PREFACE OF THE EDITOR.
The poem here presented to the American public,
was transmitted to the editor by a friend now
in Edinburgh. It is there universally attributed
to Mr. Scott, and the following is its private history
as delivered to our friend, who is intimate in
the literary circles of that town, by Mrs. Grant,
(the ladies can't keep a secret) author of Letters
from the Mountains, and other popular productions.
No sooner were the brilliant achievements of
Admiral Cockburn, received in Edinburgh, then
a distinguished Bookseller waited on Mr. Scott,
and offered him a large sum to celebrate them
in a poem. Mr. Scott began his task on Monday-morning,
on Saturday it was finished, and
the first impression disposed of before the middle
of the ensuing week. Such is shortly the history
of this poem, which the editor now offers to the
public without vouching for its authenticity. It
may however be permitted him to make a few observations
on the internal evidence of the production
itself, from which he trusts it will appears
pretty evident that the work is genuine.
The critical reader will perceive many characteristics
of Mr. Scott's manner and taste, throughout
the whole, and will trace in the notes, that
persevering industry in the investigation of antiquity,
as well as that extraordinary acquaintance
with local scenery and tradition, for which our author
is unrivalled. He will also perceive the same
fondness for quoting old ballads, and tracing the
genealogies of illustrious families to their source.
Another resemblance which cannot fail to
strike the attention, is the studious abstinence
of the author from all allusion, to the mythology
and traditions of the ancients; the whole poem
containing but one instance of the kind, as far
as the editor remembers.
At all events, the work is undoubtedly of British
origin, as may be demonstrated by the total
ignorance it displays of the Geography of this
country, an ignorance which is exhibited in most
of their writings, and particularly in the speeches
of members of Parliament, whose knowledge of
America is really wonderful, considering how
far off it is. The poet in the very outset betrays
his want of information in this respect, by making
a poor blind fiddler and his little dog, walk
from New-York to Princeton in one day; a
thing altogether beyond the bounds of that probability
to which all civilized poets are restricted
by the rules of criticism.
The reader will doubtless smile when he comes
to that part of the poem in which our old friends
Archy Gifford, and John Joline, are mentioned
with such distinction and honoured with the title
of lords, to which however they may for aught
we know, be as fully entitled, as some of the distinguished
heroes of modern chivalry. Every body
in the world, at least in the new world, knows
that Archy Gifford was, and John Joline is, as
arrant a Tavern keeper as any in Christendom;
yet has Mr. Scott, with a singular sort of perverseness,
dubbed them both lords, and traced
their lineage into the very bowels of the crusades.
The honest truth of the matter is, that
Mr. Scott seems to labour under a species of
madness similar to that of Don Quixote, and
arising from the same cause, the perusal of those
mischievous books of chivalry, upon which the curate
and the barber pronounced such heavy judgments.
The sage Hidalgo, never came to an inn
without mistaking it for a stately castle, or encountered
an inn-keeper, without metamorphosing him
into a noble Castellan, Governor, or high born
nobleman. In like manner, our author with a
singular felicity of imagination has contrived to
make lords out of every body he meets; to convert
honest Archy Gifford's good stone house into
a castle, and to discover an inscription on his
stables at Newark, which we firmly believe never
existed.
Mr. Scott, it will be perceived takes occasion
in his notes, to introduce several political opinions,
which we think might as well have been let
alone. We considered it our duty however to
give the poem and its illustrations exactly as we
received them. It has long been the custom with
foreigners to meddle in the affairs of our country,
and their opinions with regard to the measures of
our government, are considered so conclusive,
that they are often quoted with triumphant exultations
by the news-papers here. Our author
has certainly as fair a right to the privilege of
intermeddling as the best of them, and doubtless
his opinions may be entitled to almost as much
consideration as those of a British news-paper,
even though they were sactioned by the weighty
support of its brother editor here.
We were a little surprised to find Mr. Scott making
many sty, end to say the truth, rather severe
remarks upon the character and conduct of the
people of New-England, and ridiculing their
claims to superior virtue and intelligence. In
truth, the people of that enlightened quarter of
the United States, are no favourites in Scotland
from their too great dexterity in making bargains,
a dexterity which is so notorious, that
many bonny Scots, are rather shy of having any
thing to do with them in this way. We are ourselves
rather inclined however to attribute this
apparent dislike of Mr. Scott, to a more honourable
motive, and place it to the account of that
disgust which, without any reference to party,
every high spirited man in every country, must
feel in contemplating the spectacle exhibited by
the majority of the people of New England.
Like honest Peter in Romeo and Juliet, the eastern
patriot exclaims, “
I dare draw my sword
as soon as another man, when I see occasion, in a
good cause, and with the law on my side.” Of all
which circumstances
he is to be the sole judge.
With regard to the merits of this poem, we
are inclined to place it above all Mr. Scott's
other productions, particularly in point of novelty,
and invention. The scene being entirely in
a new world, the names introduced such as have
never before figured in epic poetry, and the adventures
mostly of the nautical kind, give it a
degree of interest, and an air of freshness, and newness,
extremely agreeable to those who have been
some what surfeited with the sameness of his former
productions. As far as we recollect there are
not more than two or three nautical epic poems
extant. The argonauts of Apollonius Rhodius,
the Lusiad of Camoens, and perhaps the battle
of the frogs and mice of Homer, are of this class.
The writer therefore who essays this species of
poetry possesses many advantages over all others,
because the subject is not altogether worn
thread-bare.
Another conspicuous excellence of the Lay of
the Scottish Fiddle is its originality. We will
venture to say that Mr. Scott has borrowed from
no poet ancient or modern, except himself; and
that is a species of plagiarism, which deserves
to be pardoned on account of its novelty. Few
writers are ever detected in purloining their own
thoughts, because in general they are not worth
the trouble; and besides there is in all probability
a sort of unaccountable satisfaction in riding a
Foray into the territories of a rival author, and
carrying off some of his best thoughts, which induces
a man sometimes to venture his neck for
it. It comes under the class of stolen pleasures,
which are most peculiarly gratifying.
The most glaring plagiarism of this kind, we
think which Mr. Scott has been guilty of in the
present instance, is the manifest similarity exhibited
in the characters of the Buccaneer in Rokeby,
and the hero of this poem, Sir Cockburn, a
similarity which must strike the most superficial
observer. He has also introduced some of the
same lines that have heretofore been given to the
public in his former productions. But we know
of no law, which forbids a man to purloin his
own goods, unless with a view of defrauding, the
underwriters, who in general we believe have
little to do with any writings, except policies
of insurance,
