The New York herald., 1871-08-10

a commemoration like that which is now being
accorded to the memory and genius of Sir
Walter Scott. But this Is the first time in the
history of English letters when so great a
distinction was accorded to great novelist.
There could be no clearer illustration of the
revolution which has taken place in the worlds
literature and of the dignity which fiction has
obtained in the minds of men as one Of the
fine arts. 1t is not long since story telling
was despsed art, inveighed against by super
cilious moralsts and even preached against
from the pulpit. When Sir Walter was born,
one hundred years ago, few novels had
appeared worthy of the name. People were
accustomed to read the dull and endless
fictons of Richardson and Fielding and Smol-
lett and even now it is the custom to speak
words of praise of ''Sir Charles Grandson" and
"Tom Jones'" But when ''Waverley" appeared
it was plain that new era had dawned. The
vapid sentimentality and inane extravaganza
| of the preceding age was doomed. Nobody
cared any longer for DR.. Johnson's high-fown
language in "Rasselas, and cultivated readers
began to realize that Goldsmith's ''Vicar of
'"nShSu, ehouSd PAOpUy auu oAuupic oeoAy,
was weak in conception and weaker in execu-
ton. The picturesque horrors which Mrs.
Radcliffe depicted, and the unalloyed brutality
of "Caeb Wiliams"-all the absurdities of the
novelists who had preceded him-were swept
away when Sir Walter lifted his magic wand.
novelists who were once held in such great
esteem; but as everybody nowadays praises
Mitons paradise Lost" though no living
mortal is known to have read it, so people
continued to praise but discontinued to Pc
ruse.
Of all the masters of modern art it can only
be said of Sir Walter Scott that he was almost
equally prolific, and certainly as great, in the
field Of poetry as in the domain of romance.
But he was more of wizard than master
more of mere story teller than great artist.
He always wrote with marked beauty, and,
where he was we'll informed, with marvellous
discrimination. His pictures if never i'm
posing, are never commonplace. His de-
scriptions are perfect. There is poetry in his
prose and prose in his poetry. He never
approached the heights where Shakespeare sat.
Dickens scared far beyond him, and Thackeray
walked serenely and placidly above both of
them. Yet we honor him to-day, not only
for what he wrought, but for that which he
enabled others to work out after him.
He showed how absurd were the absurdities
and how nane the inanities of the novelists
who had preceded him. He proved that fc-
| uho in
not less lofty than the ideals which inspire the
sculptor and the painter He lifted his wand
and new creations sprung from his brain like
the uprising Of Highland warriors at the call
of Rhoderic Dhu. The gentle ''Waverley" led
the way and the poetic ''Mannering" fol-
lowed Edie Ochiltree and Dominic Sampson
and Captain Dalgetty all came in time. The
"Lady of the Lake" glided like a thing of
beauty on the crested waves. Marmion
gloried and fought and conquered and bled.
Ivanhoe triumphed in the lists, and, against
| the will of the artist, the fair Jewess showed
herself fairer than the beautiful Lady Rowena.
Such world-so full of mailed fighting men,
lords and Highland chieftans, soldiery in
! plaid and tartan and fair and titled
| ladies-never before existed outside of the great
world itself. No man ever before dreamed
such mighty dreams or saw such true and
| marvellous visions. Shakespeare alone was
able to give his characters more striking in
dividuality; but it may we'll be doubted if
Dogberry Is more perfect creation than Dal-
getty. If Scott could not have written ''Childe
| Harold" neither could Byron have created
'Quentin Durward." Scott might have written
'Lalla Rookh," but Moore could not have
painted the ''Bride of Lammermoor How
great he was, compared with all the greatness
which had gone and much of the wealth of
genius that has followed AFTER it is not easy to
depict And yet, are Sir Walter SCOTS works
read to-day as they were read ten, twenty,
thirty years ago? Are not the honors
which are paid to him to-day
the honors which are accorded to the
pioneer who has opened up a pathway in the
wilderness where others have reaped more
golden grain and richer harvests? Is not his
memory becoming more and more thing of
the past? We hardly dare to answer these
questions lest we be compelled to answer them
in the affirmative.
Scott could never have created character
80 full of blood and bones as dear old ''love-
sick Pckwick." Colonel Newcome is not
merely character in a novel, but a man whom
we recognize as something like friend. Becky
Sharp is a woman we have all seen and most
of MS have nstinctively avoided. Poor Joe in
'Bleak House," and Smike, in Nicholas
Nckleby," cross our path almost daily. Mrs.
Jeaby shows herself as untidily in the news
! paper offices of New York as she appears in
her own untidy home, laboring for
the natives of Booroboola Cha.
New worlds, new people and new
thoughts have sprung up at the touch Of