It
might be that these observations were unfortunately
correct, or it might be that we were bewildered
with a name, not disappointed of the reality,
---for though Shakspeare had brought a Hamlet,
an Othello, and a Macbeth, an Ariel, a Juliet, and
a Rosalind, upon the stage, were there not authors
living who had brought as varied, as exquisitely
painted, and as undying a range of characters into
our hearts? The shape of the mere mould into
which genius poured its golden treasures was surely
a matter of little moment,---let it be called a Tragedy,
a Comedy, or a Waverley Novel. But even
among the dramatic authors of the present day, he
was unwilling to allow that there was a great and
palpable decline from the glory of preceding ages,
and his toast alone would bear him out in denying
the truth of the proposition. After eulogizing the
names of Baillie, Byron, Coleridge, Maturin, and
others, he begged to have the honour of proposing
the health of James Sheridan Knowles.
Sir Walter Scott.---Gentlemen, I crave a
bumper all over. The last toast reminds me of a neglect
of duty. Unaccustomed to a public duty of this
kind, errors in conducting the ceremonial of it may
be excused, and omissions pardoned.
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