In 1823, Mr Galt the novelist came to live at Eskgrove, in the immediate neighbourhood of Musselburgh, and a friendly intercourse was established between Mr Moir and him. "He was then in his forty-fourth year," says Delta, in his after Memoir of Galt, " of herculean frame, and in the full vigour of health. His height might be about six feet one or two, and he evinced a tendency to corpulency. His hair, which was jet black, had not yet become grizzled; his eyes were small but piercing; his nose almost straight; long upper lip, and finely rounded chin. At an early period of life Mr Galt had suffered from smallpox ; but the marks of its ravages were by no means severe, and, instead of impairing, lent a peculiar interest to his manly and striking countenance. He was seldom or never seen without spectacles; but we are uncertain whether the use of these arose from natural shortsightedness, or from the severity of his studies. In conversation, Mr Galt's manner was somewhat measured and solemn, yet full of animation, and characterised by a peculiar benignity and sweetness. Except when questioned, he was not particularly communicative, and in mixed company was silent and reserved. His answers, however, always conveyed the results of a keen and discriminative judgment, and of an eye that allowed not the ongoings of the world to pass unobserved or unimproved." Such was the confidence reposed by Galt in Moir, that when afterwards hurried off to America before he could get his Last of the Lairds finished, he left two or three of the concluding chapters, involving, of course, the winding-up, that all-important part of a novel, to be completed by his friend Delta. He himself did not see the finale till a year or two afterwards, and laughed heartily at the ingenious way in which his substitute had disposed of some of his characters.

Moir's professional duties were widening every year; but his self-imposed literary work, far from slackening on that account, only increased the more in vigour and extent. The more he did, the more he seemed able to do. Besides his regular contributions of grave poetry to Blackwood, bearing the usual signature of ▲, he was now pouring forth in the Magazine all manner of jocularities in prose and verse-familiar letters and rhyming epistles from O'Doherty; mock-heroic specimens of translations from Horace; Christmas carols by the fancy contributors, Mullion and the rest; ironical imitations of living poets; Cockney love-songs; puns and parodies; freaks and fantasias endless-all little wotted of by the world as coming from him. The concentrated pungency of the very gall of wit is reserved for such satiric masters as Swift; but Moir could always be sprightly, sharp, and clever.

Toward the close of 1824, our author published his Legend of Genevieve, with other Tales and Poems. Several of the pieces were new, but the body of the volume was composed of selections from his contributions to the magazines. The publication was well received by the press, and increased Delta's poetical reputation; but the sale was not extensive. The fact that he continued singing monthly in Blackwood gave the book a sort of fractional and incidental character; and the public, progressive in their sympathy with every fresh outpouring, did not care much for a single isolated volume belonging mainly to the past.

In 1827 Mr Blackwood introduced me to Mr Moir; and much about the same time Dr Macnish, author of The Anatomy of Drunkenness, and still better known by his literary nom-de-guerre, "The Modern Pythagorean," became acquainted with him also. Macnish's

talent and sagacity and shrewdness, combined with the manliest simplicity and warm-heartedness, and the tags of oddity and fringes of whimsicality which hung all about the native movement of his mind, in the regions of the quaint and queer, made him a perfect delight to Delta; and they loved one another like brothers. An improved edition of The Anatomy of Drunkenness was dedicated to Moir.

The Autobiography of Mansie Wauch began in 1824, and the series ran on for the three following years. So popular was it in Scotland, that I know districts where country clubs, waiting impatiently for the Magazine, met monthly, so soon as it was issued, and had Mansie read aloud by one of their number, amidst explosions of congregated laughter. The work was published, with fresh additions, in a volume in 1828, and its success as a book more than sustained its first popularity as a serial. Not only in Scotland, but in England and America also, Mansie is now a standard classic of humour— giving Moir, for all time to come, a uniqueness of fame as a novelist. The fame is deserved. Wide and deep and true is the mirror held up by broad-fronted Burns in the very face of Scottish nature and life; and yet he has almost completely missed those many peculiar features of the national character and manners which are brought out so inimitably in Mansie Wauch. Mansie himself is perfect as a portraiture. What an exquisite compound of conceit, cowardice, gossiping silliness, pawkiness, candour, kindly affections, and good Christian principle the whole amalgam, with no violent contrasts, with no gross exaggerations, beautifully blent down into verisimilitude, presenting to us a unique hero at once ludicrous and loveable. And how admirably in keeping with the central autobiographer are the char

acters and scenes which revolve around his needle. Totally different is the whole delineation from the broad, strong, national characteristics, rough and ready, hit off by Burns; but yet equally true to nature, and thoroughly Scottish. In some of Galt's best Scotch novels we find characters of the same pawky class with Mansie; but Mansie beats them all in compactness and completeness, and has elevations of ideality about him which Galt could not reach. The immortal tailor remains an original.

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In the spring of 1826 we find Andrew Picken, an ingenious young man, belonging to the neighbourhood of Musselburgh, consulting Moir about some poetry in manuscript which he wished to publish. Moir gave him considerate advice, and Picken acknowledged it thus:"I have considered your observations; and it is but a poor compliment to say that I fully acquiesce in their justice, and that, as a necessary consequence, I will not throw myself upon the mercy of the world as an author, with all the faults of inexperience on my head. I will defer the hazard till I am better provided for it; and perhaps, in doing so, I may hereafter leave myself less to blush for, when I look back upon my early lucubrations." Whether or not this sensible resolution was fully kept I do not know, nor am I acquainted with the various stages of Picken's history; but we find him very soon afterwards in London as a literary adventurer. The Dominie's Legacy was his chief publication. It has no little merit, and gave its author considerable reputation. During a series of years, Picken's applications to Moir for literary help, in one scheme after another, were manifold and painful. In 1833 (the year after Galt's general health gave way) he writes to Delta thus :- "As to Galt's health, I don't think it nearly

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so bad as he does himself, or as is given out, now that I have got used to his complaints. Depend upon it, he will last a considerable time yet, and write a great deal more, but not, I fear, to the increase of his reputation. One thing I have always envied in our admired friend -his remarkable activity of mind, and the capacity of mental labour in the midst of bodily infirmity. I have sometimes also been inclined to envy his indomitable self-confidence, which carries him straight on through everything; but this happy trait has brought with it its peculiar evils. The observation of his character, I confess, has interested and amused me; and I have much to say of him, when time is expedient. His chief failing is that he will always be great. You are well off, not to depend on literature as it has been of late. I can hardly wonder at Galt's being rather shamefaced about it, and the sort of reputation it brings even to such as he. I have tried to get out of it, and back to mercantile life, but cannot. There's infatuation and poverty in it." Poor Picken! he could not, and did not get out of it. He died very soon thereafter, with the galling harness on his back. One warning more to young men, enforced with all the solemnities of suffering, sorrow, and death!

The following excerpts from some of Moir's letters about this time, may be taken as so far illustrative of his opinions, character, and life :--To MACNISH, 17th August 1827.-"In the development of a story, it is necessary—at least with myself it is so-to have some real facts as grappling-irons wherewith to cling to the memory. The finest imagination cannot possibly in

vent circumstances which will bear even on the writer's mind-not to say the reader's-with the cogency of facts. Recollect this in getting up a story, and you