"Scottish Review," a quarterly periodical of some literary reputation; and on the appearance of the "Isle of Palms," by John Wilson, then little known to fame, Hogg, who was delighted with the striking incidents and rich imagery of the poem, wrote a eulogistic criticism, which was published in the "Review." But amidst so much warm-hearted commendation which he doled out, it was necessary to find fault somewhere; and, accordingly, he fastened upon the incident of the hero and heroine having been sent in an open boat over some hundred leagues of ocean, without the slightest mention of any victualling for such a
voyage. Had Hogg but read a romance or two of the chivalrous ages, he would
have known how easily people can live without food, as well as be hacked to
pieces without dying. He was impatient to come into contact with the talented
author of the poem, and as no one was at hand to introduce him, he introduced
himself. On this occasion he quoted once more what he thought the crying
grievance of the "Isle of Palms," with "Ye ken that it was arrant nonsense to set a man and wife awa sailing ower the sea wi' naething to fill their stamach but the cauld wind. You should most certainly ha'e put some o' provisions in
the boat." "O, Sir," replied the future Christopher North, with a look of great gravity, while inwardly the cockles of his heart were dancing with laughter, "they were on the water only a single night; and, moreover, let me tell you,
filling the belly is scarcely one of the poetical occupations. You know, sir, they may have had bread and cheese in their pockets without my taking the trouble of mentioning that in the poem !" This was perfectly satisfactory to his unsophisticated hearer, who replied, "Faith, I dare say you're right after a'; but, do you ken, the thing never struck me, man ?"
Before proceeding with the literary labours of James Hogg, it may be as well to notice an incident characteristic of so singular a man, in which he endeavoured to re-establish himself in life as a farmer—the department for which he thought himself best fitted. For this, as in most at his other attempts, patronage was necessary; and he bethought himself of the Duchess of Buccleuch, whose kindness and condescension he had more than once experienced already. Having screwed up his courage to the point of requesting, he made his application to her Grace in the following strange epistle:—
"To her Grace the Duchess of Buccleuch, Dalkeith Palace. Forwarded by Messrs. Grieve and Scott, hatters, Edinburgh.
"May it Please your Grace,—I have often grieved you by my applications for this and that. I am sensible of this, for I have had many instances of your wishes to be of service to me, could you have known what to do for that purpose. But there are some eccentric characters in the world, of whom no person can judge or know what will prove beneficial, or what may prove their bane. I have again and again received of your Grace's private bounty, and though it made me love and respect you the more, I was nevertheless grieved at it. It was never your Grace's money that I wanted, but the honour of your countenance; indeed, my heart could never yield to the hope of being patronized by any house save that of Buccleuch, whom I deemed bound to cherish every plant that indicated anything out of the common way on the braes of Ettrick and Yarrow.
"I know you will be thinking that this long prelude is to end with a request. No, madam! I have taken the resolution of never making another request. I will, however, tell you a story, which is, I believe, founded on a fact:—
"There is a small farm at the head of a water called . . . possessed by a
