Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 02
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 02
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
The love of literature, when once thoroughly awakened in a reflective
mind, can never after cease to influence it. It first assimilates our
intellectual part to those fine intellects which live in the world of
books, and then renders our connection with them indispensable, by
laying hold of that social principle of our nature which ever leads us
to the society of our fellows as our proper sphere of enjoyment. My
early habits, by heightening my tone of thought and feeling, had tended
considerably to narrow my circle of companionship. My profession, too,
had led me to be much alone; and now that I had been several years the
master of an Indiaman, I was quite as fond of reading, and felt as deep
an interest in whatever took place in the literary world, as when a
student at St. Andrew's. There was much in the literature of the period
to gratify my pride as a Scotchman. The despotism, both political and
religious, which had overlaid the energies of our country for more than
a century, had long been removed, and the national mind had swelled and
expanded under a better system of things, till its influence had become
co-extensive with civilized man. Hume had produced his inimitable
history, and Adam Smith his wonderful work, which was to revolutionise
and new-model the economy of all the governments of the earth. And
there, in my little library, were the histories of Henry and Robertson,
the philosophy of Kaimes and Reid, the novels of Smollett and Mackenzie,
and the poetry of Beattie and Home. But, if there was no lack of
Scottish intellect in the literature of the time, there was a decided
lack of Scottish manners; and I knew too much of my humble countrymen
not to regret it. True, I had before me the writings of Ramsay and my
unfortunate friend Ferguson; but there was a radical meanness in the
first that lowered the tone of his colouring far beneath the freshness
of truth, and the second, whom I had seen perish--too soon, alas! for
literature and his country--had given us but a few specimens of his
power when his hand was arrested for ever.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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