When one turns to the intimate study of the Scotch character as limned by Scotch authority, one finds oneself confronted with the work of two schools of artists, which, for the sake of convenience, we will dub the Old and New Schools. The Old School—of which, by the way, every Scotchman save one is either a member or a supporter—has had a tremendous vogue and has accomplished superhuman things for the country and people of its love. To this school the Scotch superstition owes its origin and its firm grip on the imagination of the average white man. It is a forthright, downright, thorough sort of school, not in the least diffident or mealy-mouthed, not in the least ambiguous, not in the least infected with that “proud reserve” which is understood to be Scotland’s noblest heritage. Among the choice exemplars of the art of the Old School—and it has thousands of choice exemplars—we may reckon Dr. George Lockhart, who wrote the _Memoirs_ and thereby earned for himself imperishable fame. Lockhart was a “Scotland-for-ever” man of the first water. “As for the [Scots],” he says, “none will, I think, deny them to have been a Brave, Generous, Hardy People.… As the Scots were a Brave, so likewise were they a Polite People; every Country has its own peculiar Customs, and so had Scotland, but in the main they lived and were refined as other Countries; and this won’t seem strange, for the English themselves allow the Scots to be a Wise and Ingenious People, for say they to a Proverb, ‘_They never knew a_ Scots _Man a Fool_.’ And if so, what should hinder them from being as well bred and civilised as any other People? Those of Rank (as they still do) travelled Abroad into foreign Countries for their Improvement, and vast numbers, when their Country at home did not require their services [mark the fine sophistry] went into that of foreign Princes, from whence after they had gained immortal Honour and Glory, they returned home; and as it is obvious that at this very time (which must chiefly proceed from this humour of Travelling) the Scotch Gentry do far exceed those of England, so that in the one you shall find all the accomplishments of well-bred gentleman, and in your country English Esquires all the Barbarity imaginable.”[5] Thus Dr. George Lockhart, two hundred years ago. ’Tis a fair picture and a winning, if a trifle overstated. There stands your brilliant, and at the same time unassuming, figure of a Scotchman—“brave,” “generous,” “hardy,” “polite,” “refined,” “not a fool,” “well bred,” “civilised,” “travelled,” “wise,” “ingenious,” and immortally “honourable” and “glorious.” Who can withstand him? Who would deny him the look of love, the patriot glow? Certainly not the men of his own blood, who have their livings to get. Certainly not the Scotchman, who perceives, by favour of Dr. Lockhart, his own impeccable sonsie self done to the life. To this day the artists of the Old School continue to paint the same inspiring portrait, and if you look into the latest replica, by no less judicial a hand than that of Dr. John Hill Burton[6] you shall discover the undying lineaments, bespeaking the undying virtues, and composed sweetly to the purposes of the undying advertisement.