the minstrel of our native
land--the mighty magician who has rolled back the current of time, and
conjured up before our living senses the men and the manners of days
which have long passed away--stands revealed to the hearts and the eyes
of his affectionate and admiring countrymen. If he himself were capable
of imagining all that belonged to this mighty subject--were he even able
to give utterance to all that, as a friend, as a man, and as a Scotsman,
he must feel regarding it--yet knowing, as he well did, that this
illustrious individual was not more distinguished for his towering
talents than for those feelings which rendered such allusions ungrateful
to himself, however sparingly introduced, he would, on that account,
still refrain from doing that which would otherwise be no less pleasing
to him than to his audience. But this his Lordship, hoped he would be
allowed to say (his auditors would not pardon him were he to say less),
we owe to him, as a people, a large and heavy debt of gratitude. He it
is who has opened to foreigners the grand and characteristic beauties of
our country. It is to him that we owe that our gallant ancestors and the
struggles of our illustrious patriots--who fought and bled in order to
obtain and secure that independence and that liberty we now enjoy--have
obtained a fame no longer confined to the boundaries of a remote
and comparatively obscure nation, and who has called down upon their
struggles for glory and freedom the admiration of foreign countries. He
it is who has conferred a new reputation on our national character, and
bestowed on Scotland an imperishable name, were it only by her having
given birth to himself. (Loud and rapturous applause.)

Sir WALTER SCOTT certainly did not think that, in coming here to-day, he
would have the task of acknowledging, before three hundred gentlemen, a
secret which, considering that it was communicated to more than twenty
people, had been remarkably well kept. He was now before the bar of his
country, and might be understood to be on trial before Lord Meadowbank
as an offender; yet he was sure that every impartial jury would bring in
a verdict of Not Proven. He did not now think it necessary to enter into
the reasons of his long silence. Perhaps caprice might have a consider
able share in it. He had now to say, however, that the merits of these
works, if they had any, and their faults, were entirely imputable to
himself. (Long and loud cheering.) He