to the antique notion. But Mr. Burgon started with one advantage-an advantage of which the critics tell us very little, and yet a great one: he loved the man. He did not set out with the idea that Tytler was a producer of something called history only, but with an affection for him which gives to the whole narrative a pleasant glow of life. There is an influence for good about affection which tells in letters as elsewhere, and it has helped Mr. Burgon to make an agreeable work out of very simple materials. He invests the laborious historian with all the interest which a worthy and genial man naturally excites in those who know him; and makes him carry with him, into libraries and state-paper offices, an air of the country and of home. It takes no little skill to effect this without descending to triviality of detail; and our author has done it so well, that we follow Tytler through his useful and honourable career with something of the warmth of feeling which his intimacy seems to have inspired in the flesh. We must try and convey the sentiment to our own readers as the biographer has awakened it in us. biographers of the world were beaten in | to be interesting? None at all, according the most difficult department of biography by an amateur. People are too apt to think that literary merit and literary success are only questions of literary ability. The effect of Boswell, we believe, could be traced in several of his successors whose genius would seem to raise them above the influence of a writer of Boswell's calibre. At all events, the success of his book gradually familiarised the world with the spectacle of a life singularly devoid of adventures and incident, but more fascinating than most of those which have been full of both. The world came to know the Doctor as if he were still alive, and to quote his sayings as if they had been uttered yesterday; and that, while a considerable part of his writings was gradually fading away from public remembrance. The impression made by such a presence in our literature must necessarily have been immense. Lockhart's keen, bright intellect was a very different power from that possessed by Boswell; but the 'Life of Scott' owes much to the 'Life of Johnson.' A kindly human relish for the details of a great man's daily doings; a frank yet sufficiently reticent revelation of his modes of speech, amusements, letter-writingsthese things, which Boswell accumulated as by an instinct, Lockhart employed with the skill of an artist. The 'Life of Scott' has been succeeded by other good biographies of the class. Our literary lives are improving. Dr. Arnold, the poet Keats, John Sterling, are known faces in that great national portrait gallery which hangs visible in the imagination of a great people. Dr. Chalmers might have been equally familiar if his biographer's position had not compelled him to encumber his book with much that is only of local and sectarian interest. By and by, no doubt, the spirit of this reform will operate more widely. The prejudices against which we have been contending will be dispelled by good models more effectually than by reasoning and ridicule; and literary biography will become what it ought to have ripened into long ago. Mr. Burgon, in his Memoir of Tytler, has set a good example at all events. His task was far from an easy one. The merits of Tytler's History of Scotland' are not of a kind to strike the popular imagination vividly; nor was Tytler himself a man who enjoyed that wide social reputation which adds so much to a literary fame. To the world at large he was only a respectable man, who had written a valuable book. What right has such a 'Life' 'Every Scotsman has a pedigree,' says Sir Walter, nor was Patrick Fraser Tytler an exception. Lord Woodhouselee, his father, was the son of William Tytler, the defender of Queen Mary, whose grandfather, John Tytler, of Aberdeen, married one of the Skenes of that ilk, a fine old stock, among whose cadets was Sir John Skene, the antiquary. This stemma in itself would content most Southrons; but the Tytlers are not content with an abavus allied with a Skene. They claim to be a branch of the Setons, a great historical family, and remarkable for having inherited the rights, and become the male stems, of the Dukes of Gordon and Earls of Eglinton. We fear that Mr. Burgon is not so deep in Scottish genealogy as we suppose him to be in other branches of knowledge. He assumes the truth of the tradition that the Tytlers descend from a brother of the George, third Lord Seton, who fell at Flodden. But it happens that we have particular information about the Setons of that period in the quaint old book, 'The History of the House of Seytoun,' by Sir Richard Maitland, of Lethington, whose mother was one of the family, and who wrote in the sixteenth century. He is very particular in telling whatever is curious about the house; for instance, such a characteristic fact as that the second Lord, having been made prisoner by the Phlemmenis,' fitted out ane grit schip callit the Aquila' against them, and made war for several years, as if he had been an European Power! Sir Richard must have known so singular a circumstance as the one recorded by way of accounting for the change of name from Seton to Tytler in pp. 1, 2, and if he had known it would have stated it, which he nowhere does. We feel sure, therefore, that, though there is probably some truth in the tradition in question, it is not true in the form in which the Tytlers accept it. Be that as it may, three generations of the family have shown literary talent, and the fact makes their genealogy interesting, whether they spring from the Setons or not. Their distinction in this way began with the vindicator of Queen Mary, who broke lances honourably with Robertson and Hume, and it was continued by Lord Woodhouselee, a fine lettered old Scots judge, of a school that is passing away. His Life of Lord Kames,' though its bulk would be a crime in the eyes of this hasty generation, may still be read with pleasure by those who admire the Edinburgh of the last century. Lord Kames was contemporary with, and was an agent in, that memorable revival of literature in Scotland which broke its long spell of inferiority during the interval between Buchanan and Robertson. He and his friends were a pleasant and worthy race; united the old good breeding with the newest literary accomplishments; were not indifferent to claret and oysters when the labours of the day were over; and garnished all the heavier occupations of life with belles-lettres, and humour. There is much information about the Scotland of a century since in Lord Woodhouselee's 'Kames.' Of his other works, the historical lectures are best known, and their educational value has been amply recognised. Lord Woodhouselee married a Fraser of Balnain (the mother of Sir James Mackintosh was of the same family), and by her had eight children. PATRICK FRASER TYTLER, the historian, was the youngest of these, and was born in Prince's-street, Edinburgh, on the 30th August, 1791. His sister, the late Miss Ann Fraser Tytler, furnished Mr. Burgon with a pretty domestic sketch of his boyish and school days. She tells us candidly that, as a boy,' he was by no means remarkable,' 'except-an important exception-' for the invariable truthfulness, openness, and perfect simplicity of his character.' He 6 went to the High School, and joined in the street-fights, called bickers, with a healthy amount of spirit. But in early life he was no fonder of his books than other lads; and in bis, as in many cases, the mind was awakened by tradition before it was awakened by literature. His father loved music, and scenery, and old historical legends, such as gather round Scottish ruins and hills; and these influences prepared 'Peter' (they use 'Peter' interchangeably with Patrick' in Scotland) for letters by and by. Books,' says Lord Bacon, can never teach the use of books.' The 'use' depends on the character which we bring to them. And it is easy to see the effects of the pious, kindly Woodhouselee training on Tytler's modest and laborious career. When he began to read, his reading was of an imaginative character-Percy's 'Reliques,' the Faery Queen,' and so forth, the best food for a healthy young mind which, while sufficiently kept balanced in the world of facts by its natural solidity, ought by all means to be inspired and enlivened by glimpses of the world of fancy. A History of the Moors,' a 'very old-looking book,' particularly attracted young Tytler, who would lie'stretched all his length on the carpet in the library at Woodhouselee' reading it for hours together.' The memory of these pleasant hours may wane out of the mind, but the effect of them, we may be sure, is never lost to it. Tytler, however, had other advantages besides a home at once well-regulated and joyous. Their house Woodhouselee' was doubly 'haunted by the ghost of Lady Anne Bothwell, a shadowy relic of ancient superstition, and by the more solid presence of distinguished and agreeable friends from Edinburgh. Such were Henry Mackenzie, the Man of Feeling,' memorable now, mainly, for the paper in the 'Lounger' which introduced Burns to the knowledge of the learned and the great; Walter Scott, as popular among the children of families which he entered as his novels became all over Europe; Sydney Smith, who had put into Edinburgh in stress of politics,' and was as cheerful, noisy, and vivaciously humourous, as he remained through life. The world never tires of stories about Sydney, and here is one which Mr. Burgon tells on Tytler's authority : Lord Woodhouselee had invited to his table se'Besides Scott, Mackintosh, and Sydney Smith, ensued. Scott contented himself with telling veral first-rate talkers; and the usual rivalry some delightful stories, and resigning when Mackintosh seemned eager to be heard. Lord Jeffery flashed in with something brilliant, but was in turn outshone by some more fortunate talker. So much impatience was felt to lead the conversation, that no one had leisure to eat. Only Sydney was silent. He was discussing the soup, the fish, and the roast. In short, he partook leisurely of everything at table; until the last act was drawing to a close, and he had completely dined. He then delivered himself of something preposterous-laughed at it immoderately and infecting every one present with his mirth, at once set the table in a roar. It is needless to add that he never parted with his advantage, but triumphantly led the conversation for the remainder of the evening, keeping the other guests convulsed with the humour of the only man present who had dined.'-Memoir of Tytler, p. 37. เ In short, whether at Woodhouselee or in the town-house in Prince's-street, the judge's youngest son breathed an atmosphere of literature, and a very pure one. In 1808, his father sent him south to a school at Chobham, kept by Mr. Jerram, an evangelical clergyman. Here he worked really hard at Greek, Latin, and English literature, returning to Edinburgh to at tend the College towards the close of 1809. That winter was spent in attendance on the Law and Classical lectures, in which he had a companion, familiarly mentioned in his letters as Archy Alison,' and now well known to the world under a graver appellation. Archy Alison and I,' he writes, have started together, and we have both worked pretty, though not very hard, at the "Institutes" of Heineccius during the winter; for previous to our beginning the study of the Scotch law, it is necessary that we should be well and accurately grounded in Roman jurisprudence. This was a sound view of affairs, but already, at nineteen, his heart was being drawn to history; and in neither of the venerable studies just mentioned does he seem to have achieved much. He tried the bar, however-that favourite profession of the Scotch upper class, as the Church is of the middle-having been admitted into the Faculty of Advocates on the 3rd July, 1813, a few months after the death of his father, which took place early in that year. The loss was severely felt by Tytler, whose affections were keen, as his spiritual life was serious and sensitive. "It is indeed too true" (he wrote to his old tutor, Mr. Black, at the end of three months) "that to me my excellent father's death is quite irreparable; and that it has left a blank in my heart which nothing earthly can supply. My brothers' affections were divided: they had wives and children; and, by previous separation, had been weaned from my father. My affections were centered in him. I had no higher happiness than to see him smile on my studies: in all his literary labours he had the goodness to make me a sharer: my taste was moulded, my soul was knit to his; and from my infancy, till the moment he was taken from us, I was fostered in his bosom. Can you wonder then, that there are moments now in which I feel withered, like a plant that never sees the sun? Yet I comfort myself by thinking on the perfect happiness which is now enjoyed by that pure and sainted spirit, which has gone before us to heaven. Animam ejus ad cœlum unde erat rediisse mihi persuadeo."-p. 81. We entirely approve of these occasional glimpses of this inner life of his friend given by the biographer; for, though a too frequent recurrence of them would jar on the taste, their suppression would leave the very foundations of Tytler's character in complete obscurity. Next year, 1814, we are transported into a quite different world. Tytler, accompanied by some intimate friends, of whom Archibald Alison' was oue, crossed the Channel, and visited Paris when thronged by the Allies. That stirring not detain us now. scene has often been painted, and need The young Scotsmen many potentates, including the great Plawere hospitably received; introduced to toff; dined in the Russian fashion, and many other fashions; and feasted their able. Tytler enjoyed all this, and wrote eyes with the sight of celebrities innumerhome about it in a hearty way; but, notwithstanding the many objects of paramount interest which he had beheld, the Apollo Belvedere and the Venus de' Medici seem to have most captivated his taste and laid the strongest hold on his imagination.' It is curious that with such a genuine relish for artistic matters, and for the picturesque in life, Tytler should not have shown more of the faculties connected with those sympathies in his books. Good sense and a plain masterly way of handling facts-of dealing with their moral bearings and political relations-is his characteristic as a historian, rather than imagination or beauty of style. But still these finer influences must have contributed to keep alive and active his somewhat homely and ponderous intellectual nature. Meanwhile, the sight of the world firmed him in that inward 'seriousness' on and its attractions only seems to have conwhole life. This may be said to have been great subjects which gave a colour to his in some degree 'Scotch,' like the cautious sagacity which also marked him, but both of which, a liberal literary culture and a | joined as Tory. This famous regiment had certain vein of fun (genial, rather than brilliant) prevented from ever degenerating into the sourness of ultra-puritanism or the 'canniness' of the underbred type of Northerns. The next few years were spent in an attempt to reconcile law with literature. It was a nice struggle, for the law had its points of attraction for a historical mind like his; and yet its practice was daily proving more and more incompatible with his most cherished tastes and aspirations. He got some business, and was even made junior crown counsel' by the kindness of Lord Meadowbank. But his 'Diary' shows where his heart was, while he was defending panels on circuit at Inverness or Perth, or (not without satisfaction) extorting aliment' for an indigent debtor in jail. His heart was not in the Highlands at circuit-time, but was in Corinne, 'Boileau,' Currie's 'Life of Burns,' Locke's "Essay,' Johnson's London,' and scores of other good books, which he diligently perused during 1816-17. By April, 1818, he had ripened into authorship himself, for we find him correcting and enlarging 'Crichton'-a 'Life' of that famous old literary prodigy, which he published the following year. He was contributing to 'Blackwood' likewise, but the ferocity of Maga startled Tytler, who hated controversy and loved quiet-never showing at any time the dashing, rollicking temperament which marks the ingenia præfervida among his countrymen, and is the true antique temperament of the nation. In 1818 he made an excursion-full of interest to a Scots lowlander or coastman-to Norway; but our countrymen have become such travellers since those days that fiords, green islands, spruce fir-trees, and simple Norwegian peasantry, are almost as stale to the general reader as turbans and yataghans. Dates like Nineveh or distances like California would alone justify our drawing upon the journal of a summer tourist. 6 Tytler's next literary step (1823) was a compromise between the profession which he followed and the studies which he loved. Probably he thought he would propitiate the profession, so he wrote the 'Life' of a lawyer, Sir Thomas Craig, adding biographical sketches' of many lawyers more. But by this, while he gained nothing, his publisher lost money, and his prospects at the bar were less hopeful than ever. He kept his spirits up by writing ballads for the dinners of the Bannatyne Club, to which he belonged as author, and of the Midlothian Yeomanry Cavalry, which he many a great name in its lists, and was of a convivial turn. Mr. Burgon gives a specimen of the songs Tytler wrote and sung for it; cheerful ditties too, as he really had a thread of humour in him, but without salt enough to preserve them in our day. The generation which does not read Peter Pindar and the Younger Colman wants something more piquant than the squibs of the Scots historian. Nothing is so evanescent as local fun. But here is an anecdote of those times an adventure of Basil Hall's, related by him to Tytler-and worth remembering for its glimpse of character and of the age: 'Travelling in an old-fashioned stage-coach, he found himself opposite to a good-humoured jolly Dandie Dinmont-looking person, with whom he entered into conversation, and found him most intelligent. Dandie, who was a staunch Loyalist as well as a stout yeoman, seemed equally said, "I am weel content to meet wi' a discreet pleased with his companion. "Troth Sir," he civil spoken gentleman wi' whom I can have a rational conversation, for I has been sairly put out. You see, Sir, a Radical fellow came into the coach. It was the only time I ever saw a Radical: an' he began abusing every thing, saying that this was na a kintra fit to live in. And first he abused the King. Sir, I stood that. And then he abused the constitution. Sir, I stood that. And then he abused the farmers. Well, Sir, I stood it all. But then he took to abusing the yeomanry. Now, Sir, you ken I could na stand that, for I am a yeoman mysel; so I was under the necessity of being a wee rude-like till him. So I seized him by the cuff of the neck: Do you see that window, Sir? Apologeeze, apologeeze, this very minute, or I'll just put your head through the window.' Wi' that he apologeezed. Now, Sir,' I said, you'll gang out o' the coach.' And wi' that I opened the door, and shot him out intil the road and that's all Í ever saw o' the Radical."'—p. 172. เ We now come to the most important period of the historian's life. He had long felt the want of some great and engrossing subject' on which to concentrate his force -a want natural to one of his disposition and habits-industrious, pertinacious, and domestic, but of sympathies rather warm than various. The law of Scotland had prepared him for its history; the study of letters had helped him to a style. But the immediate inspiration was given by his old family-friend Sir Walter Scott. He lighted his torch at that of Sir Walter, who sug gested to him, one summer at Abbotsford (the year is not definitely ascertained, but probably in 1823), that he should undertake the History of Scotland.' Sir Walter had thought of the task himself, but saw its difficulties, was hampered by his many other avocations, and had compounded with his conscience in the matter by undertaking the Tales of a Grandfather'-a book always charming, and still the best popular introduction to the subject. The time soon came when misfortune imposed upon the great man task-work about which he had no choice, and the memory of which saddens the visitor to the quiet and lonely show-rooms of Abbotsford more than all the beautiful desolation of Melrose. Tytler was deeply struck by Scott's suggestion, while proud, as he might well be, of his promised countenance and advice. It was occupying his mind in 1824, and the two following years, amid his professional business, and thoughts of a sweeter and deeper cast. He was now wooing Rachel Elizabeth, the beautiful daughter of Mr. Hog, of Newliston-a singular old gentleman of the French-Scottish school of the last century, living among his woods in a retirement not uncommon among old Scottish lairds. Their marriage took place in March, 1826; and seems to have been Since in every way a happy alliance. Tytler can hardly be called a 'brilliant' or spirit-stirring historian, he requires all the more that we should recognise his attractiveness in a domestic and quiet way. Good literary biography should always aim at filling-up the public impressions about a man, by showing us the comic or light writer in his serious mood in hours of business, the grave one in his playful and familiar moments. Charles Lamb at home, and Sydney Smith in his country parsonage are pictures, which in our time have, on the whole, raised these men in popular estimation. The reader may like to see the homelier aspect of the industrious writer who has carried him through the Bruce and Balio controversy, or the religious struggles and convulsions of the sixteenth century. So we draw on Mr. Burgon, who has drawn on his friend's domestic correspondence: 'The next was evidently written in July or August: "Exchequer Court, Tuesday, 1 o'clock. "My dearest love,-I am sitting here in the Exchequer Court, with one Baron sound asleep (the effect of the thermometer at 80°), the others almost dozing, and the Chief Baron speaking at great length about half a gallon of whisky, with an energy that might do honour to Demosthenes. Seriously, nothing can be more trifling or uninteresting, yet here must I sit and wait till it is concluded. or "So far had I written, when the case broke up, and allowed me to come hither (Lauriston) .. How I envied you to-day the cool shady walks under our favourite evergreens, when my unhappy frame was sinking from the proximity to a thousand writers and writers' clerks, or broiling in Prince's-street, where the pavement absolutely bakes the soles of your feet, till they become like barley scones, if I may be permitted the expression. But the contrast will only make Newliston more delightful to me; although I need little to make me entirely love the spot where your infancy, my best beloved, was passed, to which my heart turns, as the home of the dearest of all objects; and the trees and fields of which are becoming personal friends to me. "Write a single line to tell me that you continue well, but do not fatigue or tire yourself. Remember, my dearest of all girls that on the care you take of yourself my whole happiness hangs. Forgive this wretched and hurried scrawl, but true-love is to be measured neither by wire-wove paper nor well-turned sentences. Farewell, my dearest love!" house in Edinburgh (36, Melville-street), and he My friend had in the mean time purchased a was now busy furnishing it, with the intention of establishing himself in the metropolis before the winter. He was also actively occupied with the preparation of the first volume of his great work. Writing to his mother from Newliston in the month of August, he gives an interesting picture of his method and resources:— "I am going on finely with my Scottish History. I have got all my books round me, and a nice little room for a study. I take a showerbath in the morning, and ride or walk every day. Yesterday I rode with James to Linlithigow, to see an old library left to the magistrates of that town for the use of themselves and the county, by the late historian of Britain, Dr. Henry. I found it much neglected, although full of many curious and valuable volumes, much in my own way. The subscription was a trifle; so Jamie and I have both become subscribers, and a man (and horse) with a large basket is now on his road from Linlithgow,) he has this moment arrived), with a load of old English historians, which have not been disturbed, I daresay, since the death of the worthy doctor himand no place can be imagined more admirably self. So you see, I am going on in my old way; fitted for study than this. The quietness and seclusion of the woods, and the complete retirement in which we live, will leave you no excuse for idleness, and I hope to do a great deal before we leave it." * 'Before the end of November, 1826, my friend and his wife had established themselves in their new home, 36, Melville-street. "I have the most pleasing recollection of his study," writes his brother-in-law, "where the greatest part of his History was composed. Most of the Edinburgh houses are constructed on one plan. On the ground floor there is commonly a dining room in front, lobby, butler's pantry, &c., and behind a handsome square room, reserved, as occasion may serve for business, a sleeping-room, or otherwise. This room it was which P. F. T. made his study. It was fitted up with glazed bookcases, a few choice prints, a bit of sculp ture, and one or two pieces of china and antiqui |