"
Some years afterwards, I reminded him of this advice. "Did you follow
it?" he inquired. "I tried," I said; "but I had not gone far on the
road till some confounded Will-o-wisp came in and dazzled my sight, so
that I deviated from the path, and never found it again."--"It is the
same way with myself," said he, smiling; "I form my plan, and then I
deviate."--"Ay, ay," I replied, "I understand--we both deviate--- but
you deviate into excellence, and I into absurdity."
I have seen many distinguished poets, Burns, Byron, Southey,
Wordsworth, Campbell, Rogers, Wilson, Crabbe, and Coleridge; but, with
the exception of Burns, Scott, for personal vigour, surpasses them
all. Burns was, indeed, a powerful man, and Wilson is celebrated for
feats of strength and agility; I think, however, the stalworth frame,
the long nervous arms, and well-knit joints of Scott, are worthy of
the best days of the Border, and would have gained him distinction at
the foray which followed the feast of spurs. On one occasion he talked
of his ancestry, Sir Thomas Lawrence, I think, was present. One of his
forefathers, if my memory is just, sided with the Parliament in the
Civil War, and the family estate suffered curtailment in consequence.
To make amends, however, his son, resolving not to commit the error of
his father, joined the Pretender, and with his brother was engaged in
that unfortunate adventure which ended in a skirmish and captivity at
Preston, in 1715.
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