweeping effect of the landscape as a 
 
33 - 
 
 whole that arrests his attention, and that he is desirous of 
 conveying to his readers. The apparently unlimited view from 
 the summit of some high, mountain, the long stretches of rolling 
 moorland, and the wide expanse of shining water in the inland 1 
 lake, - such sights roused all the enthusiasm of his perfervid 
 nature and 3ome bright and characteristic passages result. 
 
 Let us therefore turn our attention tc the analysis of this 
 peculiar genius, and, by a detailed examination of both substance 
 and style, determine just what its constituent elements are. 
 Perhaps the greatest factor of distinction in Wilson's scenic 
 writings is the enthusiasm with which he colors them. Indeed, 
 whether he is portraying the scenes of sporting life, or the 
 grandeur of Highland mountain and loch, or the peaceful beauty 
 of English meadow and lake, his treatment of the subject is 
 marked by a decided exuberance and gusto. Wilson overflows with 
 sheer animal spirits, he has a riotous joy in just being alive, 
 so that most of the time the out of doors appears tc him as a 
 vast pleasure ground. Take for example the intensity of his joy 
 in the mere external aspects of nature. Never does his zest 
 diminish, but whether her aspect is stormy or tranquil, whether 
 the landscape lies smiling in the sunshine, or is overcast with 
 glcom, Wilson finds therein ample reason for ardor ani enthusiasm. 
 Take again. his spirited treatment of the activities of boyhood 
 and youth - how vivacious are his descriptions of their early 
 contrivances for fishing and shooting, how glowing his account 
 
34 
 
 of cat chasing - rather sneakingly and half-heartedly apologized 
 for elsewhere - in the "Sporting Jacket." With what rapid daring 
 strokes does he sketch the various stae-es of youthful develop- 
 ment, with what infinite relish does he unfold 'the various aspir- 
 ations and accomplishments of each. Follow their progress to 
 
 sp ort 
 
 maturity and Wilson* 3 response to the spirit of manly/ is no less 
 
 keen - the straight and "strengthy stripling" with his limber 
 
 in 
 
 twenty foot red and glittering attenuating line /swift and savage 
 pursuit of the baited salmon. Trace the various 3 ta]ges of the 
 chase with its repeated calls for strength, ingenuity and skill, 
 as the baited fish plunges onward past rocks and flooded falls, 
 endless deeps and treacherous shallows, endangering alike rod, 
 line, and swift pursuer in the break neck pace. Such a descrip- 
 tion is rendered with an ansrgy, fire, and dash that must per- 
 force arrest the attention of the sportsman and cause him to 
 live over again in memory like scenes of his own experience. 
 
 There is about it, moreover, a certain raciness, a certain breezy 
 quality in tune with the freshness and freedom of the out of 
 doors it presents, that conveys to the reader something of the 
 exhileration of the fresh mountain air, the eniivenment of the 
 sport, and the invigorat ion of the strenuous physical exercise. 
 
 Throughout this material moreover, there may be found real- 
 istic scenes of true beauty and worth, appearing chiefly where 
 Wilson is not making any conscious effort to describe. Thus they 
 are frequently less profuse, consequently more graphic. Several 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 ' , J 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' V - 
 
 - 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 
 
 • . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
- 35 - 
 
 elements contribute to this realism, as for example a strong 
 
 natural power of observation, a native susceptibility of the eye 
 
 to color and form, and an ability of selecting significant details 
 
 and sketching a picture in a few bold sweeping strokes. Such 
 
 characteristics are to be noted in his descriptions of nature and 
 
 of people alike. The presentation of the four great lakes of 
 
 Eritain, Awe, Lamond, Windermere and Killamey - Ben Cruachin, 
 
 the "Old Man of Con is tan," and Glen Etive and Barrowdale amply 
 
 illustrate the former, for, while none of these descriptions 
 
 exceed a page in length they are clear cut, graphic, and richly 
 
 colored as nature itself. In one sentence he gives a general 
 
 conception of Glen Etive: "Straight stretches the glen lor 
 
 leagues, and then, bending through the blue gloom, seems to wind 
 
 away with one sweep into infinitude," "Loch Lomond," he says, 
 
 " is a sea in its whole length and breadth unbroken, though be- 
 
 dropped with un-numbe red isles, and the shores diversified with 
 
 jutting cape and far shooting peninsula enclosing sweet seculsicns 
 
 each in itself a loch. And there stands the Ben — serene ewitfc 
 
 ( 2 ) 
 
 his own loch at his feet." Again he pictures Loch Awe, "which-- 
 
 locks like a river. Pleasant are his many hills and magni: icent h 
 his one mountain. For you see but Cruachin. He i3 the master 
 spirit. Call him the noblest of Scotland's Kings. His subjects 
 are princes and gloriously they range about him, stretching high, 
 wide, and far away, yet all owing visible allegiance to him, their 
 
 Tl)~~IX, p. 294. 
 (3) IX, p. 376. 
 
36 - 
 
 sole and undisputed sovereign. The rising and the setting sun 
 
 do him homage Green are the shores as emerald. But the dark 
 
 heather with its purple bloom sleeps in somber shadow over wide 
 
 regions of dusk, and there is an austere character in the cliffs. 
 
 Moors and mosses intervene between holms and meadows, and these 
 
 (3) 
 
 blac r spots are streaks of last year'3 peats. 
 
 In the second group, namely his descriptions of people and 
 of customs two passages in particular are noteworthy. The first, 
 a description of an Edinburgh dinner party in the twenties re- 
 veals .'nil son’s vein of social satire. » In Edinburgh there i3 
 par excellence no fashionable world. We are a nation of gentle- 
 
 men, and in such you have no idea how difficult it is to make a 
 tashionable world. We are all so vastly pleasant and polite - low 
 c reeding among us is so like high breeding in any less distinguish- 
 ed district of the globe, that persons who desire to be conspic- 
 uous for the especial elegance of their manners knew not how to 
 set about it - and let the highest among them be as fashionable 
 as they will, they will hear an army of chairmen ‘gurgling Gaelic 
 half way down their throats' as they keep depositing dowager after 
 dowager, matron after matron, virgin after virgin, all 'with 
 feathers swaling in their bonnets and every father's daughter 
 among them more fashionable than the other, in the gas lighted 
 
 hall of a place in Moray Play while the children keep glowering 
 
 and guffawing through the bannisters on the nursery story: 
 
 while ev er and anen fashionable servant maids in female curicusity, 
 (3) IX, p. 375 
 
37 - 
 
 proof of an enlightened mind, keep tripping to and fro, while it 
 
 inspires you with a fine dash of melancholy to discern among the 
 
 butlers, footmen, valets, waiters, and so forth - many of them 
 
 fashionably powdered with oat and barley meal of the finest 
 
 quality - some in and some out of livery, blue breeches and red, 
 
 black breeches and gray - to behold among 'these liveried angels 
 
 lacks v in g you' the faces of Saulies, well known at fashionable 
 (4) 
 
 funerals." Herein we observe Wilson ‘s peculiar gifts - his 
 firm grasp ox detail, and his power of producing in the reader'3 
 mind a complete picture by means of but a few rapid strokes upon 
 the canvas. 
 
 Nor are his pictures of Highland life and customs les3 good, 
 for he brings to his moorland papers a mind thoroughly versed in 
 the individual customs of the hills, steeped in their traditions, 
 and impregnated with their spirit. Wilson is a Scotchman, a 
 Scotchman in the superlative degree, and as such is admirably 
 equipped tc draw for us his pictures of that remarkably individual 
 race. With the deft touch and skilful manipulation of detail 
 that characterizes the man thoroughly familiar with his subject, 
 he proceeds to his task, unerringly selecting the distinctive 
 phases of Highland life. The peculiar superstitions that lurk 
 in the mountains, peopling the woods with elves and faires and 
 the streams with goblins and witches, and believing in the immor- 
 tality of ancestral spirits in their native glens: the wealth 
 
 of unwritten traditions of love and war preserved in fireside 
 
 (4) VII, p. 304. 
 
- 38 - 
 
 tales from remotest antiquity - both are touched upon with an 
 
 aporeciat ive insight and sympathy. Again, in his presentation 
 
 (5) 
 
 of ths alffiost idyllic life of the cottage, with lt3 scrupulous 
 tidiness, wholesome atmosphere of simplicity, uprightness and 
 sincerity, and, above all, profound reverence for the Scriptures, 
 he gives a peculiarly revealing glimpse of that spirit which 
 al one has made the country great - the spirit so beautifully set 
 forth by Burns in his "Cotter's Saturday Night," and of which he 
 say s i — 
 
 "From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 
 
 That makes her loved at home, revered abroad." 
 
 In sharp contrast to this, however, Wilson presents another 
 
 picture not less characteristic of the race, namely, that of the 
 
 rough condivality at the illicit distillery. Remarkably vivid 
 
 is the sketch of the still itself, excavated in the mountain 
 
 side, hidden in one of the loveliest spots in the Highlands, 
 
 approached by a carefullv concealed and narrow path, and entered 
 
 (6) ' of 
 
 by a door of turf. In his method/handling this scene, moreover, 
 Wilson displays a marked care for truthfulness, for, while he 
 sketches the merry making, yet -he takes care to refute the general 
 
 l 
 
 and mistaken notion of Highland indulgence. Lowlaniers may use 
 
 liquor to excess, 3 ays Wilson, but in the hills its use is marked 
 
 by a self restraint that is seldom forgo.tten, lest the strength, 
 
 agility, and mental alertness on which existence itself depends, 
 
 T5) IX, p. 349~i 
 t6) IX, p. 354. 
 
39 
 
 be impaired. 
 
 Leaving the still, moreover, and sailing down the lake in 
 
 the evening, he gives us a detailed account of true bag-pipe 
 
 music in its native setting: first, the wild gathering challenge 
 
 of "The Campbells are Coming," filling heaven and earth with 
 
 fierce martial music till the mountains and even the very clouds 
 
 themselves seemed to take up the notes; then the music faint in 
 
 the distance, seemingly the very soul of the hills and glades; 
 
 and finally the echo, "flung from cliff to cliff until it dies 
 
 (7) 
 
 Sway far-far off - as if in infinity." 
 
 Yet, at times it must be admitted that Wilson's realism 
 is somewhat too realistic. Again and again his unchastened taste 
 crops out, making itself evident for example in the series 
 "Christopher North in His Aviary." This group of papers contains 
 some scenes that are unpardonably revolting in theme. The horrid- 
 ly detailed account of the ravens eating the dead Quaker of 
 ( S) 
 
 Helvellyn - a scene calculated to make the reader's gorge rise 
 
 in disgust - is perhaps the worst of its kind and amply illustrates 
 
 the fault. Such things exist no doubt, but they are obviously 
 
 a 
 
 not -material for/literary essay, they are decidedly repellant, 
 deliberately offending our every sense. Yet Wilson's lack of 
 dsicriminat ive power, - or as Carl vie so aptly puts it - "lack 
 of the central tie beam" made him fail to perceive this fact, 
 
 and he all too frequently permits himself to be betrayed into 
 
 (7) >i;,p. ~ 365. ~ 
 
 (8) X, p. 151. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 w » 
 
 
 
 : >'■ 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 > 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 " ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 / ) ■ 
 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 - , • : 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 1 . 
 
 ' ' . . i 
 
 . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
40 
 
 scenes of a coarse and disgusting reality that no amount of 
 subsequent apology can excuse. 
 
 In the third place Wilson has a tendency to gild the actual 
 scene he is describing with qualities that are in reality the 
 product of his own vivid imagination. Not that he sees in 
 nature a spirit and central purpose a3 did Wordsworth, not that 
 he reads therein a reflection of human life. Wilson never sought 
 tc interpret more than the external features of nature. No 
 flower ever brought to him "Thoughts that do often lie too deep 
 for tears;” nature appealed rather to his boundless activity 
 and physical strength than to his intellect and deeper emotions. 
 He does however, invest his pictures with a richness and glow 
 that is clearly derived through the medium of fancy rather than 
 from the original. Indeed, in the introduction to the series of 
 descriptive sketches as ”The Moors,” he clearly states this prin- 
 ciple. ” Imagination csn modify, alter, obliterate, restore; at a 
 breath she can color vacuity with rainbow hues - crown the cliff 
 with its castle - swing the drawbridge over the gulf profound - 
 through a night of woods roll the river along on its moonlight 
 reach - by fragmentary cinctures of mist and cloud so girdle one 
 mountain that it has the power of a hundred - giant rising above 
 
 giant, far and wide, as if the mighty multitude, in magnificent 
 
 (9) 
 
 and triumphant disorder, were indeed scaling heaven,” 
 
 (9) IX, p, 292. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 - • * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' i . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ’ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 -V 
 
 
 
 . ^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
41 
 
 The result is threefold. Occasionally it leads to fanciful 
 scenes of a delicacy and purity that partake cf the true spirit 
 of poetry. As an example let us quote a passage from the '’Recre- 
 ations." Wilson has lust been describing Highland scenes of an 
 exquisite beauty, enhanced moreover by the lingering, "echoes of 
 harp 3 chiming through the silence of departed years." He con- 
 tinues 
 
 "There it was, on a little river island, that once, whether 
 sleeping or waking we know not, we saw celebrated a Fairie s ' Funeral 
 : irst we heard the small pipes playing as if no bigger than 
 hollow rashes that whisper to the night winds; and more piteous 
 than 'iight that thrills from earthly instrument was the scarce 
 audible dirge. It seemed to float over the stream, till the 
 airy anthem came floating over our couch, and then alighted with- 
 out footsteps among the heather. The pattering of little feet 
 was then heard, as if living creatures were arranging themselves 
 in order, and then there was nothing but a more ordered hymn. The 
 harmony was like the melting of musical dew-drops, and sang, with- 
 out words, of sorrow and death. We opened our eyes, or rather 
 sight came to them when closed, and dream was vision. Hundreds 
 of creatures, no taller than the crest cf the lapwing, and all 
 hanging down their veiled heads, stood in a circle on a green 
 plat among the rocks; and in the midst was a bier, a Fairy, lying 
 with uncovered face, pale as a lily, and motionless as the snow. 
 
 The dirge grew fainter and fainter, and then died quite away; 
 when two of the creatures came from the circle and took their 
 

42 
 
 station, one at the heal and one at the foot cf the bier. They 
 sang alternate measures, not louder than the twittering of the 
 awakened wood lark before it goes up in the dewey air, but dolor- 
 ous and full of the desolation of death; The flower bier stirred; 
 for the spot on which it lay sank slowly down, and in a few min- 
 utes the greensward was smooth as ever, - the very dews glittering 
 above the buried Fairy. A cloud passed over the moon; and with 
 a choral lament, the funeral troop sailed duskily away, heard 
 afar off, so' still was the midnight solitude of the glen. Then 
 the disenthralled Orchy began to rejoice as before, through all 
 
 her stream.3 and falls; and at the sudden leaping of the waters 
 
 ( 10 ) 
 
 and outburst ing of the moon, we awoke. n 
 
 Perhaps nothing could better convey the elusive beauty and 
 mystery that seems to haunt some sections of the Highlands - 
 than to portray them as the home cf the fairies, lovely and 
 lonely enough to be "the abode of a Silent People in a Land of 
 Peace." Yet we must admit that the conception is wholly fanciful, 
 born of an imagination that loved to read into the scenes he ad- 
 mired even greater loveliness and charm than they actually posr- 
 sessei . 
 
 More frequently, however, this habit tends to intensify his 
 pictures, to give them a remarkable rower and effectiveness. 
 
 Take the evening voyage on the lake for example. The actual 
 elements of the scene - a boat trip on a lovely lake in the moon- 
 
 (10) IX, pp . 295 - 296. 
 
43 
 
 light - are no doubt familiar to all f except that the unusual 
 beauty of Loch Etine enhances the general charm and pleasure . 
 
 This beauty Vi Ison reproduces admirably; "t^e sylvan scenery 
 gliding serenely away back into the mountain gloom," and "the 
 
 (11) 
 
 sea mews wheeling white as silver in the moonshine,” hut hie 
 
 imaginative power goes further and intensifies it. In fancy 
 
 the boat trip becomes a voyage of discovery over the boundless 
 
 ocean, the sea mews good spirits in attendance, and the moon a 
 
 pale ghost, while the shadows of the mountains divide the silver 
 
 water into an endless succession of unexplored bays. Over all 
 
 ( 12 ) 
 
 rests a mournful beauty that "sinks strangely into the soul," 
 and it seems as if the breath of oil elegiac poetry were present 
 in the breeze. And in the unbroken hush of the evening it seems 
 almost sacrilege to speak; only the faint murmur of the tide 
 amongst the rocks breaks the utter stillness. 
 
 A cont rast ing p ict-ure of equal intensity is to be found in 
 the description of the thunder storm in the mountains, throwing 
 its giant wing of gloom ever Een Nevis and the glen below. In 
 Wilson's imagination the wind whistling among the cliffs becomes 
 the moaning and shrieking of pent up spirits, the sound of the 
 driving snow the hissing of serpents in fury, and the impact of 
 the hail the sting of many wasps, while the flooded rivers gather 
 their streams as chief tian3 do their clans. Thus are we made to 
 feel the nameless dread that lurks in the thunder storm, the 
 
 11 
 
 17, 
 
 pp . 362 -363 . 
 
 (12) 
 
 IX, 
 
 p . 365. 
 
44 
 
 vague fears and undefined terrors that assail the person caught 
 (13) 
 
 in its midst . 
 
 At times, however, this process of intensifying his scenes 
 is carried too far, ani leads to exaggerated effects. Mountains 
 take on Titanic proportions, distances stretch into endless miles, 
 sunshine becomes brighter, skies and water bluer, and storms 
 darker than ever nature presented them. Bare rugged cliffs and 
 black mountain tarns, whose only beauty lies in their 3 tern 
 desolation, are glorified with a radiance and brightness that is 
 foreign to their very nature. Over all is thrown a romantic 
 glamour, a spell, a fascination, that in reality is not there. 
 
 There is, however, still another outcome of this general 
 tendency - one indeed, which is decidedly less to the author's 
 credit. The indulgence of the habit of adding to his scenes, of 
 throwing over them this romantic spell , frequently starts Wilson 
 to sentimentalizing. Descriptions that would otherwise be dom- 
 inated by a note of grandaur are ruined by being permeated by 
 moral or religious feeling. Take ” The Highland Snow Storm,” 
 for example, the opening paragraph is splendid, describing with 
 enthusiasm and truthfulness the terror and dread of a mountain 
 hurricane. But no sooner has Wilson roused our interest by this 
 vivid presentation than he becomes sentimental, indulging in a 
 
 lens harangue on the thoughts of the future life awakened by the 
 
 (14) “ 
 
 fear of the storm. We are not at all prepared for that sort of 
 
 Tl3) IX, pp. 344 -345. 
 
 (14) IX, p. 391. 
 
45 - 
 
 thing, and moreover we do not want it, so that the whole scene 
 is ruined by excess of feeling. 
 
 So much for the substance of Wilson’s descriptive writings; 
 let us ncvV turn our attention tc a discussion cf their general 
 form and style, and a determination of its relative merits and 
 faults. Perhaps the first thing that the reader notes about it, 
 indeed its outstanding feature, is its lack of any set order 
 or plan. Throughout all of his writings there is a total absence 
 of any previously thought out systerp, except what is determined 
 by the chronology of the narrative elements. Wilson's besetting 
 sins are thus given a free rein with the result that the sketches 
 are marred both by diffuseness and desultcriness . Wilson begins 
 to describe a particular landscape when suddenly something stim- 
 ulates his imagination or awakens memories of the past. Immedi- 
 ately the original subject is forgotten, he devotes endless 
 pages to following fancy’s flight, or recording the incidents of 
 bygone days. Sometimes, unless this new vein is exhausted, he 
 returns tc the first theme; sometimes it is gone forever. Not 
 even his best papers are free from this fault, as may be inferred 
 by his long and irrelevant criticism of Wordsworth in the preface 
 to "The Moors." or the serious and totally impertinent sermon that 
 interrupts the account of his wonderful exploits on the mountain 
 s ide . 
 
 Moreover, the individual scenes in these papers are but 
 loosely connected. The gradual growth and development of the 
 sportsman serves to connect a series lightning sketches of 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 ?■ 
 
 . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
46 - 
 
 (15) 
 
 sporting life, extending from youth to maturity; one day's 
 
 shooting trip provides reason for the presentation of a succession 
 
 (16) 
 
 of Highland scenes, in reality scattered far and wide; a stroll 
 of Grasmere forms the only tie uniting a series of otherwise 
 
 Ci?) 
 
 detached pictures of sylvan beauties; while the coming and 
 
 going of the seasons gives occasion for rapid descriptions of 
 
 (16) 
 
 views characteristic of each period of the year. Boyhood to 
 
 maturity is quite a transformation in the space of half a dozen 
 
 pages; a tour of the four great lakes of Britain, inclusive 
 
 expeditions to the summits of many famous mountains, Ben Cruachin, 
 
 Old Man of Coniston, and Ben Lomond - is quite an accomplishment 
 
 for one day's shooting trip. But if we are to enjoy Wilson ' 3 
 
 not 
 
 descriptions we must /take him too literally, and expect to find 
 
 a close relation of incident and scenery. 
 
 The same general looseness of construction is likewise in 
 
 evidence in each individual passage of description. Unlike Sir 
 
 Walter Scott, he does not aim to give first the general impression 
 
 they 
 
 and later the significant details in the order in which/ might 
 catch the eye. He may begin by a general impression but it is 
 far more likely to be the result of accident than of artistic 
 purpose. Instead his tendency is to enumerate details in a helter 
 skelter fashion, perhaps as memory recalls them, perhaps as 
 fancy dictates. Indeed he may even commence with more or less in- 
 significant facts and work up tc the general impression at the 
 
 close. Never does he take the time to think out his description 
 Tl5) IX, pp . 1 -75. 
 
 (16) IX, pp, 262 -390. 
 
 (17) IX, pp. 327 - 369 . 
 
 (lb) IX, pp . 224 -253. 
 
47 
 
 beforehand, tc determine the effect of the whole, the order of 
 importance in detail, and the unnecessary or irrelevant facts, in 
 the manner that clear, concise description demands. 
 
 And if the construction of the essays as a whole and the a 
 arrangement of individual paragraphs both display lack of plan, 
 forethought, and revision, the formation of his sentences is no 
 better. In general his style is decidedly overladen, each sentence 
 being weighted down by superfluous words, phrases, or rhetorical 
 figures. The diction is distinctly florid, ornate, embellished 
 with romantic or- sentimental figures of speech, at times so dis- 
 tinctly out of place that the meaning is either difficult of 
 comprehension or totally indistinguishable. A few scattered 
 
 phrases will serve to illustrate the point, " Contentment wreaths 
 
 (19) 
 
 with silk and velvet the prisoners chains," says Wilson in 
 
 setting forth his ability to make a virtue of necessity. Now 
 
 aside from the improbability of a wreath being composed of silk 
 
 or velvet we are unable to discover a reason for ’wreathing a 
 
 chain. Again, "The Scythe of Saturn ceaslessly sweeping over 
 
 the earth and leaving at every stride of the mower a swathe more 
 
 rueful than ever after a nie:ht of ship wreck did strew with 
 
 '(301 
 
 ghastliness a lee sea-shore," is the somewhat mixed and decid- 
 edly involved metaphor by which he voices his feelings concerning 
 the inevitable onward movement of death and decay. Nor is this 
 tendency confined to individual phrases; at times Wilson is com- 
 pletely carried away by his own ungovernable imagination, and 
 
 U9f 17, p . 243 , * ~~ 
 
 (20) IX, p. 343. 
 

46 
 
 indulges in long series of figures piled up one after another in 
 
 rapid succession imtil the total effect "becomes almost ludicrous. 
 
 In youth, he say 3, he was "restless as a sunbeam on the restless 
 
 wave, rapid a3 a river that se^ms enraged with all impediments, 
 
 strong as a steed let loose from Arab's tent to slake his thirst 
 
 at the desert well, fierce in our harmless joy as the red deer 
 
 belling on the hills, tameless as the eagle sporting in the 3torm, 
 
 gay as the 'dolphin on a tropic sea, ' 'mad a3 young bulls, wild as 
 
 ( 21 ) 
 
 a whole wilderness of adolescent lions." 
 
 Not only are sentences flowery and elaborately adorned, but 
 
 they are in general long and loosely constructed. It is nothing 
 
 unusual when Wilson is particularly enthusiastic for his sentences 
 
 to ramble on promiscuously to a whole half page in length, loosely 
 
 connected by a generous sprinkling of exclamation points. Phrase 
 
 follows phrase in quick succession, piling up without plan or 
 
 limit. Adjectives flow forth in an exhaustless stream - the fish 
 
 "bright and beautiful, glorious in yellow and crimson lustre, 
 
 ( 22 ) 
 
 spotted, speckled, and starred in his 3caly splendor." Thus 
 does Wilson coiitinually follow where fancy leads, whether in 
 rhetorical figures, phrases, or adjectives, utterly regardless 
 of the general effect on the initial subject. Absolutely unorgan- 
 ized therefore, subservient to nc central purpose, from the stand- 
 point of pure technicalities of diction the style of Wilson's 
 
 descriptive writings could scarcely be much worse. Such then is 
 
 (21) IX, p . 243. 
 
 (22) IX, p. 4, 
 
49 
 
 the general impression obtained from reading these papers as a 
 whole and noting those traits which are common to all alike. 
 
 There are however, certain other characteristics equally noteworthy 
 which if not continually in evidence are decidedly prominent in 
 individual passages. In the first place, Wilson '3 general habit 
 of overdoing everything he attempts leads him frequently into 
 grandiloquence on the one hand, or poetic rhapsodies on the other. 
 While the grandeur and magnificence of individual Highland scenes 
 may on occasion warrant a style of elevation and impressiveness, 
 such a style ought to be employed judiciously and sparingly; 
 
 Wilson, however, in his enthusiasm and fervor, is betrayed into 
 using it much too frequently. At times he will even set forth 
 the commonest sights and sounds of nature in words and phrases 
 of high sounding ahd imposing effect, much above the dignity of 
 the occasion. Turn to the papers "Christopher North in his 
 Aviary," for example, in which Wil3on is dealing with nothing 
 more lofty or distinctive than the individual traits and habits 
 of the native British birds, - a subject interesting and instruct- 
 ive it is true, but never attaining to the Mights and depths of 
 feeling and significance required to warrant the employment of 
 the "grand style.” Yet in his presentation of this theme, Wilson 
 frequently adapts the grandiose, as when he deals with the imper- 
 ial qualities of the eagle - king of birds - or the inspiring 
 carols of the song birds. 
 
 Again the tone will be pompous, inflated, tig without any 
 
50 
 
 great depth of meaning, as when Wilson commences to moralize or 
 sentimentalize. The long digression oh "Ruins" in the Aviary 
 papers, with its sentimental dwelling upon the vicissitudes of 
 human life, the inevitableness of decay, and the consequent use- 
 lessness and desolation of human activity; a 3 the paragraph on 
 Dartmoor Prison in its excess of feeling for those "doomed to 
 die in captivity," a 3 if they were martyrs for a noble cause, 
 amply illustrate this fault. At t imes, moreover, Wilson even 
 waxes oratorical, setting forth with ant ithe si 3 , balance , and all 
 the old time worn devices of that made, his ideas upon religion, 
 
 morals or society, as in the passage immediately following the 
 
 » 
 
 Fairies Funeral or the sermon upon the mountainside in" The Moors." 
 
 Not less frequently doe 3 the drift into poetic rhapsody, 
 indulging therein in bursts of rushing eloquence that are alto- 
 gether toe Ossianic in style. In this connection it may be well 
 to compare him with Sir Walter Scott, who has an equally ardent 
 affection for the sights and customs of his native land, and who 
 also presents them repeatedly in poem and novel. In such de- 
 scriptions however, Scott notes the significant details, presents 
 them in the order in which one might observe them, and allows the 
 reader to re-act to the picture as he will* Moreover he recog- 
 nizes distinctly the boundaries between prose and poetry and does 
 not overstep them. Wilson on the other hand, violates both of 
 these rules, and is thus led into the fault under disucssion. 
 
 He allows himself to be completely carried away by the fervor of 
 
51 
 
 his own description, he gives way to bursts of enthusiasm, inter- 
 prets, pours out his own feelings in an endless stream, thus 
 leaving nothing for the reader to do but agree or disagree. Such 
 effusions naturally carry him into a distinctly poetic rant and 
 rhythm, decidedly cut of keeping with the spirit and purpose of 
 prose, and resulting in poetic rhapsody. 
 
 On the other hand, however, there are to be found scattered 
 through the descriptive papers passages of the sweetness and 
 beauty necessary to convey the peaceful loveliness of the English 
 lake district, the exquisite vignettes of scenery that were for- 
 ever arresting Wilson's attention, or the delicacy and purity of 
 some of his imaginative e scenes. In such passages we find our- 
 selves carried into a distinctly different field. Not only are 
 the words stimulating and suggestive, but they are so grouped as 
 to have a certain musical quality in harmony with the beauty they 
 describe. Take for example, the passage from the » Recreations, » 
 the » Fair ie s 'Funeral , » quoted above, and read it aloud. One is 
 immediately aware of a distinct rhythmical quality that beginning 
 with the first line of the paragraph is continuous to its close. 
 In one line, moreover, it even slips into the regular cadence of 
 blank verse, « than aught that trills from earthly instrument.” 
 
 Nor is this particular passage the only one of the kind; there 
 are many others like it, although they may contain considerably 
 
 more obvious flaws and blemishes. 
 

- 53 - 
 
 Yet, although in the main Fil son's te dinical style i3 not 
 to be commended, this leaves untouched the attraction of the 
 subject matter of these papers>__of their suitableness for the 
 purpose of recreation. In this respect they are undeniably good. 
 In the first place the general character of the subjects dealt 
 with is healthy and inspiriting; youth reading them, must neces- 
 sarily feel their urge to manly strength and valor. Moreover, 
 with the one exception of his paragraph on cat shooting, 7'ilson 
 is generally a thoroughly fair sportsman. Indeed an early protest 
 
 aeainst some modern fashions of shooting is to be found in "The 
 
 (23) 
 
 Moors" - namely the attack upon sporting in a game preserve. 
 
 .Add to these facts the freshness and variety of the essays, their 
 attractiveness and engaging spontaneity, and their satisfying 
 and revealing glimpses of youth and manhood, and their worth as 
 books of recreation is clearly 3een. In spite of numerous faults, 
 
 therefore, a volume composed of the best of these papers -"Chris- 
 
 topher North in hio Smoking Jacket," "The Moors," "Christopher 
 on Col on say," and "A saunter at Grasmere," with perhaps the 
 addition of "Streams" and "The Seasons," - would be a thing of 
 price • 
 
 (23) IX, p. 372. 
 
53 
 
 CHASTE? HI. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS TORES: « THE NOCTES AMBROSANAE." 
 
 It is not until we come to the third and best known group 
 of his works, however, that we find Wilson in his full glory, 
 his powers extended to their utmost capacity and his geniu3 run- 
 ning riot at its own sweet will. Not that these papers present 
 the very best work he ever accomplished - such credit has already 
 been assigned to his description - but they do afford an oppor- 
 tunity for the display of his versatile genius that is not to be 
 found elsewhere. His critical essays confine - or should confine - 
 him to the subject in hand, a purely literary discussion of some 
 particular work. His descriptive papers are less restraining in 
 that they afford an outlet for what was perhaps the most passion- 
 ate devotion of his life, love of the out of doors. But the 
 "Noctes Ambtosianae" while retaining and combining both of these 
 elements, add a third distinctive quality, the dramatic. In them 
 we have no direct contact With the author, for, except for the 
 general settings and stage directions, the subject matter is 
 presented entirely through the medium of dramatic conversation. 
 
 This change of method therefore provides scope for the display 
 of the author's ability in new fields, thus manifesting certain 
 distinctive characteristics of Wilson's genius and 3 tyle not 
 hitherto considered. 
 
 Let us therefore turn our attention to the analysis of the 
 "Hoctes Ambrosianae , « paying special attention tc such character- 
 
4 
 
54 - 
 
 iatics as are either entirely absent from the other papers or 
 present in a limited degree. Perhaps the most outstanding feature 
 of the series is their presentation of such a wide range of sub- 
 jects, mingling therein wit and wisdom, pathos and fancy, uproar- 
 ious fun and philosophical discussion. Such variety is of course, 
 made possible by the adoption of the conversational method of 
 presentation. Wilson had no desire to coni' ine his writings to 
 one subject, but in ordinary composition such restraint is 
 necessary in order to avoid diffusene33. Therefore he turns to 
 the dialogue as the natural vehicle for the introduction of the 
 many and widely varied subjects which he wishes to treat. The 
 suitability is obvious. An ordinary conversation, unless the 
 group has assembled for the express purpose of discussing some 
 one thing, will center in events of the day, in such things as 
 are of immediate interest to those present. Perhaps it will oe 
 the political situation, perhaps art, religion, literature, 
 floating gossip, or merely conventional small talk - indeed it 
 may be anything that will appeal to a common interest. And such 
 is, in fact, the material that comprises the "Noctes Ambrosianas .” 
 Here the conversation may even open with the time-worn discussion 
 of the weather; it may dwell upon the welfare of mutual iriends, 
 or it may turn upon the present activities of the participants. 
 
 But it is never long before mere small talk is discarded and some- 
 thing of greater moment introduced. In a flash there is started 
 
55 
 
 a heated argument on religion or politics, Whig against Tory, 
 
 Free Church against Established, in the midst of which again there 
 may be an opportunity for the expression of opinion upon art or 
 literature. Passages of the richest and most poetical eloquence 
 are thus mixed with philosophic discussion; political invectives 
 are intermingle & with literary criticism, while tragedy, comedy, 
 and farce are combined in every dialogue. Never do the speakers 
 feel compelled to restrain their eloquence to one subject; never 
 are they under the necessity of completing one topic before they 
 introduce another, they are merely engaged in social intercourse, 
 and their conversation is therefore free to fellow what bent it 
 will. And it is in this very combination, interchange, and harmon- 
 ious play of the numerous, diverse, and contradictory elements that 
 the peculiar power of the "Poctes"! ies. indeed could the whole 
 series be adequately indexed, there would in all probability be 
 scarcely a subject in heaven cr on earth on which the characters 
 do not state their views. 
 
 Yet the very introduction of such a vast variety of topics, 
 although conducive to reproducing contemporary interests and 
 events with energy and exactitude, is not without somie material 
 disadvantages for Wilson's particular type of genius. In the 
 first place he repeatedly takes advantage of the opportunity it 
 provides for the indulgence of his inclination toward extravagance 
 and exaggeration. Perhaps this fault is most conspicuous in the 
 general setting and scenery, wherein the author mingles promis- 
 cuously probabilities and improbabilities. The original scene 
 
56 
 
 of these gatherings is Ambrose's - a modest tut comfortable 
 Edinburgh hotel. But under the spell of Wilson's riotous imag- 
 ination it rapidly changes its form. The simple rooms are con- 
 verted into abodes of luxury; the quite ordinary plate becomes 
 silver, while wax candles and silken curtains immediately call 
 
 up visions of the Orient. Moreover, Wilson's own home at Elleray 
 
 ( 1 ) 
 
 is dimly recognizable in the imaginary "hall by the sea," and 
 
 in a construction that stops little short of a fairy palace on 
 
 ( 2 ) 
 
 Murray Street, can be traced his actual Edinburgh abode, Indeed 
 
 if one reads Mrs. Gordon's description of Wilson writing for 
 
 Blackwood's - his equipment a dirty inkstand, a single tallow 
 
 (3) 
 
 candle, and pure water alone for refreshment, - then compares 
 
 it with the gorgeous setting of the "Noctss" - silver inkstand, 
 
 (4) 
 
 floods of light, and uni in. ited claret - the contrast is almost 
 laughable . 
 
 Nor does this habitual exaggeration confine itself to the 
 
 actual surroundings - the same tendency is in evidence in the 
 
 actions of the characters themselves. Oysters are consumed not 
 
 by the dozens but by the fifties, one evening's toddy for three 
 
 necessitates six ordinary kettles full of water, while the dinners 
 
 and suppers prepared for the immortal three might almost supply 
 
 a regiment. No wonder the "Noctes" are frequently charged with 
 
 being grossly and palpably gluttonous, and. their characters set 
 
 down as mere boozing buffoons. 
 
 Tl) I, p. 34 
 (2) I, p. 194 
 
 (•3) Mrs. Gordon, "Christooher North," pp . 396 -40C . 
 
 (4) II, p. 146. 
 
57 
 
 In the second place, this conversational method gives free 
 license to Wilson's most serious fault, capriciousness. " r ers one 
 to read the "Noctes" with the express purpose of determining just 
 what Wilson's opinions and general principles are, he would have 
 great difficulty in obtaining any clear conception. Wilson was 
 altogether too much given to voicing his moods rather than his 
 convictions, and, being of a notably changeable disposition, 
 these moods were seldom twice alike. Now the "Noctes," in 
 common with most of his works, were not the result of concentrated 
 effort for any length of time - far from it. Rather, when maga- 
 zine day drew near '(once a month) Wilson would absent himself 
 from his clubs for a period of several days and devote himself 
 to the composition of a "Noctes." The result can easily be 
 guessed; Wilson '3 moods from one month's end to another were 
 never the same, and he expressed opinions therefore differ widely. 
 How this affected his literary criticism has already been dis- 
 cussed; but in everything else the situation was the same. At 
 
 one moment North emphatically denounces the use of abusive or 
 
 (5) 
 
 violent language in attacking an assailant, whether in Parlia- 
 mentary speech, political publicsiticns, or literary criticism, 
 but later we find him openly commending Mr. Canning for his 
 
 (6) 
 
 powers of invective, "venturing to the very borders of vulgarity," 
 
 or Mr. Brougham for a bitter attack on his opponent, Mr. Hums, in 
 
 (7) 
 
 a session of Parliament. In another place North ably and con- 
 vincingly expounds his theory of representative government, in 
 
 Tb) I, p , 39 
 (3) I, p . 1 55 
 
 (7) I, p. 282. 
 
56 
 
 which all elements of public opinion, of all classes of honest 
 population, however varied, shall be virtually represented in 
 Cabinet, so that thi3 Cabinet may collectively judge these ele- 
 ments and decide which one will offer least violence to the great- 
 ( 6 ) 
 
 eat number. Yet, as we read on, we find ourselves questioning 
 
 whether Roman Catholics or the great Whig poli t ical party are, 
 
 (9)' 
 
 according to North’s opinion,” honest population," for he re- 
 peatedly assails the one as too prejudiced and swayed by blind 
 superstition to be granted full political rights and liberties, 
 and the other as too foolish for serious consideration. Even in 
 his appreciation of the comparative impressions of works of nature 
 and works of man his sentiments are somewhat varied. For the most 
 part he seems to value the former more highly, placing natural 
 loveliness far above anything that men can dc, "The glorious works 
 of nature everywhere overshadows those of men’s hands and her 
 primeval spirit yet reigns, with permanent and prevailing power, 
 over the region that art has made magnificent with snires and 
 
 (n) 
 
 cbeli3ks, towers, temples, and palaces." Rut occasionally he 
 allows "art" to carry him away, until, completely changing his 
 standpoint, he yields first place to the works of men. "Is a 
 great military road over a mountain, groaning with artillery, 
 bristling with bayonet s, sounding with bands of music, les3 poet- 
 ical than a vast untrodden Andes, magnificent as may be its sol- 
 
 (6) I, p . 130 . 
 
 (9)11. 
 
 do) 
 
 (ll) I, p . 245 . 
 
59 
 
 itude3 beneath moon or stars? Is a log of wool, be it a whole 
 uprooted pine, drifting upon the ocean, as poetical as a hundred 
 
 oared canoe? What more sublime than the anchor by which a great 
 
 v, USl 
 
 ship nangs in safety within the roar of the whirl -pool?” 
 
 There i3,niiDr30ver , another serious fault in Wilson's treat- 
 ment of this conversational method. The dialogues proved tc be 
 an extraordinarily effective vehicle for the expression of opinion 
 bn every variety of 3ubiect, but Wilson at times abused this 
 opportunity. The ideas not being voiced directly by the author, 
 but rather expressed through the agency of imaginary characters 
 made it possible for Wilson to decline to. accept any direct re- 
 sponsibility for them. Thus when one remembers his tendency to 
 coarseness and abuse (discussed in chapter II,) it is easy to 
 see where the danger lies. Aside from scurrilous flings at many 
 literary artists whom in reality he admired, Wilson attacks in- 
 discriminately both individuals and institutions that he ordin- 
 arily held in reverence. The Roman Catholic Church is condemned 
 
 (13) 
 
 utterly as "full of falsehood and idolatry,” the clergy of 
 
 every denomination are repeatedly and without reservation satir- 
 
 (14) 
 
 ized a3 worldly and indifferent; the public school system is 
 
 ( 15 ) 
 
 censured more or less severly, while the prominent figures in 
 the political world are not infrequently assailed in language of 
 the most violent and forceful kind. 
 
 Tl3) I, t>. 53. ~ 
 
 (13) I, p . 333. 
 
 (14) II, P . 67, 
 
 (15) IX, -d, 15. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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60 
 
 Not lass characteristic of the subject matter of the "Ncctes” 
 
 are the scenes of boisterous fun and practical joking. Of course 
 
 this element is present to a greater or less extent in everything 
 
 Wilson wrote, aside from hi3 formal criticism. It is found in 
 
 (16) 
 
 his treatment of youth and sport in the n Sport ing Jacket , " 
 
 in his jovial sketches of the great national weakness - in which 
 
 ( 1 ?) 
 
 indeed Wilson seems to have been a rsharer - in "The Moors,” or 
 in the series of sketches « Christopher on Ccnolsay" - a wild 
 extravaganza with 3ome slight basis of fact, that displays a 
 strong sense of the ludicrous and a decided ability to handle 
 burlesque narrative. But it is in the Ncctes that this spirit 
 of fun and frolic reaches its height. Here it finds vent in a 
 humor of the rough and tumble order, loud, impetuous, and even 
 rude. The intellectual qualities of humor are seldom present : 
 the .fun is principally derived from practical joking or horse 
 play. It is broad, free, rolicking as the frank animal spirits 
 that gives it birth. Of course the fact that this element is 
 frequently present in excess necessarily requires that the reader 
 be in a certain mood to appreciate it. For instance if one 
 objects to horse play he will be horrified at finding the char*- 
 
 (19) 
 
 acters corking each other's faces in slumber, playing at pyramids, 
 
 ( 20 ) 
 
 or indulging in leap frog with the servants. Such things may 
 make the reader laugh , but they are more frequently associated 
 
 with the pranks of small boys than the recreation of grown men, 
 
 (16) IX, prT 262 -390. 
 
 (17) VII, pp , 330-293. 
 
 (16) II , p . 95 . 
 
 (19) II, p . 428. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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61 
 
 and men supposedly of literary rank at that. Yet not infrequently 
 
 amid such material are to be found scenes of quite admirable 
 
 fooling; the Shepherd on 3kates masquerading as an officer and 
 
 cutting difficult mathematical figures on the ice - arms akimbo, 
 
 cheeks puffed out, eyes staring fiercely, and on his head a 
 
 (31) 
 
 hiphly curled wig; or again the swimming match between Tickler 
 
 (23) 
 
 and the Shepherd while the London packet comes up the firth. 
 
 Sven better is the haggis scene, in which on the haggis being 
 
 opened ani overflowing the container, the whole party pretend 
 
 to be drowned, Tickler taking refuge on the mantle shelf and 
 
 being forced to improvise a sixteen stanza sons: before they will 
 
 (23) 
 
 assist him down. At times, indeed, a burlesque narrative is 
 
 introduced, as the Shepherd's Mazeppa like rid on Bonas3U3, 
 
 wherein, mounted upon that wild bull, without clothing or riding 
 
 equipment, Hogg is carried over the country side in mad career, 
 
 past stage coach ani p icnic part ie s , not infrequently leaping 
 
 thirty foot obstacles until finally he arrives in the town of 
 (24) 
 
 Moffat. Indeed a certain effect of Burlesque oddity is con- 
 tinually present in these dialogues. The author interrupts a 
 description of Ben Nevis of Glencoe to cry cut for an additional 
 sausage and breaks away from a discussion on the origin of evil 
 to compound a tumbler of toddy, while during De Quincey's explan- 
 ation of Kant's "Practical Reason" the Shepherd is grunting 
 "Glorious" over a plate of hotch potch. Decidedly the effect is 
 
 T2l) I, P . 102, 
 
 (22) II, op. 2-13 
 
 (23) II, o. 134. 
 
 (24) II, t> . 341 . 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
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63 
 
 farcical, but it is a farce that not infrequently alls to our 
 appreciation of the whole. Such scenes are seldom unamusing, 
 and are drawn with a vigor and freshness, an originality and 
 lucidity that causes them to stand out clearly in the mind of 
 the reader. 
 
 Throughout all these papers, moreover, there are to be found 
 
 brief scattered narratives, likewise remarkable for their graphic 
 
 delineation of individual scenes. Sometimes such narratives 
 
 recount actual incident, but more frequently they are the product 
 
 of the authors imagination. Perhaps it is a picture from the 
 
 sinple home life of the Scottish peasant, with it 3 true spirit 
 
 of unity, its respect for the aged, and its profound reverence 
 
 for things holy. "The ancient grandame, seated at the ingle 
 
 among her children's children, wi ' the Bible open upon her knees, 
 
 and looking solemn, almost severs through her dim eyes, through 
 
 specs shaded by gray hairs - now and then brightening up her 
 
 faded countenance wi' a saintly smile, as she scftly lets fa* 
 
 (25) 
 
 her shrivelled hands on the golden heads." Perhaps it is one 
 of the 36 exquisite passages of nature description, which, rendered 
 with decidedly philosophical touch, for nature and human nature 
 are ever closely akin, form not the least part cf the attraction 
 of the "Noctes Ambrosianae ,» Take the picture of the Cathedral 
 in the cloud 3 for example, "?uch a show cf clouds. A congrega- 
 tion of a million might worship in that Cathedral. V?hat a dome! 
 And is not that flight of steps magnificent? *.y imagination 
 125) I, p. 267. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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- 63 - 
 
 sees a crowd of white robed spirit a ascending to the inner shrine 
 
 of the temple. Hark - a bell tolls! Yonder it 13, swinging to 
 
 and fro, half minute time, in its tower of clouds. The great 
 
 organ 'gins to blow its pealing anthem - and the overcharged 
 
 spirit falling from the vision sees nothing but the pageantry of 
 
 earth's common vapors - that ere long will melt in showers, or 
 
 be wafted away in darker masses over the distance of the sea. 
 
 But look abroad over the work-day world and tell if thou seest 
 
 aught more steadfast or substantial than that cloud cathedral, 
 
 with its flight of vapor steps, and its mist towers, and its air 
 
 organ, now all gone forever, like the idle words that imaged 
 
 (26) 
 
 forth the transitory and delusive glories.*' Perhaps it is an 
 account of actual experience, as the faithful and lucid descrip- 
 tion of travel in an ancient hackney coach, with its wornout 
 
 fittings, straw on the floors, low roof and unbearable rattle of 
 (27) 
 
 wheels,** Or again he turns to such experience as is intense 
 or terrible: "Fozie Tom the dragoon, wavin' wi ' white plumes, 
 
 glitterin' wi' gowd, and ringin' wi ' iron, gallopin' on a grey 
 horse that caves the foam from its fiery nostrils, wi ! a mane o' 
 clcud3 and a tail that flows like a cataract; mustachios about 
 
 f 
 
 the mouth like a devourin' cannibal and proud fierce e'en that 
 
 seem glowerin' for an enemy into the distant horizon - his long 
 
 sword swinging in the scabbard wi' a fearsome clatter - and 
 
 (26) 
 
 h i s doup Au n ah in do wn among the spots o' a tiger’s skin;** 
 
 ( 26) I , p . 1 59 , 
 
 (37) I, p. 176, 
 
 (26) I, p. 165. 
 
64 
 
 or the mutineer's execution - the tread of the troops like the 
 
 % 
 
 step of a giant, so perfect was their discipline, three sides 
 
 of the square filled with 3oldiars, the drum played by an African 
 
 nigger six feet four inches in height, the vast crowd motionless 
 
 as so many images, the slow measured 3tep of the condemned man 
 
 as he advanced behind his coffin to within ten yards of the firing 
 
 squad, his prayer kneeling on that coffin, then the final volley 
 
 ( 36 ) 
 
 that ended his earthly existence. 
 
 The most outstanding feature of the subject matter of the 
 "Noctes Ambrosianas" is, however, the characterization. This 
 feature of the papers, aside from it 3 intrinsic interest, is 
 important because of its direct influence on the substance dis- 
 cussed, both in choice of material and method of treatment or 
 interpretation. Let us illustrate. Foremost amongst these 
 characters stands Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, with his homely 
 heartiness of manner, and innocent rusticity of conduct. Add to 
 this a strong personal vanity, a keen sense of the ludicrous, 
 an outlook upon life that was a peculiar combination of the sag- 
 acious and the philosophical, originality, imagination, and quite 
 a commendable literary gift, and we have a character that is 
 strongly individual, acquiring distinct substance in the reader ' 0 
 mind, and arousing much personal interest. For doe3 Tilson stop, 
 there ; thus far he has but reproduced with considerable skill 
 
 ard fidelity, the original character of the Ettrick Shepherd. 
 
 ( 38 ) I, p. 303 . 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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65 
 
 The real Hojrg, however, was never a conversationalist, nor did 
 his remarks possess more than a certain droll humor and poetic 
 coloring. Yet those half hidden characteristics supplied to 
 Wilson the hints out of v/hich he constructed the Hogg of the 
 "Noctes Ambrosianae ,n Thus, his character carefully expands 
 under the hands of the author, the Ettrlck Shepherd is made to 
 serve a distinct purpose. Whenever Wilson has an opinion that. he 
 does not wish to acknowledge 44 as his own, the Shepherd is made 
 to express it; whenever he wishes to indulge in a particularly 
 hitter tirade against society or individuals, the Shepherd gives 
 it voice. Moreover Hogg's simplicity frequently serves as a foil 
 to set off the superior wisdom of North; ani causes him repeat- 
 edly to he the hutt of the latter '3 jokes. No sentiments are 
 too wild for him to entertain, no judgments too prejudiced or 
 unfounded for him to render; and no hursts of eloquence too 
 enthusiastic for him to deliver. He it is whose powers of 
 argument and declamation precipitate some of the most heated 
 political and religious discussions, whose fertile imagination 
 and powers of comical description combine tc produce hot;' the 
 picturesque vividness of scene, and the succession of ianci-ul 
 or ludicrous narratives with which the * f Noctes" are sprinkled. 
 Nor do these things sum up the whole of his contribution to ^he 
 pa-pera; his hot temper and eccentricity frequently make Us 
 smile; his personal interest in literature draws forth thw 
 
66 - 
 
 ideas of the group on such subjects; and his love of nature in- 
 troduces many charming p ictures of the hills and dales amongst 
 which his life is spent. 
 
 Yet the Shepherd, although frequently designated as " the 
 
 glory of the Noctes," is not the only character of importance in 
 
 the dialogues. Rivaling him in prominence is Christopher North 
 
 himself, « the invincible Tory champion before whose crutch the 
 
 whole breed of radicals, Ihiglings and Cockneys fled as mists 
 
 (39) 
 
 before the sun." North as he is depicted in the dialogues 
 represents Professor Wilson himself, or rather the Professor as 
 he would have liked to be. The portrait is therefore somewhat 
 idealized, but it is a portrait of value because it is the one 
 key to the true character and convictions of the author. Only 
 through the utterances of North can the reader hope to obtain 
 any real estimate of the opinions of Wilson, for, while the 
 Shepherd serves as the mouth piece for whatever Wilson knew to 
 be extravagant, romantic, or unjust, North voices 3 uch sentiments 
 as he considered worthy of serious consideration. Christopher 
 is something of a tyrant, haughty, scornful, infallible in wisdom, 
 and in virtue unassailable. He it is who most frequently takes 
 issue with the Shepherd, involves him in lengthy arguments, and 
 rivals him in powers of declamation. Nor can we afford tc ignore 
 Timothy Tickler, with his practical turn of mind and general 
 
 (39) Saintsbury, "Essays in English Literature," p. 360. 
 
67 
 
 common sense, continually acting as intermediary "between the 
 two originals, North and the Shepherd, and frequently bringing 
 his friends down from their altitude in an abrupt fashion which 
 is of ’great benefit to the dialogues. From under North, who is 
 painting in ultra sentimental fashion the picture of a Covenant- 
 ing martyrdom, he suddenly withdraws the chair and the de scrip- 
 
 ( 30 ) 
 
 tion falls with the old man under the table. To the Shepherd 
 he administers frequent reproof. At one moment we find him con- 
 signing that poet ’ 3 own contributions to the flames in retaliation 
 
 (31) 
 
 for his disparaging remarks on his contemporaries, while at 
 
 the next he is checking Hogg's rather poor taste in describing 
 
 a dream of operation and dissection while the company are at 
 (33) 
 
 supper. Nor does the general mode cf expression escape censure, 
 for throughout every dialogue Tickler is ever ready to crush 
 extravagance, sentimentality, and rhapsodical eloquence. 
 
 And lastly, there i3 Thomas De Quincey, who is introduced 
 frankly and without reserve into some of the very best dialogues, 
 and whose peculiar quality of mini, exactly and admirably repro- 
 duced, adds an entirely new? note to the dialogues. Where North 
 and the Shepherd indulge in mere enthusiastic expression of their 
 like 3 and dislikes, De Quincey proceeds to tell us why they exist, 
 applying thereto all his extraordinary powers of logic. While 
 
 the others engage in heated and prejudiced discussion he calmly 
 
 "(30) II, p . 105 . 
 
 (31) I, p . 85. 
 
 (32) II, p. 57. 
 

 
 
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66 - 
 
 proceeds to analyze, interpret, and expound, with due respect to 
 
 the order in which his facts and conclusions are presented. His 
 
 mind delights in the metaphysical, and he devotes page 3 to the 
 
 consideration with logical accuracy and precision of the most 
 
 subtle and involved problems. He enj oy3 the task of unravelling 
 
 intricacies, voluntarily undertaking a philosophical analysis of 
 
 the complex emotions of the Shepherd during his will ride on 
 
 (33) 
 
 Bonassus, and he is ever ready to expose sundry errors in 
 literature and life, as, for example, his detailed revelation of 
 
 (34 
 
 the inherent weakness of Southey’s works, or his discussion cf. 
 
 ( 35 ) 
 
 the basis of misunderstanding between the English and the Scotch. 
 
 Turning next to a discussion cf the general style of the 
 "Nootes Ambrosianae ,» we note first its distinctive feature, the 
 dialogue. But here again Wilson's besetting sin, lack of definite 
 construction and carefully wrought out system, is in evidence. 
 Never did he decide first what his subject matter was going to 
 be, and then plan the composition of the dialogue accordingly, 
 Instead he seems to have commenced to write, and then allowed 
 fancy and the conversation to carry him where they would. Now this 
 may be all right in actual conversation, in which no one present 
 has previously planned what he will say, and no one knows from 
 one moment to the next what trend the conversation will take. 
 
 (33) II, r. 359. 
 
 (34) II, p . 344. 
 
 ( 35) II, pp . 373 -376. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
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69 - 
 
 But if that conversation is to be worth recording for the benefit 
 of others outside the immediate group, it must have a definite 
 purpose. Take the dialogues of the average novel for example, 
 wherein one can clearly trace the literary cause and effect. 
 
 The material is organized, arranged in such a fashion as to con- 
 vince the reader of a certain truth; and it is this ulterior 
 motive alone that justifies their existence. But in Wilson's 
 dialogae no such purpose i 3 discernible. Even when he introduces 
 argument there is no effort to arrive at definite conclusion. 
 
 The debate may indeed become heated, but it i3 unorganized, spas- 
 modic, and in nine cases cut of every ten the characters retain 
 at the close their original viewpoints, the reader being left 
 to agree with whomever he will. Tbu3 North's rabid Toryism may 
 acquaint us with a few worthy ideals of his party, but it csttainly 
 is not advanced so as to persuade us that that party is the only 
 one to follow. Likewise his bitter hatred of the «• Cockneys , ” 
 or the equally enthusiastic praise and vehement blame accorded to 
 other literary men, may interest us as the opinion of one particu- 
 lar character, but seldom does a convincing presentation cause it 
 to influence materially our previously formed estimates of them. 
 
 In such loosely constructed dialogue , moreover , the transi- 
 tions are necessarily irresponsible and random. A single word 
 or thought in a certain speech serves to introduce an entirely 
 new line of conversation, and the talk savings off at a new angle 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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- 70 - 
 
 before the original subject is nearly exhausted. In the individ- 
 ual sentences, also, the same general looseness of structure is in 
 evidence. The periods are easy and idiomatic, entirely without 
 that stiffness or slight artificiality that is frequently born 
 of unde rly ing purpose , but at times decidedly faulty in syntax. 
 
 Not even when he waxes oratorical does Wilson stop tc weigh his 
 sentences, and calculate their general effect. The result i 3 
 two-fold, for while the discourse undoubtedly loses any definite 
 purpose or point, it gains on the other hand a certain spontaneity 
 and freshness that has much of the character and charm of actual 
 conversation, and conveys the impression of familiar intercourse 
 between intimate friends. 
 
 There is, however, another factor that contributes to this 
 realistic effect of the dialogues, namely their elasticity. 
 
 Rapidly as the subjects change , --widely variant as is their tone, 
 the actual expression never fail3 to respond to the difference. 
 
 It is flexible and fitted to the characters and topics alike, 
 whether they are serious, satirical, openly ridiculous, broadly 
 humorous, or delicately Imaginative, Thus in dealing with action, 
 narrative cr passing gossip the language is unusually free, racy,, 
 and colloquial. Again when dealing with the more serious problems 
 of church, politics or literature it becomes mere weighty, even 
 adapting an argumentative tone if the speakers happen to differ 
 in opinion. Take for example the appropriateness of the style 
 employed to express the logical and philosophical discourse of 
 De Quincey. Whenever the English opium eatsr speaks, the language 
 
71 
 
 and syntax display an exactness, care and finish that clearly 
 evidences the scholar. De Quincey as presented in the dialogues 
 is extraordinarily like the De Ouincey we know through hi 3 works. 
 He has an unlimited vocabulary, his speeches are frequently 
 marked by long and sustained sentences of dignity and power, and 
 he is before and beyond all else a brilliant rhetorician. At 
 times this sustained dignity and stateliness of style, necessi- 
 tated indeed by his choice of themes, tends to become monotonous, 
 but again it rises unto the effect of magnificence. Certain 
 
 passages, indeed, as that in which he is made to elaborate uoon 
 
 ( 36 ) 
 
 the profound influence of childhood upon the nature of man, 
 are rendered with a rich and stately movement, an inherent rhythm 
 and melody, #1 ich clearly reflect, although in a lesser degree, 
 passages from his authentic works. 
 
 Again, when nature is the subject under discussion, and 
 either the Shepherd or North is indulging in long effusions of 
 love and admiration for her beauty, we frequently find passages 
 of brilliant rhetorical display. Such bursts of unchecked elo- 
 quence, extending perhaps for a couple of pages at a stretch, 
 are at times, however, somewhat over elaborate for ordinary 
 conversation. Were one actually listening to such a passage, 
 instead of reading it, the chances are that he would fail to 
 comprehend it, far less be willing to listen patiently to it all. 
 Indeed, the speaker would in all probability be interrupted be- 
 
 (36) II, p. 366. 
 
72 
 
 fore he got more than half way through the first page, or else 
 he would fini himself addressing an audience whose attention was 
 engaged elsewhere. 
 
 Moreover such effusions, although in the "Noctes" seldom 
 keyed up' to the highly rhapsodical strains of the descriptive 
 essays, do at times lead to a distinctly poetic rant and rhythm, 
 that is not conducive to the best prose style. The Shepherd, 
 himself a poet of no mean gift, is the worse offender. He is 
 describing music and before he has ’well started we recognize a 
 line that may be scanned, » sae dewy sweet the soun 1 :" he refers 
 to the Heavens in a descriptive line of similar quality, "a 
 glorious glitter cc' cloudless stars;" and while talking of birds 
 and bird music he adopts a decidedly metrical swing, "but twa 
 laigh sweet half mournfu’ note3 o' the lintwhite in the broom." 
 Countless illustrations may be found also among the passages of 
 North dealing with mountain, moor or Highland storm. "Stern they 
 stand in a glorious gloom," he says of the first; "In what sullen 
 skies he sometimes shroud3 the solitary moor3," of the second; 
 and »at the howl of the midnight storm," of the last. Not in- 
 frequently do lines of blank verse occur, as one cf the phrases 
 in the description of Sarah Sidions acting the part of Lady 
 Macbeth, "aneath the braidei blackness o' her hair." Occasionally, 
 moreover, scansion is possible for more than just one phrase, as 
 in the following sentence, which has but a couple of breaks: 
 
 "Then the evening* star lets loose her locks to the dews high up 
 
 (37) 
 
 in Heaven, every nool among the hills has its ain Eidilon." 
 
 (37) II, p . 46. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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73 - 
 
 Equally characteristic of the general style of the "Noctss" 
 is the suitability of the language to the characters speaking. 
 
 Of the three principal figures in the dialogues Tickler is thor- 
 oughly Scotch, while North can understand and speak both, languages. 
 Not the least part of such humor as the dialogues contain is 
 derived from this very situation, for Tickler is repeatedly unable 
 to follow the broad dialect of his Scottish friend. "What's a 
 
 gowpen o' glour'?" he asks in bewilderment, only to receive the 
 
 (38) 
 
 enlightening answer, "Just twa neif fu's o’ clairts." Hogg's 
 speech is indeed the broadest of the bread, displacing a command 
 of resources in Scottish idicn and dialect not even to be found 
 in the works of Sir Walter Scott. His vernacular is copious, 
 splendid and flexible, but never is it provincial. It would in 
 all probability have been a great deal easier for the author to 
 adopt for Hogg a more or less local dialect, but this he avoids 
 entirely. The Shepherd's Scotch is national, such as can be 
 understood by Scotchmen of all localities, highland and lowland 
 alike; "it is the very acme of the vernacular." Indeed were 
 one to attempt to Anglicise it the task would prove almost im- 
 possible, just as it is impossible to express in English the 
 famous phrases of "Auld Lang Syne," or "The Land o' the Leal." 
 
 There is somethin? in the very sound and spirit of the wcrd3 that 
 defies translation. As North himself comments, "What a difference 
 to the ear in the sounds of 1 ie and lee ; "-the English word fails 
 (38) II, p. 48 . ~ 
 

 
 
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74 - 
 
 to convey r to the Scottish ear at least - the same force and 
 meaning as the dialect. So it is with the speech of the Shepherd; 
 it has a power, vigor ani freshness all its own. "Dour" may be 
 rendered as stupid, hut how tame the latter word: "fernyt Icklsd" 
 may mean freckled hut the heauty of the figure is gone; the 
 "Gioamin'" may he translated a3 twilight Taut where is the mystery 
 and elusiveness in the latter word; "glowerin'" may he Anglicised 
 to f reining hut the blackness and dread seem gone from the Englishm- 
 an! 30 on through an endless list. The duck "plcutering among the 
 dubs," the snow flakes dreepin' loon the open lum," the "glintin' 
 o’ a wee hit dew wet gewany," the men in the rain "iichten! the 
 drops frae their e'en," such phrase s , while typical of the dialect, 
 have nevertheless a richness and originality of expression all 
 tleir own. 
 
 Some of the Shepherd's figures of speect, moreover, are 
 
 just as typically Highland as his language, "werst as a potatoe 
 
 without saut," "mealy mouthed as a flour sack in autumn," while 
 
 some of his most profound or sagacious oh ger vat ions are couched 
 
 in the same beloved dialect, "I bae nae notion c' that creed that 
 
 tells me to leave a dour doited ievil to gc launderin' on wi ' hie 
 
 (39) 
 
 e'en shut his cxr. way to perdition." "Noo that you ax we," he 
 says in advocating that cruelty to animals he counteracted by the 
 rousing of moral sentiment against it rather than by law, "its 
 better to teach it loon, and preach it loon, than to fine it doon 
 
 (39) I, p. 332. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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75 - 
 
 (40) 
 
 and imprison it doon." So, too, ha attacks the would-be scholar, 
 "I canna read Greek except in a Latin translation dene into Eng- 
 lish, the case I suspect wi' mony a one that passes for a sort 
 (41) 
 
 of scholar}" or expresses hiw views on the inherent nature of 
 man in the comment, "The only twa perfect 3 een 0 nim.es in the 
 English language are man and sinner." 
 
 At times also this richness, copiousness and splendor of 
 the Shepherd's vernacular lends to some of the longer passages 
 wherein he is describing or philosophizing, a peculiarly distinct- 
 ive touch. Take for example his description of the dying tree, 
 which obviously owes much of its beauty to the flexibility of 
 the Scottish idibm employed. "Haena ye seen, sir, some noble 
 tree stannin' sick like in the forest - why or wherefore ye canna 
 weel tell - for a' roun' the black deer soil is pervious to the 
 rains and dews, and a great river gangs sweep in' by its roots, 
 gently watering them when it rins laigh, and dash in! irumly yards 
 up the bank when its in spate - and yet the constitution o' the 
 thee sir, is gane - its big branches a' tottery wil unheaithf ui 
 iTioss, an 1 its wee anes a' fru3h as saugh winds, an' try in' in 
 vain to shoot out their buds into the spring - so the hawk or 
 heron builds there nae mair - and yoi: are willin', rather than 
 the monarch o' the wood should dee o' consumption, that axes should 
 be laid to his bole and branches, to rug him doon out o' that 
 
 lang slow linger o' dwining death, till at last, wi' ae crash no 
 74&TX p. 135. 
 
 (41) I, r. 230. 
 
76 - 
 
 unworthy o' him, down ha comes, over whelming- hunera o' sma 3aplin3 
 
 an. alarmin' distant vales wi' the unaccountable thunder o' hi3 
 
 fa* - no the less, awfu' because lang expect it, an' leavin a gap 
 
 (43) 
 
 that'll no be filled up for centuries.” 
 
 Frequently taoreover, in dwelling upon the wonders of nature 
 
 the Shepherd is led into another field, namely the philosophical, 
 
 for nature and human nature are ever closelv akin, "The sicht o' 
 
 (43) 
 
 a primrose,” he says, "is to be like the soun ' o' a prayer,” 
 thus momentarily reminding us of the great interpreter, of nature, 
 Wordsworth, Or again he remarks, "the sun was setting sae glor- 
 iously, and the profound hush o' nature seemed o' itsel an assur- 
 
 (44) 
 
 ance o' immortality.” Whole passages too are at times devoted 
 to the elaboration of such ideas, which gain much of their force 
 and freshness from the original turn of the dialect which express- 
 es them:. Take for instance the passage in which the Shepherd 
 aptly sums up the feelings that accompany advancing years*. ”Af 
 time 3 I think there is even less sunshine: at least that o' 
 
 heavenly licht that used to wauken rr.e in the mornings when a bey 
 by dauncin' on my face, i 3 extinct, or withdrawn to another planet: 
 and yet reason serves to convince me that the sun cann' be muckle 
 the waur o' ha' in been shinin' those last forty years o' his life, 
 and that the faut moun lie in the pupil o' the iris o' my ain 
 two auld hazy e'en: neither can I see cause why dew drops should 
 
 be less baautifu. than o' yore, though certain sure they seem sae : 
 
 "(42) I, p. ise. 
 
 (43) II, v . 58. 
 
 (44) II, p. 58. 
 

77 
 
 yet I fain believe for the sak o' the Flower of the Forest, that 
 
 rapt youth still sees the beauty that some felin or other noo 
 
 (45) 
 
 veils frae my eyes.” 
 
 From this discussion of the»»Noctes Ambtosianas , M therefore, 
 it is clear that if the reader is going to appreciate the valuable 
 material they contain, he must be prepared to make all sorts of 
 allowances. He must tolerate the many glaring faults - the ex- 
 aggerations .and the improbabilities, the horse-play and practical 
 joking, the quantities of poetic rhapsodies and the superabundance 
 of Scottish dialect. He must overlook entirely some of the worse 
 features, such as the puerilities, touches of bad taste, false 
 pathos, and tedious burlesque. But if he can accomodate himself 
 to such obFious blemishes, if he can be prepared for all sorts of 
 prejudice - literary, political and religious - for frequent 
 inconsistencies in the treatment of the same subjects, and for 
 much that is of purely local or temporary interest; if he has the 
 ability dsf entering into the real spirit of a bygone age, he will 
 no doubt find in the "Hcctes" much reading that is truly delight- 
 ful. Their unfailing high spirits, their conviviality and merri- 
 ment, their sunshiny heartiness and humor, are but a few of the 
 sources from which such pleasures may be derived. Add to this 
 the dramatic 3k ill with which the characters are individualized 
 the abundance of incomplete but remarkable gems of thought and 
 
 (45) II, p. 196. 
 
- 76 - 
 
 expression that are scattered throughout their conversation, and 
 
 greatest attraction of all - "the indescribable bits, phrases, 
 
 sentences and short paragraphs, which. have, more than anything 
 
 out of the very best novels, the character ani charm cf actual 
 (46) 
 
 conversation:" and the attraction of the "Hoctes" is complete. 
 Indeed to read one of the dialogues has for those who have the 
 gift of realizing literature, the effect of actually participating 
 in all that is said or done. 
 
 (46) Saint abury, "Essays in English Literature," p. 2£6. 
 

 - 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
78 - 
 
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