of the celebrated names the
roll of its two colleges contains. The two first-mentioned were
flourishing at the time when young Beattie entered the University.
Blackwell was a learned but pedantic Grecian, who wrote with
considerable power and great pomp on "Mythology," "Homer," and the
"Court of Augustus." Alexander Gerard was the author of some books
of some merit, although now nearly forgotten, on the "Genius of
Christianity," on "Taste and Genius," &c. Under both these Beattie
profited very much. He gained a high prize in Blackwell's class, for an
analysis of the fourth book of the "Odyssey." He did not neglect
general reading, nor the art of poetry. He spent much of his leisure in
studying and practising music, which he always loved with a passion.
We can conceive him, too, the "lone enthusiast," repairing often to the
resounding shore of the ocean, or leaning where a greater than he was
by and by to lean, over the Brig of Balgounie, which bends above the
deep, dark Don, or walking out pensively to the Bridge of Dee, and
watching the calm, translucent, yet strong, victorious river running
through its rich green banks and clustering corn-fields to wed the sea.
No university in wide Britain can be named with Aberdeen, in point of
the wild romantic grandeur of its environs, if we include in these the
upper courses of the two rivers which meet beside it and Byron Hall.
Macintosh, as well as Beattie, have owned the inspiration which the
scenery, still more than the scholastic training of the Northern
Metropolis, breathed into their opening minds.
In 1753, having cultivated assiduously every branch of study taught at
college except mathematics, for which he had neither taste nor aptitude,
Beattie took the degree of A.M. He had hitherto been supported by the
kindness of his brother David, but now he was to look out for a
profession for himself. The situation of parish schoolmaster at Fordoun
falling vacant, he determined to apply for it; and on the 11th of August
1753 he was elected to the office. Fordoun is situated a few miles to the
north-east of Laurencekirk, and is surrounded by similar scenery. A
series of gentlemen's seats extend, at brief intervals, from Brechin to
Stonehaven, along a ridge of bare and bold mountains, and overlooking
a fair and rich plain, so that thus the neighbourhood of Fordoun
includes a combination of the soft, the beautiful, the luxuriant, and the
nakedly-sublime, which must have fed to satiety the eye and heart of
this true poet. Otherwise, the situation could not be called eligible. The
salary was small, the society at that time indifferent, and the sphere
limited. There were, however, some counter-balancing advantages.
Near the village resided Lord Gardenstown, who met Beattie in a
romantic glen near his house, with pencil and paper in his
hand--entered into conversation with him--found out that he was a
poet--and gave him the "Invocation to Venus" in the opening of
Lucretius, to translate, which he did on the spot, and thus removed
some doubts Lord Gardenstown had entertained as to whether his
poetry was actually his own; and, besides, Lord Monboddo, a
remarkable man, alike in talent and eccentricity; and both vied with
each other in their patronage of the poetical dominie when he had
undisturbed leisure for study and solitary communion with nature. On
the whole, perhaps, the future "Minstrel" was happier as a parish
schoolmaster than in any part of his after life; and perhaps often, in
more brilliant but less easy days, would revert with a sigh to the simple
school and the stream which murmurs past the small kirkyard of
Fordoun.
While there, he wrote a few poetical pieces, which he sent with his
initials, and the name of his place of abode, to the Scots Magazine. We
can fancy him, like the immortal Peter Pattieson, on the day the
Magazine was due, walking as far as the little height of Auchcairnie, to
watch and weary for the long-expected carrier's cart wending its slow
way from the south and, when the parcel reached his hand, with eager,
trembling fingers, opening it up, to have all the joy of virgin authorship
awakened in his soul. In these days a poetic production from the
country seemed a phenomenon--as great, to use an expression of De
Quincey's, as if "a dragoon horse had struck up 'Rule Britannia,'" and
no doubt, many an eyebrow in Auld Reekie rose in wonder, and many a
voice exclaimed, "Who can this be?" when verses so good by J. B.
Fordoun, flashed upon the public from time to time. But, although his
poetry procured him more fame than he was then aware of, it brought
him nothing more, and his way to competence and elevation in society,
seemed as completely
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