he related how the inspiration of the muse came upon him, in
consequence of his being born, like Burns, on the 25th of January; how, on
the evening of his birth, a man and horse were dispatched for the midwife,
but the night being wild, and Ettrick deep in flood, the rider was lost;
nevertheless, the familiar spirit called Brownie--the Lubber-Fiend of
Milton--supplied his place, and brought the marvelling midwife in time to
achieve the adventure of the future poet of Kilmeny. All this, and much
more he related in a way hovering between jest and earnest, and in a
strong Ettrick tone, to the consternation of the English part of the
meeting, for whom it was rather peculiar and learned. The audience
evidently, one and all, regarded the Shepherd with wonder, and hundreds
were on tiptoe to have a look at him as he stood on a table to relate his
own varied fortunes.

"But on the banks of Tweed the chairman was aware that a wizard, still
more enchanting than him of Yarrow, lived, or rather, lately lived; and he
accordingly gave the health of 'SIR WALTER SCOTT, and a safe return to his
native country.' It is needless to say with what rapture the health of
this most illustrious of all the sons of Scotland was drunk. This
honour--such is the word--was acknowledged by Mr. Lockhart, in a speech
worth any two chapters in the whole range of British Biography;--it was
clear and concise--vigorous and picturesque--and abounding with anecdote.
Of his illustrious father-in-law, he told how Burns predicted his future
fame, in the house of Adam Ferguson; and of Hogg he related how Scott
found him, thirty-five years ago, with his plaid and dog, watching his
sheep on Ettrick Banks, with more old border ballads on his memory than
any traditionary dame of the district, and with more true poetry in his
heart than was usual to the lot of poets. Of Hogg himself he said much
that was amusing and instructive: one anecdote will not soon be forgotten.
The Shepherd was at the dinner-table of a duchess, when her Grace said,
'Mr. Hogg, where you ever here before?' 'Madam,' said the poet, 'I have
driven cattle often past your gates, but I never was within them till
now.'"

"But we must have done with this splendid Festival: we cannot, however,
conclude without a remark:--the health of 'Lord Porchester and the Poets
of England,' was drunk; and when his Lordship made his acknowledgments, he
was interrupted by the titter of a hundred tongues and sat down,