# The Female Portrait Gallery/Mary Mac Intyre

No.6.—MARY MAC INTYRE.
The preface of this work mentions, that it was less favourably received on its first appearance than its predecessors, though in the long run it has quite equalled their success. This may be reckoned among Scott's triumphs. The character of the Antiquary was less familiar to the generality of readers than it is now, when his own writings have originated a taste for the study of antiquities among ​the many; he has himself shown to what such a study might lead, when it has not been made a mania for collecting "toys and trifles," whose chief value was their age. He set no undue value on relics, perhaps as valid as "the two tears of Queen Niobe kept in a glass bottle" of the Xavre. But the spirit in which Scott collected was that of the historian, and of the poet. The spur, the drinking-cup, the inscription on the mouldering stone, and the black-lettered manuscript, served to illustrate those daily manners, without whose knowledge any attempt to depict national character must be incomplete. The information thus gathered was the material of the historian, and the inspiration of the poet. The sword might be broken, the spur rusted, and the marble grey and defaced, yet not the less would the days hover round them, when the sword was that of some noble baron, and the graven letters told of honour cut short in some brief and bright career, or of loveliness laid low, even in the hour of summer.
Monkbarns is an antiquarian of another kind; he dreams no dreams, he sees no visions; his pursuits are those of an active mind, which from some chance circumstance has received its bent—a mind active yet narrow, and circumscribed by bodily indolence, while the possession of knowledge, though of a kind generally denominated "learned lumber," is sufficient to keep alive a sufficient stock of ​self-love. Secluded, pursuing studies of a dry and abstract sort; kind-hearted, yet needing some strong impulse to draw such kindness forth; and, excepting in the cases of Roman pavements, plain, shrewd and practical; yet he is the rallying point for the romance of the story. Scott well understood the force of contrast. Attached, as the shy and silent are apt to be, to one whose frank gaiety is perhaps a relief to their sombre temperament, the Antiquary has undergone the common fate of seeing a more gifted rival win the young beauty, who thought little of the awkward student. Her fate is a melancholy one—suicide, or a dark suspicion of violence, and a dishonoured name; these are the remains of the lovely Eveline Neville. Every bitterness that could aggravate the misery of an unhappy attachment is here. The thought must have been for ever recurring that the heart was broken which would have reposed in safety beside his own—broken for another who proved less worthy of such trust than himself. Disappointment and regret close all the avenues of warmer affections: he has suffered too much to risk such suffering again; still the kindness peeps out in spite of indulged humours, oddities, and a system of callousness—and this is a true picture. How often, among our acquaintance, have we met some individual whose crabbed temper has provoked our irritability, or whose ​peculiarities have awakened our mirth; could we look into the early history of that individual, and trace the causes that have led sorrow to mask itself with eccentricity, we should feel only wonder and pity; but the waters of life are for ever flowing onwards, and little trace do they bear of what clouds have darkened or reddened the waves below as they floated by. In despite of his affected contempt of the fairer half of the creation, his niece, Mary Mac Intyre, has a hold upon his heart; witness his instant anxiety when he fancies that she is exposed to the storm—though he avenges its betrayal by the contempt he at once throws on the truly feminine remedy of a basin of gruel, with a glass of white wine in it. We see, however, but very little of her, she only speaks in a few affectionate sentences of remonstrance to her hot-headed brother; still we wish to see more of her—a true novel reader will feel defrauded of his just rights, when at the close there is only a rumour of her marriage with Captain Wardour, which rumour wants confirmation. We will, however, hope for the best—and that best is to suppose her married in her uncle's neighbourhood. We like to imagine the old man, with age gradually smoothing down all asperities, as the shadows of twilight soften the landscape while the night approaches, and surrounded by those whose affection grows nearer and ​dearer every hour. We are fain to believe the later years of his life the happiest; but, and this is the great charm of all Scott's works, we feel as if we had known the various actors in his varied scenes—and we bid the Antiquary farewell with the same good wishes that we should bestow on an old and favourite friend.