of his wonderful genius:  but no such testimony is at all wanting; the songs of Burns are sung in every quarter of the globe, and his poems are treasured in millions of memories, so that his fame may set fate at defiance.  All this was rapturously received; nor was the approbation of the company less coldly manifested when the chairman proposed ‘the health of the ETTRICK SHEPHERD;’ it appeared, however, that he was much less familiar with his works than with those of Burns, and though a native of a pastoral district, made sad work among the romances and ballads of the imaginative shepherd.  This want was, however, in some degree supplied, by a most characteristic speech from Hogg himself, in which 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.’”