Chapter 4 - Page 2

talents, which,
whether natural or acquired, are a most dangerous possession; and, before
his twelfth year, he was the welcome associate of all the idle and
dissipated of his neighborhood, and especially of those who haunted the
tavern of which he had now become the landlord. Under this course of
education, Hugh Crombie grew to youth and manhood; and the lovers of good
words could only say in his favor, that he was a greater enemy to himself
than to any one else, and that, if he should reform, few would have a
better chance of prosperity than he.

The former clause of this modicum of praise (if praise it may be termed)
was indisputable; but it may be doubted, whether, under any circumstances
where his success depended on his own exertions, Hugh would have made his
way well through the world. He was one of those unfortunate persons, who,
instead of being perfect in any single art or occupation, are superficial
in many, and who are supposed to possess a larger share of talent than
other men, because it consists of numerous scraps, instead of a single
mass. He was partially acquainted with most of the manual arts that gave
bread to others; but not one of them, nor all of them, would give bread to
him. By some fatality, the only two of his multifarious accomplishments in
which his excellence was generally conceded were both calculated to keep
him poor rather than to make him rich. He was a musician and a poet.
There are yet remaining in that portion of the country many ballads and
songs,--set to their own peculiar tunes,--the authorship of which is
attributed to him. In general, his productions were upon subjects of local
and temporary interest, and would consequently require a bulk of
explanatory notes to render them interesting or intelligible to the world
at large. A considerable proportion of the remainder are Anacreontics;
though, in their construction, Hugh Crombie imitated neither the Teian nor
any other bard. These latter have generally a coarseness and sensuality
intolerable to minds even of no very fastidious delicacy. But there are
two or three simple little songs, into which a feeling and a natural
pathos have found their way, that still retain their influence over the
heart. These, after two or three centuries, may perhaps be precious to the
collectors of our early poetry. At any rate, Hugh Crombie's effusions,
tavern-haunter and vagrant though he was, have gained a continuance of
fame (confined, indeed, to a narrow section of the country), which many
who called themselves poets then, and would have scorned such a brother,
have failed to equal.

During the long winter evenings, when the farmers were idle round their
hearths, Hugh was a courted guest; for none could while away the hours
more skilfully