This was uncommonly liberal conduct, in a Whig, and our Smollett, though no Jacobite, was in distinct and courageous sympathy with Jacobite Scotland.  Indeed, he was as patriotic as Burns, or as his own Lismahago.  These were times, we must remember, in which Scottish patriotism was more than a mere historical sentiment.  Scotland was inconceivably poor, and Scots, in England, were therefore ridiculous.  The country had, so far, gained very little by the Union, and the Union was detested even by Scottish Whig Earls.  It is recorded by Moore that, while at the Dumbarton Grammar School, Smollett wrote “verses to the memory of Wallace, of whom he became an early admirer,” having read “Blind Harry’s translation of the Latin poems of John Blair,” chaplain to that hero.  There probably never were any such Latin poems, but Smollett began with the same hero-worship as Burns.  He had the attachment of a Scot to his native stream, the Leven, which later he was to celebrate.  Now if Smollett had credited Roderick Random with these rural, poetical, and patriotic tastes, his hero would have been much more human and amiable.  There was much good in Smollett which is absent in Random.  But for some reason, probably because Scotland was unpopular after the Forty-Five, Smollett merely describes the woes, ill usage, and retaliations of Roderick.  That he suffered as Random did is to the last degree improbable.  He had a fair knowledge of Latin, and was not destitute of Greek, while his master, a Mr. Love, bore a good character both for humanity and scholarship.  He must have studied the classics at Glasgow University, where he was apprenticed to Mr. Gordon, a surgeon.  Gordon, again, was an excellent man, appreciated by Smollett himself in after days, and the odious Potion of “Roderick Random” must, like his rival, Crab, have been merely a fancy sketch of meanness, hypocrisy, and profligacy.  Perhaps the good surgeon became the victim of that “one continued string of epigrammatic sarcasms,” such as Mr. Colquhoun told Ramsay of Ochtertyre, Smollett used to play off on his companions, “for which no talents could compensate.”  Judging by Dr. Carlyle’s Memoirs this intolerable kind of display was not unusual in Caledonian conversation:  but it was not likely to make Tobias popular in England.

Thither he went in 1739, with very little money, “and a very large assortment of letters of recommendation:  whether his relatives intended to compensate for the scantiness of the one by their profusion in the other is uncertain; but he has often been heard to declare that their liberality in the last article was prodigious.”  The Smolletts were not “kinless loons”; they had connections:  but who, in Scotland, had money?  Tobias had passed his medical examinations, but he rather trusted in his MS. tragedy, “The Regicide.”  Tragical were its results for the author.  Inspired by George Buchanan’s Latin history of Scotland, Smollett had produced a play, in blank verse, on the murder of James I. That