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Doubtless he believed his policy was the best that could be devised for Scotland, but it got mixed up with his own personal ambition. It would be unjust to call him a hypocrite; for under the cloak of religion in those days, and even now, men thought they were justified in avenging their own wrongs. The deception was gross enough to permit them to commit murder in the name of the Lord. Argyll's religion was not a very beautiful thing; but that was no reason why it should not have suited him, and held him tight as in a vice. It is quite certain that, like the skilful politician he was, he saw the trend of Scottish opinion, and shaped his policy accordingly. Such are not the great men of the world, but they make history all the same. Montrose was a greater statesman than Argyll, because his mind was less trammelled; he had a more manly ideal that is to say, a more healthy conception of what men's lives on the earth should be. This is evident enough if you consider that we of the nineteenth century could have lived and enjoyed liberty of thought and action under Montrose; but to be subservient to the policy of Argyll, and his black-hatted, black-coated mob, would be so intolerable that death were not so hideous an alternative.

'A Legend of Montrose,' though a favourite with all lovers of Scott, is not one of his masterpieces. It contains one of the happiest creations of his genius; but, superb as he is, Dugald Dalgetty cannot carry

the 'Legend' into the first rank of his creator's works. Certainly the manner in which you are introduced to Montrose is not very happy. It is true that he escaped out of England into Scotland disguised as а groom. But when he joined MacDonald and the Chiefs at Blair Athole and unfurled the Royal Standard, he appeared without disguise, accompanied by a single attendant and dressed in kilts. The scene is well described by Mark Napier. But Scott preferred to introduce him as a groom named Anderson, in attendance on his cousin Lord Kilpont. Although you are aware that the somewhat forward servant of the young lord is the Marquis of Montrose, yet, to all intents and purposes, he is Anderson until he discloses himself to the Chiefs, and the whole effect is somewhat disappointing. The scene between Montrose and Sir Duncan Campbell is excellent; and it is the only one where Montrose is put on his mettle. He is not one of Sir Walter's great historical portraits; and it is in the purely explanatory parts of the narrative that you get a glimpse of Scott's estimate of him. The common charge brought against Montrose is that he joined the Covenant because he had been slighted at Court; and that he deserted the Covenant because Argyll, and not himself, was given the chief place in council and command. Yet the date of his reception by Charles and that of his signing the Covenant cannot be made to agree; and he parted with the Covenanters

because they and not he had been false to the true conception of the Covenant. Yet Scott seems to have accepted the view of him that was entertained by his enemies. His portrait of Argyll is on the whole better than that of Montrose. You are confronted with Argyll in his own castle, surrounded with flatterers, and with the great Dalgetty as a foil. For one whose sympathies were always strongly enlisted on the side which he espoused, Scott is wonderfully impartial-so much so, that his treatment of Argyll is even more considerate than his treatment of Montrose. He will not allow that the chief who ran away at Inverlochy was a coward, because when he was led to execution he behaved with becoming firmness. But he regrets the devastation made by the bands whom Montrose led through the country of Argyll, and says it has been "repeatedly and justly quoted as a blot on his actions and character." It was an essential point in Montrose's scheme that the military power of Argyll in Scotland, and especially in the Highlands, should be destroyed. Argyll had turned him out of house and home, and there would undoubtedly be the satisfaction of revenge in paying MacCallum More back in his own coin. But it was never the practice of Montrose to visit the horrors of war on the helpless and innocent. For any excesses of this kind that occurred in the Campbell country blame must not be attached to Montrose, whose character and reputation in this

VOL. CLXV.-NO. DCCCCXCIX.

respect need no vindication. He was simply unable to prevent the wild savages whom he led from obeying their instincts. Most of the chiefs with him had wrongs to avenge, and they took their own way of doing it. He had divided his force into three bands, one of which he led himself. The other two bands had leaders from whom the enemies of their clans need expect no quarter. The charge of wanton cruelty could with much greater justice be brought against him who burned to the ground the bonnie house o' Airlie.

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But the interest of 'A Legend of Montrose' has very little to do either with Montrose or Argyll. Dugald Dalgetty is the hero of the romance. There are some who are not ashamed to confess that they find Dalgetty wearisome. to be monotonous. As a companion on a campaign it is just possible that the famous Rittmaster might prove himself an intolerable bore. He would hardly be described as a boon companion. But the charm of Dalgetty is the delightfully fresh and naïve way he behaves in the different scenes which he has made immortal. He is always Dalgetty, and yet quite different with Montrose, with Argyll, with Sir Duncan Campbell, and above all with his protégé, the unfortunate Ranald of the Mist. In this respect he has the variety of all the great humorous creations in literature. And not only is he immortal himself. He has extended the immortality of another. How many thousands would have gone to their

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graves unconscious of the very existence of the invincible Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North and the bulwark of Protestantism, had it not been for his faithful Rittmaster, Dugald Dalgetty of Drumthwacket?

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In John Splendid' Mr Neil Munro has drawn a vivid picture of the scenes which were once familiar to Dalgetty, but which had not previously been described with any degree of intimacy. Mr Munro's previous book, The Lost Pibroch,' not only was evidence of an author who must henceforth be reckoned with as something new and strong in contemporary literature; it was a revelation of the Highlands and of the Highland character as fascinating as it was authentic. mystery of the mountains; the gloom and terror they provoke, not less than the joy and buoyancy; the colour and witchery of Nature, all these were expressed with the unfaltering touch of the artist who is sure of himself. The effect of their surroundings on the men who live among the hills; their savage instincts, superstitions, poetry, - these also were expressed adequately for the first time in the language of the despised Sassenach. It was evident that the author knew his Celt from the inside; that he sympathised with him as only he can who is blood of his blood. The artist likewise had a style of his own that commanded admiration. Although

it was the author's first book, it was the work of no tyro, but of one who could stand on his own merit, and abide judgment without favour. It was inevitable, therefore, that Mr Munro's next book should be kindly welcomed and keenly scrutinised.

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It is impossible to compare a romance with a volume of short stories, except in so far as they have something in common. And John Splendid' has a great deal in common with 'The Lost Pibroch.' For both deal with Highland places and Highland hearts. In this respect Mr Munro's new book amply fulfils the promise of the earlier one. There is no falling away, and in several instances a marked advance. As a descriptive writer, it would be difficult to name his rival.

Those who have many novels to read are generally shy of descriptions of natural scenery. It is so easy to do it badly. Mr Munro describes Nature well because he loves it, because it is an essential point in his story, and because he is a consummate artist. The minor characters in 'John Splendid' are as well done as those in the 'Lost Pibroch,' which is as much as to say that they are as well done as they need ever be. John Lom, the bard of Keppoch, with his ridiculous conceit, his childish and insatiable love of praise, his gift of song, and the high sense of responsibility with which he avowed it, is just such a sketch as Mr Munro has taught us to

1 John Splendid: The Tale of a Poor Gentleman, and the Little Wars of Lorn. By Neil Munro. Fifth edition. William Blackwood & Sons.

expect from him. The humour of it is so refreshing, the reality so convincing. Or take the scene with the widow of Glencoe, so exquisite in its blending of pathos and grim humour. Rob Stewart of Appin, too, who had lost his ears, and covered the loss with his bonnet, is he not

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humorous dog, though as wanting in every Christian virtue as a Highland stot! There is not a character in the book, however briefly described, but is done to the life. They step across the heather, stronglimbed and full-blooded, lusty with life, and full of Highland pride and cunning: no phantoms of the brain, but living men.

As a romance 'John Splendid' is a distinct success. It is brilliantly written, and presents a picture of the Highlands of Scotland in the middle of the seventeenth century absolutely unique. All the characters are true to life and race, and two of them, John Splendid and Argyll, must take a very high place in literature. The book is full of episodes and adventures, which are connected with each other by the presence in all of them of young Elrigmore, who tells the story, and the interest never wanes through a single page. If there is a fault at all, it is that Elrigmore's love - affair leaves you cold, and Betty has so much spirit apparently that she makes even the author a little shy of her. It is impossible to resist the impression that Betty loved John; and although she denounced him in her heart for a deed that was not his, still her interest in the child of the

dead girl seems to have had some nameless motive not unconnected with John Splendid behind it. It is certain that John was of opinion that he could have won Betty had he tried; but he played the hero, and sacrificed himself for his friend.

John Splendid is a really masterly creation. Before he made his bow to the world, if you had been asked to name the typical Highlander of fiction, you would hardly have gone to Scott to find him, because Scott's Highlandmen are a trifle conventional, though he himself created the convention. The Dougal Cratur and the old Highland servant in the 'Legend' are very amusing, with their their shes shes and shentlemens, which is still supposed in certain quarters to be the way in which the English language is spoken in the Highlands. Scott created a Highlandman to suit his purpose whenever it was necessary; and, like most of his creations, it was good. But it is recognised that Stevenson came nearer the truth in Alan Breck Stewart; and John Splendid is a more subtle psychological study than Alan Breck. This is undoubtedly high praise. For Alan is a favourite, and one of the happiest of Stevenson's creations. Comparisons are generally misleading and tend to misconceptions; but here it is inevitable that the comparison should be made. The difference between the two men, however, is so marked that the comparison should only serve to throw both into greater relief. What they

have in common are their Highland pride, their personal prowess, and something magnetic in their personality.

But John Splendid is altogether a bigger man than Alan Breck. He has more brains and a broader character. In the Highlands caste is a very real thing; and Alan would not have hesitated to let the Splendid take the lead. John Splendid is a gentleman with a weakness; for a man of his temperament he is wonderfully tolerant; his vices are of a generous quality. He refrains from speaking the truth to his friends lest he should hurt them, not from any personal fear of the consequences. He has a mistaken sense of courtesy, which even with the humblest leads him into the most awkward predicaments. The man is consistent with himself. His aim is to please, whenever he is not confronted with an enemy. He flatters Argyll and speaks the sweet lie to him, for the same reason that he must needs tickle the ears of the blind widow of Glencoe. But he is no traducer. He will not praise a man to his face and say the bitter thing behind his back. Now, Alan Breck had the same desire to be admired by all and sundry; but he had not the same tact. His conceit took offence so easily that he had generally to fall back on his praise of himself for adequate appreciation. John Splendid, again, has a much more severe ordeal to pass through than ever Alan had. In the person of the Rev. Mr Gordon, chaplain to the Mar

quis of Argyll, John Splendid, the trimmer, met the uncompromising apostle of truth; and Mr Gordon generally managed to make the truth as unpleasant as possible. The conflicts between the two are excellent reading; and on the whole John behaves very well, save on one occasion. The clergyman at last succeeded in goading him into an act unworthy of himself, whereby the godly Master Gordon came very near to suffocation. Thereafter John was at a sore disadvantage, and it was Mr Gordon who played the gentleman. It was a happy inspiration to confront those two men with each other: by no other test could the Splendid's moral weakness have been so effectually proved. The reader would have been taken in as easily as most of the people that John met; but there was no deceiving Mr Gordon. It is not for nothing that Mr Gordon, unamiable though he be, is the one person in the book who commands your entire respect. He was narrow and bigoted; and his highest conception of his duty was the denunciation of sin without fear or favour. Yet he was sincere and honest and, of a most valiant heart. It was a great pity he could not have given his patron the Marquis of Argyll some of his courage and honesty, instead of those moral scourgings which probably caused the squinteyed chief of Diarmid much less searching of heart than he ever let his worthy chaplain know.

Mr Munro's portrait of Ar

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