announced him as one whom the chairman had honoured with his friendship,
he was sure that all present would cordially join him in drinking "The
Health of Mr. Terry."

Mr. WILLIAM ALLAN, banker, said that he did not rise with the intention
of making a speech. He merely wished to contribute in a few words to
the mirth of the evening--an evening which certainly had not passed off
without some blunders. It had been understood--at least he had learnt
or supposed from the expressions of Mr. Pritchard--that it would be
sufficient to put a paper, with the name of the contributor, into the
box, and that the gentleman thus contributing would be called on for
the money next morning. He, for his part, had committed a blunder but
it might serve as a caution to those who may be present at the dinner
of next year. He had merely put in his name, written on a slip of paper,
without the money. But he would recommend that, as some of the gentlemen
might be in the same situation, the box should be again sent round, and
he was confident that they, as well as he, would redeem their error.

Sir WALTER SCOTT said that the meeting was somewhat in the situation
of Mrs. Anne Page, who had L300 and possibilities. We have already got,
said he, L280, but I should like, I confess, to have the L300. He would
gratify himself by proposing the health of an honourable person, the
Lord Chief Baron, whom England has sent to us, and connecting with it
that of his "yokefellow on the bench," as Shakespeare says, Mr. Baron
Clerk--The Court of Exchequer.

Mr. Baron CLERK regretted the absence of his learned brother. None, he
was sure, could be more generous in his nature, or more ready to help a
Scottish purpose.

Sir WALTER SCOTT,--There is one who ought to be remembered on
this occasion. He is, indeed, well entitled to our grateful
recollection--one, in short, to whom the drama in this city owes much.
He succeeded, not without trouble, and perhaps at some considerable
sacrifice, in establishing a theatre. The younger part of the company
may not recollect the theatre to which I allude, but there are some who
with me may remember by name a place called Carrubber's Close. There
Allan Ramsay established his little theatre. His own pastoral was not
fit for the stage, but it has its admirers in those who love the Doric
language in which it is written; and it is not without merits of a
very peculiar kind. But laying aside all considerations of his literary
merit,