At Edinburgh University--Holidays at Kelso--Home--First University Class--Professor Hill--Professor Dalzell--The 'Greek Blockhead'--Anecdotes of Dalzell--His History of Edinburgh University.
Walter Scott was a boy of thirteen when he entered the University. After leaving the High School he had been sent to spend half a year with his aunt, Miss Janet Scott, at Kelso. Here, while keeping up his Latin with a tutor, he was free to indulge in miscellaneous reading. Amongst other treasures he came upon Percy's _Reliques_, about which he declared he had never read a book half so frequently or with half the enthusiasm. It confirmed him in the love for legendary lore, which had begun in infancy. To this period also he traces the awaking of his feeling for the beauties of nature, 'more especially when combined with ancient ruins.' It became, as he says, an insatiable passion, and indeed goes far to account for his eager pursuit of territory at Abbotsford. Returning to Edinburgh in October, he joined the class of Humanity, under Mr. Hill, and the first Greek class, under Mr. Dalzell. Unfortunately for his Latin, Hill's class seems for the time to have been the rowdiest in the University. No work was done in it. Lord Cockburn, speaking of 1793, bitterly complains that the class was a scene of unchecked idleness and disrespectful mirth. Scott says that Hill was beloved by his students, but that he held the reins of discipline very loosely. In fact, the boy, as might have been expected of his lively nature, took his part in the fun and forgot much of the Latin he had learned under Adam and Whale (the Selkirk tutor). But his loss in the Greek class was greater still. The first class, in those days, was engaged on the mere elements, but Walter had not even the smattering which was necessary to keep up with this humble attempt. He therefore resolved not to learn Greek at all, and professed a contempt for the language, as a method of braving things out. He was known in the class as the _Greek Blockhead_, and at the end of the session he wrote an essay to prove the inferiority of Homer to Ariosto. This whimsical idea he defended with such force as to rouse Professor Dalzell's indignation, but while reproving the foolish presumption of the young critic, he honestly expressed his surprise at the quantity of out-of-the-way knowledge which the boy had displayed. It was like Samuel Johnson quoting Macrobius to the Oxford dons. But Dalzell, instead of complimenting and flattering the genius, denounced him, saying that dunce he was and dunce he would remain. The good judge, however, handsomely reversed and recalled this verdict in after-years 'over a bottle of Burgundy, at our literary club at Fortune's, of which he was a distinguished member.' Cockburn, like Scott, entered Dalzell's class without any knowledge of Greek. He has left a charming picture of the Professor, with whose ways and ideas he seems to have been in full sympathy. 'At the mere teaching of a language to boys, he was ineffective. How is it possible for the elements, including the very letters, of a language to be taught to one hundred boys at once, by a single lecturing professor? To the lads who, like me, to whom the very alphabet was new, required positive _teaching_, the class was utterly useless. Nevertheless, though not a good schoolmaster, it is a duty, and delightful to record Dalzell's value as a general exciter of boys' minds. Dugald Stewart alone excepted, he did me more good than all the other instructors I had. Mild, affectionate, simple, an absolute enthusiast about learning--particularly classical, and especially Greek--with an innocence of soul and of manner which imparted an air of honest kindliness to whatever he said or did, and a slow, soft, formal voice, he was a great favourite with all boys, and with all good men. Never was a voyager, out in quest of new islands, more delighted in finding one, than he was in discovering any good quality in any humble youth.... He could never make us actively laborious. But when we sat passive and listened to him, he inspired us with a vague but sincere ambition of literature, and with delicious dreams of virtue and poetry. He must have been a hard boy whom these discourses, spoken by Dalzell's low, soft, artless voice, did not melt.'