C.: ALTS AUTOBIOGRAPHY
APPEARS under circumstances so melancholy as almost to disarm criticism. It was unwillingly undertaken, to meet the necessities of the passing day. It was dictated, in part, from a sick chamber; the amanuensis being a boy, " save when some accidental friendly visitor was good enough to take the pen." Bodily infirmities, and possibly mental distractions, rendered the author unable even to correct many of the proof-sheets. On the very eve of publication, a ninth stroke of paralysis deprived him of sight,.and has stretched him on a bed from which it is probable he may never rise.
The life which, we are fearful, is drawing to a melanehaly close, has been checkered, and, for these degenerate and jogtrot days, adventurous. In a worldly point of view, it has been unsuccess- ful; and in addition to the circumstances we have mentioned above, the subject of it assures us it has been unhappy. Whether the failure and the misfortunes are to be attributed to destiny, or to the world, or to the foibles of the men himself, this is not the time to inquire. Mr. GALT was born at Irvine in Ayrshire, in 1779. His first appearance in the world was as a merchant's derk at Greenock. He subsequently came to London, and was a merchant himself. This speculation was unsuccessful: owing to an unfortunate con- nexion with another firm, his own was compelled to suspend pay- ment. lie then formed an idea of following the law, and entered of Lincoln's Inn. This plan was soon abandoned; and he left England for the Mediterranean, on account of his health. It was
diming this vo age that he met 1., IlvuoN. In the course of it, Ito also fbrined the plan of defeating. NAPOLEON'S Milan and Berlin Decrees, by smuggling British goods through Turkey and lluneary into the heart of the Continent. In this project also he failed: though it was afterwards carried on to sonic extent by other persons. On his return, he accepted a commercial situation at Gibraltar ; the principal business of the Boma being, as we guess, a contraband trade with Spain. The success of the Duke of WELLINGTON put an end to part of the plan ; and Mr. GALT, repinino. at the victories of the Great Captain, and afflicted with a vital disease, returned to England. A sharp review of his Life of Wolsey, in the (pmrterly, was the cause of introducing him to the celebrated Mrs. CLARKE, or rather of her introducing herself: The lady was in want of money, and wished GALT to write her life, in which some letters of the Duke of Volta: were to be the most attractive morsels. This literary cc :agement he declined ; but soon after, projected, under Mr. Coentatx's auspices, a perio- dical called the Rejected Theatre: and published his Witness in the First Number. Like most of Mr. GALT'S projects, this also failed. He soon after became an agent for the claims of the Canadians, who had suffered losses from the invasion of the pro- vince by the armies of the United States. The result was his appointment as a Commissioner to sell certain Crown Lands in Canada, in order to discharge the claims ; and this led to the for- mation of the Canada Company. His connexion with this project ,his journey to and residence in Canada, and his recall by the Company—are doubtless fresh in the memory of our readers : if not, they will find an ample (a too ample) account of it in the volume. Soon after his return to England, his numerous failures reached their climax. He was arrested, at the suit of Dr. VALPY, for the education of his second son, and availed himself of " the act." Always writing and publishing, he now took up literature— though he would be loth to admit as much—as a profession. His Lawrie 'Todd, his Soathennan, and his Life of Byron, rapidly followed each other. He became for a short time editor of the Courier; and soon after his resignation (and before the publica- tion of the Member and the Radical), felt the first symptons of a malady which will most probably terminate in death. Such is the naked outline of the career of GALT, as given by him- self. Of the friends and incidents of his youth—of his proceed- ings as a merchant's clerk, and a merchant—of his thoughts and doings as a traveller, a smuggler, and a projector—we learn enough; of his Commissionership and Superintendency, some- what too much : but of that character by which lie is chiefly known to the world, and which gives him his title to its regard and sympathy—of the author of the Ayrshire Legatees, The Entail, and a list of etceteras which occupies nearly three pages, we learn but little. Of his early adventures in scribbling— of his correspondence with this Journal and that Magazine— his accounts, indeed, are pretty full : he also tells us, that during his early residence in London, he passed his evenings in desultory reading, and that he always took considerable pleasure in the study of singular characters: he occasionally notices the appear- ance of his less important works ; and towards the close of his second volume, he gives, in two or three chapters of "Reflec- tions on my own Works," some slight account of the history of several: but of the workings and growth of his mind—of the way in which a man apparently so rash in conduct, and so commonplace as a biographer and philosopher, became so inimi- table in the creation and embodyment of characters remarkable for their surpassing shrewdness And worldly wisdom—we learn little more than if the autobiograpiq bad been compiled by a stranger, from such official documents as appear in the appendix. Some of this may be attributed to his afflicted condition : more, perhaps, to a derogatory notion that he entertaiDed, in common with CONGREVE and some others, of what he calls "a mere lite- rary character, an author by profession ;"—without re4secting that it is only as a writer he has any claim upon the public attention; and that, throughout the whole of his later career, the attentions he received, and the interest which was often manifested in his welfare, arose out of no regard to the luckless projector or testy superintendent, but were paid to the admired novelist.
In choosing our extracts, we will first take a passage that throws some light on the character and conduct of the man. It is the account of his inducements for leaving his first situation at Gree- nock ; a place where he now considers he passed the happiest years of his life.
When the fulness of time was come that I was ordained to leave Greenock' the proximate cause was not known to more than two or ance persons; nor will I say it altogether induced me to leave the place, but uudoubteuly it precipitated the resolution to do su.
The first revolutionary war had contributed to form in Glasgow a number of purse-proud men, who neither had the education nor the feelings o= gentlemen. One of these persons, iu some matter of business, wrote to our concern a most abusive letter. It came by the post late in the evening, and I received it iu the counting-house.
My blood boiled, and I determined to have an apology. Accordingly, I sent for Mr. Ewing [one of his masters], and declared to hint my intention ; and having supped at home, I mentioned that smite business would call me to Glas- gow in the morning. At an early hour set off; but on my arrival there, the delinquent was gone to Edinburgh. I pasted after, and reached the Turf Coffm- house ;thorn four o'clock. On sending for him to his tavern, be had gone to Leith to thinner ; but where I could not learn. At nine o'clock I again sent fir: hint, as a stranger ; and as he \vas at Ilona: he immediately canto. On entering- the room, I told him who I seas, and showed him the letter ; inquiring -if he wr,te it. Ile at once acknowledged it, and said it was (lone in passion. "'That," replied I, "will not do for me, I must have a written apology for sending such an unmannerly production." At first he refused, and dwelt upon a man not being able sometimes to restrain his feelings. At this moment a waiter came into the room for something- or another ; I followed him, and requesting not again to be interrupted, bolted the door. Illy man was a good deal surprised at tbk but still refused, and bade me go to law. I made no answer; but taking out nw watch, laid it on the table; by the time it seamed ten minutes of ten, and I said firnily—" At ten o'clock I ex- pect a letter front you ; until then We can have no conversation; the door is bolted, and I shall take care we are not interrupted ;" leaning with my back against tie door. Ile addressed me several times, but I made no answer. Be- fore the. ten minutes expired, as I had writing materials ready, he sat down and wrote•an apology. M'ishing him good night, I said that I would not know him again, never having Bern introduced to him. After this exploit, I had my supper, eating it with no great appetite. At eleven o'clock at night, I ordered a post-chaise for Glasgow; but in the course of my journey, many things came to mind ; and, instead of going home to Gree- nock, I diverged to Irvine, amt thence apprized my father and Mr. Ewing of my intention to quit Greenock. My father and mother canto immediately to me, and brottalit with them what I shall ever esteem as a very brotherly letter from Mr. Ewing ; but my resolu- tion was fixed, though it was not carried into effect till many months after. This was the proximate motive for my coining to London ; where 1 had neither friend nor acquaintance, a forlorn adventurer as could well be.
The Annals of the Parish was his earliest novel; and the his- tory of it is curious. The idea of writing "a book that should be for Scotland what the Vicar (f.' Wakefield was for England," had been formed when he was very young, and the plan had been altered from time to time; but it was not till 1813 that he com- menced the execution.
When the work was nearly finished, I wrote to my old acquaintance Constable, the bookseller, what I was about ; but he gave me no encouragement to proceed : Scottish novels, he said, would not do,—for at that time Wacerley was not published, nor, if it had been, was there any resemblance between my work and that celebrated production. In consequence, however, of his letter, the un- finished manuscript was thrown into a drawer and forgotten. Years after, I took it into my head one Sunday to set My papers in order, and among them the minister's chronicle was found ; I read it over, as an entire stranger would do, and it struck me as possessed of sonic merit. After dinner' I read passages to a friend who dined with me, and he was equally pleased. I then sent tt to Blackwood, by whom it was published.
The following passage contains his account of interviews with GEORGE the Third, and anecdotes of other members of the Royal Family. The anecdote of the dinner and the Duke of KENT will impress the reader with some other idea than the good-nature of the Duke.
At the suggestion of a friend, I am induced to mention several accidental cir- cumstances, which he thinks will be amusing to my readers ; particularly to give an explanation of the origin of the interview, in Windsor Park, between Sir Andress- Wylie and George the Third. Be informs me, that it is considered as the transcript of a real occurrence, and that I am supposed to have had, my- self, a meeting with his Majesty similar to the scene described ; otherwise, it is thought, his familiar manner could not have been so represented. The supposition is not correct in fact ; but the impression which I entertain of two droll incidents with the" half gilly, half gutchard "* old King, has con- tributed to the force of the picture. Some eight-and-twenty years ago, my friends, Park and Spence, were in London, and I went with them to see-Wind- sor Castle. Wyatt's great staircase was then nearly finished, but the interior scaffolding was not all removed. In looking at the construction, I got up the main flight of steps, and was gazing about when the King was announced. before I could get down, his Majesty, with the architect, came in; and I was obliged, in consequence, to remain for some time standing where I was. The King observeclius, particularly myself, who was so conspicuous; and lingered with Mr. Wyatt, until he had satisfied his curiosity by looking at us ; speaking all the time, " his tongue never lay," and looking about as he was speaking. It was evident that he spoke more at random than seriously addressed the architect, being occupied in noticing us. Something in his manner drew
• "The gutchard loads the gilly's arm, The bairn the mither's breast."
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