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Presented  to  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 
LIBRARY 

by  the 

ONTARIO  LEGISLATIVE 
LIBRARY 

1980 


dfcna&ria/ 


THE   CARSWELL    COMPANY   LIMITED 


MAGAZINE. 


VOL.  IX. 


APRIL—AUGUST,  1821. 


WILLIAM  KLACKWOOD,  EDINBURGH; 

AND 

T.  CADELL  AND  W.  DAVIES,  STRAND,  LONDON. 

1821. 


'    /  f 

• 
. 


u 


v.s 


BLACKWOOD'S 

EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


No.  XLIX. 


APRIL,  1821. 


VOL.  IX. 


FABLES  FROM  LA  FONTAINE,  IN  ENGLISH  VERSE. 

"  Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  Instances." — SHAKESPEARE. 
"  I  am  a  nameless  man — but  I  am  a  friend  to  my  country,  and  of  my  country's 
friends." — IVANHOE.* 


A  translation  is  in  general  a  sad  dull 
business.  It  is  like  a  dish  twice  dress- 
ed, and  the  flavour  is  lost  in  the  cook- 
ing. The  object  should  be  rather  to 
transfuse  than  translate  ;  to  embody, 
as  it  were,  the  spirit  of  the  original  in 
a  new  language ;  to  give,  in  short,  to 
translation,  the  same  meaning  in  a  li- 
terary which  it  bears  in  an  ecclesiasti- 
cal sense, — where  it  always  implies  an 
improvement  in  the  thing  translated. 
The  mode  of  conducting  this  literary 
operation  is  as  various  as  the  terms  by 
which  it  is  expressed.  Sometimes  the 
work  is,  according  to  the  Dutch  phrase, 
vvcrgeret,  i.  e.  overdone;  sometimes, 
according  to  the  French  phrase,  it  is 
Iradiiit,  i.  e.  traduced  ^  and  sometimes, 
according  to  our  own  phrase,  it  is  done, 
i.  e.  done  for  into  English.  Dryden 
has  perhaps  furnished  the  most  bril- 
liant specimens  in  our  language  of  suc- 
cessful execution  in  this  line.  His  tenth 
Satire  of  Juvenal  almost  surpasses  the 
original.  What  can  be  more  beautifully 
easy  and  simple  than  the  opening  ? — 
4'  Look  round  the  habitable  world,  how 

few 
Know  their  own  good,  or,  knowing  it,  pur- 

sue." 

And  yet  how  he  warms  with  his  sub- 
ject as  he  advances,  pouring  forth 
thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that 
burn,  in  the  very  spirit  of  the  Roman 
satirist. 

But  Juvenal  was  a  poet  after  his 
own  heart,  and  he  translates  him  con 
amore.  His  Virgil  is  less  happy.  Here 
he  seems  to  be  performing  a  task, — and 


indeed  we  are  told  that  he  wrote  it  for 
bread.  Besides,  Dryden  had  nothing 
Virgilian  in  his  composition.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  imagine  anything  more 
opposite  than  their  poetical  characters, 
unless  it  be  those  of  Homer  and  Pope, 
who  may  be  considered  as  the  very 
antipodes  to  each  other.  Still,  when  ah 
occasion  is  offered  for  the  display  of 
his  power,  Dryden  takes  noble  advan- 
tage of  it.  For  instance,  when  Turn  us, 
in  his  indignant  reply  to  the  affected 
apprehensions  of  Drauces,  says, — 
"  Nunquam  animum  talem  dextra  hac  (ab- 

siste  moveri) 
Amittes ;  tecum  habitet  et  sit  pectore  in 

isto." 

The  translator,  adds  a  line,  which 
heightens  the  sarcasm,  and  conveys, 
in  the  strongest  manner,  the  spirit  and 
temper  of  the  speaker : — 
"  Let  that  vile  soul  in  that  vile  body  rest  : 
The  lodging  is  right  worthy  of  the  guest!" 
The  only  poet  of  modern  times  capable 
of  translating  Virgil — the  elegant,  the 
tender  Virgil — was  Racine.  Dryden 
should  have  confined  himself  to  Juve- 
nal ; — though  in  saying  this,  we  must 
not  forget  his  splendid  versions  of  Ho- 
race. Here,  however,  he  gives  us  pa- 
raphrase rather  than  translation ;  lie 
bears  the  Lyric  Muse  of  the  Latin 
bard  upon  his  own  sublimer  pinions, 
to  a  loftier  heaven  of  invention,  and 
makes  her  sing  in  a  higher  tone  of  in- 
spiration. There  is  nothing  in  the 
Odes  of  Horace  that  can  be  compared 
with  "  Alexander's  Feast ;"  and  we 
shall  seek  in  vain  in  the  original  for 


*  Octavo.     John  Murray,  Albcmarlc  Street,  London.     1820. 

A 


4  Fables  from  La  Fontaine. 

the  vigour  and  verve  of  the  following 
translation : — 

"  Happy  the  man,  and  happy  he  alone, 
He  who  can  call  to-day  his  own  ! 
He  who  secure  within  can  say — 
'  To-morrow  do  thy  worst,  for  I  have  lived 

to-day  !' 

Be  fair,  or  foul,  or  rain,  or  shine ; 
The  joys  I  have  possess'd  in  spite  of  fate 

are  mine : 

Not  Heaven  itself  upon  the  past  has  power, 
But  what  has  been  has  been,  and  I  have 
had  my  hour." 

Lib.  III.  Ode  29. 
But  we  are  straying  from  the  object 


£  April, 

of  wit,  or  a  fool ;  but  to  be  both,  and 
that  too  in  the  extreme,  is  indeed  ex- 
traordinary, and  only  to  be  found  in 
him." 


of  our  present  inquiry, — La  Fontaine. 
Who  is  there  that  has 


s  not  read  La 

Fontaine  ?  To  those  who  have  he  need 
not,  and  to  those  who  have  not,  he  can- 
not be  described.  It  is  an  inviting  sub- 
ject— but  there  are  some  things  in  the 
world  which  defy  definition  or  descrip- 
tion, and  of  such  are  those  exquisite 

peculiarities  of  style  which  distinguish     and  he  seems  to  entertain  some  feelings 
the  French  Fabulist.     As,  in  the  case     of  kindness  even  for  the  vegetable  in- 


But,  though  it  might  perhaps  be 
easier  to  convey  an  idea  of  La  Fontaine 
by  transcription  than  description,  yet 
we  must  not  shrink  from  the  attempt 
altogether.  But  how  shall  we  express 
in  English  the  bonhommie,  the  naivete, 
the  badinage,  those  characteristic  qua- 
lities of  his  poetry,  which,  like  the  po- 
etry itself,  seem  almost  out  of  the  reach 
of  transktion.  Let  us  try.  First  then 
his  bonhommie  is  revealed  to  us  in  that 
comprehensive  benevolence,  which  does 
not  confine  its  sympathy  to  mankind 
alone,  but  embraces  all  ranks  of  crea- 
ted beings.  He  considers  the  inferior 
creatures  as — 

"  Hotes  de  1'univers  sous  le  noms  d'ani- 
maux  ;" 


of  a  beautiful  countenance,  where  the 
charm  resides  rather  in  the  expression 
than  in  the  features  themselves,  it  is 
in  vain  that  limners  endeavour  to  fix 
upon  canvass  the  changing  "  Cynthia 
of  the  minute ;"  one  look  in  her  face 
makes  us  forget  all  their  daubs ;  so  with 
La  Fontaine,  a  single  page  of  his  works 
will  reveal  to  the  reader  more  of  his 
nameless  graces  than  he  would  collect 
from  us,  even  though  we  were  to  fol- 
low the  bent  of  our  inclinations,  and 
discourse  most  eloquently  upon  the 
subject,  through  a  dozen  pages.  The 
graces  of  his  style  are  not  only  undefi- 
nable,  but  incomparable  ;  he  is  a  poet 
absolutely  sui  generis,  and  we  are  at  a 
loss  for  an  object  of  comparison.  He 
sometimes  reminds  us  of  Goldsmith, 
but  it  is  rather  in  himself  than  in  his 
writings ;  though  Goldsmith  certainly 
possesses  more  than  any  writer  we 
know,  that  mixture  of  tenderness  of 
feeling,  with  playfulness  of  humour, 
which  finds  its  way  so  irresistibly  to 
the  heart.  In  their  individual  charac- 
ters the  resemblance  is  much  more  stri- 
king. What  La  Bruezere  says  of  the 
French  poet,  might  mutato  nomine  be 
applied  indifferently  to  either.  "  La 
Fontaine  appeared  coarse,  heavy,  and 
stupid ;  he  could  not  speak  or  describe 
what  he  had  just  seen,  but  when  he 
wrote  he  was  the  model  of  poetry.  All 
is  lightness,  elegance,  fine  natural  sen- 
timents, and  delicacy  of  expression, 
throughout  his  works.  It  is  very  easy, 
said  a  humorous  observer,  to  be  a  man 


habitants  of  our  common  world,  if  one 
may  judge  from  the  tone  of  affectionate 
regret  with  which  he  laments  the  ha- 
voc committed  by  the  stag  upon  the 
leaves  of  the  vine  which  had  preserved 
him, — 

"  Que  de  si  doux  ombrages, 

Soient  exposes  a  ces  outrages." 
His  morality  is  of  that  indulgent  kind 
which  probes  the  heart  without  wound- 
ing it,  and  leads  us  to  virtue,  by  carry- 
ing us  back  to  nature.  His  Fables  are, 
indeed,  as  it  were,  the  law  of  nature  in 
action.  Virtue  is  represented  by  him 
in  her  most  engaging  form,  as  the  off- 
spring of  sentiment ;  and  the  way  to 
her  temple,  instead  of  the  customary 
"  steep  and  thorny  road,"  appears  like 
a  "  primrose  path."  In  his  exposure 
of  vice  there  is  no  ill-nature,  no  ran- 
cour, no  bitterness  of  satire ; — he  is  not 
one  of  those  who  "  ridct  ef  ODIT."  The 
perusal  of  his  Fables  sooths  and  com- 
poses the  mind,  producing  the  same 
sort  of  refreshment  which  arises  from 
a  quiet  stroll  in  the  country, — from 
which  we  return  with  those  kindly 
feelings  towards  human  nature,  and 
that  tranquil  spirit  of  resignation  to 
the  will  of  Providence,  which  are  shewn 
in  an  indulgent  forbearance  to  the  fail- 
ings of  others,  and  a  patient  endurance 
of  our  own  misfortunes ; — and  what 
better  lessons  than  those  can  we  learn 
from  philosophy  t 

And  next  for  his  naivete,  that  en- 
gaging charm  which  seems  to  result 
from  the  union  of  two  things  which  we 


18210 


Fables  from  La  Fontaine. 


fear  are  seldom  found  in  conjunction, 
—innocence  of  heart,  and  cleverness  of 
head.  It  is  to  this  mixture  of  shrewd- 
ness and  simplicity,  archness  and  un- 
consciousness, that  weowethose  charm- 
ing contrasts  between  the  thought  and 
the  expression,  which,  like  a  delicate 
figure  in  arussetgown,  render  both  more 
attractive,  and  constitute  "  hi  grace 
de  la  souddainte"  of  which  he  himself 
speaks.  And  it  is  the  happy  compound 
of  these  ingredients  that  forms  "  la, 
grace  encore  plus  belle  que  la  beautc," 
which  is  the  distinguishing  quality  of 
his  muse.  How  prettily,  for  example, 
does  he  talk  of  love, — ' 'ce  mal  qui  peui- 
etre  eat  un  Men."  There  is,  indeed, 
something  in  his  style  which  may  truly 
be  called  delicious.  He  writes  as  a 
man  might  be  supposed  to  write  who 
has  just  been  loosened  from  the  apron 
strings  of  nature.  Thus,  he  always 
awakens  the  same  sort  of  interest  with 
which  one  cannot  help  listening  to  the 
artless  prattle  of  childhood.  For,  we 
are  as  much  delighted  with  the  inge- 
nuous disclosures  of  feeling  into  which 
he  seems  to  be  betrayed  in  his  acci- 
dental conversations  with  the  reader, 
as  with  the  gaiety  and  spiritwith  which 
he  animates  his  narrations.  At  once 
simple,  tender,  and  natural,  he  con- 
trives to  leave  upon  our  hearts  a  per- 
manent impression  of  all  the  argu- 
ments which  he  had  in  the  first  in- 
stance addressed  to  our  understandings. 
He  is,  above  all  others,  the  Poet  of  the 
Graces ;  and,  in  his  most  unstudied 
and  careless  effusions,  we  feel  inclined 
to  apply  to  himself  the  lines  which  he 
addressed  to  a  lady  of  his  own  time  : — 
"  La  negligence,  a  mon  gre,  si  requise 
Pour  cette  fois  fut  sa  dame  d'atours." 
It  is,  however,  a  great  mistake  to 
suppose  that  La  Fontaine  was  indebt- 
ed to  nature  alone  for  his  poetical  ex- 
cellence. The  gifts  he  owed  to  her 
were  sensibility  and  imagination  ;  but 
no  one  could  be  more  sedulous  than  he 
was  in  studying  the  niceties  of  lan- 
guage, and  ransacking  the  treasures  of 
the  older  writers,  to  form  picturesque 
and  imitative  combinations  of  expres- 
sion for  his  own  use.  If  any  one 
should  be  so  deceived,  by  the  apparent 
facility  of  his  versification,  as  to  over- 
look the  elaborate  pains  of  the  com- 
position, he  will  in  fact  be  paying  the 
highest  compliment  to  La  Fontaine  ; 
for  "  ars  est  celare  artem." 

Lastly,  we  must  say  a  few  words  of 
his  badinage  ;  and  we  doubt  whether 


we  do  not  enjoy  his  dry  and  quaint 
humour  as  much  as  that  wanton,  play- 
ful, sportive  strain,  in  which  he  so 
often  indulges.  With  what  an  ap- 
pearance of  being  in  earnest  does  he 
identify  himself  with  the  concerns  of 
the  creatures  of  his  fancy  !  How  feel- 
ingly he  seems  to  sympathise  with  the 
distress  of  his  poor  disconsolate  bird, 
who  has  lost—"  ses  ceufs,  ses  tendres 
csufs,  sa  plus  douce  esperance  !"  The 
characters  of  the  different  animals  are 
drawn  and  preserved  with  a  minute 
attention  to  nature,  that  gives  to  his 
Fables  much  of  the  interestof  a  drama; 
and  so  gravely  and  completely  does  he 
seem  to  surrender  himself  to  the  illu- 
sions of  his  imagination,  that  it  is  dif- 
ficult not  to  catch  the  contagion  for  a 
moment,  and  pull  down  our  map  to 
search  for  the  great  city  of  Ratapolis. 

But  the  greatest  merit  of  all  in  La 
Fontaine,  is  the  happy  art  which  he 
possesses  of  insinuating  the  most  im- 
portant instruction,  while  he  seems  to 
be  only  amusing  his  reader  with  the 
details  of  trifles.  For  instance,  in  the 
dispute  between  the  Rabbit  and  the 
Weazle,  who  had,  in  the  absence  of  the 
proprietor  of  the  warren,  taken  pos- 
session of  a  burrow, — the  one  defend- 
ing his  title  as  first  occupier,  and  ridi- 
duling  the  pretended  rights  of  Jean 
Lapin  ; — the  other  claiming  by  virtue 
of  a  regular  succession  from  the  afore- 
said Jean,  through  Pierre  and  Simon, 
his  immediate  ancestors — we  have  the 
cream  of  the  whole  controversy  on  the 
right  of  property.  The  Fables  of  La 
Fontaine  are  not  intended  exclusively 
for  childhood.  He  is  the  poet  of  com- 
mon life  and  common  sense.  To  un- 
derstand him  completely  requires  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  men  and 
with  things,  and,  as  often  as  we  return 
to  him,  we  shall  find  that  he  will  af- 
ford us  entertainment  and  instruction 
exactly  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of 
our  experience,  and  the  progress  of  our 
knowledge. 

But  it  is  time  to  turn  from  La  Fon- 
taine to  his  Translator,  or  rather  his 
Imitator ;  for  the  writer  of  the  volume 
before  us  has  taken  the  French  poet  as 
a  master  rather  than  as  a  model ;  and, 
as  he  tells  us  in  his  preface,  has  limit- 
ed himself  to  the  task  of  putting  some 
of  those  Fables  which  most  struck  his 
fancy,  into  English  verse,  of  various 
measure,  without  always  copying  the 
thoughts,  or  attempting  the  manner 
of  the  original,  and  he  has  introduced 


Fables  from  La  Fontaine. 


CApril, 


some  allusions  to  the  present  times 
where  they  were  suggested  by  the  sub- 
ject. We  can  truly  say,  that  the  sam- 
ple he  has  given  us,  would  make  us 
anxiously  wish  for  more,  if  we  did  not 
think  that  his  talents  might  be  better 
employed  in  original  composition.  It 
docs  not  seem  to  us  that  it  is  necessary 
for  him  "  to  steer  by  the  rudder  and 
compass  of  another  man's  thoughts  ;" 
and  indeed  we  like  him  best  when  he 
is  least  like  the  original.  Still,  if  he 
will  be  content  with  the  humble  office 
of  imitation,  we  think  him  eminently 
qualified  for  the  task  he  has  underta- 
ken. In  wit  and  humour,  in  wanton 
playful  satire,  in  sportive  raillery,  he 
may  fairly  challenge  a  comparison  with 
his  prototype.  We  doubt  whether 
La  Fontaine  himself  is  more  success- 
ful in  provoking  a  smile  by  the  happy 
expression  of  inexpressible  ideas,  and 
by  those  irresistible  combinations  of 
language  which  convey  more  to  the 
mind  than  they  reveal  to  the  eye  or 
the  ear,  and  that  in  a  way,  too,  neither 
to  disgust  or  displease.  He  is  very 
skilful,  too,  in  the  use  of  those  sort  of 
quaint  phrases  which  give  force  and 
spirit  to  the  familiar  and  ludicrous 
style  of  composition.  He  perhaps  re- 
minds us  sometimes  more  of  Peter 
Pindar  than  La  Fontaine,  and  his  style 
combines  much  of  the  beauties  of  both. 
What  we  miss  most  in  the  English 
version,  is  that  gentleness  of  feeling, 
and  tenderness  of  sentiment,  which 
pervade  the  French  fables.  This  is 
perhaps  to  be  attributed  to  the  slight 
infusion  of  the  gall  of  party  politics 
with  which  the  work  is  seasoned  ;  the 
effects  of  which  upon  the  milk  of  hu- 
man kindness,  are,  we  fear,  invariably 
the  same.  Our  political  sentiments  are 
well  known,  and  we  cordially  approve 
of  the  substance  of  the  doctrines  which 
the  writer  before  us  so  zealously  main- 
tains ;  but  there  is  a  time  and  a  place 
for  all  things.  We  fly  to  poetry  as  a  re- 
lief from  the  angry  contentions  of  the 
hour,  to  sooth  our  imaginations  with 
more  pleasing  pictures  than  the  world 
of  reality  presents  to  us.  It  is  hard,  in- 
deed, if  there  is  to  be  no  neutral  ground, 
no  sanctuary  to  secure  us  against  the 
intrusion  of  party  hostilities  ;  and,  in 
this  light,  we  consider  it  as  a  species 
of  profanation,  to  make  the  Fables  of 


La  Fontaine  the  vehicle  of  political 
discussion  and  polemical  controversy. 
It  is  pity  too,  that  a  volume  which 
might  please  all  the  world,  should  be 
rendered  unpalatable  to  so  many,  by 
the  introduction  of  topics  which,  as 
far  as  the  merit  of  the  book  is  con- 
cerned, would  have  been  much  better 
omitted  altogether.  A  polemical  pamph- 
let may  be  a  very  good  thing  in  its 
way,  but  we  do  not  expect  to  find  a 
polemical  pamphlet  under  the  title  of 
"  Fables  from  La  Fontaine,  in  Eng- 
lish Verse."  We  particularly  allude  to 
the  tone  and  temper  of  the  note  on 
"  The  Woodman  and  the  Forest"  If  it  is 
expedient,  for  the  good  of  the  whole 
community,  that  the  Catholics  should 
be  excluded  from  political  privileges 
— (the  only  grounds  on  which  such 
exclusion  can  be  defended,) — let  them 
be  excluded,  but  let  the  necessity  be 
clearly  made  out,  and  when  made  out, 
let  it  at  least  be  enforced  without  in- 
sulting the  feelings  of  the  objects  of 
the  exclusion.*  To  talk  of  the  admis- 
sion of  our  Catholic  fellow-subjects  to 
an  equal  participation  with  ourselves 
in  the  blessings  of  the  constitution,  as 
likely  to  lead  to  the  rekindling  of  the 
fires  of  Smithfield,  is  to  talk  in  defiance 
of  reason  and  common  sense.  To  im- 
pute to  the  Catholic  Church  at  present 
the  persecuting  spirit  which  once  ani- 
mated it,  is  unfair  and  uncharitable. 
Persecution  belongs  exclusively  to  no 
particular  sect.  Henry  the  Eighth  at 
one  time  burnt  Protestants  for  denying 
the  real  presence ;  and,  at  another,  cut 
off  the  heads  of  Catholics  for  denying 
his  own  supremacy.  Persecution  was 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  was  practised 
indiscriminately  by  either  sect  that 
happened  to  be  uppermost.  If  the  Ca- 
tholics carried  it  farther  than  the  Pro- 
testants, we  must  at  least  remember 
that  they  had  a  better  excuse  for  it, 
believing,  as  they  did,  that  there  was 
no  salvation  out  of  the  pale  of  their 
own  church.  If  they,  however,  car- 
ried it  farther,  we  have  continued  it 
longer.  Till  very  lately,  it  was  a  hang- 
ing matter  for  a  priest  to  say  mass ; 
and  the  rest  of  the  code  relating  to  our 
Catholic  brethren,  was  in  the  same 
merciful  spirit  of  enactment.  The  Ca- 
tholics, therefore,  have  as  much  to  for- 
give and  forget  as  we  have.  But  the 


"  Swift  htu  somewhere  said,  that  we  have  only  just  religion  enough  to  make  us  hate 
one  another. 


Fables  from  La  Fontaine.  7 

question  is  not  what  has  been,  but  what  could  accrue  from  such  a  belief,  even 
7>.  Queen  Mary  and  the  Pretender  supposing  it  were  more  general,  if,  as 
are  dead.  Where  is  the  country  in  is  probably  the  case,  it  impresses  the 
which  the  persecuting  spirit  that  the  mind  with  a  deeper  sense  of  the  so- 
author  imputes  to  the  Catholic  Church,  lemnity  of  the  ceremony,  and  implants 
is  now  acted  upon  ?  The  fact  is,  that  a  stronger  feeling  of  the  religious  re- 
the  Catholics  only  ask  from  our  own  sponsibility.  Again,  if  we  all  believed 
government  the  same  indulgence  that  that  marriage  was  a  sacrament,  might 
Catholic  governments  abroad  extend  to  it  not  tend  to  strengthen  the  obliga- 
their  Protestant  subjects.  For  our  own  tions  of  the  marriage  vow  by  an  addi- 
parts,  we  have  no  fancy  for  the  Catho-  tional  sanction, — a  sanction,  of  which 
lie  religion,  and  should  be  very  sorry  we  fear  the  annals  of  Doctors'  Corn- 
to  see  its  influence  extended ;  but  we  mons  will  shew  that  it  stands  deplo- 
think  it  a  strange  complaint  to  make  rably  in  need. 

against  men  now-a-days,  that  they  be-         But  we  gladly  leave  the  polemical 

licve  too  much  ;  there  is  surely  more  for  the  poetical  part  of  the  volume, — 

danger  to  be  apprehended  from  those  upon  which  last  portion  we  can  be- 

who  have  no  belief  at  all.  We  think  the  stow  almost  unqualified  praise.     Let 

doctrine  of  transubstantiation  very  ab-  the  writer  speak  for  himself.   We  will 

surd,    and  equally  repugnant  to  the  begin  with  one  of  the  shortest  fables  by 

words  of  Scripture  and  the  evidence  of  way  of  specimen, 
our  senses;  but  we  cannot  see  whatharm 

"  The  Lion  and  his  Associates. 

Once  a  Lion  with  three  other  beasts  made  alliance, 
And  set  all  the  quadruped  world  at  defiance. 
In  the  honour  of  each,  every  member  confided, 
That  the  booty  they  took  should  be  fairly  divided. 
It  happened  the  Bear  caught  a  Deer  in  his  toils, 
And  he  sent  for  the  rest  to  go  snacks  in  his  spoils. 
They  met :  the  fat  prey  each  was  ready  to  fly  on, 
But  the  post  of  grand  carver  they  left  to  the  Lion." 

The  Lion  executes  the  task  allotted  to  him  very  adroitly,  while  the  other 
high  contracting  parties, — the  Wolf,  the  Fox,  and  the  Bear, — drew  round: — 

"  And  stood  licking  their  lips  while  the  carving  went  on." 

The  imitator  has,  we  think,  shewn  taste  in  restoring  the  associates  as  they 
are  described  in  the  old  fable,  instead  of  adopting  the  new  quadruple  alliance 
which  La  Fontaine  had,  for  no  good  reason,  introduced. 

"  Quoth  the  Lion,  '  You'll  think  me  a  Butcher  by  trade : 

Observe  with  what  skill  these  allotments  are  made. 

The  first  to  my  rank,  not  a  beast  will  refuse ; 

So  this  as  the  Lion's  just  option  I  choose. 

The  second  of  course  as  my  right  you'll  resign, 

By  the  right  of  the  strongest  that  portion  is  mine. 

That  the  third  is  my  own  is  as  certainly  true, 

To  my  courage  can  less  than  a  quarter  be  due  ? 

And  now,  my  good  friends,  having  settled  these  shares, 

Let  him  lay  his  paws  on  the  remnant  who  dares  !'  " 

The  imitations  abound  with  a  great  variety  of  metre,  and  there  is,  through- 
out, an  uncommon  facility  and  spirit  in  the  versification.  For  instance,  the  open- 
ing stanza  of  "  The  Wasps  and  the  Bees :" — 

"  There  happened  once  a  suit  between 
That  insect  tribe  who  serve  a  queen, 
Those  quaker-coated  flies  I  mean, 
The  industrious  Bees : — 

"  And  the  pert  Wasps,  that  roving  pack, 
In  yellow  jackets  trimm'd  with  black, 
Who,  corsair-like,  rob  and  attack 
Whomc'cr  they  please." 


8  Fables  from  La  Fontaine.  C  April, 

Or  again,  in  "  Love  and  Folly." 

"  In  the  good  days  of  yore,  before  Cupid  was  blind, 
With  eyes  keen  as  arrows  he  aim'd  at  each  bosom  ; 

Old  records  of  Paphos  the  cause  have  assign'd, 

How  the  playful  young  Deity  happen'd  to  lose  'em  ; 

And  they  shew,  why  so  small  is  the  portion  of  bliss, 

In  the  tender  connection  from  that  time  to  this. 

"  Master  Love  and  Miss  Folly  were  very  great  cronies ; 

One  minute  they  kiss'd  and  another  they  pouted : 
The  cause  of  their  frequent  discussions  unknown  is ; 

Which  did  the  most  mischief  may  fairly  be  doubted : 
But  so  it  fell  out,  upon  one  April  day, 
A  terrible  quarrel  took  place  at  their  play." 

Folly  teazes  Love  to  join  together  a  silly  young  fop  and  a  superannuated  wi- 
dow. Love  hesitates,  and  at  last  refuses,  when  Folly,  losing  her  temper, 
throws  her  bauble  sceptre  at  his  head,  which  hitting  him  full  in  the  eyes, 
makes  him  blind  ever  after.  Cupid  complains  to  the  council  of  Olympus : — 

et  A  synod  of  Gods  was  conven'd  at  the  place  : 

Jove  patiently  heard  what  was  urg'd  by  each  pleader ; 

For  the  good  of  mankind  he  determin'd  the  case, 

That  the  culprit  should  now  to  the  blind  boy  be  leader ; 

And  e'en  to  this  day,  thousand  instances  prove. 

Folly  still  is  the  guide  and  the  leader  of  Love." 

If  our  limits  would  permit  us,  we  should  be  glad  to  find  room  for  the  "  Rat 
in  Retirement,"  which  it  seems  is  from  the  pen  of  a  friend ;  and  for  the  "  Ad- 
dress to  the  Critics,"  which  is  struck  off  in  the  author's  happiest  manner,  and 
which,  though  the  least  literal,  is  perhaps  the  most  Fontainish  morsel  in  the 
whole  volume.  One  more  fable,  and  we  have  done- 

"  The  Satyr  and  the  Traveller. 

A  SATYR  in  a  rocky  den 
Lived  distant  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
Though  half  a  goat,  he  seldom  ran 
To  revel  in  the  train  of  Pan ; 
But  led  a  quiet  sober  life 
With  one  fair  Dryad  for  his  wife ; 
And  she,  engross'd  by  household  matters, 
Prepar'd  his  soup,  and  brought  young  Satyrs. 
It  happen'd  on  a  wintry  day 
A  Traveller  had  lost  his  way ; 
And  stiff  with  cold,  and  drench'd  with  rain, 
He  joy'd  the  Satyr's  cave  to  gain. 
He  peeps : — and  midst  recesses  inner, 
He  sees  his  horned  host  at  dinner. 
He  halts,  and  near  the  entrance  lingers, 
And,  blowing  hard  his  aching  fingers, 
He  frames  apologetic  speeches, 
To  his  landlord  with  the  shaggy  breeches : 
But,  ere  he  could  excuse  begin, 
A  hoarse  rough  voice  exclaims — '  Come  in ! 
If  you  can  dine  without  a  cloth, 
Stranger,  you're  welcome  to  my  broth.'  " 

The  Satyr  then,  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  his  wife,  inquires  of  his  guest 
for  what  purpose  he  had  been  blowing  his  fingers  so  assiduously.  The  stranger 
replies — 

"  '  To  please  your  lady  I'll  inform  her, 
I  blow  my  hands  to  make  them  warmer.' 


1821.]]  Fables  from  La  Fontaine.  9 

The  mistress  of  the  rocky  cottage 
Pours  for  her  guest  some  smoking  pottage  ; 
Who  to  gulp  down  his  mess  the  quicker, 
Blows,  ere  he  tastes,  the  scalding  liquor. 
The  Satyr,  o'er  the  table  leaning, 
Surpris'd,  once  more  inquires  his  meaning." 

The  Traveller  now  tells  him  that  he  hlows  his  broth  to  cool  it ;  at  which  re- 
ply the  Satyr  loses  all  patience,  shews  him  the  door,  and  fairly  turns  him  out : 

"  '  Whilst  I  possess  this  vaulted  roof, 
(And  fiercely  then  he  rais'd  his  hoof,) 
No  mouth  its  mossy  sides  shall  hold 
Which  blows  at  once  both  hot  and  cold." 

We  subjoin  the  conclusion  of  the  fable,  with  the  notes,  because  it  is  one  of 
the  best  and  most  spirited  of  the  "  modern  instances,"  without  stepping  be- 
yond the  bounds  of  fair  and  legitimate  satire ;  though  we  still  think  this  is 
scarcely  the  proper  place  for  such  topics. 

"  Tell  me,  ye  Westminster  Electors, 
Who  love  political  projectors, 
Whom  cunning  state  empirics  please, 
Have  you  not  met  with  mouths  like  these  ? 
Mouths  which  advance  assertions  bold, 
Blow  sometimes  hot,  and  sometimes  cold  ? 
Have  you  no  smooth-tongued  sophist  found 
Who,  Proteus -like,  still  shifts  his  ground, 
Promulging  for  the  public  good 
Schemes  by  no  mortal  understood  ? 
Whose  patriot  soul  so  truly  Roman, 
Would  trust  the  regal  power  to  no  man, 
Though  check'd  and  limited  it  be, 
Like  Britain's  well  poised  monarchy . 
Yet  plasters  praises  thick  and  hearty 
Upon  his  fav  rite  Bonaparte  ?" 

*  «  «  *  « 

"  Who,  deeply  ting'd  with  classic  lore, 
Would  now  with  lofty  pigeon  soar, 
Displaying  to  our  wond'ring  sight, 
A  literary  paper-kite  ! 
Giving,  as  Harold  mounts  the  gale, 
Collected  scraps  to  form  his  tail : — 
Now  takes  a  lower  road  to  fame, 
Charm'd  if  the  rabble  shout  his  name  ; 
When  every  zealous  wild  supporter,  1 

Proves  Parliaments  are  best  when  snorter,    > 
By  windows  broke  in  every  quarter :  J 

Whilst  fractur'd  heads  demonstrate  clearly, 
These  sports  should  be  repeated  yearly  ! 
When  such  mad  follies  meet  our  eye, 
Is't  right  to  laugh — or  must  we  cry  ? 
We  smile  at  such  attempts  to  fob  us ; 

But  sigh  to  find  the  hoaxer  H . 

Electors  !  midst  this  hoi-rid  clatter, 
'Twas  well  to  imitate  the  Satyr." 

"  Since  the  printing  of  this  Fable,  the  praise  here  given  to  the  Westminster 
Electors  is  no  longer  due.  Panegyric  or  censure  expressed  in  this  place  will 
affect  them  very  little;  nor  perhaps  will  their  choice,  in  the  present  instance,  be 
of  much  importance  to  the  great  council  of  the  nation.  This  event  however, 
which  many  persons  will  consider  as  the  extinction  of  good  sense  among  the 
elective  body  in  that  city,  will  be  celebrated  with  appropriate  honours  by  the 
democratic  faction.  Morsjanua  vitce,  is  a  common  motto  for  funereal  decora- 

10 


10  Fables  from  La  Fontaine.  £  April, 

limits.  Mr  II c  with  the  same  antithesis,  and  complying  with  the  pro- 
pensity to  punning,  which  heraldic  inscriptions  often  exhibit,  may  place  under 
his  achievement, 

NEWGATE  IS  THE  NEW  GATE  TO  THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS." 

The  well-known  Epigram  of  a  noble  Poet,  on  the  same  subject,  affords  one 
of  the  many  instances  of  coincidence  of  thought,  where  there  could  be  no 
communication  between  the  writers : 

Would  you  go  to  the  House  through  the  true  gate, 

Much  quicker  than  ever  Whig  Charley  went ; 
Let  Parliament  send  you  to  Newgate, 

And  Newgate  will  send  you  to  Parliament ! 


But  we  must  bring  this  rambling 
article  to  a  conclusion.  If  we  had  more 
space,  it  would  be  easy  to  say  much 
more  in  praise  of  this  amusing  volume, 
— and  if  we  had  a  whole  sheet  before 
us,  we  should  have  nothing  more  to 
urge  in  the  way  of  objection.  The  vo- 
lume is  evidently  the  work  of  a  scho- 
lar and  a  gentleman,  while  the  happy 
facility  of  his  numbers  as  clearly  shews 
that  he  was  born  a  poet : — for,  like 
La  Fontaine,  "  il  joint  a  Fart  de  plaire 


celuide  nypenserpas."  Whoeverhe be, 
we  hope  a  second,  edition  will  soon  en- 
able this  "  nameless  man"  to  step  boldly 
forward  ;  and  though  we  cannot  pro- 
mise that  he  will  thereby  secure  to  his 
descendants  the  same  advantages  which , 
it  is  said,  were  conferred  upon  those  of 
the  French  Fabulist — a  perpetual  im- 
munity from  taxation ;  yet  he  may 
fairly  claim  for  himself  that  wreath, 
which  he  is  so  well  entitled  to  wear, 
from  the  Tree  of  Apollo. 


A  SECOND  LETTER  FROM  THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON. 

"  Petruchio.  How  bright  and  goodly  shines  the  moon  ! 

Katharine.  The  moon  ? — the  sun  ;  it  is  not  moonlight  now. 

Petr.  Now,  by  my  mother's  son,  and  that's  myself, 
It  shall  be  moon  or  star,  or  what  I  list, 
Or  e'er  I  journey  to  your  father's  house. — 
Evermore  cross'd  and  cross'd  !  nothing  but  crosa'd. 

Kath.  Forward,  I  pray. 
And  be  it  moon,  or  sun,  or  what  you  please  ; 
And  if  you  please  to  call  it  a  rush  candle, 
Henceforth,  I  vow,  it  shall  be  so  for  me."  Taming  of  the  Shrcv, 


IN  my  last,  respected  Christopher,  I 
gave  vent  to  some  of  my  spleen  at  the 
misconceptions  and  mal-practices  of 
certain  of  the  poetical  tribe  in  your 
nether  sphere.  I  have  as  much  reason 
for  wager  of  battle  with  another  set  of 
dabblers  in  fiction — I  mean  those  prose 
writers,  who  compound  Novels  and  Ro- 
mances for  the  entertainment  of  sub- 
scribers to  Circulating  Libraries,  and 
other  gentry  who  are  overburdened 
with  time.  What  I  have  to  complain 
of  in  these  authors  is,  that  they  take 
strange  liberties  with  the  condition  of 
the  Moon — that  is,  they  generally  keep 
her  at  the  full  throughout  their  stories. 
Now,  every  body  knows  that  the  moon 
— "  the  inconstant  moon" — applicable 
as  this  epithet  is  to  her,  is  "  constant 
in  inconstancy" — like  a  lady  of  the  old 
French  court,  she  makes  her  changes 
very  regularly — she  waxes  and  wanes 
— increases  and  decreases,  with  all  the 
precision  of  a. time-piece.  Is  there  not 
forsooth  in  every  house  in  the  land,  a 


pamphlet  of  predictions  concerning  her 
appearances  throughout  every  night 
of  every  month  in  the  year,  yclept  an 
Almanack  ?  Has  not  the  cottager  the 
stitched  pages  of  hieroglyphic  Moore, 
with  a  splashed  red  stamp  in  the  dexter 
corner  of  the  title-page  ?  Does  not  the 
schoolmaster  possess  White's  Epheme- 
ris,or  the  Gentleman's  Diary,  cramm'd 
to  the  colophon  with  crabbed  diagrams? 
What  old  lady  is  unpossessed  of  Gold- 
smith, or  else  of  that  still  more  diminu- 
tive record  of  red-letter  days,  and  lunar 
changes,  with  which  the  Company  of 
Stationers  indulgeher,  in  a  fairy  quarto, 
about  the  size  of  the  good  matron's  pin- 
cushion ?  Do  not  the  various  counties 
of  England  and  of  Scotland  too,  belike, 
(although  of  that  I  am  not  so  well 
aware,  for  when  I  made  almanacks  my 
study  it  was  in  England,)  and  eke  the 
learned  universities,  send  forth  the 
same  predictive  notices  in  huge  broad- 
side sheets,  which  make  walls  and 
doors,  and  wuiuscottinjj;  look  glorious 


1821.]]  A  Second  Letter  from 

where  they  are  hung  up  ?  And  do  not 
all  and  every  one  of  those  tell  more 
than  a  year  beforehand ;  nay,  and  some 
of  them  picture  to  the  eye,  the  very 
shape  which  my  mistress  the  Moon  will 
assume  on  any  given  night  ?  Do  they 
not  mark  down,  with  the  accuracy  of 
a  prompter's  play-book,  the  very  times 
when  she  will  make  her  "  exits  and  her 
entrances,"  and  declare  as  infallibly  as 
any  old  tide-waiter,  the  periods  of  her 
influence  upon  the  hour  of  high- water 
at  our  sea-ports  ?  Although  she  never 
fails  to  do  what  these  sapient  oracles 
set  down  for  her,  yet  is  she  taxed  with 
mutability — mutable  as  she  is  then,  it 
must  be  granted  that  she  is  so  metho- 
dically, and  that  any  one  of  tolerable 
prudence  can  foresee  her  mutations. 
Well,  then,  is  it  fair,  doing,  as  she 
does,  just  what  is  prescribed  to  her, 
that  novelists  should  so  frequently 
make  her  stand  stock  still  ?  Have  not 
I,  above  all  men,  reason  for  incredu- 
lous hatred  of  what  1  read  in  their  fa- 
brications, when  I  find  Henry  and  Lucy 
meeting  a-nights,  for  three  weeks  to- 
gether, under  an  oak  tree,  and  having 
the  round  moon  shining  above  them 
through  the  branches  all  the  while  ?  It 
is  not,  perhaps,  requisite  that  writers  of 
stories  should  be  very  minute  chrono- 
logists,  but  in  a  case  of  this  kind,  it  is 
obvious  to  all,  that  they  must  be  talk- 
ing of  some  miraculous  appearance  in 
the  heavenly  bodies,  or  at  least  they 
cannot  be  speaking  of  that  Moon  from 
which  I  take  my  prone  descent,  plump- 
down  every  fortnight.  It  would  be 
invidious  to  point  out  any  particular 
work  of  fiction  ;  yet  surely  the  multi- 
tude of  them,  in  which  no  observance 
of  the  constant  variation  of  the  phases 
of  the  Moon  is  paid  by  the  writers  of 
them  (the  fair  ones  especially,)  is  so 
great,  that  it  cannot  have  escaped  thy 
keen  eye,  Christopher,  or  the  observa- 
tion of  thy  readers.  In  fact,  our  Ro- 
mancers and  Novelists  play  such  va- 
garies with  the  moon's  appearances  and 
non-appearances,  that  I  become  as  per- 
plexed as  poor  Katharine  was,  and  know 
not  whether  these  tale-tellers,  like  Pe- 
truchio,  are  talking  of  the  moon,  the 
sun,  or  of  a  rush  candle ;  for  their 
description  of  her  doings  seems  to  suit 
one  as  little  as  the  other.  Canst  thou 
not  recal  to  thy  recollection,  that,  in 
some  delicate  narratives,  there  is  a 
moon  visible  every  night,  wherever  she 
is  wanted — (a  most  useful  thing  it 
wo  uld  be,  and  the  Postmasters-Gcne- 
VOL.  IX. 


the  Man  in  the  Moon. 


11 


ral  would  get  a  parliamentary  reward 
for  the  discoverer  if  he  would  bring 
his  invention  to  perfection) — while  in 
others  the  nights  are  as  invariably  dark 
and  moonless  ?  In  the  romances,  I 
believe,  most  pranks  are  played  with 
the  "  silver  deity  of  the  silent  hours," 
for  most  novels  are  conducted,  if  not 
with  "  truth,"  yet  by  "  daylight."  But 
in  a  romance,  where,  for  instance,  the 
scene  is  laid  on  the  shores  of  the  Me- 
diterranean, the  moon  is  pressed  into 
the  writer's  service,  and  made  to  beam 
"  sans  intermission" — she  is  made  to 
walk  through  the  sky,  and  to  show  the 
whole  of  her  face  without  a  veil,  night 
after  night — for  otherwise,  how  could 
Paolo  and  Ninetta  dance  upon  the 
sands  in  her  golden  radiance  ?  But 
presto,  it  is  all  sable  gloom  again,  if  a. 
cut-throat  is  hired  to  murder  the  he- 
roine, or  even  if  the  heroine  is  to  pry 
about  the  Castle  in  which  she  is  im- 
mured, shading  a  lamp  with  her  taper 
fingers,  though  we  know  very  well  it 
must  be  blown  out  before  she  gets  back 
to  her  chamber  again.  The  moon,  in 
this  case,  if  not  altogether  obliged  to 
make  herself  scarce,  is  at  the  utmost 
only  allowed  to  give  a  sullen  gleam,  and 
then  shroud  herself  in  tenfold  dark- 
ness ! — and  poor  Angelina,  or  Celesti- 
na,  or  Rosalbina  (or  whatever  the  for- 
lorn virgin's  name  may  be — only  there 
is  a  special  necessity  for  its  ending  in 
a)  staggers  onward  in  murky  obscuri- 
ty. There  is  one  thing,  however,  worth 
notice,  and  this  is,  lot  the  place  be  ever 
so  ruinous,  and  full  of  flights  of  steps, 
and  crowded  with  pillars,  and  dilapi- 
dated by  very  suspicious  looking  chasms 
in  the  side-walls — yet  never  did  I  read 
of  one  of  these  young  ladies  tumbling 
down  stairs,  or  making  her  nose  bleed 
by  hitting  it  against  an  obtrusive  pil- 
lar, or  pitching  head  over  heels  down 
any  of  the  lateral  passages,  or  yawning 
rents  in  the  mason- work — every  one  of 
them  an  accident  most  likely  to  mis- 
betide  a  damsel  who  paces  about  dark- 
ling, her  lamp  out  and  the  moon  set. 
The  utmost  misfortune  which  befals, 
is  that  she  wanders  astray  a  little,  and 
finds  herself  in  a  prohibited  part  of  the 
dwelling  perhaps,  and  possibly  she  may 
chance  to  pick  up  a  rusty  dagger  by  the 
way,  which  (the  fountain  of  her  heart 
meanwhile  curdling  with  horror)  she 
perceives  to  be  incrusted  with  blood 
long  since  shed.  But  thou  wilt  say — 
"  Marry,  how  does  she  perceive  all  this 
in  the  dark  ?" — ay,  that's  a  problem, 
B 


A  Second  Letter  from  the  Man  in  the  Moon. 


12 

which,  from  default  of  intellect  on  my 
part,  must  wait  without  its  solution, 
and  a  joyful  Q.  E.  D.  at  its  tail.  Not 
content,  however,  with  making  the 
moon  come  and  go,  out  of  all  reason- 
able calculation,  they  will  not  do  her 
justice,  when  they  allow  that  she  is 
present.  Hast  thou  not  in  thy  multi- 
farious reading,  Christopher,  met  with 
passages  of  the  same  kidney  as  this  ? 
ft  Maltida  rushed  towards  the  Castle, 
whose  sculptured  portal  was  illumina- 
ted by  the  lucid  rays  of  the  full  orbed 
moon.  Suddenly,  to  her  terror,  she  saw 
a  muffled  figure  issuing  from  the  arch- 
way, when  at  once  a  multitudinous 
mass  of  clouds  spread  over  the  lumi- 
nary, and  the  shuddering  Matilda  was 
involved  in  solid  darkness.  It  became 
impossible  for  her  to  determine  on 
which  side  to  direct  her  steps — all  was 
black,  bewildering,  indistinguishable 
shade — she  paused,  and  listened."  Now 
although,  when  the  moon  is  "  full 
orbed/'  I  am  in  it,  yet  from  confiden- 
tial and  credible  friends,  I  am  too  well 
aware  that  a  cloudy  night  upon  earth, 
at  the  time  of  the  month  above  indica- 
ted, is  nothing  like  a  perfectly  dark 
one ;  and  when  only  broken  clouds 
pass  over  the  moon,  there  remains  a 
very  tolerable  degree  of  glimmer  to  di- 
rect one's  steps  by,  or  to  discern  the 
objects  immediately  around  one. 

This  instantaneous,  and  impenetrable 
darkness,  so  often  conjured  up  by  ro- 
mance writers,  strongly  reminds  me  of 
the  dark  scenes  on  the  stage,  where  al- 
though the  interlocutors  of  the  drama 
deplore  their  being  "  sand  blind"  with 
it,  or  even  "  high  gravel-blind,"  (as 
Lancelot  Gobbo  hath  it)  yet  do  box, 
pit,  and  gallery,  very  plainly  distin- 
guish every  thing  that  is  going  on  ; 
and  while  the  actors  creep  about  with 
faultering  foot,  that  they  may  not  stum- 
ble, and  with  hands  dispread,  that  they 
may  not  dash  their  brains  out  by  jost- 
ling against  an  obstacle  haply  harder 
than  their  skulls — the  great  wonder 
would  be,  if  any  of  the  blundering  awk- 
wardness which  so  often  happens  in  the 
dark  were  to  take  place ;  for  no  spec- 
tator, however  simple,  can  help  belie- 
ving that  the  "  harlotry  players"  see 
one  another  perfectly.  I  remember  see- 
ing a  play  (for  I  sometimes  go  to  the 
theatre  when  my  sovereign  lady  is  "hid 
in  her  vacant  interlunar  cave")  which 
was  called,  The  Wife  of  Two  Hus- 
bands, though  I  fear  that  both  wife 
and  husbands  twain  are  now  all  laid 


upon  the  shelf.  In  this,  some  catastro- 
phe was  to  be  brought  about  by  a  mur- 
der in  the  dark — the  gentleman- villain 
is  to  walk  on  first,  and  the  person  who 
goes  second  in  the  line  is  to  be  dispatch- 
ed by  a  blow  from  a  hired  assassin- 
some  one,  however,  who  knows  the  ar- 
rangement, pops  in  before  the  leader, 
and  so  this  worthy  gets  the  blow  on 
his  mazzard  which  he  intended  for  his 
neighbour  at  his  back.  Now,  unluckily 
when  I  saw  it,  the  stage  was  so  im- 
perfectly darkened,  indeed  so  light  was 
it  all  the  while,  that  not  only  the  per- 
sons of  the  actors,  but  even  the  most 
trifling  distinctions  in  their  dresses  were 
more  thanmerelyperceptible,  so  that  the 
cunning  contriver  of  the  plot  seemed  to 
us  as  if  he  could  not  possibly  fail  to  see, 
and  even  to  know  the  very  person  who 
slept  forward,  and  made  him  play  se- 
cond fiddle,  when  he  did  not  intend  it. 
Now,  this  make-believe  theatrical 
sort  of  darkness  is  what  I  cannot  help 
thinking  of,  when  romancers  sudden- 
ly wrap  up  their  moon  in  the  man- 
tle of  a  fleecy  cloud,  and  tell  us  that 
not  a  twinkling  of  light  remains — but 
despite  their  asseverations  that  the 
blackness  is  pitchy,  palpable,  porten- 
tous, I  am  certain  there  is  still  a  glim- 
mering sufficient  to  warn  Matilda  from 
stepping  into  a  puddle,  if  she  dislikes 
to  wet  her  white  satin  slippers,  which 
are,  no  doubt,  prettily  edged  with  sil- 
ver tinsel,  and  graced  with  a  spangled 
rosette  in  front.  She  may  pause — she 
may  listen — but  I  will  be  bound  for  it, 
she  walks  straight  to  the  Castle,  if  it 
is  needful  that  she  should  do  so.  Even 
if  she  wanders,  it  will  only  be  into  some 
deserted  cloister,  or  ruinous  oratory — 
for  sure  I  am,  it  is  not  so  dark  as  to  let 
her  go  astray  into  the  moat,  or  through 
the  horse-pond,  oramong  the  piggeries, 
or  through  a  brew-house,  a  wash-house, 
or  a  scullery — all  which  were  actual 
appendages,  although  vulgar  ones,  to 
the  most  romantic  castles  in  baronial 
days  of  yore.  Now,  if  future  construc- 
tors of  novels  and  romances  will  take 
my  advice,  (though  I  am  half  afraid 
they  will  give  no  heed  to  it)  I  should 
recommend  to  them,  when  they  have 
fixed  that  such  or  such  a  fact  shall  hap- 
pen at  the  time  of  full  moon,  to  re- 
member, that  at  about  three  pages  on- 
ward, (or  as  many  more  as  will  occupy 
about  fourteen  days,  by  a  rough  guess) 
it  must  be  a  night  without  a  moon — 
convenient  as  it  may  be  for  Orlando  to 
go  home  by  moonlight,  he  must  be 


182J.3 


A  Second  Letter  from  the  Man  in  the  Moon. 


content  to  guide  his  steps  by  a  lantern ; 
and  if  Charlotte  indites  a  love  epistle, 
when,  like  the  rest  of  of  the  house,  she 
ought  to  be  in  bed,  and  asleep,  she  po- 
sitively must  not  indulge  in  a  simile, 
drawn  from  any  pretended  peep-out  at 
the  moon,  and  from  affecting  to  see  her 
image  twinkling  in  the  water — for  moon 
there  assuredly  can  be  none  visible. 
Again,  the  dealers  in  the  sublimer  style, 
the  romance-inditers,  ought,  when  they 
have  once  fixed  upon  a  perfectly  moon- 
less night,  to  allow  the  moon  to  be 
journeying  up  in  the  sky  after  a  couple 
of  weeks  have  elapsed  in  their  narra- 
tive. Wish  ever  so,  that  it  may  be  as 
black  as  thunder,  it  cannot  be  allowed 
them — the  current  of  events  must  con- 
form to  the  changes  of  nature,  and  they 
must  postpone  their,  dark  deeds  for  a 
fortnight  further  on  in  the  work.  At 
this  particular  period,  Rustivisagio  can- 
not be  allowed  to  mutter  to  his  Coin- 
rogue  Ugglifizio — "  Ha,  by  St  Domi- 
nic, as  murky  a  night  as  we  could  wish 
for  !"  No,  "  the  blanket  of  the  dark" 
will  have  some  holes  in  it,  and  through 
them  some  lunar  rays  will  penetrate ; 
it  is  an  equal  chance  too,  that  the  said 
blanket  may  be  removed  altogether. 

But  enough — you  may  be  sure,  con- 
nected as  I  am  with  the  moon,  that  I 
cannot  read  fictitious  Avorks,  contain- 
ing these  discrepancies,  with  all  the 
coolness  of  an  unconcerned  person.  No, 

I  get  puzzled — my  wits  turn  topsy- 
turvy— and  I  shut  up  the  book  in  de- 
spair. Not,  indeed,  that  all  these  light 
troops  of  the  literary  squad  are  guilty 
of  these  faults — but  since  I  have  been 
so  scrupulous  as  not  to  mention  those 

II  who  are  transgressors  in  this  sort," 
I,  on  tiie  other  hand,  shall  not  call  up 
the  blush  of  modesty  on  the  cheeks  of 
those  who  either  have  steered  clear  of 
their  fellow-fiction-mongers'  errors,  or 
else  have  so  dextrously  embroiled  all 


13 

marks  and  notes  of  time,  that  the  read- 
er finds  it  impossible  to  say  whether 
they  have  adapted  their  story  to  the 
nature  of  things  in  this  particular  .or 
not. 

Now  I  am  on  the  score  of  novel- 
reading,  and  that  I  may  not  seem  to 
be  altogether  morose,  (tor  I  must  own 
that  my  communications  to  you  have 
almost  all  been  of  the  find-fault  kind,) 
I  will  pay  a  little  debt  of  gratitude  for 
a  favour  received  from  one  of  the  novel- 
writing  tribe.  In  a  little  tale  called 
"  Duty,"  by  the  late  Margaret  Roberts, 
(of  whom  it  is  worth  while  to  read»her 
friend  Mrs  Opie's  account,  in  which  her 
delightfully  feminine  character  is  admi- 
rably drawn — a  character  in  which  in- 
tellect, gentleness,  and  firmness  of 
principle  seem  to  have  been  most  hap- 
pily blended) — in  this  tale,  there  is  a 
delicate  compliment  to  me,  me — the 
Man  in  the  Moon !  I  said  before  (al- 
though my  modesty  would  not  suffer 
me  to  expatiate  upon  it)  that  I  do  not 
so  often  get  any  mention  made  of  me, 
as,  upon  reasonable  consideration  of 
the  superabundant  panegyric  lavished 
upon  the  moon,  may  seem  to  be  natu- 
ral and  right.  But  in  the  posthumous 
novelet  of  Mrs  Roberts  I  have  a  whole 
ode  inscribed  to  me,  and,  partial  as  I 
am  aware  my  judgment  must  neces- 
sarily be  in  the  matter,  I  still  do  think 
that  thou,  Christopher,  wilt  allow  that 
many  of  the  stanzas  have  great  merit. 
I  suppose  I  am  to  understand  that  the 
sentiments  are  intended  to  come  from 
the  heroine  of  the  tale,  rather  than 
the  authoress.  Be  it  so.  I  subjoin 
most  of  the  poem,  allowing  myself  the 
benefit  of  making  a  running  gloss  up- 
on it,  for  the  lady  is  sometimes  a  little 
out  of  her  reckoning ;  but,  on  the 
whole,  it  is  exceedingly  grateful  and 
nattering  to  me  to  have  been  so  no- 
ticed. The  ode  opens  thus. 


1.        .       - 

Man  of  the  Moon  !  enthroned  on  high, 
Bright  regent  of  the  midnight  sky, 
Receive  an  Earthite's  suppliant  sigh, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ! 

Here,  then,  my  humility  makes  me  confess,  that  the  second  line  contains 
the  title  of  my  liege  mistress  the  Moon  herself,  and  not  an  appellation  of  mine. 


Whate'er  thy  form  and  nature  be, 
Long  have  I  loved  and  worshipped  thee, 
And  been  thy  humble  votary, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ! 


It  A  Sscond  Letter  from  the  Alan  in  tfie  Moon.  £  April, 

3. 

For  in  thy  broad  and  shining  face, 
Eyes,  nose,  and  mouth,  and  chin  I  trace, 
With  many  a  soft  and  smiling  grace, 

Alan  of  the  Moon  ! 

k 

'Tis  true,  thy  head  is  round  and  bare, 
And  seems  to  mourn  the  loss  of  hair,— 
A  wig,  for  love  of  fashion,  wear, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ! 

In  the  stanzas  above,  there  is  some  confusion  concerning  my  looks — in- 
deed, in  the  last  of  them,  I  am  fearful  that  the  writer  mistakes  the  moon  it- 
self for  my  head ;  otherwise  I  know  of  no  particular  deficiency  in  the  outside 
honors  of  my  brain-pan — but  let  it  pass,  the  next  verse  makes  up  for  it  all. 

5. 

But  I  will  love  thee  as  thou  art, 
And  give  to  thee  my  truant  heart, 
And  never  from  my  vows  depart, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ! 

I  skip  on  now  over  four  verses ;  and  here  I  must  beg  leave  to  say,  that  the 
inquiry  in  the  10th  and  llth  is  of  too  delicate  a  nature  to  admit  of  a  public 
answer. 

10. 

When  Venus  in  her  silver  vest, 
Nearer  thy  orb  appears  to  rest, 
Does  not  one  sigh  escape  thy  breast, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ! 

11. 

Dost  thou  not  feel  some  soft  alarms, 
And  long,  whene'er  thou  view'st  her  charms, 
To  stop  her  transit  in  thy  arms, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ? 

O,  staid  and  semnologous  Christopher !  my  heart  goes  pit-a-pat  even  at  the 
mere  transcribing  of  these  exquisitely  expressed  and  bosom-searching  queries 
—but  I  must  not  betray  myself. 

12. 

And  tell  me,  dost  thou  never  peep, 
When  mortals  sleep  (or  seem  to  sleep) 
And  from  thy  chamber  slily  creep, 

Man  of  the  Moon, 

13. 

To  watch  this  busy  world  below, 
To  see  how  joy  is  mixt  with  woe, 
How  often  cares  from  pleasures  flow, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ; 

14. 

And  then  return  unto  thy  sphere, 
Thy  eyes  bedew'd  with  pity's  tear 
For  all  that  thou  hast  witnessed  here, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ? 

15. 

Oh  if  thou  wert  to  gossip  given, 

How  many  a  tale  of  Earth  and  Heaven 

Thou  'dst  tell  from  rosy  morn  to  even, 

Man  of  the  Moon ! 

To  much  of  this  mv  nrcscnt  and  previous  letter  is  a  sufficient  answer. 


A  Second  Letter  from  the  Man  in  the  Moon.  15 

18. 

Ah  who  can  stop  a  woman's  tongue  ? 
Or,  who  like  her  a  theme  prolong  ? 
One  question  more  then,  right  or  wrong, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ! 

19. 

Say,  hast  thou  ever  yet  explored, 
Or  dost  thou  guard  the  sacred  hoard, 
Where  human  wits  'tis  said  are  stored, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ? 

20. 

If  such  thy  office,  deign,  O  deign, 
To  give  me  hack  my  wits  again, 
For  long  I've  search'd  for  them  in  vain, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ! 

To  the  lines  cited  above,  the  fair  poetess  annexes  an  explanatory  note. — "  It 
may,  perhaps,  he  unnecessary  to  remind  the  reader  of  the  story  of  Astolpho  (as 
related  hy  Ariosto)  who  kindly  undertook  a  voyage  to  the  Moon  to  recover  his 
friend's  wits ;  and  when  he  was  there,  was  surprised  to  find  a  phial  in  which 
were  his  own." — It  would  be  entering  into  too  long  a  disquisition  to  elucidate 
the  economy  of  our  sphere ;  but  if  I  ever  write  to  thee,  Christopher,  on  the 
subject  of  our  visitors,  I  may,  perhaps,  afford  the  intelligence  here  requested. 
In  a  verse  I  shall  now  quote,  the  lively  lady  makes  merry  in  guessing  at  my  pro- 
ceedings during  an  eclipse. 

22. 

When  the  cold  earth  shall  intervene 
Thine  and  the  solar  orb  between, 
Dost  thou  not  squint  behind  the  screen, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ? 

And  in  the  concluding  lines,  she  expresses  a  wish,  which  was  not  realized, 
and  I  am  sure  that  I  have  most  to  deplore  that  it  was  not. 

23. 

With  thee  to  roam  through  liquid  skies, 
Where  love,  'tis  whisper'd,  never  dies, 
How  blest,  as  Cynthia,  would  I  rise, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ! 

24. 

But  if,  in  lore  and  friendship  sweet, 
On  earth  congenial  spirits  meet, 
Soon  may  I  see  thee  at  my  feet, 

Man  of  the  Moon  ! 

Those  who  are  not  much  in  the  way  of  fashion  to  be  sure,  yet  not  altogether 
receiving  favours  put  a  great  (perhaps  deserving  of  the  slights  I  have  expe- 
an  undue)  value  on  them,  when  they  rienced,  I  cannot  say  I  shall  be  sorry 
are  kindly  offered.  I  hope,  however,  for  it.  My  modesty  will  not  be  shock- 
that  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  style  in  ed,  if  I  should  see  myself  alluded  to 
which  the  one  above,  so  prettily  be-  more  frequently,  either  in  prose  or  in 
stowed  on  me,  is  conveyed,  will  induce  verse.  But  I  am  arrived  at  the  end  of 
thy  admirers,  most  popular  Christo-  my  paper — and,  perchance,  Christo- 
pher, to  look  upon  it  with  an  eye  of  be-  pher,  of  thy  patience  too — be  this  so 
nignity; — and  if  the  poem  should  have  or  not,  I  subscribe  myself  thine, 
the  effect  of  giving  a  hint  that  I  am  a 
personage,  though  rather  gone  out  of  THEMANINTHKMOOX. 


16  Revery  in  the  Garden  of  Plants. 


IETTER  TO  THE  EDITOR, 

Inclosing  Revery  in  the  Garden  of  Plants  ;  with  Ode,  written  in  ike  Cemettry 
ofPereLa  Chaise,  at  Paris. 

MR  EDITOR, 

You  will  no  doubt  be  wondering  who  wrote  this,  and  why  it  was  sent  to 
you,  and  wherefore  the  person  who  sent  it  did  not  tell  you  who  he  is,  and  BO 
forth. 

But  I  will  soon  explain  all  this  to  you.  With  regard  to  the  why,  I  will  tell 
you  plainly,  that  it  was  sent  for  the  amusement  of  your  readers  ;  —  as  to  the  who, 
the  writer  would  not  permit  me  to  tell  his  name  ;  —  and  for  the  ivherefore,  I 
durst  not,  until  I  know  how  you  like  the  pieces,  not  being  permitted  to  send 
them  on  any  other  terms. 

The  truth  is,  they  were  composed  by  my  particular  friend,  (of  whom  I  am 
very  fond,  and  so  is  he  of  me  ;  but  you  need  not  say  any  thing  of  this,)  who 
is  apt  to  indulge  in  reveries,  making  verses,  and  such  trumpery  ;  but  who,  so 
far  from  having  any  inclination  hitherto  to  have  any  of  them  printed,  scarce- 
ly even  writes  them.  However,  finding  these  upon  subjects  that  might  inte- 
rest, or  at  least  amuse  some  of  your  readers,  I  have  prevailed  Avith  him  to  let 
me  send  them  to  you,  for  the  purpose  of  being  inserted  in  your  Magazine,  should 
it  please  you  to  do  so.  And  to  prove  to  you  how  very  disinterested  he  is,  and 
how  very  little  he  thinks  of  either  praise  or  blame  in  these  said  reveries  of  his, 
I  will  here  give  you  the  copy  of  a  song,  which  I  snatched  from  him  one  even- 
ing as  he  came  home  from  viewing  the  setting-sun  "  descending  on  his  glorious 
cloudy  throne,"  as  he'  expresses  it.  This  will  let  you  know  better  his  manner 
of  thinking  than  any  thing  I  can  tell  you. 

My  lonely  silent  thought  Nature,  divinely  drest 

I  would  not  sell  In  rich  attire, 

For  all  the  brilliant  glory  bought  Wakes,  with  her  music,  in  the  breast 

By  deeds  of  arms,  A  softer  glow, 

Or  all  that  fame  can  tell  And  makes  the  soul  respire 

Of  pageantry's  alluring  charms.  A  purer  bliss  than  all  below. 

Fame  cannot  yield  me  joy  ;  Ah  !  when  I  must  expire, 

Her  trump  may  sound  Beside  a  grove 

For  who  her  fickle  breath  employ  Could  I  be  laid  to  see  retire 

To  spread  their  praise  ;  Sol's  parting  ray  ! 

I  only  hope  that,  crown'd  Alone  with  her  I  love, 

With  peace,  will  end  my  humble  days.  In  nature's  hymns  to  sigh  my  soul  away  ! 

You  see,  Mr  Editor,  that  this  song  is  somewhat  extravagant  in  its  way,  and 
seems  to  indicate  an  excessive  attachment  to  natural  scenes,  not  very  common 
to  those  who  have  spent  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in  towns.  I  think  the 
mechanism  of  it  is  also  more  complicated  than  that  of  our  songs  generally  is, 
though  it  does  not  appear  less  smooth  on  that  account.  However,  as  I  seldom 
sing,  and  may  be  mistaken,  I  leave  this  to  your  better  knowledge. 

And  I  am,  Sir, 

Your  very  humble  servant, 

AMICUS. 

P.  S.  —  Should  this  please  you,  it  is  possible  I  may  induce  my  friend  to  let 
me  send  you  some  more  of  his  scribbles. 


Revery  in  the  Garden  of  Plants. 


17 


A  REVERY  IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  PLANTS; 

WITH  AN  ODE,  WRITTEN  IN  THE   CEMETERY  OF  1'ERE  LA  CHAISE, 
AT  PARIS. 


THESE  miry  streets,  enclosed  by 
gloomy  walls  and  towering  houses, 
chase  every  pleasant  thought  away. 
I'll  enter  into  this  garden,  or  rather, 
into  this  store-house  of  nature.  Here 
every  thing  seems  to  be  collected  that 
can  please  the  eye,  or  gratify  the  ima- 
gination. These  pleasant  walks,  with 
overarching  trees,  that  yield  delight- 
ful shade  and  shelter  against  the  sum- 
mer sun  and  winter  blast,  seem  to  in- 
vite the  studious  and  the  melancholy 
to  contemplation  and  wild  revery. — 
Here  inhabits  every  plant  that  springs 
from  nature's  bosom, — from  the  lofty, 
towering  cedar,  that  lifts  his  head,  and 
spreads  out  his  arms  in  glorious  ma- 
jesty, scorning  alike  the  winter's  blast- 
ing storm,  and  the  sweet-scented  gale 
of  spring,  even  to  the  humble,  modest, 
sweet-smelling  violet,  that  spreads  a- 
round  its  unassuming  odours,  itself 
unseen  ; — so  humble  and  obscure  vir- 
tue sheds  around  her  happiness  and 
peace,  though,  unobtrusive,  often  un- 
perceived. 

No  care  is  wanting  here.  The  hardy 
plant  of  Europe  breathes  free  its  na- 
tive air ;  the  tender,  delicate  plant  of 
African,  or  Indian  soil,  rejoices  in  the 
agreeable  climate  of  the  hot-house. 
Even  the  aquatic  plants  here  spread, 
and  wind,  and  twine,  in  seeming  con- 
fusion, in  their  natural  element,  pre- 
senting to  innumerable  insects  a  hu- 
mid couch  and  tender  nourishment. 
But  that  cabinet  contains  within  its 
precious  walls  a  still  more  rare  assem- 
blage of  wonders.  There  the  black 
volcanic  rocks  display  their  regular 
prismatic  forms  to  the  astonished  vul- 
gar, and  discriminating  sage,  and  ask 
investigation.  Here  are  the  various 
petrifactions, — there,  the  common,  the 
rare,andpreciouscrystalspresentthem- 
selves  in  systematic  order,  shining  in 
native  splendour,  pure,  and  unsullied 
from  the  womb  of  nature, — she  seems 
to  have  formed  them  in  her  freaks, 
to  gratify  herself  alone.  The  hand  of 
art  has  likewise  here  been  busy, — these 
brilliant  agates  testify  its  power.  There 
are  the  various  marbles,  earths,  and 
stones. — The  primitive  rocks,  whose 
mighty  columns  of  four  thousand  miles 
rest  on  the  dark  profound  of  nature's 


centre,  spread  here  some  tiny  frag- 
ments of  their  tops  to  gratify  our  won- 
dering gaze.  The  metals,  crystallized 
in  combination  with  the  powerful  acids, 
present  in  groups  and  clusters  their  va- 
rious forms  and  hues,  that  mock  the 
power  of  art,  and  set  it  at  defiance. 

There,  preserved  in  alcohol,  or  hang- 
ing pendant  from  the  roof  or  walls,  the 
deadly  serpent  is  displayed,  of  every 
race  or  tribe;  from  that  small  asp, 
whose  deadly  chilling  venom  froze  the 
warm,  voluptuous  stream  that  flowed 
in  Cleopatra's  veins,  to  the  horrific 
boa,  that,  undaunted,  with  proud  and 
daring  crest,  waged  single  war  against 
a  Roman  army.  Though  harmless  and 
innocent,  their  very  figure  seems  to 
chase  the  stream  of  life  back  to  its 
source,  and  fills  the  mind  with  horror. 
Even  the  eye,  as  if  sympathetic,  refu- 
ses to  be  pleased  with  brilliant  colours 
attached  to  a  form  that  inspires  terror 
to  the  mind,  and  moves  the  heart  with 
unutterable  disgust. 

The  finny  race  display  their  various 
wondrous  forms  beside  them.  The 
mighty  trackless  wave,  the  deep  abyss, 
and  ocean's  thousand  caves,  give  up 
their  gregarious  or  solitary  inhabitants, 
that  nothing  may  be  wanting  to  com- 
plete this  assemblage.  Here  they  are 
all,  formed  for  attack,  defence,  or  flight, 
according  to  their  various  natures  and 
their  uses.  Some  winged,  quit  for 
a  momentary  space  their  native  ele- 
ment ;  some  spread  their  little  sail  up- 
on the  glassy  surface  of  the  wave,  and 
wanton  sport  along,  when  zephyr's 
mildest  breath  scarce  ripples  o'er  the 
deep;  others  sit,  chained  upon  their 
native  rock,  scarcely  endowed  with  mo- 
tion or  with  life,  and  finish  their  ex- 
istence where  it  began  ;  whilst  others, 
impelled  by  their  organic  locomotion, 
or  eager  sport,  or  ravenous  desire,  move 
unimpeded  through  the  mighty  deep, 
outstripping  the  velocity  of  Indian  ships 
moving  before  the  constant  winds  that 
fill  their  crowded  sails.  Their  forms, 
or  round,  or  flat,  or  smooth,  or  prick- 
ly, are  all  with  regularity  arranged, 
according  to  their  race,  or  tribe,  or  fa- 
mily. 

The  monkey  world  attracts  our  cu- 
rious eye.  Though  dead,  and  silent, 


Itcvcry  in  the  Garden  of  Plants. 


18 

and  motionless,  their  various  attitudes 
are  so  well  feigned,  that  yet  they  seem 
to  play  their  imitative  tricks,  and  gaze 
on  us  with  a  malignant  sneer,  as  though 
they  scorned  the  second  place  in  ani- 
mated nature.  But  this  is  not  doubt- 
ful, their  place  is  fixed  ;  ye  doubting 
philosophers,  we  ask  not  your  opinion : 
we  have  a  monitor  within  our  bosoms, 
a  brilliant  spark  of  ever-li ving  fire,  that 
lights  the  way  to  everlasting  truth. — 
Now  fierce,  as  if  in  life,  the  monarch 
of  the  woods  darts  his  appalling  glare  ; 
and  near  him  the  ferocious  tiger  seems 
to  breathe  unutterable  rage  over  the 
bleeding  tender  fawn,  yet  struggling 
in  the  pangs  of  parting  life.  The  polar 
bear,  the  fierce  hyaena,  and  the  rave- 
nous wolf,  seem  all  to  live,  and  gnash 
their  horrid  jaws  at  the  beholders, 
as  though  they  could  not  brook  delay. 
The  elephant  stands  there,  strongest 
of  animals,  the  glory  and  the  strength 
of  Indian  kings.  Beside  the  sleek 
Arabian,  stands  the  small  Tartar  horse, 
with  shaggy  coat ;  hither  he  travelled 
from  the  Ural  mountains,  bearing  his 
quivered  warrior  to  the  fight,  through 
neaps  of  slain,  and  rivprs  tinged  with 
blood,  stunned  with  the  thunder  of 
contending  nations ;  the  way  was  much 
too  distant  to  return,  he  could  no  long- 
er fight,  and  so  he  gave  himself  to 
science.  The  other  animals,  or  wild 
or  tame,  or  fleet  or  slow,  have  all  their 
place,  their  forms  and  attitudes,  as  na- 
ture made  them  in  their  native  climes. 
The  world  has  been  ransacked  from 
utmost  oriental  isles,  to  where  the  An- 
des heaves  his  lofty  head  to  gaze  alone 
upon  Aurora's  blushes,  while  yet  the 
lower  world  lies  wrapped  in  sleep ;  from 
Terra  Australis  to  the  frozen  Pole, 
where  nature,  laid  in  chains,  denies 
existence  to  organic  being. 

The  many-peopled  air  has  sent  her 
delegates  to  this  assembly,  from  all  her 
nations,  families,  and  tribes.  Their 
ranks  are  full  and  overflowing.  Of  all 
that  mount  on  bold  and  daring,  on  ti- 
morous or  tardy  wing,  here  sits  the 
representative  to  answer  for  his  race. 
The  travelling  swallow  seems,  in  its 
native  language,  to  talk  of  foreign 
lands,  and  long  fatiguing  flights ;  the 
lively  wren,  just  springing  from  the 
twig,  presents  a  picture  of  animation. 
The  little  humming-bird,  drest  out  in 
all  the  resplendence  of  those  colours 
first  stolen  by  its  ancestors  from  the 
rainbow,  challenges  the  artist  to  imi- 
tate its  hues.  The  faithful  turtles, 


QApril, 


seated  side  by  side,  seem  not  to  have 
forgot  that  they  were  chosen  by  the 
queen  of  love  to  represent  her  amo- 
rous dalliance ;  though  not  more  ten- 
der, faithful  more  than  she.  The  hal- 
cyon here,  betokening  happy  days,  dis- 
plays his  beauty.  The  ostrich,  strong- 
est of  the  feathered  race,  and  fleetest 
in  the  course  of  all  that  timid  fly  or 
bold  pursue,  displays  those  plumes 
that  have  so  long  time  waved  upon  the 
warrior's  crest,  and  lent  a  grace  to 
heighten  female  charms.  The  stock- 
dove seems  to  coo  his  plaintive  note  ; 
and,  seated  on  his  branch,  with  eleva- 
ted bill,  the  charming  nightingale,  the 
prince  of  song,  seems  yet  to  challenge 
ocean,  earth,  and  air,  to  imitate  his 
lovely  plaintive  strain,  that  lulls  the 
feathered  nations  to  repose — that  steals 
delightful  on  the  charmed  ear,  inspi- 
ring dreams  of  bliss.  That  charming 
gentle  bird,  that  dwells  so  much  upon 
the  wing,  seems  a  fit  habitant  for  pa- 
radisian groves,  wherein  to  build  its 
happy  nest,  and  sip  the  essence  of  am- 
brosial dews.  The  lofty  bird  of  Jove 
looks  round  him  with  audacious  eye, 
holding  the  innocent  lamb  beneath  his 
claw,  as  though  secure  that  none  dare 
come  to  rob  him  of  his  prey.  But 
why  this  particularity  ?  Nor  space,  nor 
length  of  days,  has  scarcely  been  suffi- 
cient to  keep  the  rarities  of  nature 
from  this  abode  of  wonders.  There,  a 
few  feathers,  tied  together,  seem  more 
sacred  than  the  rest.  What  are  they  ? 
What  virtue  can  there  be  in  a  handful 
of  feathers?  Why  they  are  nothing 
less  than  feathers  of  the  Ibis, — the 
sacred  Ibis,  from  the  land  of  Egypt, — 
that  worshipper  of  every  beast  and  bird, 
ravished  from  the  chambers  of  the  si- 
lent tomb,  where  light  had  never  pe- 
netrated until  fcur  thousand  years  had 
rolled  away.  Four  thousand  years! 
By  this  amazing  flood  of  days,  how 
many  cities,  with  their  people,  and 
their  sacred  shrines, — even  nations, 
with  their  impotent  and  tying  Gods, 
have  been  swept  down  into  the  awful 
ocean  of  oblivion ! 

The  insect  nations  are  not  here  ne- 
glected, though  some  of  them  so  small 
the  visual  orb  scarce  deigns  to  recog- 
nize them.  Shells  too,  of  every  kind, 
are  here,  common  and  rare,  that  deck 
the  margin  of  the  Indian  sea,  or  Afric's 
burning  shores.  Our  milder  climates 
furnish  their  share,  nor  are  Columbia's 
shores  exempted  from  the  tribute. 

The  provident  sagacious  bee  dwells 


18210 


Revery  in  the  Garden  of  Plants* 


here  in  state;  the  noisy  idle  cricket 
dwells  beside  her :  but  how  unlike  each 
other !  The  locust,  that  sad  scourge 
of  nations,  has  quitted  his  destructive 
occupation.  The  dragon-fly  spreads 
out  his  double  wings,  that  radiant  shine 
with  green  and  gold.  The  industrious 
silk-worm,  that,  like  the  careful  bee, 
labours  for  creation's  lord,  is  seen  be- 
side the  gaudy  butterfly,  and  foolish 
moth, — the  silly  moth,  that  flutters 
round  the  flame,  with  many  a  turn  and 
wheel,  nor  can  perceive  the  danger  un- 
til it  is  consumed !  Attracted  by  the 
glare  of  regal  pomp,  what  are  you  bet- 
ter, vain  ambitious  man,  who  headlong 
drive  to  join  the  splendid  blaze  ?  It 
only  brighter  shines  in  fierce  combus- 
tion, and  you  are  quite  extinguished 
by  its  beams. 

The  gloomy  bull,  and  savage  buffalo 
together  stand,  with  stern  defiance 
graven  on  their  front:  and,  over  all 
these  children  of  nature,  great  and 
small,  the  mild  giraffe  raises  aloft  his 
towering  front,  and  seems  to  gaze  across 
his  native  plains. 

But  is  this  all,  this  house  of  wonders? 
No ;  yonder  stands  another,  where 
nature,  stript  of  all  her  ornaments,  her 
gaudy  clothing,  and  her  pleasing  forms, 
shows  only  naked  bones,  and  monstrous 
shapes  that  chill  the  mind  with  horror. 
That  tawny  beauty  from  Cafrarian  land, 
here  finishes  her  travels  and  her  shame ; 
nor  needs  she  now  a  silken  veil  to  cover 
what  her  vile  possessor  only  wished  to 
show.  There  stands  the  assassin,  un- 
der whose  ruthless  dagger  the  celebra- 
ted Kleber  closed  his  eyes ;  his  high 
enthusiasm  for  his  country  brooked  not 
to  let  escape  even  one  solitary  sigh  to 
gratify  the  ear  of  his  cruel  tormentors. 
There  other  ghastly  shapes  of  animals 
and  men,  avariciously  withheld  by 
grasping  science  from  the  craving  tomb, 
and  those  unseemly,  hideous  abortions 
of  nature,  that  never  were  intended  to 
look  upon  the  sacred  light  of  day,  are 
there  preserved,  to  gratify  the  view  of 
prying  wisdom,  or  the  empty  gaze  of 
idle  folly  :  folly  that  looks  with  equal 
unconcern  on  nature's  beautiful  and 
frightful  things. 

Here  are  the  halls  of  wisdom,  where 
science  keeps  her  court ;  where  every 
tree,  and  shrub,  and  animating  odori- 
ferous flower,  and  microscopic  plant, 
are  carefully  explained  to  all  who 
choose  to  hear.  And,  not  an  opening 
bud,  or  fibre,  colour,  or  shade,  or 

VOL.  IX. 


sexual  intercourse  by  subtile  penetra- 
ting dust,  lies  concealed. 

There,  too,  is  traced,  and  openly  dis- 
played, through  all  its  secret  springs 
and  deep  recesses,  the  mechanism  of 
that  beautiful,  graceful,  and  noble 
being,  man.  That  man,  whose  limbs 
at  once  combine  both  strength  and 
grace ;  whose  expressive  visage  dis- 
plays his  penetrating,  lofty,  soaring 
soul,  that  scorns  the  narrow  bounds 
of  space  and  time,  marks  him  the  image 
of  his  great  Creator,  and  lord  of  all  be- 
low. And  you  too,  tender,  soft,  en- 
dearing woman,  his  better  half;  whose 
bosom  heaves  with  warm  benevolence, 
whose  modest  love,  and  animating 
smile,  inspire  him  to  deeds  of  valour 
and  of  fame;  nurse  of  his  tottering  old 
age  and  tender  infancy,  the  partner  of 
his  cares,  hope  of  his  youth,  and  foun- 
tain whence  his  purest  pleasure  flows. 
Why  do  you  ever  wear  the  face  of  sad- 
ness !  or,  like  the  siren,  smile  but  to 
deceive ! 

Say  then,  ye  sages,  after  ye  have 
traced  each  bone,  tendon,  and  nerve, 
and  named  them  all,  and  pointed  out 
their  uses,  where  dwells  the  soul? 
How  does  she  impress  her  arbitrary 
commands,  that  are,  and  must  be 
obeyed  ?  How  can  pure  and  immate- 
rial being  act  upon  matter  gross,  im- 
pure ?  I  find  you  cannot  answer  this, 
or  answering,  only  shew  how  extra- 
vagant and  vain  are  all  your  wild  con- 
jectures. Employ  your  wisdom  then 
on  mortal  things,  to  heal  our  wounds, 
to  lessen  mortal  woe,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  worlds  beyond  the  grave. 

This  iron  railing,  and  that  little 
grove  that  skirts  the  margin  of  that 
hollow  pool,  yield  a  protection  and  so- 
lace to  these  winged  prisoners.  The 
garrulous  duck,  the  sea-gull,  and  the 
diver,  or  press  the  rapid  race,  or 
flounce  along,  or  in  an  instant  disap- 
pear, then,  rising  quickly  to  the  sur- 
face, flap  their  oily  wings,  and  in 
their  eager  sport  seem  to  forget  they 
are  no  longer  free.  The  bold  majes- 
tic swan,  arrayed  in  virgin  white, 
spotless  and  pure,  sails  proudly  for- 
ward like  a  barge  of  state,  looks  with 
contempt  upon  these  petty  crew  pad- 
dling around  him ;  half  raising  up  his 
wings,  and  giving  to  his  neck  a  better 
curve,  he  seems  to  swell  with  pride  and 
self-complacency.  Some  in  the  grove 
or  on  the  margin  of  the  lake  repose. 
The  slender  peacock  walks  amongst 
C 


Rt-rrry  in  ihc  Garden  of  Plants. 


20 

them*  Then,  after  kindly  billing  with 
his  spouse,  he  raises  up  his  splendid 
circling  fan,  the  most  magnificent  the 
universe  can  boast,  observes  it  with  an 
eye  that  sparkles  with  delight,  looks  at 
it,  looks  again,  then  shakes  his  wings, 
and  screeches  out  his  hoarse  repulsive 
note  to  testify  his  ^ecstacy  of  pleasure. 

Yonder  sits  the  raven,  that  sad  por- 
tentous bird,  and  croaks  his  frightful 
note,  foreboding  woes  to  come:  the 
mighty  vulture  hears  the  welcome 
sound,  looks  round  with  eyes  of  flame, 
and  sharps  his  claws  preparing  for 
the  p*ey.  ^h6  chattering  jay,  the 
screeching  parrot,  and  the  siren  linnet, 
mind  not  these  ominous  forebodings. 
The  winking  stupid  owl,  that  hates 
the  light  of  day,  sits  solitary  sighing 
for  the  moon.  The  powerful  falcon 
sits  upon  his  perch,  lively,  as  though 
prepared  to  wing  his  airy  course  after 
the  rapid  whirls  of  flying  partridge,  or 
hasty  timorous  hare. 

These  small  inclosures  all  have  their 
inhabitants.  Some  browse  upon  their 
native  herbs,  and  find  solace  under 
those  trees  that  grow  spontaneous  on 
their  native  plains,  or  shady  wave  up- 
on their  mountain  tops. 

There  grazes  at  his  ease  the  noble 
stag,  and  spreads  the  branchy  honours 
of  his  head  ;  here  dwells  the  fleet,  the 
gentle,  timid,  mountain  roe,  that  seems 
to  have  forgot  its  Alpine  solitudes,  and 
flies  no  longer  from  the  face  of  man. 
The  audacious  goat  presents  his  horny 
head,  and  learns  the  little  ones  to  butt 
and  play.  The  sheep,  of  various  races, 
various  lands,  like  travellers  in  their 
native  costume,  here  appear.  This 
comes  from  where  the  overflowing 
Nile  rolls  over  his  slimy  bed  his  thou- 
sand waves,  backward  beating  the  sea 
with  such  recoil,  that  Neptune's  eme- 
rald throne  owns  for  a  moment  the 
tremendous  shock.  The  other  owns 
a  far  more  distant  land :  his  fathers 
dwelt  where  Africa  presents,  in  proud 
disdain,  a  towering  barrier  to  the 
•Southern  Ocean;  and  spreads  a  table 
high  and  broad,  where  all  the  Gods 
that  on  Olympus  dwelt,  or  wild  ima- 
gination ever  knew,  might  feast  and 
revel  in  licentious  mood,  nor  want  suf- 
ficient space. 

Within  that  hollow  den  the  tusky 
boar  lives  with  his  family  ;  he  wallows 
in  the  mire,  like  all  his  filthy  race,  to 
eool  his  burning  skin,  then  shakes  him- 
self,  displays  his  horrid  teeth,  and 
bristles  up  his  mane,  to  show  how  ter- 


CApril, 


rible  he  is  when  roused.  .Near  him 
the  bear  plays  off  his  clumsy  tricks  r 
he  gently  tumbles  down  upon  his 
back,  and  grasps  his  hinder  paws,  and 
mounting  on  his  pole  up  to  the  very 
top,  stands  like  a  mighty  lubber  look- 
ing round  to  find  applause ;  then,  slow 
and  cautiously  descending,  after  he 
has  reached  the  ground,  he  drags  along 
his  great  unwieldy  bulk,  and  like  some 
petty  lap-dog,  sits  him  down  with  arms 
extended  wide,  and  gaping  jaws,  to 
catch  the  little  morsel  he  has  earned. 
How  mild  and  docile  he  seems  f  and 
yet  he  pardoned  not  the  daring  soldier 
who  went  into  his  den  for  love  of  gain. 

That  loud  tremendous  roar  of  Af- 
ric's  brindled  lion,  mixed  with  the 
yelping  of  the  eager  fox,  and  howling 
of  the  hungry,  discontented  wolf, 
thrills  on  the  vital  chords  that  touch 
the  heart,  inspiring  terror.  How  aw- 
ful, were  it  heard  on  Afric's  burning 
plains,  rousing  the  weary  traveller  from 
his  short  repose,  with  humid  brow, 
with  parched  and  trembling  lip,  with 
burning  veins  and  hollow  languid  eye, 
without  a  shelter  or  the  means  of 
flight !  though  here  it  is  harmless  and 
innocent  as  the  bleating  of  the  lamb, 
the  troubled  air  forgets  not  to  perform 
her  functions  in  giving  notice  of  the 
dreadful  sound. 

But  let  me  have  one  glimpse  of  these 
terrific  forms,  whose  awful  voice  makes 
animated  nature  tremble.  The  rest- 
less leopard  walks  from  side  to  side, 
shows  his  spotted  clothing,  then  stops 
short,  and  sets  his  piercing  eyes,  and 
squats  him  down  as  though  prepared 
to  take  the  murderous  spring.  No, 
children,  do  not  fly,  there  is  no  dan- 
ger ;  these  bars  would  hold  him  though 
his  powerful  muscles  were  strong 
enough  to  raise  him  to  the  clouds. 
The  porcupine  embattled  sits  encir- 
cled with  his  spears,  ready  at  once  for 
close  attack  or  distant  missile  war. 
The  rest,  except  that  grumbling  fierce 
hysena,  are  hushed  in  silence.  What 
cannot  time  and  human  art  perform  ! 
Look  how  that  mighty  lion,  with 
horrid  shaggy  mane  and  outstretched 
paws,  lies  slumbering  in  his  den,  and 
in  his  bosom  fearless  lies  the  dog : 
man's  mightiest  enemy,  and  kindest 
truest  friend  of  all  the  animals  in  na- 
ture's wide  domain,  united  in  the  cor- 
dial bonds  of  peace. 

What  is  this  ticket  larger  than  the 
others  that  bear  the  names  of  all  these 
plants  ?  (C  These  Medicinal  Plants  are 


1881.3 


Revery  in  the  Garden  of  Plants* 


cultivated  here  fortheuse  of  the  Poor." 
This  is  good  indeed !  In  this  immense 
profusion  of  nature's  stores  and  rari- 
ties, how  kind  to  think  but  for  a  mo- 
ment of  the  poor !  How  few  in  this 
wide  world  of  pride,  of  tyranny,  of 
grasping  avaricious  selfishness,  think 
of  the  sorrows  of  the  suffering  poor  ! 
who,  swelling  in  their  gorgeous  shows 
of  state,  groaning  beneath  the  burthen 
of  their  wealth,  the  produce  of  the  poor 
man's  sweat,  and  labour  of  his  hands, 
dare  think  at  all  of  such  a  despicable 
being?  Yet  there  are  some  who  see  with 
purer  light,  who  see  that  men  are  equal 
in  their  nature  and  their  rights ;  that 
those  who  enjoy  a  brighter  intellect  or 
more  liberal  fortune,  must  use  their 
influence  to  make  men  happy,  or  be 
unjust.  Andicould  you,  laurelled  Blu- 
cher,  think  but  for  a  moment,  to  place 
your  lawless  army  on  this  sacred  spot.! 
Alas,  your  laurels  here  had  perished 
like  opening  buds  before  the  northern 
blast!  Here  wisdom  has  laid  up  her 
stores,  here  sages  long  have  toiled,  and 
bright  persuasive  eloquence  has  flowed 
to  spread  the  light  of  science  over  the 
world. 

There,  keeper,  take  your  fee,  and 
let  me  pass  the  bridge  of  Austerlitz. 
It  has  no  fault  except  the  name. 

Strange,  must  it  for  ever  be,  that 
one  man's  honour  is  another's  shame ! 
Must  these  proud  monuments  of  one 
nation's  glory  be  raised  to  throw  dis- 
grace upon  another  ?  Whereis  the  me- 
rit, if  we  can  only  boast  the  weakness, 
or  the  crimes,  or  the  mistakes  of  our 
opponents  in  the  race  of  fame  and  strife 
for  empire?  I  fear  the  merit  is  but 
small  on  either  side.  For  he  who  loses 
lays  the  blame  on  fate ;  and  he  who 
gains  applauds  himself,  his  well-laid 
schemes,  and  daring  execution.  So  thus 
alternately  we  ovfiijree  will  and  fate, 
according  as  they  suit  our  purpose. 

There,  there  is  the  place  where  stood 
that  dreadful  pile  that  frowned  on 
groaning  France,  unable  to  sustain  the 
load  of  slavery.  But  Liberty  once  rous- 
ed— O  glorious  Liberty  !  the  Bastile 
sunk  a  mass  of  ruins,  and  all  her 
dungeons,  dark  resounding  cells,  and 
clanking  chains,  and  sounds  of  woe, 
ceased  to  exist  for  ever.  No  man  now 
with  an  iron  mask  is  there  complain- 
ing of  the  cruelty  of  his  inexorable  ty- 
rants, who,  not  content  to  rob  him  of 
his  li ber  ty,  perm  itted  not  even  his  visage 
to  be  seen,  except  by  dark  and  gloomy 


21 

walls,  that  tell  no  tales  of  sufferings  or 
crimes.  No  miserable  wretch  is  now 
dividing  his  small  pittance  with  the 
mice,  in  kind  return  for  their  welcome 
company:  No  lonely  sorrowing  soul, 
within  his  solitary  loathsome  dungeon, 
obliged  to  spend  his  weary  lingering 
days  in  training  spiders  on  the  dusty 
walls,  to  keep  the  mind  from  losing  all 
its  powers,  or  bursting  into  madness. 
How  well  for  man  were  all  these  dread- 
ful ills  banished  for  ever  from  our  mor- 
tal sphere,  to  visit  it  no  more !  But  ty- 
rants still  will  reign,  by  whatsoever 
name  they  may  be  called;  and  suffer- 
ing humanity  still  will  weep,  and  give 
its  plaintive  murmurs  to  the  winds, 
that  dare  not  whisper  them  too  loud  on 
the  oppressor's  car,  because  he  is  en- 
gaged, and  must  not  be  disturbed. 

Here  is  a  funeral ;  come,  let  me  fol- 
low it  to  where  the  wicked  cease  from 
troubling.  How  few  the  mourners  are ! 
and  even  those  few  do  not  seem  sad. 
They  only  wear  the  garb  of  sorrow. 
Perhaps  the  departed  was  poor,  or  little 
known,  or  useless  to  society.  Perhaps 
he  was  a  stranger  j  like  me,  a  poor  ne- 
glected solitary  stranger,  a  lonely  wan- 
derer in  a  foreign  land ;  deprived  of  all 
the  ties  of  blood,  and  claims  of  friend- 
ship, that  sweeten  social  life,  that  fond- 
ly try  to  throw  a  veil  upon  our  errors, 
and  eagerly  attempt  to  render  less  se- 
vere the  rugged  gloomy  passage  to  the 
tomb.  Perhaps  he  was — but  no,  no 
more;  conjectures  here  are  vain  :  the 
Cemetery  of  Pere  la  Chaise  presents  a 
place  of  rest  and  silence  to  the  benight- 
ed pilgrim,  to  whom  all  other  cares  are 
now  superfluous.  The  narrow  house 
now  opens  to  receive  its  new  inhabi- 
tant. Our  mother  earth,  like  a  kind 
parent,  receives  again  her  weary  child 
into  her  lap,  and  spreads  around  his 
head  such  solemn  stillness,  that  burst- 
ing worlds  might  roar  in  wild  convul- 
sive thunders  round  his  bed,  without 
infringing  on  his  deep  repose.  Yes ; 
liere  is  one  friend  still  left.  See  how 
that  spaniel  leaps  into  the  grave,  and 
will  not  quit  his  master.  Menaces  are 
not  enough ;  he  will  not  stir :  he  must 
be  torn  out  by  force.  The  grave  is 
closed,  and  yet  he  will  not  quit  it.  He 
scrapes  away  the  earth,  and  mourns 
with  such  a  lamentable  voice,  he  almost 
makes  me  weep.  Now,  though  bound, 
and  drawn  away  by  force,  he  still  looks 
back  with  eager  eye  upon  the  spot. 
What  strange  fidelity  is  this !  It  seems 


Rcvery  in  tht  Garden  of  Plants. 


CApril, 


beyond  the  powers  of  instinct.  I  do 
not  understand  it.  1  leave  it  then  to 
you,  ye  mighty  reasoners,  who  count, 
or  think  you  count,  the  links  of  that 
infinite  chain,  from  man  up  to  the  great 


First  Cause,  and  down  again  to  the 
smallest  atoms  of  uninformed  matter. 
This  place  is  singular ;  I  feel  oppress- 
ed with  reverential  awe,  and  mournful 
thoughts  that  crowd  upon  my  soul. 


ODE  WRITTEN  IN  THE  CEMETERY  op  PERE  LA  CHAISE. 


THE  evening  mild,  the  sky  serene, 

The  zephyrs  through  these  poplars  whis- 
pering low, 
And  all  around  this  solemn  scene 

That  gives  the  mind  a  melancholy  glow, 
My  weary,  wandering  steps  retain, 
Where  peace,  and  rest,  and  silence  reign. 

Declining  nature  feels  decay, 

Touch'd   by   October's    ever-withering 

hand; 

Her  fruits,  her  flowers,  her  foliage  gay, 
That  Spring  disclosed,  and  Summer  saw 

expand, 

She  sheds,  and  soon  her  smiling  facs 
Turns  pale  in  Winter's  cold  embrace. 

Paris,  expanded  to  the  eye, 

Her  barriers  wide  and  palaces  displays ; 
Her  lofty  towers  that  kiss  the  sky, 

Receive  the  tribute  of  a  parting  blaze, 
Ere  yet  the  sinking  sun  retires 
To  western  worlds  with  all  his  fires. 

Paris,  thou  type  of  ancient  Rome, 
Thou  haughty  queen  of  arts  and  nurse 
of  war, 

In  thee  bright  science  finds  a  home, 

Youth  enveloped  in  clouds,  a  leading  star, 

Whose  rays  the  mystic  paths  explore 

Of  wondrous  worlds  unknown  before. 

In  thee  the  gamester  dwells  secure ; 

Venus,  led  by  the  dance,  the  song,  the 

lyre, 
Unblushing  vends  her  joys  impure, 

And  many  virtues  in  her  arms  expire : 
But  here  no  more  her  incense  burns 
Midst  graves  and  monumental  urns. 

Paris,  behold  thy  kindred  dust ! 
Here  poets,  heroes,  friends,  and  lovers 

sleep. 

Canst  thou  a  tear  spare  for  the  just  ? 
Or  hast  thou  charged  the  stone  for  thee  to 

weep  ? 

And  taught  with  care  the  doleful  yew 
To  bear  thy  sorrows  ever  new  ? 

Here  sleeps  Delille,  his  harp  at  rest : 
There  Heloisa,  with  her  sage  of  yore, 

Their  loves  rejoin'd,  their  wrongs  redrest, 
By  envy's  poison'd  shafts  assaiTd  no 
more. 

Oppression  here  in  vain  would  try 

To  draw  a  tear  or  force  a  sigh. 

That  little  cross,  that  snaw-white  rose, 
Emblem  of  virtue,  innocence,  and  youth, 

Tell  where  the  mortal  spoils  repose, 
Of  beauty  adorn'd  by  piety  and  truth  : 

A  simple  tomb  !  but  want  could  spare 

No  more  to  tell  a  mother's  care, 


A  mother's  hope,  a  mother's  woe  ; 

Reft  of  her  last  sadhold  to  life — her  child, 
And,  like  a  reed  amid  the  snow, 

Bending  beneath  the  storms  of  winter 

wild. 

Real,  undisguised  affliction  here, 
Sheds  on  the  grave  a  bitter  tear. 

That  sculptured  figure  seems  to  weep, 
In  graceful  attitude  of  studied  grief 

Watching  a  husband's  final  sleep  ; 
But  gilded  sorrows  often  find  relief 

Where  graves  must  never  spread  alarms, 

To  wound  a  youthful  widow's  charms. 

What  dost  thou  here,  imperious  pride  ? 

Must  then  the  virtues  of  the  dead  be  told 
In  this  abode  where  worms  reside 

And  reign  supreme,  in  letters  writ  with 

gold  ? 

No  pious  rites  thy"  labours  crave 
To  gild  the  borders  of  the  grave. 

Death  mocks  thy  care,  and  scorns  thy  rage ; 
He  clips  ambition's  wing,  and  lays  him 

low ; 
Gathers  the  spoils  of  age  to  age, 

Heaps  up  confused  the  wreck  of  friend 

and  foe, 

And  from  amid  the  ruins  high 
He  throws  his  dart,  and  nations  die. 

What  marble  tomb  attracts  my  view, 
That  seems  to  scorn  the  wasting  hand  of 
time, 

Bearing  its  sculptured  honours  new, 
And  solid  pyramidal  front  sublime  ? 

Ah  !  is  Massena  then  no  more, 

His  sword  then  sheathed,  his  battles  o'er  ? 

And  so  thou  scaled  the  Alps,  and  bore 
Terror  and  ruin  o'er  Italia's  plains, 

Saw  proud  Germania  drunk  with  gore, 
And   trembling   Lusitania  dread   thy 
chains : 

For  what  ?  to  hide  thee  here,  and  never 
Wrake  more  the  voice  of  war  for  ever. 

Here, too,  THE  BRAVEST  ov  THE  BRAVE 
Lies  low,  wrapp'd  in  obscurity  and  shame ; 

No  flower  breathes  fragrance  o'er  his  grave, 
Nor  simplest  monument  relates  his  name: 

He  rose,  he  shone,  his  course  was  bright 

As  meteor's  glare  on  brow  of  night. 

What  sound  is  that  I  hear  ?  the  sigh 
Plaintive  it  seem  s  of  some  departed  shade : 

Ah  no  !  look  there  ;  the  smother'd  cry 
Yet  heaves  the  bosom  of  that  love-sick 
maid. 

See  how,  convulsed,  her  tender  heart 

Laments  its  better,  dearer  part. 


Ode  Written  in  the  Cemetery  of  PC  re  la  Chaise. 


The  garland  wove  with  tender  hand 

She  lays  upon  her  lover's  lowly  bed  : 
Hoping  with  time  it  may  expand, 

She  plants  the  honour'd  laurel  o'er  his 

head. 
What  hand  pourtray,  what  tongue  could 

tell 
The  anguish  of  that  last  farewell ! 

She  quits  the  grave  as  if  unseen. 

Now  let  me  read  who  silent  dwells  be- 
low. 

"  Sleep,  my  Eugenio — thou  hast  been 
The  brightness  of  my  soul — that  now 

shall  know 

Nor  ray  of  hope,  nor  pleasure  shine 
Till  Julia's  heart  is  cold  as  thine." 

O  simple,  pleasing  Lafontaine, 

O  Moliere,  prince  of  the  comic  muse, 

Before  your  tombs  who  can  refrain, 
Or  who  the  tribute  of  a  sigh  refuse 

To  brilliant  genius  slumbering  laid 

in  night's  impenetrable  shade ! 


The  stars  of  night  advance  apace, 

In  idlent  majesty  they  make  their^way. 

My  prying  eyes  can  hardly  trace 

These  names  of  generations  pass'd  away, 

Here  in  oblivion's  mantle  rolTd, 

Forgot — as  tales  that  have  been  told. 

But  ye  are  not  forgot,  ye  few 

Whose  modest  virtues,  from  the  world 

retired, 
Sought  not  the  glare  of  public  view  ; 

Whose  deeds  of  purest  charity  inspired 
Th'  afflicted  soul,  the  poor  to  bear 
Their  load  of  misery  and  care. 

To  heavenly  harps  your  lofty  praise, 

Amid  the  silence  of  your  sleep  profound, 
Angelic  voices  pure  shall  raise  ; 

And   you  shall  be  with  lasting  glory 

crown'd, 

Glory  immortal,  as  your  beings  pure, 
When  these  material  worlds  no  more  en- 
dure. 


GRAHAM  S  MEMOIKS  OF   POUSSIN. 


THIS  is  an  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive little  volume,  and  ought  to  be  read 
with  attention  by  every  student  of  paint- 
ing, who  is  anxious  to  rise  to  distinc- 
tion in  his  art.  It  is  written  in  an  easy 
and  familiar  manner,  and  reflects  cre- 
dit on  Mrs  Graham's  good  taste  and 
critical  discrimination.  To  these  qua- 
lifications, so  necessary  to  the  success 
of  her  undertaking,  the  authoress  ap- 
pears to  add,  in  speaking  of  British  art- 
ists, a  degree  of  candour  and  liberali- 
ty, which  it  is  not  often  our  good  for- 
tune to  meet  with  in  the  strictures  of 
modern  connoiseurs ;  it  was,  therefore, 
with  peculiar  pleasure  that  we  perused 
the  following  passage,  which,  coming 
from  a  person  who  appears  so  well  qua- 
lified to  judge  in  such  matters,  we  se- 
lect with  real  satisfaction  from  the  pre- 
face.— "  The  English  school  of  paint- 
ing, though  far  inferior  to  either  the 
first  or  second  splendid  periods  of  Ita- 
lian art,  is  now  the  best  in  Europe.  It 
has  fewer  faults.  For  the  truth  of  this 
the  Academy  may  appeal  with  confi- 
dence to  the  thousands  of  Englishmen 
who  have  lately  visited  the  continent, 
and  looked  impartially  at  the  foreign 
exhibitions.  The  German  artists  have 
the  best  feeling  abroad ;  they  imitate 
the  old  masters,  but  have  mistaken  re- 
verse of  wrong  for  right ;  and  avoiding 
the  extravagant  action,  glaring  colour, 
and  false  feeling  of  the  French,  they 


have  adopted  babyish  simplicity.  The 
Italians  are  nothing  in  painting.  The 
example  of  Canova  has  drawn  all  the 
rising  talent  of  his  countrymen  towards 
sculpture  ;  and  there  is  not  a  painter 
in  Italy,  who,  in  the  various  provinces 
of  art,  can  compare  with  any  one  of  our 
academicians;  not  to  speak  of  the  splen- 
did talents  we  possess  unconnected  with 
•  the  Academy." 

In  writing  the  memoirs  of  so  illustri- 
ous and  excellent  a  man,  as  Nicholas 
Poussin,  we  can  readily  imagine  that 
our  axithoress  required  no  other  stimu- 
lus than  the  "  pleasure"  she  must  have 
derived  from  the  employment,  and  the 
consciousness  she  must  have  felt  of  the 
utility  of  her  labours  to  the  rising  ge- 
neration of  artistsan  her  own  country, 
by  placing  before  their  view,  in  strong 
and  vivid  colours,  the  bright  example 
of  one  of  the  most  eminent  characters 
that  has  ever  adorned  the  art  of  paint- 
ing. With  the  single  exception  of  co- 
louring, we  know  of  no  artist,  either 
modern  or  ancient,  who  can  be  so  safe- 
ly relied  on,  by  the  young  student,  as  a 
faithful  and  unerring  guide  in  the  de- 
vious and  perilous  road  to  excellence ; 
in  saying  this,  however,  we  would  not 
be  understood  as  recommending  the 
mere  copying  of  his  works,  nor  the 
imitation  of  his  manner,  nor  the  adop- 
tion of  the  peculiar  medium  through 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  view  the 


*  Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  Nicholai  Poussin. 
and  Co.     London,  1820. 


By  Maria  Graham.     8vo.     Longman 


Memoirs  of  Povssin. 


(Z  April, 


various  objects  of  art  and  nature.  We 
wish  to  direct  the  attention  of  the  stu- 
dent merely  to  a  deep  study  of  his 
works,  to  the  principles  on  which  they 
are  composed,  and  above  all  to  the  di- 
ligence and  patient  perseverance  which, 
under  circumstances  of  peculiar  dif- 
ficulty, enabled  him  finally  to  triumph 
over  the  various  obstacles,  by  which  ca- 
price, bad  taste,  and  malevolence,  at- 
tempted to  arrest  his  course.  Those  art- 
ists who  are  anxious  to  acquire  the  ge- 
neral rudiments  of  art,  will  derive  one 
great  advantage  from  serious  reflection 
on  the  works  and  example  of  Poussin— 
whatever  they  may  acquire  from  him 
maybe  considered  as  real  gain,  for  they 
will  at  least  have  nothing  of  it  to  un- 
learn in  their  after  progress.  His  style 
indeed  does  not  abound  with  many  of 
those  captivating  graces  which  distin- 
guish the  Flemish,  Venetian,  and  some 
other  schools  ;  but  it  is  founded  on  the 
solid  basis  of  industry  and  nature,  and 
is  admirably  adapted  to  restrain,  with- 
in due  bounds,  the  exuberance  and  im- 
patience of  the  youthful  mind,  always 
prone  to  catch  at  every  faithless  guide, 
whose  flowery  path  allures  by  its  faci- 
lity, and  the  hope  of  gaining  a  shorter 
and  more  pleasurable  road  to  excel- 
lence. Warmly,  however,  as  we  ad- 
mire the  works  of  Poussin,  and  sincere- 
ly as  we  respect  his  memory,  we  hope 
we  shall  not  be  suspected,  from  any 
thing  we  have  said,  of  a  wish  to  over- 
rate his  talents  and  genius,  by  placing 
them  on  a  level  with  the  far  mightier 
powers  of  Angelo,  Raphael,  and  some 
others  of  the  great  Italian  masters; 
we  are  viewing  him,  in  the  present  in- 
stance, more  in  the  light  of  a  safe  in- 
structor of  genius,  than  as  possessing 
Jirst  rate  genius  mmself,  and  we  to- 
tally disagree  with  Mrs  Graham  in 
thinking  that  his  works  at  all  prove 
that  "  grandeur  of  thought  and  design, 
expression  and  correctness,  are  inde- 
pendent on  the  size  of  the  canvas  on 
which  he  was  to  work."  The  fact  is,  if 
we  except  correctness,  few  pictures  of 
Poussin  possess  any  of  these  qualities 
in  an  eminent  degree.  His  landscapes 
undoubtedly  shew,  in  many  instances, 
considerable  grandeur  of  thought  and 
design ;  but  in  the  great  mass  of  his 
historical  compositions,  few  of  his  in- 
dividual figures  rise  above  common  na- 
ture ;  and  perhaps,  in  the  majority  of 
his  subjects,  and  in  the  walk  of  art 
which  he  followed,  for  the  most  part 


purely  historical,  it  was  not  necessary, 
and  probably  would  have  been  impro- 
per, to  have  introduced  into  his  com- 
positions the  ideal  forms  and  lofty  con- 
ceptions of  Raphael  and  Michael  An- 
gelo. Poussin  has  been  called  the 
"  Painter  of  Philosophers."  He  might 
have  been  designated  with  more  truth 
The  Painter  of  Propriety.  He  did  not 
fix  his  standard  on  the  highest  pinacle 
of  art,  but  having  selected  a  more  hum- 
ble station,  it  is  his  great  praise  that 
he  accomplished  more  completely,  than 
almost  any  other  artist,  the  objects 
which  it  was  his  ambition  to  attain. 
From  his  earliest  years  he  appears  to 
have  been  blessed  with  a  calm  philoso- 
phical mind,  free  from  strong  passions, 
but  replete  with  energy,  and  with  an 
amiable  and  contented  disposition, 
which  enabled  him  to  live  in  amity 
with  his  fellow  men,  to  circumscribe 
his  wants,  and  to  concentrate  the  whole 
force  of  his  mind  upon  his  professional 
pursuits.  These  rare  endowments  ap- 
pear at  an  early  age  to  have  afforded 
him  an  almost  intuitive  power  of  dis- 
covering that  Kne  of  art  best  suited 
to  his  capacity,  from  the  strength  and 
simplicity  of  which  he  was  never  led 
aside,  either  by  the  blandishments  of 
colouring  and  effect,  or  the  more  dig- 
nified attractions  of  the  highest  depart- 
ments of  painting.  From  the  study  of 
the  works  of  almost  every  artist  of  emi- 
nence, he  appears  indeed  to  have  ob- 
tained occasionally  useful  hints,  which 
he  dexterously  interwove  with  his  own 
peculiar  style,  but  without  in  the 
slightest  degree  diminishing  its  origi- 
nality. His  pictures,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  those  of  a  very  few  distinguish- 
ed artists,  possess  greater  unison,  in 
their  respective  parts,  than  the  produc- 
tions of  any  other  painter.  Whether 
his  subject  partook  of  the  "  gay,  the 
lively,  or  severe,"  he  uniformly  made  it 
his  successful  care  not  to  impair  the 
general  character,  that  ought  to  pervade 
the  whole,  by  the  introduction  of  ex- 
traneous or  inconsistent  matter.  Per- 
haps he  occasionally  carried  this  prin- 
ciple too  for ;  when,  with  a  view  of 
giving  his  picture  locality  and  an  air 
of  antiquity,  he  has  been  led,  as  in  his 
exposing  of  Moses,  into  anachronisms, 
for  which  his  greatest  admirers  find  it 
difficult  to  assign  an  excuse. 

We  perfectly  agree  with  our  author- 
ess and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  in  think- 
ing that  Poussin's  genius  is  displayed 


1821.^ 


Memoirs  ofPoux.iin. 


to  the  greatest  advantage  when  em- 
ployed upon  subjects  taken  from  the 
tales  and  bacchanalian  fables  of  the 
ancient  authors.  In  these  luxurious 
scenes,  his  imagination  seems  to  "wan- 
ton at  will."  His  nymphs,  satyrs,  and 
bacchanals  are  the  very  natives  of  the 
woods  and  wilds  described  in  classic 
story, — nothing  reminds  us  of  civiliza- 
tion, or  of  modern  customs  and  man- 
ners. The  whole  scene  is  jollity,  ani- 
mation, and  liberty,  while  the  excel- 
lent and  appropriate  landscapes,  which 
he  uniformly  introduces  in  his  back- 
grounds, give  a  charm,  and  a  classical 
truth  to  the  representation,  which  is 
perhaps  not  to  be  met  with  in  the  works 
of  any  other  artist  in  similar  subjects. 
Rubens  and  Julio  Romano  in  stories  of 
this  nature,  may  possibly  have  display- 
ed in  their  figures  equal,  if  not  supe- 
rior, genius  ;  but  they  are  frequently 
so  grossly  indelicate  and  licentious,  that 
the  spectator  turns  from  their  produc- 
tions with  horror.  The  good  taste  and 
refinement  of  Poussin,  preserved  him 
from  falling  into  such  inexcusable 
faults,  and  render  his  pictures  gene- 
rally unexceptionable,  in  subjects  even 
where  there  exists  the  greatest  danger 
of  violating  propriety.  His  serious  sub- 
jects, from  profane  and  sacred  history, 
discover  the  profound  knowledge  he 
possessed  of  the  principles  of  his  art. 
In  no  one  of  its  departments  can  he  be 
said  to  be  greatly  defective ;  for  though 
his  colour  is  often  dark  and  crude,  and 
sometimes  offensively  so,  yet  many 
brilliant  exceptions  occur  in  his  works, 
in  which  it  is  not  only  light  and  har- 
monious, but  admirably  adapted  to  the 
subject.  It  is,  indeed,  very  difficult  to 
account  for  this  singular  inequality, 
which  is  too  apparent  in  the  works  of 
Poussin,  to  escape  the  observation  of 
the  most  careless  observer.  In  land- 
scape, his  tones  and  colouring  are  al- 
most invariably  excellent,  and  we  can, 
therefore,  scarcely  attribute  to  a  defect 
of  age,  this  strange  disregard  of  every 
principle  of  colour,  which  occasionally 
injures  and  disfigures  his  happiest  com- 
positions. In  all  other  respects  he  must 
be  considered  as  an  artist  of  a  superior, 
if  not  of  the  highest,  order.  His  style, 
indeed,  does  not  admit  of  the  daring 
flights  of  the  Florentine  and  Roman 
schools  ;  but,  as  far  as  it  goes,  it  com- 
bines a  greater  number  of  excellencies, 
with  fewer  defects,  than  that  of  most 
other  painters.  His  works  and  example 
may  be  regarded  as  an  academy  in 


themselves  alone,  for  any  one  who  has 
the  capacity  to  understand  their  great 
and  various  merit,  and  courage  enough 
to  persevere  in  his  principles  of  study. 
Foussin's  forms,  in  both  sexes,  seldom, 
if  ever,  rise  above  common  nature^ 
The  countenances  of  his  women  are 
rarely  beautiful,  and  their  expression 
not  unfrequently  partakes,  too  largely, 
of  the  affectation  and  grimace  of  his 
own  country  women,  to  harmonize  with 
the  antique  and  philosophical  cast  of 
many  of  his  serious  subjects.  Perhaps, 
too,  in  some  of  his  compositions,  he 
falls  under  the  censure  which  our  au- 
thoress has  passed,  somewhat  justly, 
upon  many  of  our  English  artists ; 
though  she  assigns  a  reason  for  their 
practice  which  cannot  apply  to  Poussin, 
"  Hitherto,  with  the  exception  of  very 
few  instances,  our  English  artists  have 
been  too  much  a  people  by  themselves. 
If  they  look  to  nature  for  action  or  ex- 
pression, it  is  to  the  exaggerated  action 
and  expression  of  the  stage,  or  the 
mean  and  sordid  action  and  expression 
of  vulgar  life,  that  they  have  been  dri- 
ven. Hence,  in  part,  the  failure  in 
most  of  our  historical  pictures ;  exag- 
geration on  the  one  hand,  and  want  of 
dignity  on  the  other."  P.  23.  It  must, 
however,  be  acknowledged,  that  several 
of  Poussin's  best  works  are  quiteexempt 
from  the  charge  of  theatrical  effect, 
though,  speaking  generally  of  them, 
we  think  he  has  not  altogether  escaped 
the  contagion  of  the  French  school, 
which,  from  its  first  establishment 
down  to  the  present  day,  has  been 
uniformly  marked  by  a  mean  servility 
to  fashion  and  theatrical  pageantry,  to 
the  total  exclusion  nearly  of  elevated 
thought,  and  of  the  simple  and  gene- 
ral principles  of  nature.  This  being 
the  case,  it  is  not  surprising  that  Pous- 
ein  should  have  reached  his  45th  year 
before  he  was  called  to  any  employment 
in  his  native  country  worthy  of  his 
great  talents,  or  that,  during  his  stay, 
his  life  should  have  been  embittered, 
and  all  his  plans  thwarted,  by  the  in- 
trigues, thejealousies,  and  cabals  which 
finally  drove  him  out  of  France.  It 
is  really  melancholy  to  follow  Mrs 
Graham  in  her  detail  of  the  many  vex- 
atious circumstances,  and  petty  perse- 
cutions, which  assailed  this  great  and 
excellent  man  during  what  may  almost 
be  denominated  his  exile  in  his  native 
land. — "  They  employ  me,"  says  Pous- 
sin, "  for  ever  in  trifles,  such  as  fron- 
tispieces for  books,  designs  for  orna- 


26  Memoirs 

mental  cabinets,  chimney-pieces,  bind- 
ings for  books,  and  other  nonsense. 
Sometimes,  indeed, they  propose  grand- 
er subjects  ;  but,  fair  words  butter  no 
parsnips  !"  And  again  ; — "  I  assure 
you,  that  if  I  stay  long  in  this  country, 
I  must  turn  dauber  like  the  rest  here ; 
as  to  study  and  observation,  either  of 
the  antique  or  any  thing  else,  they  are 
unknown  ;  and  whoever  wishes  to  stu- 
dy or  excel  must  go  far  from  hence." 
— "  I  am  now  at  work  upon  the  pic- 
ture for  the  noviciate  of  the  Jesuits ; 
it  is  very  krge,  containing  fourteen 
figures  larger  than  nature, — and  this 
they  want  me  to  finish  in  two  months." 
To  a  mind  constituted  like  Poussin's, 
we  can  conceive  nothing  more  insup- 
portable than  this  eternal  whirl  of  hur- 
ry, impertinence,  and  frivolity ;  nor 
ought  it  to  be  wondered  at,  that,  so  cir- 
cumstanced, he  should  have  felt  eager, 
in  spite  of  the  royal  favour,  to  quit  so 


ofPoussin.  II  April, 

irksome  a  scene  for  the  calm  and  dig- 
nified quiet  that  awaited  his  arrival  at 
Home,  and  which  it  was  his  good  for- 
tune to  enjoy,  undisturbed,  through- 
out the  remainder  of  his  distinguish- 
ed and  honourable  life.  To  the  Me- 
moirs, our  authoress  has  added  two 
dialogues  by  Fenelon  on  two  of  Pous- 
sin's pictures,  together  with  a  cata- 
logue of  his  principal  paintings.  The 
latter  is  a  valuable  and  useful  addition 
to  the  work :  as  to  the  former,  they 
might  have  been  very  well  spared ;  they 
do  not  contain  an  accurate  "  descrip- 
tion" even  of  the  pictures  which  it  was 
the  author's  intention  to  have  critici- 
sed. 

Upon  the  whole,  however,  we  have 
received  much  pleasure  and  instruc- 
tion from  Mrs  Graham's  book,  and  have- 
no  hesitation  in  recommending  it  to 
the  attention  of  artists,  and  to  the  ge- 
nerality of  our  readers. 


ON  THE   CULTIVATION  AND  PATRONAGE  OF  BRITISH  AHT. 


Letter  First. 


SIR, 

THE  fine  arts  are,  unquestionably, 
among  the  sources  of  happiness  which 
it  was  the  gracious  intention  of  Provi- 
dence that  man  should  possess ;  and 
therefore  we  are  bound  to  believe  that, 
as  genius  is  one  of  the  most  precious 
gifts  of  Heaven,  it  is  a  duty  religiously 
incumbent  on  those  to  whom  it  has 
been  imparted,  or  who  are  entrusted 
with  its  early  direction,  to  see  that  the 
divine  present  be  neither  lost  by  a  to- 
tal neglect  of  timely  cultivation,  nor 
wastecl  by  the  misapplication  of  its 
wonderful  powers.  As  the  opinions  of 
men  of  high  reputation  in  the  arts  on 
this  important  subject,  must  be  allow- 
ed to  have  great  weight,  perhaps  what 
I  have  now  to  communicate,  may  not 
be  unworthy  of  attention. 

It  is  my  good  fortune,  Mr  Editor,  to 
have  a  son  who  has  been  thus  favour- 
ed, being  possessed  of  talents,  which, 
if  carefully  cultivated,  would,  I  have 
no  doubt,  ensure  to  him  a  name  among 
the  most  distinguished  artists  of  this, 
or,  1  will  not  scruple  to  say,  of  any 
other  country.  Under  this  conviction, 
and  urged  by  the  entreaties  of  my  dear 
boy,  I  lately  applied  to  an  Artist  of  emi- 
nence to  request  the  favour  of  his  ad- 
vice, as  to  the  most  prudent  mode  of 
proceeding,  so  ai  to  make  sure  of  the 


accomplishment  of  my  hopes.  Having 
explained  to  him  the  purpose  of  my  vi- 
sit, I  produced  several  specimens  of  my 
son's  abilities  in  drawing,  in  painting, 
and  also,  in  order  to  shew  the  strength 
and  fertility  of  his  imagination,  several 
attempts  in  original  composition.  He 
appeared  to  be  much  pleased ;  acknow- 
ledged they  contained  incontestible  evi- 
dence of  very  superior  endowments,  and 
entirely  concurred  with  me  in  thinking, 
that,  with  due  cultivation,  aided,  as  he 
expressed  it,  "  with  such  advantages 
as  were  necessary  to  their  complete  de- 
velopement  and  full  effect,"  the  result 
must  be  honourable  to  himself  and  his 
country. 

Delighted  and  encouraged  with  the 
favourable  issue  of  this  examination,  I 
took  the  liberty  to  request  the  obliging 
professor  to  tell  me  briefly  what  course 
he  would  advise  us  to  take,  and  parti- 
cularly what  should  be  our  first  steps, 
that  future  success  might  not  be  en- 
dangered by  an  injudicious  commence- 
ment. "  That  I  will  do,'  said  he, 
"  with  pleasure,  and  I  account  myself 
fortunate  in  the  opportunity  you  afford 
me  to  be  useful  to  you  and  your  inge- 
nious son,  in  a  concern  of  such  impor- 
tance. Much," continued  he,  "depends 
on  early  impressions :  let  him  therefore 
have  the  benefit  of  the  best  advice  at 


On  tfo  Cultivation  and  Patronage  of  British  Art. 


his  outset;  for  by  which,  not  only 
much  good  will  be  done,  but  much 
harm  prevented. — I  trust  the  young 
gentleman  has  been  liberally  educa- 
ted?" "  Sir,"  said  I,  "  most  liberal- 
ly. In  his  education,  no  expence  or 
trouble  has  been  spared  on  my  part, 
nor  application  on  his.  He  is  familiar 
with  ancient  literature,  and  Homer  is 
his  idol."  "  You  have  done  well,  sir," 
said  he,  "  in  storing  his  mind  with  the 
treasures  of  ancient  lore  ;  let  him  not 
be  deficient  in  the  languages  of  the  li- 
ving :  for  in  the  prosecution  of  his  pro- 
fessional studies,  he  will  have  much 
occasion  for  the  information  they  con- 
tain, as  well  as  the  means  they  afford 
of  general  communication."  I  assured 
him  that  these  had  not  been  neglect- 
ed ;  and  whatever  could  be  done  to 
improve  my  son  yet  more  in  that  spe- 
cies of  knowledge,  should  certainly  not 
be  omitted. 

Continuing  the  thread  of  his  in- 
structions, he  said,  "  Be  mindful,  as 
I  observed  before,  that  no  time  be  lost 
in  placing  the  youth  under  a  master 
of  high  professional  reputation  ;  one 
who  shall  be  not  less  distinguished  for 
his  genius  and  good  taste,  than  a  sound 
understanding  :  for  then  he  will  have 
at  once  the  important  advantages  of 
wise  instruction,  practically  illustrated 
by  the  best  examples  of  modern  art,  at 
a  time  when  they  will  be  most  effica- 
cious. During  the  early  period  of  his 
studies,  he  will  derive  great  and  lasting 
benefits  from  his  access  to  the  schools 
of  the  Royal  Academy.  In  that  noble 
Institution  he  will  have  an  opportuni- 
ty to  copy  the  finest  remains  of  ancient 
sculpture  ;  he  will  have  the  same  fa- 
cilities in  the  study  of  the  human  bo- 
dy, from  choice  examples  of  living  na- 
ture ;  he  will  hear  the  lectures  of  the 
several  Professors  on  painting,  sculp- 
ture, and  architecture  ;  and  in  the  li- 
brary of  that  establishment,  he  will 
find  books  and  prints  of  great  value, 
whence  he  will  collect  a  fund  of  useful 
and  interesting  information  on  a  va- 
riety of  subjects  connected  with  his 
main  object. — No  doubt,"  added  he, 
"  you  intend  your  son  shall  pursue  the 
art  in  its  highest  department — that  of 
historical  painting  ?  ' '  Certainly,"  I 
replied,  "  I  wish  him — and  it  is  also 
his  ambition,  presumptuous  as  it  may 
seem,  to  be  the  rival  of  Michael  An- 
gelo,  and  of  Raphael ;  and  if  there 
should  be  others  yet  njore  eminent, 

VOL.  IX. 


27 

those,  I  trust,  it  will  be  his  endeavour 
to  equal,  and,  if  possible,  to  excel." 
"  Such  desires,"  said  he,  "  are  no  evi- 
dence of  presumption  ;  they  are  natu- 
ral, and  what  is  more,  they  are  wise. 
Whoever  does  not  propose  to  attain  the 
summit  of  Parnassus,  will  never  reach 
the  mid- way.  It  would  be  cruel  in 
fortune  not  to  reward  as  richly  as  they 
deserve,  talents  so  promising,  and  am- 
bition so  laudable.  The  Royal  Esta- 
blishment, sir,  which  I  mentioned, 
confers  honorary  tokens — medals  of 
gold  and  silver,  upon  its  meritorious 
students ;  these  your  son  will  doubt- 
less receive ;  they  will  be  a  gratifying 
earnest  of  his  final  success ;  they  will 
be  gratifying  also  to  you,  and  moreover 
be  a  passport  into  the  world  :  the  pub- 
lic will  be  prepared  to  approve  the  more 
mature  works  of  a  genius  which,  in  its 
early  career,  had  been  honoured  by 
those  who  were  best  able  to  discover 
and  appreciate  its  claims.  Advancing  in 
his  academical  studies,  another  source 
of  improvement  offers  in  the  Greek 
marbles  of  the  National  Museum,  in 
which  he  will  find  rare  examples  of 
beautiful  form  and  beautiful  composi- 
tion, in  the  purest  taste.  Those  won- 
derful fragments  seem  to  have  been 
preserved  expressly  for  the  regenera- 
tion of  art.  The  world  has  nothing  in 
sculpture  of  equal  value. 

"  We  will  now  suppose  your  son  to 
have  completed  his  academical  labours; 
completed  also  the  stipulated  period  of 
tuition  under  the  direction  of  a  mas- 
ter, and  to  have  arrived  at  the  com- 
mencement of  a  new  course  of  study, 
in  which,  I  conclude,  you  are  prepa- 
red to  support  him, — I  mean  his  tra- 
vels on  the  Continent,  in  order  to  be- 
hold with  his  own  eyes  those  wonders 
of  genius,  which  he  has  hitherto  only 
heard  of  in  the  reports  of  artists,  or 
faintly  seen  in  wretched  imitations." 
"  It  is  my  determination,  sir,"  I  re- 
plied, "  not  to  subject  myself  to  the 
reproach  of  having  withheld  any  thing 
that  I  can  command,  that  shall  be  re- 
commended by  you,  as  either  useful  or 
necessary  to  the  honourable  termina- 
tion of  our  united  endeavours : — for  I 
consider  myself  as  embarked  in  the 
same  vessel  with  my  son ;  at  the  same 
time,  I  confess  I  was  not  prepared  to 
expect  such  an  addition  to  expences, 
which,  even  without  it,  almost  alarm 
me  with  their  probable  amount.  But, 
sir,  if  travel  be  necessary,  my  son  shall 


On  the  Cultivation  and  Patronage  of  British  Art. 


08 

certainly  be  enabled  to  go  wherever  in- 
struction may  be  found." 

"  Sir/'  said  he,  "  the  grandeur  of 
mountain  scenery  cannot  be  conceived 
by  those  who  have  not  beheld  it  with 
their  own  eyes.  The  vast  expanse  of 
the  ocean  produces  an  effect  on  the 
mind  of  the  actual  observer  which 
mocks  all  the  powers  of  description. 
Equally  inconceivable  are  the  mighty 
productions  of  Italian  genius  in  times 
past ;  and  to  comprehend  truly  what 
is  there  shewn  to  be  within  the  grasp 
of  human  capacity,  nothing  short  of 
ocular  evidence  will  suffice.  It  is 
possible  to  believe  what  is  extraordi- 
nary without  sensible  proof,  but  such 
credulity  has  nothing  of  the  life  of  con- 
viction ;  besides,  it  is  the  sight,  not 
the  report  of  great  works,  by  which  we 
are  at  once  animated  and  instructed ; 
your  son,  sir,  must  go  and  view  the 
stupendous  labours  of  Michael  Ange- 
lo,  in  the  Sestine  Chapel ;  he  must  ac- 
tually behold  the  enchantments  of  the 
Vatican,  and  indeed,  all  that  the  Im- 
perial City  contains  of  the  divine  Ra- 
phael, and  especially  that  miracle  of 
art,  and  last  of  his  labours  on  earth, 
the  Transfiguration. 

"  At  Rome,  your  enraptured  son  will 
revel  in  the  luxuries  of  art ;  he  will 
quaff"  the  beverage  of  inspiration,  and 
lave  his  faculties  in  the  purest  waters 
of  genius,  issuing  from  innumerable 
fountains.  Although  the  Pontifical 
City  will  be  the  chief,  it  will  not  be  his 
only  school.  Naples  is  rich  in  art ; 
but  in  the  romantic,  the  grand,  and 
beautiful  scenery  of  nature,  it  is,  with 
its  surrounding  vicinity,  a  region  of 
wonders.  Florence  contains  many  a 
gem  of  '  purest  ray  serene ;'  the  con- 
stellation of  Bologna  must  not  be  view- 
ed by  him  with  a  careless  eye ;  the 
miracles  of  Corregio  at  Parma,  prove 
that  he  was  indeed  '  also  a  painter,' 
though  placed  side  by  side  with  the 
most  divine  of  artists.  At  Mantua  he 
will  be  ravished  with  the  pencil  of  the 
energetic  Giulio;  and  at  Venice,  the 
glorious  works  of  Titian,  Tintoretti, 
and  Paul  Veronese,  will  at  once  capti- 
vate and  astonish  him.  Day  after  day, 
month  after  month,  he  will  dwell  on 
the  gorgeous  scene  :  for  there  alone  he 
will  see  the  energetic  and  grand  in 
composition,  combined  with  all  that  is 
beautiful  and  splendid  in  colour,  or 
powerful  and  harmonious  in  light  and 
shade. 


CApril, 


"  On  quitting  Italy,  the  university 
of  art,  he  will  not  hasten  direot  to  his 
native  land,  but  visit  the  wealth  of 
genius  treasured  up  in  many  a  conti- 
nental city.  Germany  can  boast  of 
numerous  collections  that  must  not  be 
passed  unexamined.  Belgium,  too,  may 
be  proud  of  its  Rembrandt  and  Reu- 
bens, whose  extraordinary  productions 
claim  the  admiration  of  the  world. 
From  both  of  those  artists,  the  judi- 
cious student  will  derive  much  ;  and 
his  taste  having  been  purified  in  high- 
er schools,  he  will  know  at  once  how 
to  separate  what  is  of  an  exquisite  qua- 
lity from  what  is  base,  and  leave  those 
great  but  dangerous  examples,  enrich- 
ed by  their  beauties,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  untainted  by  their  faults. 

"  Arrived  at  length  in  the  bosom  of 
his  much-loved  country,  he  presents 
himself  before  a  delighted  parent,  full 
of  gratitude  for  the  innumerable  bene- 
fits which  he  has  received  through  his 
means,  and  eager  to  prove  that  the  af- 
fection he  had  experienced,  had  not 
been  unworthily  placed." 

Here  the  artist  paused :  having,  as  he 
conceived,  fully  complied  with  my  re- 
quest. I  therefore  politely  expressed 
my  acknowledgments  for  his  great 
kindness,  and  added,  that  I  hoped,  and 
indeed  confidently  trusted,  he  would 
have  the  satisfaction  of  witnessing  the 
excellence  of  his  instructions  in  the 
example  of  my  dear  son,  who  should 
certainly  follow  them  to  the  very  let- 
ter. "  But  lest  I  might  by  any  un- 
fortunate accident,"  I  added,  "  be  de- 
prived of  an  opportunity  of  consulting 
you  on  his  return  from  the  Continent, 
I  entreat  that  you  will  further  oblige 
me  with  your  directions  as  to  what 
steps  will  be  most  proper  for  him  to 
take  at  his  entrance  into  the  world ; 
being,  it  must  not  be  forgotten,  hence- 
forth destined  to  subsist  by  the  ho- 
nourable employment  of  the  talents 
with  which  Heaven  has  blessed  him." 
"  Sir,"  said  the  venerable  artist,  "  I 
have  lived  long,  and  I  know  much  of 
art,  of  artists,  and  what  is  more,  of  the 
state  of  public  feeling  towards  both. 
By  this  knowledge  and  experience  I 
am  happily  enabled  to  give  a  decided 
answer  to  your  question,  which,  rely- 
ing on  your  good  sense  and  paternal 
affection,  I  am  sure  will  be  satisfac- 
tory. You  are  fully  sensible  of  its  im- 
portance, and  therefore,  I  request  your 
serious  attention."  I  assured  him,  that, 


On  the  Cultivation  and  Patronage  of  British  Art. 


deeply  impressed  as  I  was,  with  the 
kind  interest  which  he  took  in  my  con-, 
cerns,  and  convinced  of  the  value  of  his 
counsel,  it  was  impossible  I  should  be 
either  inattentive  or  ungrateful.  "  In 
the  voyage  of  life,"  I  added,  "  our  ves- 
sel should  not  only  be  well  prepared, 
but  well  conducted,  and  also  our  em- 
barkation well  timed ;  you,  sir,  who 
know  all  the  requisites  of  equipment, 
know  also  exactly  how  to  chuse  the 
fortunate  moment  of  commencement, 
the  true  course,  and  all  that  may  be 
hoped  and  feared  in  that  perilous  na- 
vigation." "  My  counsel,"  said  he, 
"  be  assured,  shall  not  fail  you. — Lis- 
ten, sir,  I  beseech  you.  Far  to  the 
south,  where  the  great  Peninsula  of 
Africa  projects  its  lofty  cape  into  the 
ocean,  at  some  distance  in  the  interior, 
the  provident  care  of  Government  has 
assigned  an  extensive  tract  of  beauti- 
ful and  fertile  land,  expressly  for  the 
use  of  citizens  under  particular  cir- 
cumstances.— To  that  far  distant  re- 
gion let  your  ingenious  son,  when  his 
studies  in  art  shall  be  completed,  tran- 
sport himself;  there  let  him  dig; — 


#9 

the  earth,  equally  grateful  and  gene- 
rous, will  liberally  reward  his  talents 
and  his  toil : — a  return  which  neither 
will  meet  with  from  the  soil  on  which 
he  was  born,  with  no  better  implement 
of  cultivation  than  his  pencil.  There, 
I  say,  let  him  dig ;  there  he  may  get 
wealth,  and  honour,  and  furthermore, 
he  may  be  the  happy  parent  of  sons  no 
less  happy  than  their  father :  because 
they  will  neither  be  tempted  by  an  un- 
fortunate ambition  to  solicit  the  re- 
wards due  to  merit,  by  occupations  for 
which  they  may  have  no  talents,  nor 
by  excellent  talents,  for  which  they 
will  find  no  occupation." 

My  venerable  counsellor  now  con- 
cluded ;  and  being  suddenly  called 
away  on  other  business,  he  apologized 
and  left  me  to  meditate  on  the  "  de- 
cided answer"  he  had  given  to  my  last 
question.  How  far  I  thought  it  pru- 
dent to  be  regulated  by  his  advice,  I 
shall  take  an  early  opportunity  to  in- 
form you.  lu  the  mean  time, 

I  am,  Sir,  your  obedient  Servant, 
A.  Z. 


BRITISH  ART  AND  PATRONAGE. 

Letter  Second, 


SIR, 


AT  the  close  of  my  former  letter,  I 
promised  to  inform  you  what  steps  I 
pursued  in  consequence  of  my  inter- 
view with  the  venerable  person  whom 
I  lately  consulted,  respecting  my  son's 
desire  to  embrace  the  profession  of  an 
artist.  The  apparent  inconsistency — 
not  to  say  absurdity,  of  that  gentle- 
man's final  instructions,  must,  I  am 
persuaded,  have  reminded  you  of  the 
well-known  receipt  for  dressing  a  cu- 
cumber in  perfection:  the  most  re- 
markable particulars  in  that  process 
being  very  similar,  which  was,  that 
after  carefully  combining  a  given  quan- 
tity of  the  sh'ced  fruit,  with  due  por- 
tions of  oil  and  vinegar,  salt,  pepper, 
mustard,  and  other  ingredients,  the 
whole  composition,  so  prepared  for  the 
table,  should  be  thrown  out  of  the  win- 
dow into  the  street.  Indeed  his  royal 
receipt,  for  preparing  and  dishing  up 
an  artist,  brought  this  cucumber-pre- 
scription so  strongly  to  my  mind,  that 
I  was  restrained  from  smiling  in  the 
face  of  my  obliging  counsellor,  only 
by  the  earnest  and  grave  manner  in 
which  his  recommendation  was  con- 
veyed. 


That  genius  is  more  or  less  intimate- 
ly allied  to  madness,  has  been  long 
imagined;  and  although  that  notion 
may  be  wholly  groundless,  I  confess 
the  directions  I  had  just  received  for 
the  cultivation  of  talents,  intended  for 
the  highest  exertions  of  art,  with  their 
ultimate  application,  seemed  to  coun- 
tenance the  general  opinion ;  and  fear- 
ing that  the  respectable  artist  whom  I 
had  been  consulting,  was  actually  suf- 
fering under  that  calamity,  I  thought 
it  advisable  to  try  my  fortune  again, 
by  applying  to  some  other  profession- 
al man,  who,  though  not  quite  so  great 
a  genius,  might  have  his  intellects  un- 
der better  regulation. 

I  accordingly  waited  upon  a  gentle- 
man, whom  fame  reported  to  be  the 
person  exactly  suited  to  my  purpose. 
To  him,  therefore,  I  opened  my  case, 
produced  many  specimens  of  my  son's 
abilities,  as  I  had  done  before,  and 
mentioned  his  passion  for  the  arts,  and 
anxious  desire  to  excel  in  that  depart- 
ment which  was  accounted  the  most 
honourable :  on  all  which  his  observa- 
tions were  in  the  highest  degree  satis- 
factory. Perhaps  I  was  blameable,  but 
I  thought  it  only  fair  to  repeat  the 


On  the  Cultivation  and  Patronage  of  British  Art. 


30 

conversation  I  had  just  before  held 
with  another  artist,  and  expressed  my 
surprise  at  the  singular  conclusion  of 
his  instructions,  in  a  way  that  intima- 
ted my  suspicions  as  to  the  deranged 
state  of  his  mental  faculty. 

My  new  friend,  however,  seemed 
entirely  to  approve  the  advice  I  had 
received,  with  the  exception  of  the 
turn  which  had  been  given  to  its  con- 
clusion ;  "  to  account  for  which,"  he 
said,  "  it  was  not  necessary  to  suppose 
the  artist  mad;  he  had  only  taken 
that  mode  of  discouraging  your  son's 
inclination  to  adopt  a  profession  which 
he  believed  to  have  neither  public  nor 
private  patronage  in  that  species  of  art 
which  the  young  gentleman  seemed  to 
prefer.  That  opinion,"  continued  he, 
"  was  no  proof  of  insanity ;  it  simply 
proved  an  erroneous  mode  of  thinking. 
If  the  misconception  of  a  fact,  or  a 
false  inference  irom  it,  be  thought  a 
symptom  of  derangement,  nine-tenths 
of  the  world  would  be  in  danger  of  a 
strait- waistcoat. 

"  When  the  gentleman  consulted  by 
you  first  presented  himself  to  the  pub- 
lic, it  is  well  remembered  that  few 
men  could  produce  stronger  claims  upon 
its  favour  and  protection.  Though  his 
hopes  were  high,  he  was  not  presump- 
tuous ;  conscious  of  talents  Avhich  all 
acknowledged,  he  expected  only  that 
nourishing  kindness  which  he  concei- 
ved the  country  owed  to  its  ingenious 
youth,  and  which  alone  was  wanting 
to  enable  him  to  return  the  favour  with 
immeasureable  interest.  Like  many 
others,  he  had  deceived  himself  with 
accounts  of  ancient  patronage,  and 
fondly  anticipated  no  less  from  what 
was  proudly  called  an  enlightened  and 
opulent  nation ;  therefore,  when  the 
first  tinkling  of  his  bell  failed  to  col- 
lect around  him  the  legitimate  patrons 
of  art — the  rich  and  great,  his  surprise 
and  disappointment  were  exactly  what 
might  have  been  expected  from  his  ig- 
norance of  the  real  state  of  national 
feeling  towards  the  object  in  which  he 
was  so  deeply  interested.  Disheart- 
ened by  that  neglect  which  he  regard- 
ed as  a  proof  either  of  public  ingrati- 
tude, or  a  general  insensibility  to  the 
higher  works  of  genius,  after  strug- 
gling for  a  time  without  vigour,  and 
consequently  without  effect,  he  gra- 
dually retired  from  the  public  eye,  as 
if  preferring  that  his  excellent  talents 
should  wither  and  die,  rather  than 
bloom  by  auy  other  means  of  culture 


CApril, 


than  those  which  his  own  particular 
conceptions  of  the  art  required. 

"  But,  sir,  though  neither  the  great 
nor  wealthy  are  here  the  liberal  pa- 
trons to  whom  the  arts  must  look  for 
effective  and  perrnanent  support,  we 
are  not  therefore  without  patronage. 
Though  in  other  countries,  and  other 
times,  the  chiefs  of  the  state  were,  by 
rank  and  inheritance,  the  protectors  of 
genius,  here  that  duty  is  confined  to  no 
particular  class  of  society ;  here  every 
citizen,  without  distinction,  male  and 
female,  young  and  old,  is  such  a  pro- 
tector ;  and  if,  comparatively,  but  few 
of  the  number  have  their  thousands  to 
lavish  on  deserving  merit,  they  each 
have  their  mite  ;  and  when  great  acts 
are  proposed,  what  good,  and  indeed 
what  evil,  may  not  be  wrought  by  num- 
bers ?  If  the  man  of  genius  may  not 
here  be  honoured  and  enriched  by  the 
few,  it  must  be  owing  to  his  own  per- 
verse and  impracticable  spirit,  if  he  re- 
ceive not  those  just  rewards  from  the 
combined  liberality  of  the  mam/.  And 
who  shall  say  that  the  latter  is  a  less 
honourable  source  of  patronage  than 
the  former  ?  When  the  arch-patron — 
our  country — is  deceived  in  its  legiti- 
mate agents,  their  duty  reverts  to  the 
principal,  to  be  performed  not  by  de- 
legation, but  individually.  Let  your 
son  therefore,  my  dear  sir,  proceed  im- 
mediately, and  without  fear,  to  the 
cultivation  of  his  fine  talents,  agree- 
ably to  the  judicious  advice  you  have 
already  received  ;  let  him  have  all  that 
his  own  country  can  supply,  and  then 
let  him  enter  the  great  schools  of  the 
Continent,  and  become,  as  it  were,  the 
pupil  of  the  most  illustrious  masters  of 
ancient  times  ;  nor  fear  that,  on  his  re- 
turn, rich  in  the  stores  of  art,  and 
anxious  for  distinction,  he  shall  be 
compelled  to  relinquish  both  the  art 
and  his  country,  to  dig  the  earth  for 
a  scurvy  subsistence  in  the  wilds  of 
Africa." 

I  could  not  help  taking  the  advan- 
tage of  a  pause  here,  to  express  the 
pleasure  which  my  friendly  counsellor 
gave  me,  and  the  delightful  hope  his 
interesting  communication  inspired ; 
but  as  he  had  not  clearly  explained 
himself  concerning  the  nature  of  the 
patronage  my  son  was  hereafter  to  ex- 
pect, I  requested  he  would  have  the 
goodness  to  describe  how,  on  the  con  - 
pletion  of  his  studies,  he  should  pro- 
ceed, so  as  to  secure  to  himself  those 
honours  and  rich  rewards  which  au 


On  the  Cultivation  and  Patronage  of  British  Art. 


approving  and  gratefUl  country  would 
doubtless  be  eager  in  some  way  to  be- 
stow. "  That  is  the  very  point,  sir, 
he  replied,  "  on  which  I  am  proceed- 
ing to  instruct  you.  I  must  confess, 
notwithstanding  my  eulogiums  on  the 
actual  state  of  art,  it  were  much  to  be 
desired  that  the  extraordinary  merit  of 
your  son  should,  by  its  own  intrinsic 
excellence,  command  that  deep  respect 
and  universal  attention  which  it  will 
certainly  deserve,  without  other  effort 
on  his  part  than  merely  presenting  his 
woiks  to  the  judicious  few,  %vhose  cir- 
culated reports  might  give  the  tone  to 
public  opinion ;  but  when  it  is  found 
that  this  high  sanction,  however  esti- 
mable, operating  only  on  a  confined 
circle,  and  therefore  leading  to  no  pro- 
ductive glory,  is  in  this  case  nugatory, 
means,  more  energetic,  must  be  em- 
ployed to  move  the  general  body,  and 
tura  the  current  of  popular  curiosity 
into  the  desired  channel.  If  that  pas- 
sion for  art  which  would  of  itself  pro- 
duce an  efficient  patronage  be  want- 
ing, it  is  not  the  part  of  wisdom  to  re- 
pine, but  to  supply  the  deficiency  by 
such  expedients  as  our  knowledge  of 
the  world  may  suggest.  That  import- 
ant duty  being,  as  I  have  just  inform- 
ed you,  not  confined  to  a  class,  but 
shared  by  the  whole  community,  it  is 
to  the  people  in  the  aggregate  that  the 
man  of  genius,  who  expects  either 
fame  or  emolument  from  his  labours, 
must  address  himself;  and  the  mode 
by  which  that  appeal  is  made,  will 
readily  be  conceived  by  you,  sir,  when 
I  remind  you  of  the  practice  of  some 
artists  of  an  inferior  order,  to  whom 
you  probably  have  often  been  a  useful, 
though  an  unconscious  benefactor. 

"  An  ingenious  man,  for  instance, 
in  quest  of  matter  for  his  pencil,  visits 
Constantinople,  Venice,  or  any  other 
renowned  city ;  and  wishing  to  pro- 
duce an  extended  representation  of  it, 
he  does  not,  however  excellent  his  ta- 
lents, wait  until  some  grandee,  or 
wealthy  citizen,  shall  give  him  a  com- 
mission for  that  purpose ; — no,  he  im- 
mediately paints  his  picture  of  an 
ample  size,  spreads  it  on  the  walls  of  a 
circular  edifice,  under  the  name  of  a 
Panorama,  and  invites  all  the  town  to 
view  his  finished  work.  Accordingly, 
all  the  town  crowd  to  the  new  spec- 
tacle, and  simply  by  dropping  a  slight 
fee  at  the  door,  are  improved  by  his  in- 
formation, and  delighted,  or  at  least 
amused,  by  his  genius ;  and  thus,  in  a 


31 

short  time,  his  accumulated  gains  a- 
mount  to  a  liberal  reward  for  his  la- 
bour, far  exceeding  what  he  could  have 
demanded  from  any  single  patron. 

"  This,  sir,  is  British  patronage,  a 
kind  of  protection  suited  to  almost 
every  purpose  that  can  be  imagined ; 
but  it  is  the  life-blood  of  modern  art, 
in  that  high  class  to  which  your  son 
proposes  to  dedicate  his  talents.  By 
this  kind  of  patronage,  you  will  remark, 
the  artist  is  not  only  recompensed  on 
his  first  appeal,  but  his  work  remains 
in  his  possession,  to  be  either  again  ex- 
hibited after  the  proper  interval,  re- 
served for  the  gratification  of  his  fa- 
mily, or  presented  by  him  to  some 
public  hall,  church,  or  college,  there 
to  remain  a  lasting  memorial  of  his  ge- 
nerosity. By  this  kind  of  patronage, 
too,  the  artist,  after  receiving  an  im- 
portant benefit,  is  not  burthened  for 
life  by  the  favours  of  a  single  protect- 
or ;  he  is  nobly  rewarded,  yet  he  is  in- 
dependent. 

"  Formerly,  hospitals,  schools,  col- 
leges, and  other  useful  establishments, 
were  erected  and  endowed  by  the  libe- 
rality of  certain  well-disposed  indivi- 
duals ;  such  effects  no  longer  flow  from 
that  cause.  Liberality,  however,  is 
not  extinguished,  it  is  diffused ;  pub- 
lic institutions  are  no  longer  to  be  re- 
garded as  monuments  of  the  munifi- 
cence of  particular  persons,  *but  testi- 
monies of  the  public  spirit,  actuated 
by  various  motives.  Thus  it  is,  sir, 
that  our  most  celebrated  artists  are 
formed,  and  thus  also  are  they  ena- 
bled to  cover  themselves  with  glory, 
even  in  the  highest  exertions  of  their 
genius; — even  in  that  elevated  line 
which  immortalized  the  names  of  Ra- 
phael and  Michael  Angelo.  In  our 
times,  sir,  no  man  desires  to  possess  a 
work  of  this  kind  produced  by  his  con- 
temporary, but  every  man  has  just 
sufficient  curiosity  to  take  a  passing 
glance  at  such  works  in  a  public  exhi- 
bition, and  just  liberality  sufficient  to 
comply  with  the  easy  conditions  on 
which  that  hasty  glance  is  to  be  ob- 
tained, and  thus  what  one  man,  or  se- 
veral, cannot  be  induced  to  perform, 
thousands,  by  a  voluntary  impulse, 
accomplish  with  ease.  Do  not  fear, 
therefore,  that  your  son  shall,  after  gi- 
ving his  admirable  talents  all  the  per- 
fection and  polish  of  which  they  are 
capable,  be  compelled  to  bury  them  in 
an  African  grave  dug  by  himself." 

"  That  would  be  a  consummation, 


On  the  Cultivation  and  Patronage  of  British  Art. 


32 

sir,"  said  I,  "  much  as  I  respect  the 
laudable  employment  of  the  husband- 
man, I  hope  never  to  witness ;  nor  in- 
deed can  I  persuademyself  that  it  could 
have  entered  into  the  views  of  Provi- 
dence, after  making  him  so  rich  a  pre- 
sent, to  place  him  where  it  must  he  for 
ever  concealed  from  the  world.  There 
is  nothing,  as  it  appears  to  me,  profes- 
sionally dishonourable,  nor  derogatory 
to  genius,  either  in  the  open  appeal  to 
public  judgment,  or  the  modest  claim 
to  public  liberality,  which  you  have 
described,  althougn  it  is  true,  as  you 
acknowledge,  the  rich  meed  of  praise 
•and  profit  might  be  conveyed  in  a  more 
desirable  form  ;  but  if  the  public  feel- 
ing towards  the  arts  allows  of  no  alter- 
native, the  candidates  for  either  must 
submit  to  the  only  conditions  on  which 
they  can  hope  to  gain  them.  Had  the 
arts,  as  in  ancient  times,  been  interwo- 
ven with  the  sacred  and  civil  institu- 
tions of  the  country,  the  artists  might 
have  prescribed  their  own  terms ;  as  it 
is,  those  who  engage  in  a  profession, 
neither  popular  nor  necessary,  must 
practise  it  as  they  find  it,  and  as  cir- 
cumstances have  ordered ;  all  that  is 
required  of  them,  is  to  proceed  honest- 
ly and  fairly  in  the  performance  of  that 
which  is  in  itself  fair  and  honest.  It 
is  on  that  point,  sir,  I  am  anxious  to 
be  satisfied  ;  I  would  fain  be  inform- 
ed," said' I,  "  how  a  youth,  whose  ta- 
lents are  unknown  to  the  world,  shall 
be  able  to  attract  the  favourable  notice 
of  those  who  are  to  be  his  future  pa- 
trons. The  "  stream  of  popular  curi- 
osity," as  you  term  it,  is  not  to  be  di- 
rected into  the  "desired  channel"  with- 
out some  previous  steps,  some  active 
measures,  and  of  what  nature  these 
maybe,  I  own  I  am  unable  to  conceive." 
"  Nothing  is  better  known,"  he  repli- 
ed, "  nor  more  easily  made,  than  that 
preparatory  arrangement,  with  all  the 
measures  necessary  to  ensure  the  suc- 
cess of  such  enterprizes.  You  are  an 
Englishman,  sir,  and  therefore  know 
that  in  this  country  a  thousand  chan- 
nels are  continually  open,  by  which  its 
whole  population  are  informed  of  what- 
ever is  passing  in  the  world,  even  to  the 
most  minute  circumstances.  By  these 
channels,  sir,  on  your  son's  preparing 
for  action,  means  well  known  to  the 
experienced  in  these  matters,  are  taken, 
to  inform  the  public  of  his  return  from 
his  Continental  studies ;  which  notice 
must  be  accompanied  with  such  highly 
wrought  commendations  as  are  best 


[[April, 


calculated  to  raise  expectation  and  en- 
sure applause.  While  this  prelude  is 
still  fresh  on  the  mind,  the  commence- 
ment of  a  '  great  work'  is  announced, 
'  which  promises,'  it  is  said,  '  in 
the  opinion  of  the  most  accomplished 
judges,  to  be  a  prodigy  of  art — a  work 
in  which  will  be  seen  all  the  excellen- 
cies of  the  most  excellent  masters  of 
forme  rtimes  united  ;'  and  much  more 
of  the  same  kind  of  stimulating  intel- 
ligence. These  necessary  preparations, 
judiciously  varied,  must  be  continued 
from  time  to  time  during  the  progress 
of  the  work,  which  should  by  no  means 
advance  too  rapidly;  for  a  production 
of  this  kind  should  seem  to  be  a  moun- 
tainous issue — the  effect  of  a  mighty 
struggle,  in  which  the  mind  has  to 
contend  with  all  the  toils  and  all  the 
difficulties  of  a  wonderful  birth.  A 
nice  judgment  will  neither  allow  it  to 
appear  before  the  whole  country  shall 
be  inflated  with  expectation,  nor  be  de- 
layed till  that  eager  desire  be  tinctured 
with  gall,  which  may  ruin  the  project. 

"  At  this  critical  moment,  sir,  the 
great  desideratum  is  notoriety,  and  to 
attain  which,  a  variety  of  expedients 
will  suggest  themselves  to  minds  that 
are  active  and  acute.  Among  others, 
biography  should  not  be  neglected. 
The  monotonous  life  of  a  student  pro- 
mises few  materials  of  interest,  yet,  in 
the  hands  of  an  author  expert  in  that 
department,  your  son's  memoirs,  gra- 
ced with  his  effigy,  might  be  made  to 
produce  a  '  powerful  sensation'  in  the 
pages  of  a  periodical  register  extensive- 
ly circulated.  He  might  find  no  inci- 
dents, no  events  of  importance,  but 
many  topics  of  panegyric — which  is 
the  thing  most  needful  in  the  supposed 
emergency. 

"  This,  however,  is  only  one  of  the 
numerous  engines  that,  with  more  or 
less  effect,  the  prudent  artist  will  em- 
ploy, as  opportunities  offer  in  the  course 
of  his  labour ;  nor,  indeed,  should  they 
be  discontinued  as  long  as  fame  and 
fortune  remain  the  objects  of  his  am- 
bition. The  great  work  is  at  length 
completed.  A  shower  of  notices  dis- 
persed through  the  town,  immediately 
declares  the  day  when  it  will  be  un- 
curtained and  placed  before  the  general 
eye.  That  momentous  event  takes 
place,  whereupon ,  instantly,  every  jour- 
nalist kindly,  and,  it  must  be  suppo- 
sed, disinterestedly,  undertakes  theplea- 
sing  task  of  describing  the  work,  and 
its  enthusiastic  reception.  All  the, 


On  the  Cultivation  and  -Patronage- of 'British  Art. 


world,  but  especially  all  the  great 
world,  are  said  to  have  been  present, 
when  '  the  most  rapturous  applause 
dwelt  on  every  tongue,  and  the  most 
exquisite  delight  sparkled  in  every 
eye.' 

"But  though  thecommencement  has 
been  aupicious  and  favourable  '  be- 
yond the  most  sanguine  expectations,' 
the  exertions  of  the  ingenious  author 
are  not  to  stop  here,  lest  the  ignorant,  if 
left  to  themselves,  should  mar  all  that 
had  been  done.  The  public  opinion  must 
still  be  supported,  and  liberally  suppli- 
ed with  criticisms  expressly  suited  to 
every  class  of  visitors ;  so  that  none 
may  be  deficient,  either  in  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  subject  of  the  work, 
or  in  terms  of  appropriate  praise.  This 
critical  aid,  besides  imparting  instruc- 
tion where  it  may  be  necessary,  will 
have  the  further  advantage  of  counter- 
acting the  mischievous  influence  of  that 
envy  and  malignity  which,  although 
they  prove  its  existence,  continually 
follow  to  persecute  superior  merit.  In 
addition  to  what  is  done  by  the  vehicles 
of  daily  intelligence,  the  town  must 
also  be  placarded  in  every  part,  and 
locomotive  advertisements,  in  huge 
characters,  mounted  upon  poles,  must 
wade  the  stream  of  population,  and 
continually  move  about  from  place  to 
place,  during  the  whole  time  the  work 
is  before  the  public,  so  that  it  shall  be 
kept  in  perpetual  remembrance.  The 
wonderous  novelty  being  in  this  man- 
ner incessantly  proclaimed  in  every 
form  and  situation,  an  impulse  is  given 
to  the  general  mind,  which  never  fails, 
in  these  particular  cases,  to  supply  the 
want  of  native  feeling  for  art  so  well, 
that  it  is  impossible  the  effect  of  the 
reality  itself  should  be  more  complete. 

"  This  hasty  sketch,  sir,  while  it 
explains  the  nature  of  British  patron- 
age, and  shews  the  manner  in  which 
it  is  used  by  those  who  know  how  to 
employ  it  to  the  best  advantage,  will 
give  you  at  least  a  faint  idea  of  the  no- 
ble resources  of  our  art,  and  of  its 
health  and  strength  at  the  very  time 
when  most  people  imagine  it  to  be  at 
the  point  of  death.  We  are  a  generous 
people,  sir,  and  expend  our  money 
freely  upon  objects  that  have  our  affec- 
tions. We  love  horses,  and  women, 
and  wine,  and  conviviality,  and  hunt- 
ing, and  gambling,  and  fisty-cuffs,  and 
some  other  praise- worthy  matters — to 
these,  sir,  we  have  a  natural  attach- 
ment, and  therefore  need  not  be  set 


33 

upon  them  by  artificial  excitements  ; 
but  of  the  arts  of  design  we  know  lit- 
tle more  than  the  name.  Any  carpen- 
ter may  be  our  architect — painting  and 
sculpture  we  neither  feel  nor  under- 
stand ;  and  therefore,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  admirable  contrivances  I  have 
briefly  enumerated,  we  should  not,  ex- 
cepting those  who  chronicle  our  faces, 
or  perpetuate  the  remembrance  of  our 
dogs  and  horses,  have  had  an  artist 
amongst  us.  But  with  these  command- 
ing advantages,  all  of  which  are  the 
inventions  of  modern  ingenuity,  and 
purely  British,  I  know  not  what  may 
not  be  expected ;  especially  when  time 
and  our  well-known  zeal  for  improve- 
ment, shall  have  developed  all  the  capa- 
cities of  the  system  concerning  which 
I  have  something  more  to  add. 

"  Let  us  now,  sir,  imagine  that  the 
town-exhibition  of  your  son's  inesti- 
mable work  is  brought  to  a  close,  which 
must  sooner  or  later,  as  circumstances 
shall  ordain,  take  place.  Not,  however, 
without  having  frequently  alarmed  the 
public  with  the  formal  notice  of  that 
event,  and*  as  frequently  announcing 
that  it  would  be  protracted  in  compli- 
ance with  '  the  irresistible  importuni- 
ties of  unsated  multitudes.'  But  al- 
though no  longer  exposed  in  the  me- 
tropolis ;  and  though,  if  skilfully  con- 
ducted, it  must  have  been  greatly  pro- 
ductive both  in  fame  and  solid  emolu- 
ment, our  patronage  is  not  yet  exhaust- 
ed— the  provincial  cities  cry  loudly  for 
the  same  indulgence,  and  insist  upon 
sharing  the  felicity  of  the  capital,  in 
terms  so  flattering,  that  the  obliging 
artist  is  utterly  unable  to  refuse  his 
consent.  The  great  work  being  accor- 
dingly removed  to  its  country  desti- 
nation, the  same  expedients  which  I 
have  already  mentioned,  must  be  again 
resorted  to  ;  for  although  the  example 
of  the  metropolis  will  do  much,  it  will 
not  do  all.  After  congratulating  the 
inhabitants  on  their  approaching  hap- 
piness, the  same  course  of  public  an- 
nouncement by  the  daily  prints,  and 
street-placards,  must  be  attended  to  ; 
and  the  same  critical  information  dis- 
tributed with  a  bountiful  hand,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  rustic  circles ;  nor  should 
anything  be  omitted  that  can  either 
excite  curiosity,  or  invigorate  admira- 
tion. When  the  public  ardour  is  ob- 
served to  cool  in  one  place,  others  must 
be  selected;  and  town-halls,  assembly- 
rooms,  inns,  booths,  and  even  barns, 
are  successively  honoured  in  the  tern- 


On  the  Cultivation  and  Patronage  of  British  Art. 


TApril, 


porury  possession  of  a  work  declared 
by  every  voice  to  be  the  '  Eighth  Won- 
der of  the  World  !'  and  thus,  sir,  would 
the  ball  of  fortune  increase  as  it  roll- 
ed. 

"  Do  not,  sir,  I  pray  you,"  conti- 
nued he,  "  let  this  kind  of  appeal  to 
the  country  at  large  be  thought  unwor- 
thy of  your  son's  character,  either  as 
an  artist  or  a  gentleman.  Homer,  we 
are  well  assured,  travelled  from  town 
to  town,  reciting  or  singing  the  seve- 
ral portions  of  his  noble  poem  to  his 
countrymen,  and,  doubtless,  for  the 
two-fold  purpose  of  fame  and  profit. 
If  such  a  proceeding  was  not  deroga- 
tory to  the  high  character  of  that  an- 
cient bard,  the  prince  and  father  of 
poets,  much  less  would  the  vagrant 
artist  of  modern  times  be  disgraced  by 
a  similar  practice.  If  Raphael,  less 
fortunately  circumstanced,  and  born 
among  barbarians  or  shop-keepers,  or 
where  a  shop-keeping  spirit  pervaded 
all  ranks  of  his  fellow-citizens,  had 
been  compelled  to  display  his  Cartoons, 
or  any  other  of  his  incomparable  works, 
on  the  walls  of  a  temporary  booth ; 
placing  himself  at  the  door  to  receive 
in  his  cap  the  small  fee  required  of  the 
visitors,  would  those  Cartoons  have 
been  less  worthy  of  their  situation  in 
a  royal  palace  than  they  now  are  with 
a  more  honourable  origin,  or  the  au- 
thor of  such  works  less  deserving  of  our 
respect  ?" — "  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  I, 
hastily,  "  the  sublime  readings  or 
chantings  of  Homer  in  different  parts 
of  Greece,  at  a  time  when  the  poet  al- 
ways recited  or  sung  the  inspirations 
of  his  muse  to  assembled  crowds,  and 
when  works  of  literature  could  not  be 
circulated  by  the  press,  afford  no  pa- 
rallel case  to  the  exhibitions  of  an  iti- 
nerant artist  in  these  days ;  and  the 
resemblance  will  appear  still  more  re- 
mote when  it  is  recollected  that  we 
have  no  evidence  that  the  bard  of  an- 
tiquity took  any  other  means  to  in- 
crease and  extend  his  fame  than  the 
simple  promulgation  of  his  poems. 
Homer,  sir,  travelled  with  his  budget 
of  poesy,  not  as  a  circulating  adven- 
turer, merely  to  levy  contributions  on 
the  ignorant,  but  as  a  benefactor  to  his 
country ;  to  delight  the  lovers  of  he- 
roic song,  to  animate  public  spirit,  and 
to  improve  and  exalt  the  national  cha- 
racter ;  and  for  these  advantages,  be- 
sides the  pleasure  of  pleasing,  just  and 
honourable  praise  was  the  only  reward 
he  sought.  The  great  works  of  Ra- 


phael you  have  named  would  doubt- 
less have  lost  none  of  their  excellence, 
if,  when  produced,  they  had  been  ex- 
posed to  the  multitude  in  a  booth,  and 
their  author  had  accepted  the  contri- 
butions of  individuals  for  the  exqui- 
site feast  he  had  placed  before  them  ; 
but  the  probability  is,  that,  if  such  had 
then  been  the  only  mode  of  rewarding 
the  labours  of  artists,  and  encouraging 
their  exertions  in  the  grand  style,  no 
such  works  as  the  Cartoons  would  have 
been  produced.  Born  among  barbarians 
or  shopkeepers,  with  no  better  incite- 
ments to  the  talents  which  Heaven  had 
bestowed  upon  him  than  rabble  pa- 
tronage, and  mountebank  celebrity, 
his  name  would  never  have  received 
the  addition  of  Divine,  nor  would  he 
have  left  behind  him  works  which, 
three  hundred  years  after  his  death, 
were  the  admiration  of  the  world. 

"  It  is  possible — I  will  allow,  that 
empyricism  may  subsist,  and  even 
thrive  by  practices  upon  the  folly  and 
ignorance  of  the  world  ;  but  the  suc- 
cess of  the  empyrical  artist  is  not  the 
lofty  aim  of  the  honourable  professor. 
Because  a  dexterous  impostor  can  col- 
lect around  him  a  senseless  multitude, 
ready  with  their  pence  and  plaudits, 
the  man  of  real  talents,  modest  as  he 
is  meritorious,  is  not,  therefore,  to  de- 
file the  art  of  which  he  is  the  orna- 
ment, with  the  unclean  practices  of 
the  charlatan  ;  to  drug  all  the  springs 
of  public  intelligence;  to  blow  his  horn, 
and  scatter  about  his  billets,  to  draw 
into  his  booth  a  babbling  crowd,  whose 
praise  is  death  to  the  pride  of  genius, 
and  whose  censure  their  best  commen- 
dation. When  such  men,  urged  by  ne- 
cessity, or  misled  by  sordid  advisers, 
have  descended  to  these  low  artifices, 
the  offence  must  always  have  been  re- 
garded as  a  public  and  professional 
misfortune  ;  and  if  the  offenders  were 
deserving  of  pity,  still  more  was  it  due 
to  an  art  suffering  under  their  inflic- 
tions. Important  benefits,  I  will  ad- 
mit, may  accrue  from  your  system  of 
popular  contributions,  and  many  use- 
ful projects  be  promoted  by  it ;  but  if, 
when  applied  to  the  arts,  it  cannot  be 
separated  from  the  multifarious  con- 
trivances of  empyricism  ;  if  to  estab- 
lish and  support  the  reputation  of  every 
considerable  work  submitted  to  public 
inspection,  it  is  necessary  that  the  art- 
ist should  attach  to  his  service  a  motley 
band  of  printers,  editors,  pamphlet 
paragraph  and  placardeers,  as  the  bell- 


1821/3 


On  the  Cultivation  and  Patronage  fif British  Art. 


men,  trumpeters,  and  jack-puddings  of 
his  train,  I  fear  it  will  never  be  my  son's 
happy  destiny  to  add  to  the  glories  of 
our  national  school. 

"In  fine,  sir,  although  I  cannot  act 
upon  your  advice  to  its  full  extent,  the 
information  you  have  so  kindly  com- 
municated is  most  valuable,  and  enti- 
tled to  my  best  thanks.  What  course  I 
shall  pursue  with  respect  to  my  dear 
son,  remains  to  be  considered.  Pos- 
sibly before  that  great  question  is  set- 
tled, my  opinions  may  alter,  but  at 
present  I  confess  I  am  inclined  to  the 


On  concluding  my  animadversions 
on  what  this  gentleman  had  termed 
British  patronage,  he  smiled,  no  doubt 
at  my  "  erroneous  mode  of  thinking," 
and  too  wise  to  make  any  reply  to  ob- 
servations attributed  either  to  igno- 
rance or  folly,  and  too  polite  to  resent 
their  freedom,  very  civilly  said,  — 
"  Perhaps,  sir,  you  may  be  perfectly 
right  in  preferring  the  spade  to  the 
pencil  ;  but  as  my  opinion  is  not  re- 
quested on  that  point,  I  shall  leave  it 
to  be  decided  by  your  own  good  sense. 
I  have  answered  your  questions  with 
frankness,  and,  let  me  add,  with  a  con- 


35 

scientious  regard  to  truth ;  for,  much 
as  I  honour  my  country,  convinced,  as 
1  am,  that,  as  a  nation,  it  is  brave, 
and  wise,  and  generous,  and  just,  be- 
yond all  others,  I  would  by  no  means 
go  so  far  as  to  affirm  that  it  cares  one 
rush  about  the  arts ;  and  therefore, 
sir,  if  we  do  not  think  alike,  I  believe 
that  difference  tunis  chiefly  on  the 
question  of  expediency,  namely,  whe- 
ther an  artist  of  the  rank  which  your 
son  aspires  to,  not  having  the  kind  of 
patronage  he  might  prefer,  should  lay 
down  his  profession,  or  accept  of  that 
which  offers,  and  condescend  to  use  it 
in  the  only  way  in  which  it  is  found  to 
be  effectual." 

Here  we  parted.  You  see,  Mr 
Editor,  the  dilemma  in  which  I  am 
left,  in  consequence  of  my  having  un- 
fortunately consulted  two  doctors  in- 
stead of  one.  In  truth,  sir,  your  good 
counsel  at  this  moment  would  be  in- 
estimable. "  Between  two  stools,"  it 
is  said,  "  the  breech  often  comes  to 
the  ground."  Save  me,  I  beseech  you, 
from  so  unseemly  a  catastrophe. 
I  am,  Sir, 

Your  faithful  servant, 
A.  Z. 


BRITISH  ECLOGUES.      No.  II. 

The  Mariner's  Last  Visit. 

He  hath  ta'en  farewell 
Of  his  native  stream,  and  hill  and  dell ; 
The  last  long  lingering  look  is  given, 
The  shuddering  start, — the  inward  groan,—. 
And  the  Pilgrim  on  his  way  hath  gone. 

WlLSOW. 

How  beautiful  upon  this  verdant  bank 
The  sunshine  slumbers  !  how  the  vernal  trees 
Expand  their  foliage  fresh  and  young  !  how  clear 
Through  yonder  vale  glitters  the  silver  stream  ! 
How  pleasant  'tis  to  mark  the  labouring  ploughs 
Traverse  the  field,  and  leave  a  sable  track, 
While  merrily  behind  the  driver  stalks, 
Whistling  in  thoughtless  vacancy  of  mind  ; 
The  small  birds,  as  it  were  a  holiday, 
Sing  forth,  with  carol  sweet,  from  every  bough ; 
And  larks,  ascending  to  the  clear  blue  sky, 
Suffuse  the  air  with  music. 

None  can  feel 

But  those,  above  whose  head  misfortune's  clouds 
Have  muster 'd  in  their  gloom,  how  sweet  it  is, 
Thus, — after  long  years  spent  in  the  rough  world, 
'Mid  scenes,  in  which  affection  has  small  share,— 
To  stand,  as  I  do  now,  and  gaze  upon 
The  landscape,  graven  on  the  youthful  mind 
In  all  its  beauty  :  render'd  far  more  dear 
VOL.  IX.  E 


36  British  Eclogues.     No.  II. 

By  thousand  thoughts  with  boyhood's  glowing  years 

Close  intertwined ;  and  thus  remaining  still, 

Heedless  of  all  the  tempests  that  have  pass'd, 

In  sunshine,  and  in  vernal  beauty  dress'd. 

And  thou,  lone  church-yard,  with  thy  yew-trees  dark, 

The  children  of  departed  centuries, 

Often,  in  absence,  have  I  seen  thy  sward 

With  mountain  daisies,  and  with  natural  blooms 

Prank'd  sweetly  ;  these  white  monumental  stones, 

And  that  retired  and  unassuming  church, 

Which,  like  a  pious  man,  amid  the  mob 

Of  cities,  and  the  bustle  of  the  world, 

Dwells  in  the  beauty  of  its  holiness, 

Untainted,  undefiled. — Oh,  quiet  spot ! 

How  often  have  my  visions  pictured  thec  ! 

How  often  have  I  deem'd  that,  when  at  length 

These  eyes  shall  in  their  mortal  slumbers  close, 

Here — here,  above  all  other  spots  of  earth, 

My  body  would  take  up  its  last  abode ; 

No  marvel ! — but  be  still  my  throbbing  heart ; 

Be  tranquil,  and  resign'd : — now  to  my  task. 

Green  sward,  that  in  thy  bosom  hidcst  deep 
The  form,  that  never  more  can  bless  mine  eyes 
Again  ; — with  bursting  heart,  and  tearful  gaze, 
I  stand  with  thcc ;  and,  on  the  iron  rails 
That  Compass  thee  about,  I,  leaning,  muse 
Upon  my  past,  and  ship-wreck'd  happiness. — 
Oh  where  art  thou,  the  dove,  that,  to  mine  ark, 
Brought  duly  home  the  olive-bough  of  peace  ? 
Oh  where  art  thou,  of  whom  in  youth  1  dream'd 
(Nor  erring  in  my  thought,)  that,  without  thee, 
This  world  could  be  a  mockery  alone, 
A  scene  of  desolation,  cold  and  bleak, 
And  cheerless,  as  the  everlasting  gloom 
Of  hyperborean  realms? — Elizabeth! 
Dear  name  that,  now,  art  but  an  empty  sound, 
And  hast,  at  least  for  my  deluded  heart, 
No  meaning,  save  that  for  a  talisman 
It  served  me  once,  and  turn'd  all  thoughts  to  joy  ! 

When  thou  wert  drooping  on  thy  death-bed  laid, 
And  Sickness  like  a  Demon  haunted  thee, 
Turning  all  feelings,  and  all  thoughts  to  pain, 
I  was  not  near  to  hang  beside  thy  couch 
In  tenderness,  and  in  anxiety ;  to  sooth 
The  unrepining  ills  ;  to  press  thy  hand 
Against  my  lips,  and  tell  that  all  my  hopes 
Of  happiness  on  earth  were  fix'd  in  thee  ! 
To  mention  o'er  the  many  happy  scenes 
Which  we  have  view'd  together ;  and  to  say, 
Surely  the  same  might  be  enjoy 'd  again  !_, 
I  was  not  near  to  watch,  in  tenderness, 
Life's  fluttering,  dying  spark  ;  to  mark  the  set 
Of  thy  too  rapid  day's  descending  sun ; 
To  catch  thy  latest  sigh ;  and  bid  thee  hear, 
That  though  on  earth  a  thousand  years  were  mine, 
One  only  love  my  heart  would  ever  own  ! 

When  last  1  left  my  home,  what  wert  thou  then  ? 
A  very  picture  of  all  loveliness : — 
The  glow  of  health  play'd  en  the  varying  check, 
3 


1821. 3  The  Mariner's  Last  Visit.  37 

And  round  thy  ruby  lips  ;  thy  hazel  eye, 

Through  its  long  silken  lashes,  sparkled  bright ; 

And  I  have  gazed  upon  thy  snowy  brow ; 

And  on  the  brightness  of  thine  auburn  hair ; 

And  thought  ('twas  but  a  dream,)  that  many  days 

Of  joy — and  sunshine — and  prosperity — 

Would  bless  thee,  and  that  thy  reflected  smile, 

Through  many  years,  would  make  me  blest  indeed. 

In  hope  we  parted  ; — 'twas  a  summer  eve, 

And  the  long  lines  of  the  decaying  light 

Fell  sombrely  upon  the  crimson'd  trees  ; 

And,  ever  and  anon,  a  murmuring  sound 

Hose  from  the  falling  stream.    The  blackbird,  pcrch'd 

On  the  tall  sycamore,  its  pensive  hymn 

Chaunted  to  usher  in  the  shades  of  eve. 

Yea !  even  then,  as  the  last  lingering  look 

I  fix'd  on  thee,  departing,  something  pass'd — 

As  if  a  shadow— o'er  my  drooping  heart, 

To  omen  that  I  ne'er  should  see  thee  more ! 

Amid  the  flap  of  the  distending  sails, 
Mid  social  converse,  and  the  roar  of  waves, 
And  the  long  vista  of  the  ocean  green, 
And  the  blue  beauty  of  receding  isles, 
I  strove  to  overcome  my  sinking  heart, 
And  hush  my  fears  to  peace.     Yet,  often-times, 
As  coastways  we  pursued,  and  cape  and  bay 
Alternately  appeared,  and  pass'd  behind ; 
While  soar'd  the  sea-gull  with  a  wailing  shriek, 
My  gaze  hath  westward  follow'd  it,  and  wish'd— - 
What  fondness  will  not  lovers  when  they  love ! — 
That  it  could  bear  a  blessing  unto  thee, 
And  bring  me  thine,  returning. 

Months  pass'd  o'er ; 

Time  with  a  healing  touch  did  salve  my  fears ; 
And  Friendship  wooed  me  through  the  livelong  day : 
Yet,  oft-times,  when  I  paced  the  midnight  deck, 
And,  save  the  murmuring  billows,  all  was  still ; 
When  plaintively,  amid  the  cordage,  piped 
The  loud-breath  d  winds,  and,  twinkling  overhead. 
Ten  thousand  lustres  studded  the  blue  arch, 
Elizabeth,  my  thoughts  did  wander  home, — 
To  thee  they  stray  'd,  they  dwelt  on  thee  alone  ! 
I  thought  me  of  our  sweet  autumnal  walks 
By  the  green  wood,  or  o'er  the  yellow  sands ; 
Of  our  long  cherish'd,  and  unfaded  love ; 
Of  the  vows  pledg'd  in  early  youth : — I  thought — 
Alas !  it  was  a  mockery  of  nope  ! — 
That,  when  again  our  keel  did  touch  the  strand 
Of  Scotland,  I  should  clasp  thee  in  the  flush 
Of  beauty,  and  should  hail  my  wedded  wife ! 

Long  on  the  Indian  strand  our  steps  delay'd  ; 
And  I  (for  still  a  supernatural  dread 
Did  haunt  me  night  and  day  !)  did  pine  in  heart, 
Yea  long  to  traverse  the  wide  seas  again, 
To  brave  the  adverse  elements,  and  thus 
From  these  external  impulses  subdue 
The  agitations  of  the  heart ;  we  plough'd 
Month  after  month  the  interminable  main, 
Saw  but  the  sun,  and  sky,  and  the  long  clouds 
That  sometimes  floated  o'er  the  hemisphere, 


British  Eclogues.    Nu.  II.  CAPril 

And  pass'd  beneath  tlie  horizon ;  sometimes  too, — 
I  loved  the  sight — a  lightning  sheet  would  gild 
The  pale  front  of  the  evening  sky,  and  come 
With  bright  reiteration  suddenly. — 
Sometimes  the  watery  pillar,  huge  and  vast, 
Touching  the  clouds,  and  walking  on  the  sea, 
Approach'd  us  like  a  giant,  to  enwrap 
Our  vessel,  and  o'erwhelm  us — till  the  ball 
Sent  from  the  cannon's  throat  did  pierce  its  side, 
And  the  whole  mass,  a  deluge,  thundering  fell. 
Any  thing — any  thing  that  broke  the  calm, 
And  caused  a  moment's  thought,  was  dear  to  me, 
For  my  heart's  load  it  lighten'd.     Day  by  day, 
I  strove  to  comfort  me, — I  strove  to  dash 
The  mantle  of  despondency,  that  wrapt 
My  thoughts  in  gloom,  aside ;  yet,  even  then, 
I  sometimes  deem'd,  that  I  should  find  thee  well, 
And  happy ;  and  that  thus  my  heavy  fears, 
Like  clouds,  would  melt  in  that  clear  heaven  of  joy  ; 
That  would  o'erarch  my  soul  at  meeting  thee ! 

Oh  !  who  shall  tell  my  bosom's  agony, — 
Words  cannot  paint  it — language  is  in  vain — 
The  misery,  that  like  the  fiery  bolt, 
Did  fall ;  and,  with  an  overwhelming  sweep, 
Pass'd  through,  and  sear'd  my  unresisting  heart ! 
When,  scarcely  had  our  keen  prow  touched  the  strand, 
Then  to  my  fond  inquiry, — Oh,  dread  fate! — 
I  heard  that  thou  wert  in  the  land  of  rest ! ! 
Stunn'd  to  the  soul, — and  stupified, — and  drugg'd 
To  misery,  and  to  loathing,  with  this  draught 
From  grief's  most  bitter  chalice,  for  a  while, 
Beyond  the  sway  of  reason  I  did  lie  ; 
And  said  not — heard  not — heeded  not ;  the  sun 
Shone  not  for  me ;  the  summer  of  my  lift- 
Was  wasted — wither'd,  as  by  magic  spell, 
Into  the  leafless  bough,  and  frosty  wind ! 

As  stills  the  tempest  of  a  winter  day 
Into  a  sombre  shade,  a  gloomy  calm, 
So  hath  the  hurricane,  that  rent  my  heart, 
Wasted  its  force,  yet  only  left  behind 
Ruins,  and  all  the  silence  of  despair  ; 
And  I  have  come,  this  once,  before  I  leave 
This  land  for  ever,  thus  to  throw  me  down 
Upon  thy  grave, — this  green  and  silent  grave, 
Lose  for  an  hour  the  manhood  of  my  soul, 
And  weep  in  solitude  and  bitterness. 

*         •         •         *        •»•        •        * 

Lo !  'tis  the  crimson  sun,  whose  westc  ra  rays 
Burn  on  the  wall :  I  must  away — away. 
Farewell !  already  are  our  sails  unfurl'd, 
And,  flapping,  woo  the  breeze  to  bear  us  on  : 
Farewell  f  oh  dim,  and  silent  field  of  graves ! 
My  native  land,  farewell ! — now  to  the  sea ; 
And  then  a  wild  and  desolate  abode, 
In  lands  unknown, — upon  some  woody  isle, 
Upon  the  other  side  of  this  round  world  ! 


18210 


On  the  Neglect  of  Foote  as  a  Dramatic  Writer. 


39 


ON  »HE  NEGLECT  OF  FOOTE  AS  A  DRAMATIC  WRITEIl. 


IT  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  best  signs  of 
the  literary  taste  of  the  day,  that  what 
has  been  oddly  called  "  the  careless- 
ness of  Mr  Warburton's  servant,"  but 
which  ought  to  be  styled  the  careless- 
ness of  Mr  Warburton  himself,  could 
scarcely  occur  at  present.  Four  manu- 
script plays  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
would  not  now  be  thrust  into  the  drawer 
to  which  the  cook-maid  was  accustom- 
ed to  come  for  singeing  paper.  Nay,  if 
they  were,  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that 
"  cooky"  might  not  smell  roast-meat, 
and  have  some  idea,  that  documents 
with  such  names  affixed,  might  haply 
be  something  better  than  mere  "  pal- 
try blurred  sheets  of  paper."  Thanks 
to  the  universal  diffusion  of  Reviews, 
Magazines,  and  Newspapers,  and  to 
the  public  writers  who  have,  of  late, 
so  successfully  laboured  to  re-open 
those  "  wells  of  pure  English  undefi- 
led,"  the  dramatists  of  the  Elizabethan 
age,  the  true  Augustan  age  of  English 
literature,  the  satire  of  "  High  life 
below  stairs"  has,  so  far,  evaporated. 
If  Mrs  Kitty,  my  lady's  lady,  or  Mr 
Philip,  my  lord's  gentleman,  be  asked, 
now  a  days,  "  who  wrote  Shikspur," 
the  answer  will  not  be  "  Ben  Jon- 
son."  Yet,  at  the  time  when  the  farce 
was  written,  I  suspect  the  bolt  might 
sometimes  take  effect  in  quarters  much 
above  the  intention  of  the  author.  The 
early  dramatists,  however,  ought  not 
exclusively  to  occupy  this  salutary  re- 
trospection. At  the  same  time  that  the 
"  reading  public"  (a  phrase  which  ex- 
cites such  wonderment  in  Mr  Cole- 
ridge,) is  dieted  upon  new  editions  of 
Ford,  Massinger,  Shirley,  and  Marlow, 
it  would  be  well  if  some  critic  would 
now  and  then  oblige  the  play-going- 
public,  and  reform  and  re-edite  the 
managerial  lists  of  what  are  technically 
called  "  stock-plays."  These  lists  are 
of  no  little  consequence;  and,  being  the 
sole  work  of  managers  of  theatres,  are, 
for  the  most  part,  compiled  in  the  most 
absurd  manner.  This  is  natural  enough 
—but  the  evil  is  not  less  on  that  ac- 
count. The  omission  from  these  lists 
is  a  sort  of  negative  stamp  of  inferiori- 
ty ;  and  with  this  stigma  upon  their 
heads,  plays  slide  out  of  remembrance 
without  the  chance  of  appeal  to  the 
matured  judgment  of  the  public,  whilst 
others,  of  not  half  the  value,  are  preser- 
ved, and  acted,  and  read,  and  publish- 
ed in  sixpenny  editions,  for  the  edifi- 


cation of  tasteful  bankers'  clerks,  and 
shrewd  cabinet-makers'  apprentices. 
Those  plays  which,  at  their  first  co- 
ming out,  happen  to  have  the  longest 
run,  are  the  most  approved  stock-plays. 
Nor  is  it,  in  all  probability,  ever  ad- 
verted to,  that  peculiar  circumstances, 
unconnected  with  the  intrinsic  merits 
of  the  piece,  often  combine  to  alter  and 
influence  the  test  of  approval.  Who 
does  not  know  that  political  feelings  in- 
duced both  Tories  and  Whigs  to  en- 
deavour to  out-noise  each  other  in  clap- 
ping Addison's  Cato  ?  and  who  does 
not  know  that  a  better  play,  Brookes' 
Gustavus  Vasa,  was  in  a  manner  sup- 
pressed from  the  same  cause  ?  Foote 
is,  perhaps,  of  the  more  modern  dra- 
matic writers,  the  one  who  has  been 
most  flagrantly  neglected  by  the  pub- 
lic, certainly  not  for  the  causes  which 
have  been  enumerated,  but  for  causes 
that  ought  not  to  have  been  efficient. 
It  is,  no  doubt  true,  that  the  judg- 
ment of  the  public  is,  in  the  long  run, 
never  wrong.  But  then  it  is  in  the 
long  run.  There  lies  the  mischief — 
for  certain  it  is,  that  the  public  is  not 
seldom  most  dreadfully  tardy  in  coming 
to  the  right  decision.  In  the  mean- 
time, all  sorts  of  vagaries  are  played 
off,  at  the  expence  of  the  poor  author 
or  projector.  That  is  the  way,  to  be 
sure,  in  Chancery — and  why  art  thou 
"  my  public,"  it  may  be  said — with 
the  many  heads,  to  be  less  dubitant 
and  circumlocutory,  than  the  single 
noddle  of  the  (<  keeper  of  the  king's 
conscience  ?"  Be  it  as  it  may ;  there 
are  many  things,  besides  the  writings 
of  Foote,  to  which  thou  hast  yet,  one 
way  or  other,  to  do  justice.  For  in- 
stance there  is  Mr  Kean,  called  "  un- 
dignified," because  he  is  five  feet  five 
inches  high  ;  and  decried  as  ungentle- 
manly,  because  he  does  not  make  Othel- 
lo as  strutting  and  as  stiffas  a  gold  stick 
at  court,  or  a  herald  at  a  coronation  ; 
then,  Scottish  airs,  with  Burns'  verses 
to  them,  are  styled  "  vulgar,"  whilst 
songs  about  "  roses"  and  "  posies,"  are 
encored  in  the  same  breath.  Nay, 
fiddlers  call  Avisou  on  Musical  Ex- 
pression, a  profound  and  explanatory 
book,  and  nobody  contradicts  them.  It 
is  downright  heresy  to  think  that  a  man 
may  not  write  better  English,  for  ha- 
ving his  head  shifted  full  of  Greek  and 
Latin  idioms.  Don  Juan  is  recom- 
mended to  the  notice  of  the  Society  for 


On  Uie  Neglect  of  Foots  a$  a  Dramatic  Writer. 


40 

the  Suppression  of  Vice,  by  those  who 
passed  over  Bcpjw,  as  one  of  the  plea- 
santest  light  productions  of  the  time  ; 
and  Boswell  is  laughed  at  and  abused 
by  everybody,  as  an  egotist  and  an  ab- 
surd fellow,  for  having  written  one  of 
the  most  valuable  and  interesting  books 
in  the  English  language.  Lastly, — for 
the  list  gets  long — the  subject  of  the 
present  paper,  Foote,  passes  with  the 
many,  as  a  man  of  disreputable  charac- 
ter, who  had  a  sort  of  knack  at  writing 
libellous  farces. 

Various  causes  have  united  to  pro- 
duce the  low  estimation  in  which  the 
writings  of  Foote  are  held.  Amongst 
these,  the  enmity  of  Dr  Johnson,  as 
displayed  in  the  entertaining  volumes 
before  referred  to,  was  not  one  of  the 
least.  Foote  complained,  and  justly, 
of  the  crabbed  moralist's  harsh  and 
contemptuous  way  of  speaking  of  him, 
and  had  he,  in  return,  exhibited  the 
uncouth  censor  on  the  stage,  it  certain- 
ly would  not  have  been  the  most  un- 
provoked of  his  outrages  on  private 
feelings.  He  has  been  called  the  Eng- 
lish Aristophanes.  The  Greek  wit, 
however,  actually  caricatured  Socrates 
on  the  Athenian  boards,  and  that  with- 
out any  provocation  at  all.  It  would 
be  useless  to  deny,  that  the  personali- 
ties which  gave  temporary  attractions 
to  the  dramas  of  Foote,  were  in  the 
highest  degree  reprehensible.  Still,  it 
must  be  granted  that  these  pieces  em- 
body a  vein  of  wit,  a  natural  display 
of  character,  and  an  elegance  of  style, 
which  should  ensure  them  readers, 
long  after  the  immediate  personal 
causes  of  attraction  have  been  forgot- 
ten. 

Samuel  Foote  is  the  prince  of  the 
lighter  dramatists.  He  is  in  the  dra- 
ma what  Butler  is  in  epic  poetry.  He 
is  the  most  elegant  of  farce-writers. 
There  cannot  be  a  greater  contrast  than 
that  of  his  style  and  the  style  of  O'- 
Keefe,  whose  farces  are,  after  all,  the 
most  popular  on  the  English  stage. 
The  writings  of  the  Irishman,  full  of 
the  richest,  although  most  extravagant 
humour,  are  altogether  slovenly  and 
inelegant.  The  coarseness  of  the  dia- 
logue is  only  carried  through  by  the 
continued  and  intense  exhibition  of  the 
ludicrous;  as  the  rough  etchings  of 
Hogarth  are  redeemed  by  the  force  of 
the  expression.  On  the  contrary,  the 
style  of  Foote  is  the  last  in  the  world 
to  give  the  reader  the  idea  of  a  licen- 
tious buffoon,  who,  himself  destitute 


of  any  feeling  but  that  of  self-interest, 
makes  no  scruple  of  exciting  the  laugh- 
ter of  an  audience  by  outraging  the 
feelings  of  another.  There  is  a  sub- 
dued ease  and  scholarlike  elegance  in 
his  diction,  which  no  occasion  ever 
tempts  him  to  desert.  The  gentleman 
is  never  sunk  in  the  satirist,  nor  the 
man  of  education  in  the  droll.  His 
wit  is  not  often  licentious,  nor  ever 
gross.  It  has  always  the  air  of  being 
suppressed  rather  than  forced.  His 
thoughts,-  if  they  did  not  flow  easily, 
seem  to  have  been  systematically  re- 
jected ;  and  he  appears  to  have  resol- 
ved not  to  say  anything,  however  keen, 
which  could  not  be  said  with  a  grace- 
ful and  unperturbed  propriety — such 
is  the  style  of  Foote.  If  he  was  a  buf- 
foon in  conversation,  he  certainly  is 
not  so  in  literature.  That  he  was  a 
buffoon  at  all,  I  must  be  permitted  to 
doubt.  The  strong  prejudice  against 
him,  which  his  writings  were  no  doubt 
calculated  to  excite,  has  probably  left 
a  load  upon  his  memory,  at  once  un- 
deserved and  irremediable.  That  this 
has  been  the  case  with  many  others 
is  undeniable.  Boccacio  passes  for  a 
mere  profligate ;  Hobbes,  for  an  atheist ; 
Priestley,  for  a  deist;  and  Machiavel  for 
a  fiend.  With  what  reason,  let  those 
who  are  familiar  with  their  works  bear 
witness. 

Some  Jacobin  wit — probably  on  the 
hustings  at  Covent-garden — has  assert- 
ed, that  the  best  sample  of  English  go- 
vernment was  to  be  found  within  the 
rules  of  the  King's  Bench — and  of  Eng- 
lish prosperity  at  the  settlement  of  Bo- 
tany-bay. It  is,  perhaps,  equally  odd, 
and  quite  as  true,  to  say  that  some  of 
the  best  specimens  of  moral  satire  and 
of  English  style,  are  to  be  selected  from 
the  dramas  of  Foote.  The  personal 
eccentricities  upon  which  many  of  his 
characters  more  or  less  depend ;  and 
which,  at  first,  were  perhaps  their 
principal  attraction,  have  ultimately 
been  their  greatest  injury.  Thus —  ' 
"  Return  the  ingredients  of  the  poison'd 
chalice 

To  our  own  lips ." 

That  his  characters,  however,  included 
the  representation  of  individual  parti- 
cularities and  obliquities,  ought  not  to 
detract  from  their  other  merits.  They 
are  singular,  but  still  faithful  represen- 
tations of  human  nature.  The  talent 
which  seized  antl  delineated  their  su- 
perficial peculiarities,  has  not  omitted 
to  embody  that  substratum  of  natural 


On  l/ie  Neglect  of  Foote  as  a  Dramatic  Writer. 


18^1  /] 

sentiment  and  feeling,  which  is  com- 
mon to  our  experience,  and  which 
"  comes  home  to  our  business  and  our 
bosoms."  Who  knows  but  that  Ham- 
let, that  natural  yet  almost  inexplica- 
ble mixture  of  passion  and  reflection ; 
or  that  Shallow,  or  that  FalstafF,  or 
that  Overreach,  or  that  Volpone,  or  that 
Mr  Hardcastle,  or,  to  quit  the  drama, 
that  Parson  Adams,  or  Trulliber,  or 
Morgan,  or  Whiffle,  or  Pallet,  or  Pau- 
lus  Pleydell,  Esq. ;  was  drawn  from 
some  individual,  in  the  author's  eye, 
at  the  very  time  of  his  writing  ?  Who 
does  not  know  that  some  of  these  cha- 
racters were  so  drawn  ?  yet  this  does 
not  detract  from  their  general  interest 
and  acknowledged  merit,  nor  ought  it 
to  do  so.  Foote's  disadvantage  is,  that 
the  public  knew  the  individuals  from 
whom  he  drew,  in  the  other  cases  this 
was  known  only  to  the  author. 

It  has  happened  to  Foote,  as  to  many 
other  dramatic  writers,  that  those  of  his 
pieces  which  keep  possession  of  the 
stage  are  by  no  means  his  best.  In  the 
Mayor  of  Garrat,  Sturgeon  and  Sneak, 
though  sufficiently  laughable,  are 
coarse  caricatures ;  and  the  Lyar  is 
perhaps  carried  ofl'more  by  the  spright- 
liness  of  the  action,  than  by  originality 
of  character  or  humour  of  dialogue. 
It  has  always  appeared  to  me  that  the 
Minor  is  his  best  acting  play;  although 
some  other  of  his  pieces  undoubtedly 
contain  characters  more  artfully  drawn 
than  the  best  in  this  comedy,  excellent 
as  they  are.  It  is  impossible  that  any 
scene  can  be  more  amusing — more  air- 
ily hit  off — than  that  in  which  Shift 
personates  Mr  Smirk.  Nor  does  it  at 
all  detract  from  the  pleasure  of  the 
reader  to  be  told  that  Smirk  was  drawn 
from  the  celebrated  Mr  Cock  the  auc- 
tioneer. The  absurd  self-importance, 
whim,  and  flippancy,  will  always  tell, 
whether  Cock,  Smirk,  or  Shift  be  the 
vehicle.  His  panegyric  on  his  prede- 
cessor Mr  Prig  cannot  itself  be  too 
much  panegyrized.  It  may  be  a  bur- 
lesque, but  the  tints,  though  rather 
more  vivid,  are  little  less  delicate  than 
those  of  nature.  It  is  to  the  truth, 
what  the  solar  is  to  the  lunar  rainbow. 
His  account  of  his  own  rise  is  not  less 
whimsical  and  spirited.  "  One  flower," 
says  he,  "  flounced  involuntarily  from 
me  that  day,  as  I  may  say.  I  remem- 
ber Dr  Trifle  called  it  enthusiastic,  and 
pronounced  it  a  presage  to  my  future 
greatness. — The  lot  was  a  Guido ;  a 
single  figure ;  a  marvellous  fine  per- 
formance, well  preserved  and  highly 


41 

finished. — It  stuck  at  five  and  forty  ; 
I,  charmed  with  the  picture,  and  piqued 
at  the  people — a-going  at  five  and  forty 
— nobody  more  than  five  and  forty? 
pray,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  look  at  this 
piece — quite  flesh  and  blood,  and  only 
wants  a  touch  from  the  torch  of  Pro- 
metheus to  start  from  the  canvass,  and 
fall  a-bidding ! — A  general  plaudit  en- 
sued ;  I  bowed,  and  in  three  minutes 
knocked  it  down  at  sixty-three,  ten." 
"  That  (observes  Sir  George)  was  a 
stroke  at  least  equal  to  your  master." 
"  O  dear  me !  you  did  not  know  that 
great  man ;  alike  in  every  thing ;  he 
had  as  much  to  say  upon  a  ribbon  as  a 
Raphael. — His  manner  was  inimitably 
fine.  I  remember  they  took  him  off' at 
the  Play-house  some  time  ago ; — plea- 
sant,— but  wrong.  Pubh'c  characters 
are  not  to  be  sported  with — they  are 
sacred.  But  we  lose  time.  There  will 
be  a  world  of  company.  I  shall  please 

you but  the  great  nicety  of  our  art 

is — the  eye.  Mark  how  mine  skims 
round  the  room.  Some  bidders  are 
shy,  and  advance  only  with  a  nod ;  but 
I  nail  them.  One,  two,  three — four 
— five ;  you  will  be  surprised — ha  ha ! 
heigh-ho !"  Mrs  Cole  is  a  powerful 
though  somewhat  coarse  delineation  of 
one  of  those  strange  jumbles  of  the 
flesh  and  the  spirit,  half  repentance 
and  half  vice;  half  hypocrisy,  half 
fear;  half  cant,  half  feeling — which 
the  early  and  more  fanatical  days  of 
methodism  produced.  The  composi- 
tion is  a  most  unaccountable  one ;  and 
when  Loader  the  black-leg  exclaims 
"  may  I  lose  a  deal  with  an  honour  at 
bottom,  if  old  Moll  does  not  bring  the 
tears  into  my  eyes,"  we  feel  it  is  im- 
possible that  the  heterogeneous  can  be 
carried  further. 

The  farce  of  Taste  is  a  happy  effort. 
Garrick's  Lethe,  which  is  something 
similar,  as  to  the  species  of  satire,  is 
not  to  be  compared  to  it.  Foote  never 
let  the  antiquaries  and  virtuosi  alone ; 
and  he  has  here  added  hit  after  hit 
to  his  numerous  catalogue,  at  which, 
though  they  are  repeated  in  almost 
every  variety  of  form,  it  is  difficult 
to  refuse  a  smile.  When  the  mock 
"  Mynheer  Baron  de  Groningen"  asks 
Novice  of  his  bust,  "  but  where  is  de 
nose  ?"  the  replication  of  the  irritated 
connoisseur  is  what  aFrencliman  would 
call  superb.  "  The  nose  !  what  care  I 
for  the  nose  ?  where  is  de  nose ! — why, 
Sir,  if  it  had  a  nose,  I  would  not  give 
sixpence  for  it.  How  the  devil  should 
we  distinguish  the  works  of  the  an- 


On  the  Neglect  of  Foots  as  a  Dramatic  Writer. 


cients,  if  they  were  perfect?  the  nose, 
indeed, — why  I  don't  suppose  now  but, 
barring  the  nose,  Roubiliac  could  cut 
as  good  a  head,  every  whit. — Brush, 
— who  is  this  man,  with  his  nose  ?" 

"  The  Commissary"  is  another  good 
acting  play,  and  was,  I  believe,  for 
many  years  very  popular.     The  story 
of  "  the  Patron"  has  been  more  than 
once  dramatized  in  English.     Tobin 
left  a  farce  on  the  same  subject,  which, 
however,  is  much  inferior  to  Foote's. 
Sir  Thomas  Lofty,  the  patron,  is  de- 
picted with  great  truth :  and  Rust,  the 
old  antiquary,  who  falls  in  love  because 
the  lady's  nose  is  turned  up  like  that 
of  the  bust  of  the  Empress  Poppsea, 
"  thechaste  moiety  of  the  amiable  Nero," 
is  very  amusing.  It  has  always  appear- 
ed to  me,  however,  that  the  characters 
in  which  he  has  been  most  successful 
We  Sir  Luke  Limp,  in  the  Lame  Lo- 
ver, and  Sir  Christopher  Cripple,  in  the 
Maid  of  Bath.  He  seems  to  have  writ- 
ten them  in  order  to  display  his  own 
acting,  after  the  misfortune  of  his  bro- 
ken limb,  and  exhibit  that  nicely  ba- 
lanced union  of  humour,  licentiousness, 
cleverness,  and  absurdity,  in  which  he 
delighted.  That  his  own  character  was 
of  this  cast  there  is  no  doubt ;  and  they 
are  evidently  written  con  amore.     Sir 
Luke  Limp  ("  not  to  speak  it  pro- 
fanely") is  in  farce,  very  much  what 
Hamlet  is  in  tragedy,  and  Falstaff  in 
comedy.   At  once  attractive,  odd,  cle- 
ver, weak,  and  vain  :  in  short,  a  natu- 
ral, and  yet  rather  inexplicable,  com- 
position.    His  halting  activity  is  not 
his  worst  port.     He  has  "  a  thousand 
things  to  do,  for  half  a  million  of 
people, — positively.  Promised  to  pro- 
cure a  husband  for  Lady  Cicely  Sulky, 
and  match  a  coach  horse  for  Brigadier 
Whip ;  after  that,  must  run  into  the 
City  to  borrow  a  thousand  for  young 
Atall  at  Almack's ;  send  a  Cheshire 
cheese,  by  the  stage,  to  Sir  Timothy 
Tankard,  in  Suffolk,  and  get  at  the 
Herald's  Office  a  coat  of  arms  to  clap 
on  the  coach  of  Billy  Bengal,  a  nabob 
newly  arrived :  so  you  see  (he  adds)  I 
have  not  a  moment  to  lose."  Nothing, 
in  farce,  can  be  better  than  his  shifts 
to  change  his  engagements,  when  he 
is  invited  to  dinner,  first  by  Sir  Gre- 
gory Goose,  then  by  Lord  Brentford, 
and  lastly,  by  his  Grace  the  Duke 

of ,  whose  title  he  never  waits  to 

have  repeated — "  Grace  where  is  he, 

where "  but  scuttles  out,  after  he 

has  got  Lord  Brentford's  engagement 
disposed  of,  with  "  I  beg  ten  thousand 


pardons  for  making  his  Grace  wait,  but 
his  Grace  knows  my  misfor— — ."  The 
concluding  scenes,  in  which  they  plead 
as  they  think  before  the  Sergeant  s  gown 
and  wig,  whilst  he  himself  is  hidden 
under  them ;  and  in  which  the  knight 
and  the  lawyer  make  each  other  tipsey 
with  such  ludicrous  success,  are  not 
easy  to  be  outdone. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  particularize 
further.  The  genius  of  Foote,  like  that 
of  all  other  writers  of  farces,  and  many 
writers  of  comedies,  sometimes  runs 
wild,  and  deviates  into  downright  ex- 
travagance. Sir  Peter  Pepperpot's  ac- 
count of  his  getting  a  turtle  down  to 
one  of  his  boroughs,  at  election  time, 
by  putting  on  it  a  Capuchin,  and  taking 
it  a  seat  in  the  fly,  though  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  read  it  with  gravity,  is  a 
glaring  instance.  His  names,  like  those 
of  theauthorof  Waverley,  though  some- 
times a  little  too  ludicrous,  have  always 
a  happiness  about  them.  We  have 
"  the  part  of  Othello  by  Lord  Catas- 
trophe's butler," — "  Lord  Gorman's 
fat  Cook," — "  Mynheer  Vancaper,  the 
Dutch  figure  dancer  at  the  Opera-house 
in  the  Haymarket ;"  and  we  are  told 
of  the  match  between  "  the  Marquis  of 
Cully  and  Fanny  Flipflap,  the  French 
dancer." 

His  "  Trip  to  Calais"  does  him  least 
honour.  The  piece  itself  is  indifferent, 
and  the  transactions  to  which  it  gave 
rise,  to  say  the  truth,  had  better  be  left 
in  the  cloud  which  envelopes  them. 
The  attack  upon  the  Duchess  of 
Kingston  was  decidedly  the  most  un- 
fortunate action  of  his  unguarded  and 
volatile  life.  In  that  unaccountable 
woman  he  met  with  his  match.  Lady 
Kitty  Crocodile  was,  in  the  end,  too 
hard  for  him.  His  laxity  of  principle 
could  not  contend  against  her  entire 
disregard  of  it :  and  to  her  vindictive 
intrigues  was  owing  the  prosecution 
which  is  thought  to  have  shortened 
his  days.  That  it  did  so,  is  a  proof 
that  he  was  possessed  of  strong  feel- 
ings, although  they  might  not  always 
have  been  excited  when  they  ought. 
With  all  his  knowledge  of  the  world, 
it  would  seem  that  he  attained  to  know 
only  by  bitter  experience  "  Furens 
quid  Foemina  possit." 

In  a  notice  of  Foote's  works,  it  would 
be  unpardonable  to  omit  mentioning 
his  excellent  "  Comic  Theatre  from 
the  French."  There  is  not  room,  how- 
ever, to  do  more  than  mention  it. 

T.  D. 


Horas  Datiicus.     No.  V. 


DAN1C-*. 

No.  V. 
Masanietto  ;  a  Tragedy. 

BY  B.  S.  INGEMAN. 

Kiobenkavn.     1815. 


OF  the  tragedies  of  Ingeman,  so  far 
as  we  can  learn,  no  translation  has  yet 
appeared  in  this  country;  nor  indeed 
have  we  ever  observed  his  name  no- 
ticed by  any  of  our  pretenders  to  fo- 
reign scholarship.  One  of  his  plays — 
but  one  only — ("  The  Shepherd  of 
Tolosa")  has  been  rendered  very  faith- 
fully into  German  ;  and  if  we  mistake 
not,  a  version  of  the  "  Blanca/'  by  an 
English  gentleman,  has  been  printed 
at  Rome ;  but  we  have  not  seen  it,  nor 
do  we  know  even  the  translator's  name. 
To  such  readers,  therefore,  as  may  be 
unacquainted  with  the  fame  of  Inge- 
man, it  may  be  proper  to  observe,  that 
he  is  yet  but  a  young  man,  from  whose 
riper  genius  much  may  be  expected. 
His  first  long  work  was  a  metrical  ro- 
mance, entitled  the  "  Black  Knights," 
(one  of  the  best  of  its  class)  which  ap- 
peared in  1814.  Mere  romance,  how- 
ever, whether  in  verse  or  prose,  was 
not  so  suitable  to  his  genius  as  drama- 
tic composition  ;  accordingly,  in  1815 
appeared  his  "  Blanca"  and  "  Masa- 
niello,"  which  (as  our  friend  Counsellor 
Hell  observes)  excited  a  "  furor"  of 
applause  among  the  Copenhageners. 
These  were  quickly  followed  by  the 
"  Lion  Knight"  and  the  "  Shepherd 
of  Tolosa,"  which  appeared  in  1816. 
Since  that  time,  Mr  Ingeman  has  been 
not  merely  resting  on  his  laurels,  but 
sedulously  improving  his  mind  by  tra- 
vels in  Italy,  and  by  tranquil  and  la- 
borious study,  of  which  the  fruits  may 
soon  be  looked  for.  Of  the  four  regu- 
lar tragedies  already  mentioned,  nis 
countrymen  are  not  determined  which 
deserves  the  preference — at  present, 
associations,  which  will  probably  oc- 
cur to  our  readers,  have  led  us  to 
"  Masaniello,"  of  whose  real  history 
a  long  prefatory  memoir  might  be 
given ;  but  we  have  not  for  some  time 
looked  into  Giraffi,  or  his  translator 
Howell. — In  their  entertaining  his- 
tory, every  circumstance,  however 
minute,  is  detailed, — but  luckily  the 
mere  outline  of  the  story  will  be  suf- 
ficient for  the  clear  understanding  and 
due  appreciation  of  the  work  before 
xis. — We  have  here,  indeed,  a  forcible 
VOL.  IX. 


example  of  the  modifying,  conferring, 
and  creative  power  of  genius ; — for  in 
Masaniello's  character,  there  was  but 
little  to  tempt  the  poet.  He  was  a 
fisherman  of  the  lowest  class  at  Naples, 
who,  as  if  supernaturally  strengthen- 
ed, headed  an  insurrection  of,  we  be- 
lieve, not  fewer  than  200,000  men, 
about  the  year  1646,  and,  after  a  tu- 
multuous career  of  ten  or  twelve  daysr 
was  killed  in  an  accidental  skirmish. 
Ingeman,  however,  has  imparted  to 
his  hero  all  those  attributes  most  likely 
to  render  him  interesting.  He  has 
drawn  him  as  a  husband  and  a  father, 
—finely  contrasted  him  with  Genuine, 
a  hypocritical  priest,  and  with  Pe- 
ronne,  a  robber, — and  finally,  has  as- 
cribed to  him  those  gifts  of  imagi- 
nation, and  independent  energies  of 
soul,  which  a  poet  only  could  evince  ; 
— gifts,  indeed,  which,  as  if  to  prore 
their  divine  origin,  are  sometimes  found 
in  individuals  to  whom  fortune  has 
denied  every  external  advantage ; 
while,  in  the  abodes  of  wealth,  luxury, 
and  splendour,  they  are  sought  for  in 
vain.  What  we  chiefly  regret,  with 
regard  to  Ingeman's  style,  is,  "  that 
there  are  no  lockings  abroad  on  na- 
ture,"— no  blendings  of  the  magnifi- 
cent scenery  of  Naples  with  delineation 
of  the  mind's  internal  conflicts.  Here, 
again,  Ingeman,  like  Oehlanschlager, 
is  unfavourably  contrasted  with  some  of 
the  modern  writers  of  Germany  ;  but, 
perhaps,  he  was  led  into  this  error  by 
his  Italian  studies.  It  may  not  be  im- 
probable, that  he  took  Alfieri  for  a 
model,  in  whom  no  one  mood  of  mind 
or  frame  seems  ever  to  have  been  ex- 
cited, that  might  not  have  existed  as 
well  in  a  crowded  theatre,  as  on  the 
most  romantic  spot  of  the  Neapolitan 
shore,  fanned  by  the  softest  breezes, 
and  illuminated  by  the  loveliest  sun- 
gleams.  But  enough  of  these  remarks. 
The  play  before  us  is  long,  and  our 
prefatory  notice  ought  therefore  to  be 
concise. 

We  pass  over  even  without  analysis 

some  of  the  introductory  scenes.    The 

play  opens  with  a  view  of  the  Bay  of 

Naples.  Masanicllo  islcaningona  ruiu- 

F 


44  Horce  Danicae    No.  V. 

ed  fountain  on  one  side  of  the  stage, —  the  present  state  of  public  affairs,  and 

on  the  other  is  his  cottage.  He  is  discon-  to  prevail  on  him  to  make  some  change 

tentedly  murmuring  some  stanzas  of  a  in  his  mode  of  government.  The  third 

revolutionary  ballad,  which  lead  to  a  scenebringe  again  Masaniello  before  us. 

confused  disputation  with  his  brother  He  is  still  dwellingon  the  revolutionary 

Lazaroni,  varied  by  interruptions  of  ballad  which  he  had  before  sung ;  and 

the  monk  Genuine,  the  robber  Peronne,  with  his  first  soliloquy  we  shall  begin 

a  physician,  &c.  &c. ;  but  the  assem-  our  extracts.     Our  readers  may  think 

blage  is  instantly  dispersed  on  the  ap-  (and  with  justice)  that  the  style  here 

pearance  of  one  of  the  magistrates,  is  low-toned; — but  the  author  must 

whom  Masaniello  always  stigmatizes  not  be  accused  of  "  missing  a  mark  at 

with  the  name  of  oppressors,  or  execu-  which  he  had  not  aimed." — His  inten- 

tioners.  Thesecond scene presentsalong  tion  through  the  scenes  where  Masa- 

dialogue  between  the  viceroy  (Duke  niello  appears  in  the  first  act,  was  na- 

of  Arcos)  and  Filmarino,  a  venerable  turally  to  delineate  the  thoughts  of  a 

archbishop,  in  which  the  latter  endea-  poor  and  uneducated  fisherman, 
vours  to  gain  the  duke's  attention  to 

(Masanidlo,  alone,  and  mending  his  nets.}  How  strange  ! — Whene'er 

I  thus  am  left  alone, 

That  song  revives, — and  yet,  as  by  some  spell, 
Mysterious  bound,  I  cannot  bring  to  mind 
Its  tragic  end  ! — What  influence  thus  hath  changed  me  ? — 
Scarcely  can  1  remember  who  I  am ! — 
There  was  a  time,  when  first  I  wove  this  net, 
I  thought  but  of  the  profits  it  might  gain 
To  gladden  Laura's  and  the  children's  hearts ! 
Now  doth  it  seem,  as  if  a  voice  from  heaven 
Said, — "  Follow  me,  and  think  of  trade  no  more. 
A  Fisher,  henceforth,  shall  thou  be — of  men  !" 
Yet  still  along  the  accustom  "d  path  I  tread, 
Disturb'd  indeed  and  anxious  ; — yet  I  move 
Within  the  wonted  circle,— weave  again 
This  net-work  when  'tis  broken, — and  at  eve 
Lay  myself  down  to  rest,-r-though  sleep  indeed 
Flies  from  me,  and  the  waking  dreamer  scorns. 
Ha  !  cursed  inaction  ! — Indolence  that  longs 
For  rest,  upon  the  ocean's  troubled  wave, 
When  wreck  awaits  the  vessel  I  Yet,  alas  !• 
What  can  I  do  ? — Oh  gracious  heaven  !  if  sleep 
Indeed  falls  on  me,  wake  me  with  thy  thunder  ; 
Or  if  I  wake  not, — with  thy  lightening's  glare, 
Point  out  my  path  of  duty,  or  destroy  me ! 
"  I  for  the  avenging  scourge  of  Heaven  am  chosen  !" 
So  Genuine  spoke — and  so  indeed, 
Mine  own  disquiet  every  moment  tells  me — 
Yet  am  I  undecided  still — nor  know 
Which  way  to  turn.     Full  gladly  would  I  go, 
And  prostrate  fall  before  King  Philip's  throne, 
And  tell  the  story  of  our  miseries. 
But  thither  have  our  executioners 
Barr'd  all  approach — Well — let  us  then  complain 
Before  the  throne  of  Heaven  ! — This  is  indeed 
A  holiday — or  should  be  so — yet  seems 
A  work-day. — (Sells  at  a  distance.  ) 

Yet,  hear  now ! — How  sweet  that  sound  ! 
'Tis  the  church  bells ! — This  only  consolation 
Our  tyrants  cannot  us  deny.    My  Laura  ! 
Good — pious — simple-hearted  !  Thou  art  gone 
Already  with  thy  children  reverently 
To  join  in  praise  of  God — Thither  at  last, 

9 


1821.]]  Masaniello—a  Tragedy,  45 

If  earth  should  burn  beneath  our  feet,  can  we 
Still  fly  for  refuge, 

(Choir  of  Monks,  without.) 
Te  surame  rogamus  Pater ! — 
Ut  corda  nostra  suscites— 
Ut  vere  possint  credere— 
Johannis  testimonio,  &c. 
Masan.  I  hear 

The  slow  procession  nearer  move, — I  hear 
The  solemn  hymns  rise  through  the  stilly  air, 
Banishing  from  our  bosoms  earthly  cares, 
And  leaving  them  for  heavenly  raptures  free ! 
Thus,  for  a  space,  my  country,  may  thy  wrongs 
And  sufferings  be  forgot. 

Choir  of  People  (without.) 
St  Johannes  lovet  vsere, 
At  han  Vidne  vilde  bsere, — 
Om  den  Frelse  som  er  nser,  &c.  &c. 

Masan.  So  powerfully 

Those  notes  attract  me, — I  too,  with  the  band 
Of  pious  souls  must  join,  and  pray  to  Heaven, 
Whose  aid  can  rescue  us,  even  if  we  stood 
On  the  dread  brink  of  hell. — Our  voices  here 
Can  reach  beyond  the  starry  spheres. — From  prayer 
The  powers  of  darkness  cannot  all  withhold  us.— 

\^He  is  about  to  go,  when  the  music  suddenly  ceases,— -A  great  tumult, 
with  shrieks  of  terror  and  lamentation,  is  heard  without ;  and  Laura 
soon  after  rushes  in,  pale  and  dishevelled,  with  her  children  in  her 
arms.J 

Laura.  Oh,  heaven  ! — Masaniello ! — 

Masan.  What  a  shriek ! 
Thou  tremblest,  and  art  deadly  pale! — 

People  (wit/tout.)  Woe !  woe ! — 
Oh  miserable  day  ! — 

Masan.  Tell  me,  I  pray — 
For  heaven's  sake,  what  has  happened  ? 

Laura,  Where  on  earth 
Is  peace  or  rest,  if  thus  the  sanctuary 
May  be  profaned  ? — If  in  the  holiest  place 
Violence  assails  us  ? 

Masan.  Apprehensions  dread 
O'ercome  me. — Yet,  it  surely  cannot  be — 
Impossible  !  The  tyrant  could  not  venture  ! 

Laura,  Ay,  he  has  more  than  ventured  all  thou  fear  st, — 
With  impious  force  and  worldly  power  defied  us — 
Profaned  the  holy  spirit ! 

Masan.  This  is  then 
Thy  thunderbolt,  oh  Heaven !  and  I  awake ! 

Laura.  Full  reverently,  a  peaceful  band  we  went, — 
Priests, — old  men, — women,  and  our  little  ones, 
To  solemnize  this  anniversary 
Of  blest  St  John.     Then  suddenly  there  came 
A  band  of  horsemen  on  us,  even  like  wolves, 
Bloodthirsty,  on  a  harmless  flock. — They  spared 
Nor  priests,  nor  women ; — shamefully  they  us'd  us  :— 
Even  cast  on  earth  the  church's  holiest  emblems ; 
Dispersed  the  crowd  with  unrelenting  blows, 
And  horrid  imprecations.     All  the  while, 
Our  haughty  nobles  urged  them  on : — "  Strike  !  Strike  !" 
They  cried,  "  and  spare  not !  Tread  them  under  foot ! 


46  Hora;  Danicce.    No.  V.  £  April; 

For  this  is  the  command  of  royal  Arcos  !" — 
We  fled  in  terror ;  our  poor  children  here, 
Within  an  hair's  breadth  of  their  horses'  feet, — 
Almost  were  crushed. 
Children  (Weeping.} 

Oh,  father,  father,— save  us  ! 
The  cruel,  fearful  men  ! 

Masan.  (With  frightful  composure.}  It  is  resolved  ! — 
Now  do  I  know  the  path  whicn  I  must  climb : 
Laura,  go  cast  that  net  into  the  fire, — 
Henceforth  our  wonted  toil  is  at  an  end. 

Laura.  Why  glare  thine  eyes  so  fiercely  ?  Oh  be  calm ! 
Why  clench  thy  hand  and  knit  thy  brows  so  sternly  ? 
What  would'st  thou  do  ?  These  men  indeed  were  hirelings, 
And  but  fulfill'd  their  duty. 

Masan.  This  I  know : 

My  vengeance  is  not  aim'd  at  them.  A  child 
Alone  is  angry  with  the  rod  that  struck  him : 
I  crush  the  arm  who  wielded  it. 

Laura.  Oh  Heaven ! 
Masaniello,  art  thou  then  insane  ? 
One  word  presumptuous  now,  would  cost  thy  life. 

Masan.  With  words  indeed  I  shall  not  rest  contented — 
Now  let  me  go ! — 

Laura.  Again  I  say,  what  would'st  thou  ? 
Thy  looks  are  terrible. — So  have  I  ne'er 
Beheld  thee  till  this  day. 

Masan.  'Tis  true — Till  now 
Thou  saw'st  me  not  awake — I  was  a  dreamer ; 
Now  first  I  know  myself — I  am  indeed 
But  a  poor  fisherman  :  A  man  of  might, 
And  dignity  is  held  our  Duke  of  Arcos — 
But  /  am  the  avenging  scourge  of  heaven ! 

(He  rushes  out.} 

Laura.  Ye  saints  protect  us !  Never  till  this  hour 
His  eyes  have  roll'd  so  wildly. — Now  the  fire 
Has  broken  forth,  that  I  so  long  have  striven 
Within  his  bosom  to  repress :  The  flame 
Now  fiercely  rages — and  my  words,  alas ! 
Unwittingly  have  fann'd  it  into  fury ! 

We  have  said  that  the  language  in  mysteries  of  their  own  profession,  Pe- 

the  preceding  scene  is  but  tame ;  but  ronne  giving  lessons  to  his  less  expe- 

this  was  at  the  commencement  of  the  rienced  comrade.    Their  conversation, 

play,  in  all  probability,  systematically  which  occupies  six  pages,  takes  place 

intended  by  the  author,  and  it  will  be  in  the  interior  of  a  church,  where  they 

found,  that  the  style  improves  as  the  walk  aside,  when  Masaniello  again  ap- 

action  advances. — The  next  scene  ex-  pears,  and  watch  him  while  he  utters 

hibits  two  robbers,  Peronne  and  Pietro,  the  following  prayer  or  soliloquy : — 
who  hold  a  spirited  dialogue  on  the 

Masan.  Now  do  I  know  my  duty,  heavenly  Father ! 
I  have  not  woke  in  vain  !  I  know  at  last, 
Who  is  Masaniello !  But  if  woe 
Or  happiness,  my  portion  is  appointed, 
Thou  only  know'st !  To  guard  thy  sanctuary, 
Place  me  even  like  a  tower  of  strength ;  or  change 
Thy  servant  to  a  sword  of  wrath,  to  strike 
Where'er  thou  mark'st  thy  victims ; — and  when  thus 
My  duty  is  fulfill'd,  I  gladly  die ! 
But  all  alone,  I  cannot  here  succeed  : 
Oh  grant  me  then  assistance !     Hither  send 
Spirits  of  death  and  murder,  for  blest  angels 


1821. ^  Masattiello — a  Tragedy.  41 

Where  wickedness  so  foully  taints  the  air, 

Would  ne'er  descend.     Therefore  from  realms  accurs'd, 

Send  if  thou  wilt  a  demon  of  destruction  ! — 

But  hear  my  solemn  vows : — If  I  in  vain 

Have  thus  been  chosen, — if  I  from  duty  shrink, 

Nor  hope  nor  succour  then  be  mine !  I  claim 

Fit  punishment— eternal  condemnation ! 

(He  rises  from  the  altar, — stands  silently,  and  looking  wildly 
forward.) 

Peronne  (drawing  nearer.)  Why  starest  thou  thus  into  the  va- 
cant air? 

Would'st  thou  catch  motes  that  in  the  sunbeams  play  ? 
Or  strivest  thou  here  with  angels,  while  on  earth, 
To  make  acquaintance  ? 

Pietro.  Nay,  disturb  him  not ; 
He  prays.    If  he  beholds  an  angel's  form, 
Let  him  not  look  on  thine.     He  cannot  choose, 
But  deem  thou  art  a  devil. 

Peronne.  Flattering  words  ! — 

Ho,  friend,  What  see'st  thou  there  ? — He  stands  unmoved, 
And  speechless  as  a  statue ;  yet,  one  way 
Remains  to  rouse  him. 

(Strikes  him  on  the  shoulder.) 
Comrade  !  art  thou  dumb  ? 

Masan.  (  With  cold  sternness.)   By  Heaven,  the  wretched  State 

I  shall  restore ! 

It  s/ialf  be  free, — if  on  the  scaffold  I 

Should  perish ! —  (Peronne  laughs  at  him  scornfully.) 

Laugh'st  thou  ? — If  all  hell  should  laugh, 
My  purpose  were  unchanged — It  shall  be  so  ! 

Peron.  (Scornfully.)  A  humorous  brother  this ! — Thou  speak'st 

indeed 

Beyond  thyself — Look  at  thy  garments,  friend  !— - 
Thou  hast  not  well  for  thine  own  wants  provided,— 
And  thou,  forsooth,  would'st  free  the  state  ? 

Masan.   Seek'st  thou 

For  strength  or  courage,  then,  in  brave  attire  ? 
Had  I  but  one  or  two  to  stand  by  me, 
Thou  should'st  ere  long  know  what  I  can  achieve, 
And  who  I  am  ! 

Peron.   Stranger,  thy  words  and  looks 
Indeed  amaze  me.     But  think  not  thou  speak'st 
With  cowards  here.     Know'st  thou  my  name  ? — Peronne 
Has  never  earn'd  a  craven's  reputation. 
Say,  friend,  what  would'st  thou  do  ? — Here  thou  behold'st 
Two  faithful  brethren,  whom  the  torturing  wheel 
May  not  appall.     We  shall  unite  with  thee  ! 
Lack'st  thou  such  aid  as  ours  ? — daggers  well  proved  ? — 
See  how  they  glisten  ! 

(The  robbers  draw  their  daggers.) 
{ Masan.   Murderers — Banditti! 
With  such  must  then  my  glorious  deeds  be  shared  ? 
Well — in  your  hands  the  dagger  brightly  gleams, 
While  in  the  earth  neglected,  rusting  lies 
The  battle-sword  of  heroes  !    Not  in  vain, 
At  such  a  moment,  hast  thou  profFer'd  me 
A  bloody  hand,  and,  though  from  hell  it  came, 
Thus  would  I  grasp  it ! — But  our  compact  still 
(As  Heaven  and  freedom  to  my  heart  are  dear) 
Shall  solemnly  be  ratified — Peronne, 
Give  me  thy  hand — 

(They  shake  hands.) 


48  Horce  Danica;.    No.  V.  C  April, 

Now  shalt  thou  know  'gainst  whom 
My  rage  has  been  excited — 'Tis  no  foe 
That  aims  against  my  life  or  humble  fortune — 
Him  could  I  not  thus  hate — It  is  the  serpent 
That  sucks  away  the  life  blood  of  our  state, 
And  all  to  lingering  misery  would  devote. 
Villains  !  I  know,  you,  for  base  lucre's  sake, 
Have  murder'd  the  defenceless — Women,  babes, 
You  would  relentless  sacrifice !    But  you 
Are  angels,  when  contrasted  with  the  fiends 
Who  rule  us  here.     To  our  good  king  am  I 
Faithful  to  death — His  representative 
Who  wrongs  him,  and  our  executioners — 
Them  do  I  hate,  how  proud  soe'er  their  names— 
Them  into  justice  and  humanity 
I  shall  compel,  or  crush  them  ! 

Pietro.  (Aside)  Till  this  hour 
I  have  not  known  such  confidence ! 

Peron.   Thy  language 
And  fiery  glances,  with  thy  mean  attire, 
Are  strangely  match'd — But  I  have  seen  ere  now 
Bright  diamonds  glitter  from  ignoble  moulds. 
I  am  thy  man  ! 

Pietro.   And  I ! 

Masan.  Thy  name,  Peronne, 
Is  bail  for  thee,  that  in  a  murderous  deed, 
Conceal'd  and  base,  thou  would'st  be  firm  and  faithful ! 
But  here  our  deeds  are  noble  and  heroic — 
To  such  thou  art  unused,  and  therefore  now 
Solemnly  shalt  thou  swear.    Murderers,  I  know, 
Heed  little  what  is  sacred — yet  shalt  thou 
Kneel  down  and  swear.     The  worm  that  never  dies, 
The  fire  that  never  quenches — these  shall  be 
The  perjurer's  recompense — Even  unto  thee 
Such  things  are  fearful ! 

Masaniello  now  exacts  a  solemn  oath  to  him  by  St  Januarius  in  a  superna- 

of  fidelity  from  each  of  the  robbers ;  tural  visitation.    He  is  now  joined  by 

and  the  monk  Genuine  (a  base  hypo-  other  conspirators,  among  the  disaf- 

crite)  ratifies  their  partnership  by  his  fected  citizens,  and  hands  the  sword  to 

holy  presence.  This  concludes  the  first  them,  to  prove  if  any  one  has  strength 

act.  to  draw  it  from  the  scabbard ;  but  they 

The  second  act  opens,  just  before  the  all  fail  in  this  attempt.  He  then  takes 

break  of  day,  in  Masaniello's  cottage,  it  himself,  draws  and  wields  it  with 

where   the  four  conspirators — Masa-  the  greatest  facility.  They  all  acknow- 

niello,  the  robbers,  and  Genuino,  en-  ledge  him  for  their  chosen  leader,  and, 

ter  disguised  with  masks,  and  large  after  some  farther  consultation,  retire, 

hoods  over  their  heads, — though  this  Masaniello  is  then  joined  by  Laura, 

plan  of  concealment  is  highly  disap-  who  had  been  awoke  by  the  tumult ; 

proved  of  by  Masaniello.  Then  follows  and  the  succeeding  dialogue  shall  be 

a  very  effective  scene,  in  which  he  pro-  transcribed  entire, 
duces  an  ancient  battle-sword,  given 

LAURA  (Enters  pale  and  dishevelled.) 

Ah  me  !  what  horrid  voices  all  around  ! 
Who  has  been  here  ? 

Masan.  'Tis  I,  my  love !  Fear  nothing ! 

Laura.   Thou  here,  my  heart's  beloved,  and  all  alone  ?— 
But  with  thyself  thou  would'st  not  speak  so  loudly : 
Or  is  it  all  a  dream  ?  Methought  I  heard 
Such  hollow  whispers,  and  such  rough  hoarse  voices, — 
Nay,  swords  and  daggers  clashing  all  the  night. 


182 1-3  Masaniello—a  Tragedy.  49 

Masan.   Nay,  deafest,  be  composed  and  calm.    The  din 
Of  arms  thou  snould'st  not  blame, — 'tis  better  far 
Than  rattling  chains. 

Laura.   On  Heaven  !  what  mean  these  words  ? 

Masan.   Ask  not, — I  scarcely  know  myself  their  import ! 

Laura.   Oh  Heaven  !  I  recognize  that  sword !  methinks 
It  is  the  same  that  in  my  dream  I  saw ; 
It  issued  from  a  grave ;  you  seized  it  then, 
And  your  own  heart  relentless  pierced ;  then  forth 
You  drew  the  murderous  brand,  and  planted  it 
Deep  in  the  earth — straight  it  became  a  tree — 
A  palm  tree  green  and  spreading, — with  thy  blood 
'Twas  fed  and  nourished.     Then  a  verdant  bough 
Fell  from  the  tree,  and  veil'd  thee  from  my  sight ; 
A  scream  awoke  me, — 'twas  our  children's  cry, 
That  in  their  sleep  were  scar'd. 

Masan.  A  blessed  dream 
Was  this.     Oh  Laura  !  if  the  palm  tree  grows 
Green  on  my  grave,  full  gladly  with  my  blood 
Will  I  sustain  it. 

Laura.   Heaven — what  mean  these  words  ? 

Masan.   Laura,  the  sounds  that  through  this  night  thou  heard'st 
Were  not  the  work  of  dreams, — for  murderers  here 
Have  secretly  held  council.    Yet  I  call'd 
On  Heaven  to  be  the  witness  of  our  bond, 
And  shall  not  rest  till  all  has  been  fulflll'd. 

Laura.   Unhappy  night !  Oh  horrible ! 

Masan.    'Tis  past ! 

The  morn  of  freedom  now  begins  to  dawn  : 
Those  that  our  oath  has  bound  now  wait  for  me. 
Thou  tremblest — Is  it  hope  or  fear  that  moves  thee  ? 

Laura.   Nay,  think  not  I  can  all  a  woman's  fears 

Abjure.     0  let  me  weep  upon  thy  breast, 

Once  more,  but  for  one  moment  there  enjoy 
A  dream  of  wonted  rest — even  in  the  next 
Thy  Laura  with  her  children  may  go  forth, 
Lost  and  forlorn,  to  seek  thy  lifeless  frame  ! 

(Sinks  into  his  arms.) 

Masan.   Be  calm  and  brave,  my  Laura  !    I  have  need 
Of  all  my  strength,— O  melt  it  not  by  tears  ! 
Heaven  is  my  witness  I  do  hold  thee  dearer 
Even  than  the  heart  thou  rendest,  or  the  life 
That  not  to  me  belongs,  but  Him  who  gave  it. 
I  am  the  avenging  Scourge  of  Heaven ! — Know'st  thou 
What  mean  these  words  ?   Lo !  now  my  native  land 
Is  like  a  wreck  that,  by  the  storm-waves  driven, 
Breaks  on  the  distant  rocks,  my  brethren  stand ; — 
Lamenting  on  the  shore; — shall  I  not  aid  them  ? 
No  !— To  the  deep  I  must  unshrinking  steer, 
And  with  the  storm  contend,  even  if  I  go 
But  to  my  grave  ! 

Laura.   Oh  generous,  noble  heart ! 
How  mean  must  I  appear,  by  thee  contrasted  ! 
Hasten  and  save  !    Thy  Laura  must  not  blame  thee ; 
Yet  can  I  not  repress  dread  apprehensions  ! 
See  there  our  children  !  In  their  dreams,  to  thee, 
They  stretch  their  arms  imploring.    Woe  to  them;— 
The  fatherless ! 

Masan.  This  combat  too  !  Ah,  nature, 
I  must  now  rend  thee  from  my  heart, — though  life 
Itself  were  therewith  torn  away. — Weep  not 

(Embracing-  the  children.) 


//OAT  Danic(F.     No.  V. 

If  I  too  strongly  clasp  you — Heaven  alone 

Knows  if  on  earth  I  shall  again  behold  you ! 

Laura!  farewell!  farewell! — Heaven  strengthen  you  ! 

(Rushes  out.) 
Laura.  Ay — hear  him,  Heaven  !  Forgive,  and  strengthen  me, 

That  I  may  not  in  anguish  of  my  heart, 

Follow  his  steps,  and  leave  these  little  ones  ! 

Poor  innocents  !  you  draw  my  spirit  down, 

And  hold  it  here.     If  heaven's  gates  were  thrown  open, 

And  angel  forms  appeared  to  welcome  me, 

Proffering  a  martyr's  wreath,  I  could  not  grasp  it, 

And  leave  you  helpless  here,  and  unprotected ! 

But  why  should  I  that  soaring  spirit  strive 

To  chain  down  like  mine  own  upon  this  earth  ? 

Why  should  I  be  his  enemy,  and  by  tears 

Make  every  conflict  heavier  to  be  borne  ? 

Rather  should  I,  like  his  good  angel,  aid  him  ; 

And  now,  methinks,  I  am  his  evil  genius. 

Forgive  me,  heaven  !  And  yet,  I  am  a  mother  ! 

No  parent  could  condemn  me,  If  I  sought 

To  check  him,  and  his  anger  to  divert, 

By  tears  and  supplications.     Yet  I  shall  not — 

I  seek  not  this !  Go  then,  Masaniello ! 

Pursue  thy  path  of  glory !  I  indeed 

Would  gladly  follow  thee,  if  ties  like  these 

Withheld  me  not !  Henceforth  one  trace  of  grief 

Thou  shalt  not  in  these  eyes  behold  again, 

Till  all  has  been  fulfill'd. — What  sounds  are  these, 

(Tumult  without.) 

The  clash  of  swords,  and  angry  shouts  !  woe,  woe  ! 

(Exit.) 

saniello  represents  to  them  that  the 
crime  rests  wholly  on  the  Duke  of  Ar- 
cos, and  orders  Matalone  to  be  taken 
into  custody,  and  led  away  to  prison, 
which  orders  are  immediately  executed 
by  Peronne  and  others.  Masaniello 
then  makes  a  long  speech  to  the  people, 
which  we  should  willingly  transcribe, 
if  long  extracts  were  not  requisite  from 
the  fourth  and  fifth  acts.  There  is 
next  a  scene  with  the  Duke  of  Arcos, 
who  runs  an  equal  risk  with  his  agent 
Matalone,  and  is  saved  only  by  taking 
refuge  in  a  church,  and  the  interposi- 
tion of  Filmarino.  This  act  is  wound 


The  rest  of  this  act  would,  on  the 
stage,  prove  highly  effective ;  it  exhi- 
bits the  progress  and  first  consequences 
of  the  conspiracy.  The  sounds  heard 
by  Laura  proceeded  from  the  market- 
place, where  a  skirmish  takes  place  be- 
tween the  conspirators,  with  Masaniel- 
lo at  their  head,  and  the  Spanish  guard. 
Afterwards  Filnaarino,  the  venerable 
arch-bishop,  re-appears,  and  holds  a 
conversation  with  Genuine  (the  Je- 
suit monk,)  and  afterwards  with  Ma- 
saniello, upon  which  occasion  the  lat- 
ter asserts  his  importance  as  the  chosen 
"  Scourge  of  Heaven,"  (a  title  which 


used  to  be  conferred  on  Attila.) — To  up  with  a  dialogue  between  Matalone, 
this,  follows  an  effective  scene  with 
Matalone,  a  nobleman  who  has  for 
some  time  been  imprisoned  as  a  revo- 
lutionist, but  has  now  been  chosen  by 
the  Duke  of  Arcos,  as  a  favourite  of 
the  people,  to  convey  to  them  a  reno- 
vation of  their  old  charter — the  Mag- 
na  Charta  of  King  Philip.  He  is  lis- 
tened to  with  great  attention  by  Ma- 
sauiello,  but  the  monk  Genuine  desires 
to  look  at  the  manuscript,  and  imme- 


now  a  prisoner,  and  Peronne,  in  a  sub- 
terraneous cavern.  In  the  course  of 
this  conversation,  Matalone  is  skilful 
enough  to  persuade  the  villain  Peronne 
to  join  with  him  in  a  new  and  separate 
conspiracy,  involving  the  ruin  and 
death  of  Masaniello.  Thus  a  counter- 
plot is  formed,  exhibiting  the  first  (in 
this  play)  of  these  masterstrokes,  by 
which  the  inventive  genius  of  Inge- 
man  is  distinguished,  of  which  more 


tliately  pronounces  it  to  be  a  forgery,    will  appear  as  we  advance, 

This  instantly  produces  a  great  tu-         We  must  now  post  rapidly  through 

mult,  and  the  people  wish  to  punish 

Matalone  with  instant  death ;  but  Mu- 


thc  third  act.     It  opens  with  a  solilo- 
quy of  the  Duke  of  Arcos,  who  after- 


1821. 3  Masanielk ;— a  Tragedy.  51 

wards  holds  long  consultations  with  former,  but  on  these  dialogues  we  must 
Genuine  and  with  Filmarino.  The  not  pause  to  dwell.  Nothing  being 
piety  and  wisdom  of  the  latter  are  fine-  more  tiresome  to  the  reader  (or  to  our- 
ly  contrasted  with  the  low  cunning,  selves,)  than  mere  analysis,  we  shall 
hypocrisy,  and  utter  villainy  of  the  give  the  next  scene  entire. 

SCENE  III. 

Interior  of  a  Church. — MASANIELLO,  GENUINO, 

Gen.  Now,  let  me  wish  thee  joy  !  Methinks,  great  hero, 
Thy  work  ere  long  shall  be  fulfill'd — and  I 
Shall  hail  in  thee  the  Brutus  of  our  land ! 

Masan.  That  greeting  will  attend  me  on  the  scaffold ! 
But  'tis  no  matter  !  If  the  seeds  now  sown 
With  bloody  hand  shall  rise  on  high,  mine  eyes 
Full  gladly  will  I  close — though  they  have  not 
Beheld  the  happy  fruits. 

Gen.  Why  with  such  thoughts 
Torment  thyself? 

Masan.  Father,  such  thoughts  to  me 
Are  joyful,  and  exalt  my  soul  to  Heaven ! 
If  yonder  I  behold  my  Saviour's  form, 
With  thorns  upon  his  meekly  bending  head, 
And  blood  upon  his  agonizing  breast, 
I  envy  even  the  robber,  who  by  him 
Forgiven  in  his  last  hour,  was  borne  away 
To  Paradise. 

Gen.   Nay,  thither  by  the  grace 
Of  Heaven  we  all  shall  come.     Truly  'tis  great 
This  life  to  sacrifice ;  but  greater  still 
To  use  it  well  on  earth. 

Masan.   Therefore  to-day 
I  use  my  life — to-morrow,  I  perchance 
Am  call'd  to  offer  it  in  sacrifice. 

Gen.  Nay,  this  I  hope  not. — In  the  rolls  of  fame 
Thy  name  will  shine  magnificently  blazon'd ; — 
And  when  the  people,  with  their  chains,  as  now, 
Are  struggling,  they  will  cry  with  voices  hoarse, 
In  vain  for  Masaniello ! — Yet,  to  thee 
Splendour  is  not  in  thine  own  times  denied. 

Masan.   Speak  not  thus  proudly.     From  approving  Heaven 
Alone  can  honour  flow.     The  dust  which  here 
The  Almighty  has  employed  shall  be  like  chaff 
Cast  to  the  winds,  and  be  no  more  remember 'd. 

Gen.   But  therefore  should  the  flowers  that  spring  on  earth 
Be  cropt  before  the  storm  winds  come  to  tear  them  !—- 
Even  this  life  is  a  treasure, — and  if  thou 
Scorn'st  its  enjoyments,,  thou  disdain'st  indeed 
The  works  of  Heaven. 

Masan.   Such  words,  in  Paradise, 
The  serpent  might  have  used. 

Gen.  {Aside).  Ha !  have  I  then 

Betray 'd  myself  ?— (Aloud.)  Well,  be  it  as  thou  wilt— 
We  differ  in  our  language,  not  in  thought. 
If  now  the  Viceroy  all  our  claims  has  granted, 
And  all  thy  plans  have  fairly  been  fulfill'd, 
Thy  noble  deeds  must  not  be  under-rated. 
Lift  up  thyself  from  poverty  to  wealth — 
From  mean  estate  to  power  and  dignity  ! 
Thou  wilt  not  now  refuse,  in  minor  points, 
To  humour  the  great  Duke,  nor  lightly  shed 
The  blood  of  innocent  men. 
VOL.  IX.  G 


* 
'58  Nora-  Danictr.     No.  V. 

Masan.  What  blood  must  here 
Be  shed  I  know  not — that  let  Heaven  determine : 
But  this  I  know — that  if  upon  the  throne 
The  haughty  Duke  should  place  me  by  his  side, 
I  would  but  stand  there,  still  with  sword  in  hand, 
Until  the  people  from  their  chains  were  free, 
And  then  unto  my  humble  cot  return. 

Gen.   How  !  wouldst  thou  then  reject  the  gifts  of  fortune  ? 

Masan.   What  call'st  thou  fortune  ?   If  I  live  to  see 
Our  country's  freedom  won,  then  happiness 
In  our  poor  cottage,  in  my  Laura's  arms, 
Amid  our  children,  waits  me.     If  I  fall, 
Then  angels  welcome  me  to  realms  of  light, 
Where  even  that  robber  has  more  dignity, 
Than  here  the  mightiest  hero. 

Gen.   See'st  thou  not 
That  thou  art  call'd  to  better  services 
Than  catching  fish  and  mending  nets  ? — Wert  thou 
So  fortunate  as  from  the  deep  to  drag 
A  rare  and  costly  pearl,  that  might  for  thee 
Rich  luxuries  obtain,  and  aid  thy  friend, 
Would'st  thou  then  cast  it  from  thee  ? 

Masan.   Holy  father, 

I  understand  thee : — Thou  would'st  share  with  me 
The  luxuries  from  that  pearl  derived.     So  oft 
Have  I  to  thee  confess'd,  now  let  me  be 
Confessor  in  my  turn. 

Gen.   I  call  it  not 
A  sin,  to  set  a  proper  value  here 
On  this  life's  blessings ;  freely  I  confess 
That  as  I  have  my  share  of  sufferings  borne, 
I  would  partake  thy  fortune, — but  thy  name 
And  well-earn'd  glory  still  remain  thine  own. 
Think  !  thou  hast  promised  that  when  first  thy  plans 
Were  all  fulfill'd,  thou  would'st  not  then  forget 
My  faithful  services. 

Masan.    I  would  that  now 
I  could  forget  the  monk  who  stands  before  me, 
For  he  is  like  the  accurs'd  and  crafty  snake ! — 
Hence !  From  my  sight — Ne'er  hast  thou  understood  me  ! 
Gen.   Nay,  friend,  for  thine  own  good  I  counsell'd  thee, 
And  merit  hot  thine  anger-     I  indeed 
Have  understood  thee  better  than  thou  think'st, 
But  now  no  more  must  aid  the  vision  wild 
That  first  inspired  thee.     True  'twas  amiable, 
And  shew'd  at  once  a  soul  that  could  be  fired 
By  one  great  thought  and  reigning  principle, 
Whether  correct  or  false  it  matter'd  not, — 
Nor  will  the  stream  of  passion  pause  for  reason. 
Thou  deem'dst  it  greater  life  to  sacrifice, 
Than  here  to  use  it,  for  the  weal  of  men  ; 
I  did  encourage  thee — for  I  foresaw 
Without  the  visionary  confidence 
That  thou  wert  chosen  the  avenging  scourge  of  Heaven, 
Thou  would'st  not  for  our  liberties  contend ; 
But  now,  as  I  believe  the  goal  is  won — 
'Tis  time  that  I  should  from  thy  sight  withdraw 
The  darkening  veil,  and  from  such  dreams  awake  thee  j 
That  in  reality  thou  should'st  rejoice, 
And  grasp  the  treasure,  whereon  foolishly 
Thou  scek'st  to  close  thine  eyes. — Go,  seize-  it  boldly, 
For  it  is  thine  ! 


1821-3  Masaniello — a.  Tragedy. 

Ma-scrn.  Thou  Satan,  get  behind  me  ! 
Go  from  my  sight — I  hate  and  I  despise  thee  ! — 
These  were  thy  pious  hopes,  and  I  forsooth 
Was  in  thy  hands  a  pipe  to.  play  upon, 
And  at  thy  music  my  poor  soul  to  hell 
Should  dance  before  thee !  Thou  hast  err'd.     From  dreams 
Thou  hast  indeed  awoke  me.  While  thou  tear'st 
The  dark  veil  from  my  sight,  thy  mask  hath  fall'n ; 
Thou  stand'st  at  length  before  me  undisguised, 
Of  all  earth's  grovelling  crew  the  most  accursed. 
Thou  worm  !  thou  viper  !  to  thy  native  earth 
Return ! — Go  hide  within  thy  kindred  mud 
Thy  loathsome  form  ! — Thou  art  too  base  for  man 
To  tread  upon. — Thy  words  have  not  deceived  me. 
I  am  indeed  the  avenging  scourge  of  Heaven, 
And  in  Heaven's  name  I  swear,  if  thou  again 
Comest  in  my  sight,  even  were  it  at  the  altar, 
This  arm  shall  hurl  thee  straight  to  hell.     Away — 
Thou  scum  !  thou  reptile  ! 


With  this  fine  burst  of  indignation 
from  Masaniello,  it  seems  as  if  the 
genius  of  Ingeman  had  in  this  tragedy 
thoroughly  awoke;  and  all  that  fol- 
lows is  animated  and  powerful.  In- 
deed, from  this  point,  the  chief  in- 
terest first  commences.  The  monk 
Genuinois henceforth  established  as  the 
personification  of  that  evil  principle, 
on  which  all  tragic  interest  directly  or 
indirectly  depends ;  and  we  almost  re- 
gret that  in  this  article  we  did  not  be- 
gin with  the  third  act,  and  leave  out 
the  comparatively  tame  composition  hy 
which  it  is  preceded.  To  the  conver- 
sation with  the  monk  just  now  quoted 
follows  a  rapid  succession  of  scenes, 
which,  for  variety  and  stage  effect, 
have  seldom  been  equalled.  There  is 
an  affecting  dialogue  with  Laura,  then 
a  tumultuous  assemblage  of  the  people, 
where  the  archbishop  Filmarino  again 
appears,  and  where  Masaniello's  power 
and  importance  are  fully  established. 
Then  the  counterplot  of  Matalone  and 
Peronne  is  brought  forward.  The  lat- 
ter rushes  on  Masaniello,  and  endea- 
vours to  stab  him  to  the  heart ;  but  the 
hero  receives  only  a  slight  wound, 
strikes  Peronne  to  the  earth,  and  points 
his  sword  to  his  throat.  He  spares  his 
life  for  the  moment,  however,  but  or- 
ders him  into  custody,  and  to  execu- 
tion. There  is  then  a  long  beautiful 
dialogue  with  Laura,  which  winds  up 
this  third  act. 

Through  the  fourth  act,  the  play 
continues  to  rise  in  interest.  It  begins 
with  a  long  consultation  between  the 
Viceroy  and  Genuine,  in  which  the 
former  appears  now  fully  sensible  of 
the  power  of  Masaniello,  and  the  ne- 


cessity of  granting  to  the  people  a  full 
renovation  of  their  rights,  and  the  lat- 
ter betrays  his  stedfast  purposes  of 
treachery  and  revenge.  Accordingly 
he  proposes,  that  when  Masaniello 
comes  to  receive  the  ratification  of  the 
charter,  an  end  shall  be  put  to  his 
career  by  means  of  poison.  The  Duke 
hears  this  not  without  astonishment 
and  Indignation  ;  and  the  monk  then 
darkly  alleges  that  there  are  varieties 
of  poison,  some  that  kill  immediately, 
others  that  produce  lingering  distem- 
pers— above  all,  Madness.  The  Duke 
refuses  to  listen  to  proposals  so  mean 
and  diabolical,  but  the  monk  covertly 
persists  in  his  own  plans.  There 
is  next  another  assemblage  of  the 
people,  at  the  Church  of  St  Ludi- 
vico,  where  Masaniello  appears,  no 
longer  as  a  humble  fisherman,  but  in 
a  dress  of  princely  splendour,  and 
makes  several  speeches  to  the  assem- 
bly, on  which  we  regret  not  having 
time  to  dwell. 

After  this  we  find  ourselves  again 
in  the  audience  hall  of  the  palace ; 
Masaniello,  still  in  his  princely  attire, 
is  received  by  the  Duke  with  respect 
and  kindness,  having  now  come  only 
to  obtain  the  final  grants  for  which  he 
had  stipulated,  and  then  peaceably  to 
lay  down  his  arms,  and  submit  hence- 
forth to  the  regular  government.  Ac- 
cordingly, after  an  amicable  dialogue 
of  four  or  five  pages,  the  Duke  offers 
him  a  parting  cup  of  wine,  which  has 
been  craftily  drugged  by  Genuine, 
(who  has  been  watching  all  that  goes 
forward.)  Masaniello  empties  the  cup, 
and  to  the  astonishment  of  the  Duke, 
even  before  he  leaves  the  palace,  draws 


54  -flora  Daniccc.     No.  V.  C  April, 

his  sword,  and  betrays  all  the  symp-  lurk  in  every  corner.    His  situation  is 

toms  of  incipient  rage  and  insanity  !  afterwards  fully  developed  in  the  fol- 

He  knows  intuitively  that  he  has  been  lowing  interview  with  Laura,  at  his 

inj  ured,  though  he  knows  not  by  whom,  own  cottage, 
nor  how,  but  declares  that  murderers 

SCENE  IV. 

Masanicllo's  hut.   Laura,  alone. 
Where  stay'st  thou  ?  I  have  waited  thee  so  long 
And  anxiously  !  With  such  unquiet  thoughts 
I  struggled  not,  even  when  thy  bark  was  lost 
On  the  wild  waves, — when  threatening  clouds  arose ; 
Or  even  when  earth  itself,  with  murmurings  deep, 
Beneath  our  footsteps  trembled ; — when  the  smoke 
Around  Vesuvius  roll'd  in  blacker  wreaths, 
And  screaming  birds  fled  from  th'  approaching  storm  ; 
Anxious  I  was  indeed,  but  not  as  now, 
For  ocean  is  not  fearful,  as  the  sea 
Of  blood,  whereon  thou  now  art  driven.    SI  ore  firm 
Thy  footsteps  were  even  on  the  trembling  earth, 
Than  now,  when  fires  rage  in  the  breasts  of  men, 
When  every  heart,  like  a  volcano,  hides 
Within  its  folds  internal  rage  and  woe. 
Where  art  thou  ?  Now  I  hear  him  !        (Goes  to  the  door.) 
Heaven  be  praised ! 

SCENE  V. 

LAURA,  MASANIELLO. 

Laura.  Come  to  my  arms  ! 

(Masaniello  stands  silently,  leaning  on  his  drawn  sword.) 
Nay,  how  is  this  ?  Thou  stand'st 
Dark — silent — motionless  !  And  look'st  on  earth, 
As  if  before  thee  an  abyss  were  yawning  ! 
See'st  thou  not  thine  own  Laura  ?  Silent  still ! 
Tell  jne,  for  God's  sake,  what  has  happened  ? — Speak ! 

Masan.  {Suddenly  starting,  and  with  wild  looks.}  Ha  !  haste  thee  ! 

haste !  Give  me  another  dress  ! 
This  burns  me — tortures  all  my  frame  like  fire, — 
Nay,  hell  itself  is  burning  in  my  soul ! 

Laura.  Heaven  !  What  has  thus  disturbed  thee  ! 

Masan.  Nothing — nothing — 
But  I  shall  never  be  a  man  again ! 
Haste — haste,  I  say  !  These  garments  make  me  mad  ! 

Laura.  Oh  heaven,  what  mean'st  thou  ? 

Masan.  See'st  thou  not  the  wreath 
Of  hideous  serpents  they  have  twin'd  around  me, 
Who  scorch  me  with  a  thousand  fiery  tongues  ?— 
Now  am  I  cooler !  Now  shall  it  be  proved, 
If,  when  these  rags  are  gone,  aught  can  appall 
The  soul  of  Masanicllo  ! —  {Tearing  his  dress.) 

Thus  no  more 

Shall  you  pollute  our  atmosphere — no  more 
Shall  I  have  fire  or  water — no,  nor  air 
In  common  with  the  serpents ;  Laura,  go, — 
Call  the  Centurion  who  keeps  watch  to-day  ! 

Laura.  (Going.)  Oh  woe  !  He  has  been  dreadfully  incens'd  ! 

Masan.  At  last,  these  gilded  villains  shall  be  taught, 
That  justice  will  not  ever  sleep, — that  I 
Am  not  in  vain  the  avenging  scourge  of  Heaven ! 
Captain  enters. 

Copt.  What  has  our  Ruler  to  propose  ? 

Masan,  Go  straight— 


1821-3  Masaniello— -a  Trageay.  55 

Command  the  people  all  to  kindle  torches ; 

This  is  an  holiday — it  shall  be  kept 

With  splendour,  as  becomes  a  festival  ! 

But  for  the  lights  our  people  shall  not  pay  ; 

That  is  the  kingdom's  and  our  Viceroy's  part ! 

Hasten  !  Fire  every  palace  ! — It  will  gleam 

O'er  all  the  city  ! — Haste  thee  ! — Now  away  ! —         (Exit  Captain.) 
Laura.  That  was  a  horrid  mandate !  But  to  think 

Of  deeds  like  these,  I  tremble.     Oh,  have  pity  ! 

Have  pity  on  the  people.    Where  is  now 

Thy  wonted  clemency  ? 
Masan.  'Tis  where  I  am 

Myself, — Masaniello ! — Thine  old  friend  ! 

Can'st  thou  remember  him  ?    The  man  indeed 

Who  stand'st  before  thee  is  no  more  the  calm, 

Contented,  humble  fisherman, — but  great 

In  power  and  dignity.    Not  therefore  blest — 

Not  quiet  and  confiding — but  a  stern 

Administrator  of  relentless  justice, 

With  bloody  sword  in  hand. 
Laur.  Oh,  dearest  husband ! 

Thy  looks  are  now  so  wild  and  horrible. 
Masan.  Ay,  truly  ! — are  mine  eyes  not  eager,  searching,— 

And  my  lips  parch  a  and  burning  ? — 'Tis  for  blood 

I  strongly  thirst — and  lo  !  my  hands  are  knk 

Convulsively,  like  tiger  claws — In  truth 

I  am  a  tiger,  Laura  !  But  not,  therefore, 

I  persecute  the  tame  and  innocent  flocks — 

I  seek  wild  beasts  of  prey — devourers  fierce — 

Who  feed  upon  the  weak  and  the  defenceless — 

Ihem  prostrate  at  my  feet,  I  shall  behold. 
Laura.   Oh,  dearest !  when  hast  thou  been  thus  perturb'd  ? 
Masan.    That  I  know  not !  Nor  can  I  much  remember  ! 

I  am  but  newly  changed  to  what  I  am — 

But  to  such  moods  thou  must  be  us'd — Hereafter 

I  shall  not  change  again  !  Listen  !  (Tumult  without.) 

Dost  hear 

Those  acclamations  ?  Hark !  This  I  do  love ! 

The  festival,  when  sword  and  fire  unite 

Is  double — See'st  thou  not  that  ruddy  gleam 

Already  spread  on  high  ?    Thus  shall  we  read 

Even  in  the  vault  of  heaven,  our  liberty  ! 

Laura.  Woe,  woe  !  Have  mercy  !  See  the  palace  yonder 
Already  all  in  flames  ! 

Masan.   And  art  thou  not 
Rejoiced  by  such  a  sight  ?  It  is  the  mansion 
Of  the  proud  Matalone  !  He  indeed 
Would  have  blown  up  in  the  air  for  his  diversion 
Some  hundred  thousand  citizens.     Now  comes 
The  time  of  vengeance.     Ho !  centurion — 

(A  soldier  enters.) 

Let  criminal  judges  straightway  be  appointed, 
(Chosen  from  the  best  of  the  people,)  and  a  scaffold 
Erected  in  Toledo-street.     Henceforth 
Shall  executioners  be  stationed  there, 
Our  sentence  to  fulfil  on  the  condemn'd — 
Justice  too  long  has  slept! 

Laura.  Masaniello ! 
By  all  our  love,  I  charge  thee  ! 

Masan.   Name  no  more 

That  word  of  mildness  !  To  mine  ear  it  sounds 
Like  flute  tones  in  a  darksome  grave.    No  more 


66  Hvrcc  Daniae.     ATo.  V. 


the  lost  lovely  paintings  to  my  sight, 
Of  banish  'd  hope  and  joy  ;  an  evil  hand 
Hath  marr'd  their  beauty,  now  one  only  hue 
Can  I  behold  —  'tis  blood-red. 

Laura.   Heaven  protect  us  !  (Filmarino  enters  hastily.) 

Filmar.  Masaniello  !  knowest  thou  tliat  thy  people 
Rage  all  abroad  with  fire  and  sword  ? 

Masan.   Ay,  truly, 
With  fire  and  sword  —  so  should  it  be  ! 

Filmar.  What  say'st  thou  ? 
Masaniello,  was  it  thou  who  gave 
These  raging  men  the  firebrands  ? 

Masan.   Ay,  it  was  — 

'Twas  I  !  When  robbers'  dens  and  murderers 
Are  blazing  —  is  not  this  a  pleasant  sight  ? 

Filmar.   (Confounded.)  Impossible!  Is  this  Masaniello? 

Masan.  Who  told  thee  so  ?  'tis  all  indeed  that  now 
Remains  of  what  he  was  ;  thou  say'st  the  town 
Is  burning  bravely  —  But,  feel  here,  -  the  fire 

(Painting  to  his  forehead.) 
Rages  more  fiercely  ! 

Filmar.   Heaven,  he  is  insane  ! 

Laura.   He's  mad  —  he's  mad  —  help  —  help  !  {Rushes  out.) 

Filmqr.  Masaniello, 
Thou  hast  been  —  thou  art  ill. 

Masan.   How  say'st  thou  ?  ill  ? 
It  seems  to  me,  that  many  will  bear  witness  — 
I  am  now  for  the  first  time  thoroughly  well  ! 
When  saw'st  thou  me  more  powerful  ? 

Filmar.   Far  more  power 
I  saw  thee  prove,  when  thy  dominion 
Extended  o'er  thyself  —  no  farther.    Now 
Through  weakness  thou  art  violent  ! 

Masan.   No  !  I  tell  thee 

That  I  have  more  than  all  my  wonted  strength, 
And  I  can  crush  them  who  do  point  at  me  ! 
Perchance  it  is  a  devil  who  thus  aids  me  ; 
Conjure  him  then,  I  pray  thee  ! 

Filmar.   I  conjure 
Thee,  —  even  Masaniello,  by  the  love 
Thou  bear'st  to  heaven,  be  calm,  regain  thyself, 
And  stop  the  flames  that  rage  throughout  the  city  ; 
Let  fire  and  sword  leave  but  one  day  in  peace  — 
Hast,  thou  forgot  —  this  is  an  holyday  ? 

Masan.  What  would'st  thou  with  thy  crosses  in  the  air, 
Confessor,  —  holy  father  ?  He,  indeed, 
Was  but  himself  a  devil.  —  But  I  know, 
I  know  thee,  friend,  —  thou  surely  art  a  good 
And  guiltless  spirit,  —  from  whose  presence  fly 
The  powers  of  darkness.  —  True,  'tis  Sunday,  —  Ho  ! 

(A  Soldier  enters.) 

Centurion  !  warn  the  people,  it  is  Sunday  ; 
Let  fire  and  sword  until  to-morrow  rest  ! 

Film.  Thy  blood  is  heated,  —  Pray  thee,  go  to  sleep,  — 
And  may  the  fiends  of  darkness  fly  from  thee  ! 

Masan.  The  fiends  !  nay,  let  them  come,  I  fear  them  not  ; 
Even  with  all  hell  now,  boldly  shall  I  combat  ; 
I  shall  not  sleep  —  a  ruler  must  not  sleep,  — 
No,  I  shall  roam  abroad,  and  watch  for  those 
Who  slumber. 


18210 


Masanielk-+a  Tragedy. 


He  now  reverts  again  to  the  frag- 
ment of  a  revolutionary  ballad,  which 
we  have  already  mentioned,  and  re- 
members at  last  its  tragic  conclusion. 
He  then  rushes  out  with  drawn  sword 
in  hand, — and  the  act  concludes  with 
a  short  soliloquy  of  Filmarino. 

We  now  come  to  the  fifth  and  last 
act  of  this  singular  production,  which, 
whatever  may  be  its  defects,  certainly 
affords  high  expectation  of  what  the 
author  may,  with  more  experience,  be 
able  to  accomplish.  This  last  act  opens 
with  a  dialogue  between  the  Duke  of 
Arcos  and  Sebastiano,  one  of  his  chief 
nobles, — where  the  madness  and  out- 
rageous conduct  of  Masaniello  are  com- 
mented on.  Various  citizens  also 
come  in,  complaining  of  injuries  they 
have  sustained  from  the  msurgents. 
Genuino  is  also  present  on  this  occa- 
sion ;  and  in  the  midst  of  their  consul- 
tation, Masaniello  himself,  to  the  great 
terror  of  the  monk,  suddenly  appears 
in  the  audience  room,  and  an  highly 
effective  scene  occurs,  which  we  have 
not  left  time  even  to  analyse.  In  the 
course  of  it,  Genuino,  who  has  been 
sculking  in  a  corner,  attracts  suddenly 
the  notice  of  Masaniello.  They  con- 
verse together  ;  and  the  latter  fully  re- 


57 

collecting,  in  his  madness,  the  enor- 
mous wickedness  of  the  monk,  is  at 
last  roused  to  a  sudden  paroxysm  of 
rage,  and  stabs  him,  as  he  believes,  to 
the  heart.  The  monk  falls ;  but  the 
wound  though  severe,  is  not  mortal. 
The  duke  instantly  calls  for  his  guards, 
who  declare  that  they  were  unable  to 
prevent  the  entrance  of  the  maniac; 
Genuino  and  Masaniello  are  then  borne 
away  severally. 

The  next  scene,  (probably  the  most 
poetical  of  the  whole  play),  is  in  the 
church-yard  of  St  Maria  del  Carmino; 
a  grave  is  by  chance  newly  opened, 
and  a  skeleton  lies  by  its  side.  The 
moon  palely  gleams.  The  church  is 
illuminated,  and  now  and  then  are 
heard  deep  notes  of  the  organ. 

The  first  dialogue  here  is  between 
Filmarino  and  Laura,  who  is  now  wan- 
dering about  in  search  of  her  husband, 
who  has  broke  away  from  his  guards, 
and  has  gone  no  one  knows  whither. 
The  good  archbishop  administers  to 
her  all  the  advice  and  consolation  in 
his  power, — and  they  retire.  Then 
Masaniello  appears,  and  we  gladly 
break  the  course  of  tiresome  analysis 
by  transcribing  the  scene. 


SCENE  v. 

Tlic  churcli-yard  nf  St  Maria  del  Carmino. — An  open  grave,  and  a  Skele- 
ton on  the  side  of  it — Moonlight. 

Masan.  (Alone.)  Darker  it  grows  at  every  step  I  take ; 
Soon  then  must  it  be  wholly  night. — So  long 
The  deepening  clouds  have  hung  around  my  brow, 
Scarce  can  I  recollect  how  look'd  of  yore 
The  smiling  face  of  day !  yet  unto  light 
Through  darkness  must  we  pass, — 'tis  but  transition  !-— 
Perhaps,  perhaps  ! — But  dreadful  is  that  hour  ! 
Would  it  were  past !  (Looking  back.)  I  am  not  here  alone ! 
Still  follow  me,  tried  countrymen,  and  friends  ! 
Our  march  is  through  a  darksome  country  here, — 
But  light  ere  long  will  dawn. — Ha !  now  look  there : 

(  With  gladness  on  perceiving  the  grave.) 
Look,  and  rejoice.     We  had  gone  far  astray  : 
But  here,  at  last,  a  friendly  port  awaits  us, — 
An  inn  of  rest.     I  Was  already  tired, 
And  sought  for  shelter, — now  I  find  this  hut ; 
Truly  'tis  somewhat  dusky,  low  and  narrow ; 
No  matter  !  'Tis  enough, — we  want  no  more. 

(Observes  the  skeleton.) 
Ha,  ha !  here  lies  the  owner  of  the  cottage, 
And  soundly  sleeps, — Hollo !  wake  up  my  friend  ! 
How  worn  he  looks  !  How  hollow  are  his  cheeks ! 
Hu  !  and  how  pale  when  moonlight  gleams  upon  him  ! 
He  has  upon  our  freedom  thought  so  deeply, 
And  on  the  blood  which  it  would  cost,— that  he 


48  Horcc  Dantccc.    No.  V. 

Is  turn'd  himeelf  to  naked  joints  and  bones.*    (S/uikes  the  skeleton.) 

Friend !  may  I  go  into  thy  hut  a  while, 

And  rest  me  there  ?  Thou  see'st  that  I  am  weary,-— 

Yet  choose  not  like  thyself  to  lay  me  down, 

And  bask  here  in  the  moonshine — He  is  silent — 

Yet  hark  ! — There  was  a  sound — a  strange  vibration, 

That  touched  me  like  a  spirit's  cooling  wing — 

Who  whisper'd  thus  ? — Haply  it  was  the  wind, 

Or  was  it  he  who  spoke  so  ?  He,  perchance,t 

Has  lost  his  voice  too,  by  long  inward  strife, 

And  whispers  thus,  even  like  the  night  wind's  rustling. 

{Looks  round  surjn-ised.) 
Ha,  ha !  Masaniello,  thou'rt  deceived  ! 
This  is  a  grave — this  man  is  dead — and  here, 
Around  thee  are  the  realms  of  death.     How  strangely 
One's  senses  are  beguiled — Hush,  hush  ! 

{Music  of  the  choir  from  the  church.) 
Who  sings 

In  tones  so  deep  and  hollow  'mid  the  graves  ? 
It  seems  as  if  night-wandering  spirits  woke 
A  death  song . — Ha  !  there's  light,  too,  in  the  church  ; 
I  shall  go  there  and  pray.     Long  time  has  past, 
And  I  have  wander'd  fearfully ;  my  heart 
Is  now  so  heavy,  I  must  pray  !  (Exit  into  the  church.) 

To  this  succeed  dialogues  between  several  citizens  and  soldiers  of  the  Spa- 
nish guard,  who  are  anxious  to  secure  Masaniello,  but  look  on  him  with  a 
superstitious  terror,  and  dare  not  follow  him  into  the  church.  Then  comes  the 
death-scene  of  Genuine,  who  is  finally  cut  off  by  an  accidental  use  of  poison, 
which  he  had  designed  for  Masaniello,  and  which  is  inflicted  on  the  monk  by 
the  mistake  of  his  physician.  Next  follows  a  very  beautiful  scene  in  the  in- 
terior of  the  church,  where  Masaniello,  by  prayer,  and  the  assistance  of  Filma- 
rino,  has  once  more  regained  his  faculties  of  memory  and  reason.  Filmarino 
having  solemnly  pronounced  his  blessing  over  him,  retires,  leaving  Masaniello, 
as  heObelieves,  in  perfect  safety.  Scarcely,  however,  has  he  time  to  utter  another 
affecting  soliloquy,  which  we  must  not  pause  to  transcribe,  when  three  of  the 
Spanish  guard  rush  armed  into  the  church.  Believing  them  to  be  friends,  Ma- 
saniello advances  to  meet  them,  when  they  instantly  discharge  their  carabines, 
and  shoot  him  through  the  heart,  disappearing  immediately,  and  leaving  him 
to  die  unattended.  His  last  words  have  just  been  uttered,  when  Laura  enters 
with  her  children. 

Laura,  Where  shall  I  seek  him  ? 
Children.   Father — father !  hear  us  ! 
Laura.   He  wanders  all  alone,  so  weak  and  wilder'd — 
Oh  Heaven,  let  me  but  find  him  !  (Sees  the  body.) 

Woe !  woe  !  woe ! 

Hast  thou  then  heard  my  prayer,  but  to  destroy 
All  earthly  hope  for  ever !   Masaniello — 
Love !  dearest !  art  thou  gone  ? 

(Kneeling  with  the  children  over  the  body.) 

FILMARINO  enters. 
Film.  Have  murderers  then 

*  The  ingenious  translator  of  "  Sintram,"  will  here  be  reminded  again  of  Lear's 

"  What — have  his  daughters  brought  him  to  this  pass  ':" 
f  We  despair1  d  of  rendering  the  original  here.     It  stands  thus  : — 

"  Hin  !  det  cr  vist  en  nn/xfsat^, 
Som  alt  liar  sttrnnct  Talen's  Rcds,kab  ud, 
Og  hvidsker  som  ct  windpust  igicnncm  Nation. " 

8 


Masaniello— ~a  Tragedy.  59 

Profaned  the  holiest  place  ?  Then  woe  to  them ! 
Such  crime  meets  no  forgiveness.     Ay,  he  is  fall'n  ! 
Close,  Laura,  then  his  eyes.     Be  calm, — and  now 
Let  him  in  peace  repose.     He  has  indeed 
Encounter'd  his  last  earthly  strife, — and  triumph'd. 
Listen !  He  charged  me,  when  we  parted  last, 
With  benedictions  for  thee, — and  for  him 
I  shall  not  fail  in  every  solemn  rite. 
What  crimes  soe'er  in  madness  he  committed, 
Against  him  are  not  reckon'd.     Peace  he  with  thee, 
Thou  greatest  man  of  Naples ! — Heaven's  avenger  ! 
Still  let  the  people  for  whom  thou  hast  fought 
Ungrateful,  rage  against  thee,  even  in  death. 
Yet  thou  hast  won  a  glorious  wreath,  whose  light 
Will  shine  in  future  ages,  nor  decay 
Long  as  the  heart  of  man  holds  Freedom  dear—- 
And when  her  last  faint  traces  we  behold, 
Masaniello's  loss  shall  be  deplored. 

(The  curtain  falls.) 

Thus  ends  the  Tragedy  of  Masaniello.  We  cannot  expect  that  the  ad- 
mirers of  our  ' '  Horn  Germanicce"  will  in  a  like  degree  approve  the  pro- 
ductions of  the  Danish  School.  There  is  a  wide  difference  indeed  in  the  style 
and  taste  of  the  two  nations.  Yet  from  the  meagre  story  of  Masaniello,  Inge- 
man  has  originated  a  work  to  which  it  is  impossible  to  deny  the  praise  of  high 
inventive  powers ;  and  it  is  probable  that,  like  Oehlenschlager,  he  has,  in  this 
instance,  written  too  rapidly  to  allow  time  for  the  developement  of  imagination. 
Of  his  poetical  romance  the  "  Black  Knights,"  or  the  Tragedy  of  "  Blanca," 
we  shall  perhaps  give  an  abstract  in  some  future  number. 


LETTER  FROM    m  , 

Inclosing  Hymn  to  Christopher  North,  Esq. 

SIR, 

I  LOOK  upon  it  to  be  the  duty  of  every  liege  poet  of  these  realms,  such  as  I 
flatter  myself  I  am,  to  follow  in  the  eternal  campaign  of  poetry  his  anointed 
King,  with  as  much  devotion  as  in  old  times  the  feudal  retainers  followed  their 
barons  bold  to  the  wars.  He  must  be  obtuse  indeed,  who  does  not  perceive  that 
the  poetical  monarch  of  merry  England  is  the  Poet  Laureate,  and  to  him  our 
allegiance  is  due.  Now,  Sir,  Dr  Southey  has  lately  made  an  incursion  into  the 
ancient  territory  of  the  hexameter,  and  in  so  doing,  has  quitted  himself  as  a 
man.  It,  therefore,  is  manifest  that  we,  who  are  his  subjects,  should  instantly 
march  after  him,  to  show  our  obedience.  The  instant  I  read  his  "  Vision  of 
Judgment,"  I  was  determined  to  do  so ;  and,  after  long  pondering  on  a  subject 
fit  for  my  muse,  I  decided  on  one,  which,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  ex- 
ecution, must  be  allowed  to  be  one  of  the  fittest  subjects  for  poetry.  I  prepared 
myself  for  my  task,  in  the  manner  narrated  in  the  hymn  (1.  12-4T.)  Until  I 
got  warm,  I  had  no  notion  I  could  go  on  so  well,  but  by  the  time  I  came  to  the 
conclusion,  I  waxed  so  valiant  as  to  throw  out  the  challenge  (1.  161.)  to  the 
Laureate  himself.  I  do  not  repent  it,  bold  as  it  may  seem,  but  I  hope  it  will 
not  appear  a  kind  of  petty  treason :  I  wish  you  would  lay  the  case  before  Mr 
Jeffrey  before  you  print  the  poem.  I  shall  not  detain  you  any  longer,  but  re- 
main, 

SIR, 

Your  humble  Servant, 
VOL.  IX.  H 


gO  Hymn  to  CJiristojJter  North,  Esq.  C  April, 

HYMN  TO  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH,  ESQUIRE. 

Contents.  Exordium. — Immense  merits  of  the  hero — An  ocean  and  continent  not  to  be 
found  in  Pinkerton,  or  Malte  Brun — Agreement  with  Miss  Holford  with  respect  to  the 

Muses Agreement  also  with  an  ancient  Comic. — Source  of  inspiration — Allusion  to 

Lord  Byron,  and  a  learned  Theban — Beautiful  picture  of  a  murmuring  streamlet. 

Mr  Wordsworth Picturesque  description  of  a  grove  on  the  banks  of  the  Tagus. 

Benefit  derived  from  the  Slave  Trade  in  Jamaica. — Cheering  account  of  the  internal 

state  of  France. 

An  operation  of  high  moment  detains  the  auditory — Chemistry — Sir  Humphry  Davy. 

— Ulysses Polyphemus — Homer — Inishowen — Hymn  resumed — Hero  applauded  to 

the  disparagement  of  other  persons — Consternation  of  Baldwin  and  Co — Vain  attempt 

of  Sir  Pythagoras  to  rally  Buonaparte Small  value  of  the  beasts  of  a  certain  ancient 

concern High  compliment  to  Mr  Campbell — Small  do.  to  Dr  Polidori — General 

massacre  of  the  other  Magazines. — Mr  Nichols  saved  and  applauded. — Compared  with  the 

hero Catalogue  of  heroes  in  the  manner  of  Homer — [In  catalogue  a  compliment  to  the 

Times.] — Hero  compared  to  Agamemnon — Preferred  to  the  son  of  Atreus  for  his  more 
complete  manner  of  doing  business. — King  of  Dahomey — Awe-stricken  men — Woe  to 

the  Whigs Reform  of  the  toddy-drinkers — What  work  now  patronized  by  very  old 

women A  Knight  of  the  Hogstye  makes  his  appearance. — Amadis  of  Gaul. — Don 

Belianis  of  Greece — Hector  of  Troy — Tom  Crib  of  England. 

Cause  of  speed Various  panegyrics  on  the  Hero — Geographical  description  of 

England,  Scotland,  Wales,  Ireland,  United  States,  Upper  and  Lower  Canada,  West 
Indies,  Hindostan,  Australasia — Patriotic  behaviour  of  the  friends  of  the  Scotsman 
Newspaper — Catalogue  of  Rivers,  in  imitation  of  the  Fairy  Queen. — Luff  up  for  land. 
—End  as  beginning. 

L'Envoy.  Appeal  to  the  Universe. — Difference  between  the  God  of  Homer,  and  the 
God  of  Cockaigne. — A  Challenge  to  Dr  Southey — Bet  of  a  rump  and  dozen. — Con- 
clusion. 


HAIL  TO  THEE,  PRIDE  OF  THE  NORTH,  HAIL,  CHRISTOPHER,  STAR  OF  ED1NA  ! 

Who  from  thy  hill-seated  throne,  in  thine  own  most  romantic  of  cities, 
Show'ring,  with  liberal  hand,  spread's!  jollity  all  through  the  nations. 
How  shall  I  speak  thy  renown  ?  how  utter  the  half  of  thy  praises  ? 
Had  I  an  ocean  of  ink,  and  a  continent  made  into  paper, 
Yet  would  the  ocean  be  drained,  and  the  continent  scribbled  all  over, 
Ere  I  had  told  thy  fame,  thou  wonderful  worthy  of  Scotland ! 

I'll  not  invoke  you  for  help,  fair  maids  of  Parnassian  mountain  ; 
No,  I  despise  ye,  my  girls,  in  the  manner  of  pretty  Miss  Holford;  (1) 
For  I  agree  with  the  thought  of  that  comical  worthy  Cratinus,  (2) 
Who  swore  none  ever  throve  on  the  wish- washy  draughts  of  the  Muses. 
Ho !  my  boy,  step  to  the  corner  and  fetch  me  a  sneaker  of  brandy ; 
Drinkers  of  water  avaunt !  I  care  not  a  fig  for  your  preaching: 
I  shall  get  drunk  as  a  lord,  and  then  follow  on  with  my  poem, 
Drunk  as  a  lord  I  shall  get,  as  drunk  as  his  lordship  of  Byron,  (3) 
When  he  sat  boozing  in  Thebes  with  the  sixbottle  Solyman  Pacha. 

Where  is  the  water  to  mix  ?  The  water  that  once  in  the  streamlet, 
Murmuring  sung  o'er  the  pebbles,  now  sings  its  low  song  in  the  kettle, 
(Which  Mr  Wordsworth  and  I  hold  in  supreme  veneration).  (4) 
Here  are  the  lemons  at  hand,  which  all  on  the  banks  of  the  Tagus, 
Grew  in  a  beautiful  grove,  shedding  round  it  their  delicate  perfume ; 
There  by  the  light  of  the  moon  a  poetical  lover  might  wander, 
Chanting  a  sweet  canzonet  to  the  honour  of  Donna  Maria. 
(Little  he  thought  that  the  fruit,  which  there  was  hanging  above  him, 
Would  be  sent  over  the  sea  to  inspire  so  famous  a  poet.) 
Here  is  the  sugar  beside,  which  the  hands  of  the  sooterkin  negro 
Ilt-ared  for  the  sake  of  my  punch  in  the  island  of  sweaty  Jamaica. 
Then  there's  the  stingo  itself  sweet-smelling,  balmy,  delicious, 


18210  Hymn  to  ChrtstojJier  AWA,  Esq.  (il 

Drink  that  is  fit  for  the  gods,  or  the  heavenly  writers  of  Bhckwood  ! 
Gay  were  the  Frenchmen  who  made  it  in  Nantz,  an  illustrious  city, 
Merry  they  sung  at  their  work,  when  they  gathered  the  grapes  in  the  vineyard, 
Merry  they  sung  at  their  work,  when  they  trampled  them  down  in  the  wine- vat, 
Merry  they  sung  at  their  work,  when  forth  came  the  brandy  distilling  ; 
Merrily  I  too  shall  sing  when  I  swallow  the  fruit  of  their  labours. 

Stop  for  a  moment,  ye  crowds,  who  list  to  my  hymn  in  amazement, 
First  till  I  mingle  my  punch,  and  then  for  a  while  till  I  drink  it. 
Now  that  I've  tempered  the  stuff  in  a  most  scientifical  manner, 
Shewing  a  chemical  skill,  that  even  Sir  Humphry  might  envy, 
I  shall  proceed  with  the  task  of  discussing  a  dozen  of  tumblers. 
Glorious,  sublime  is  the  draught !  The  wine  that  the  crafty  Ulysses  (5) 
Gave  with  a  deadly  intent  to  monoptical  Squire  Polyphemus, 
Though  it  belonged  to  a  priest,  and  priests  know  the  smack  of  good  liquor, 
Though  it  is  praised  as  divine  by  that  honest  old  wine-bibber  Homer,  (6) 
Though  it  sent  forth  such  a  scent  as  fairly  perfumed  the  apartment,  (7) 
Though  it  required  to  be  mixt  with  almost  two  dozen  of  waters, 
Never  was  better  than  this,  which  I  at  this  moment  am  drinking. 
Once  on  a  time,  it  is  true,  I  came  across  liquor  superior, 
Swallowing  a  lot  of  potsheen  in  the  hills  about  far  Inishowen.   (8) 

Well  then,  the  business  is  done.     A  glorious  poetical  fury 
Seizes  my  soul  on  the  spot ;  I'll  keep  you  no  longer  a-waiting : 

Hail  to  thee,  pride  of  the  North,  hail,  Christopher,  star  of  Edina ! 
Thou  art  the  lad  of  the  lads,  who  handle  the  pen  of  the  writer  :  (9) 
None  dare  withstand  thy  award ;  none  dare  dispute  thy  dominion. 
Sweet  is  the  smile  in  thy  joy,  and  dread  is  thy  frown  when  in  anger. 
Whom  shall  I  equal  to  thee,  thou  chief  of  all  Magaziners  ? 
Look  round,  merry  men  all,  and  see  the  rest  are  but  asses, 
If  they  be  named  in  a  day  with  thee,  DESTROYER  OF  DUNCES  ! 
Joyless  is  poor  Mr  Joy,  confounded  are  Baldwin  and  Cradock, 
When  they  reflect  on  thy  strength,  and  think  of  their  own  petty  yelpers, 
Janus  can't  shew  any  face,  and  Lamb  is  led  off  to  the  slaughter. 
Sad  is  the  sapient  heart  of  Sir  Dick,  the  devourer  of  cabbage, 
Vainly  he  calls  to  the  fight  old  Capel  Loft,  and  Napoleon.  (10) 
Constable  trembles  in  soul,  when  he  finds  he  has  none  to  oppose  thee 
Save  a  collection  of  beasts,  not  worth  a  penny  a  dozen. 
Campbell  himself,  the  sweet,  the  beautiful  poet  of  Gertrude, 
Shrinks  at  the  sound  of  thy  name,  and  turning  away  from  H.  Colburn, 
Wishes  he'd  left  the  concern  to  Jack  Polidori  the  Vampire. 
Why  should  I  mention  the  rest  ?  unheard  of  perish  the  cattle  ! 
But  as  I  go  along,  I  gladly  pay  thee  a  tribute, 
Eldest  of  all  Magazines,  the  Gentleman's,  properly  so  called. 
Pleasant  art  thou  to  read,  ay,  pleasant  even  in  quaintness  ; 
Long  may  thy  Editor  live,  long  live,  and  scatter  around  him 
Tales  of  the  days  of  old,  and  sentiments  honest  and  loyal. 
(Christopher's  nearly  as  old,  he  being  sexagenarian  ; 
Never  arise  there  a  row  'twixt  these  two  worshipful  elders.) 

Hail  to  thee,  pride  of  the  North  !  Hail,  Christopher,  star  of  Edina  ! 
Great  is  thy  strength,  O  Kit,  and  valiant  thy  men  are  in  battle. 
Wastle,  the  laird  of  that  ilk,  who  wrote  of  the  crazy-pate  banker, 
Delta,  triangular  bard,  both  Hugh  and  Malachi  Mullion, 


6g  Hymn  to  Christopher  North,  Esq.  £  April, 

Scott— Jamie  Scott — Doctor  Scott,  the  poetic  uprooter  of  Grinders  ; 

Timothy  Tickler  so  brave,  and  the  couple  of  grave-looking  Germans, 

He  that's  as  great  as  a  host,  O'Doherty,  knight  of  the  standard, 

Seward  and  Duller  from  Isis,  and  Hogg  the  Shepherd  of  Ettrick, 

Cicero  Dowden  from  Cork,  Tom  Jennings  the  poet  of  Soda,  (12) 

Petre  of  Trinity,  Dublin, — O'Fogarty,  dwelling  in  Blarney  ; 

Gruff-looking  Z.  is  there,  wet  with  the  blood  of  the  Cockneys, 

So  is  the  ancient  Sage,  whom  the  men  of  Chaldea  delight  in. 

How  can  I  sum  them  all  ?  Go  count  the  sands  of  the  ocean, 

Number  the  lies  of  the  Times,  or  reckon  the  motes  of  the  sunbeam, 

Num'rous  as  they  are  the  bands,  who  draw  the  goose-quill  for  Maga. 

Over  them  all  is  North,  as  great  as  King  Agamemnon, 

When  he  led  forward  his  Greeks  to  the  sacred  city  of  Priam. 

Surely  as  Pergamus  fell  by  Pelasgian  valour  and  fury, 

So  shall  his  enemies  fall,  if  once  they  do  battle  against  him. 

Only  the  hosts  of  the  king  were  ten  years  doing  the  business, 

While  he  in  slaughtering  his  foes  scarce  spends  ten  minutes  about  it. 

Hail  to  thee,  pride  of  the  North  !  Hail,  Christopher,  star  of  Edina  ! 
Many  a  man  has  been  slain  by  thy  trenchant  and  truculent  falchion. 
Thou,  if  thou  wouldst,  could  build  a  hall  like  the  kings  of  Dahomey, 
All  of  the  skulls  of  the  dead,  on  whom  thy  sword  has  descended  ; 
Wonder  not  then  if  thy  name  is  heard  by  many  with  terror. 
Pale  is  the  cheek  of  Leigh  Hunt,  and  pale  is  the  Anti-Malthusian  ; 
Hazlitt  I  own  is  not  pale,  because  of  his  rubicund  swandrops, 
But  he  is  sick  in  his  soul  at  the  visage  of  Georgy  Buchanan ;  (13) 
Webb  is  a  trifle  afraid,  the  heavy-horse  Lieutenant  shaketh, 
Grim  is  the  sage-looking  phiz  of  the  bacon-fly  Macvey  Neperus ; 
Joy  does  not  reign  in  the  soul  of  sweet  Missy  Spence,  and  the  Bagman, 
Nor  of  some  hundred  beside,  whose  names  'twould  tire  me  to  mention, 
When  they  are  told  ev'ry  month,  lo !  terrible  Christopher  cometh  ! 
Thou  hast  for  ever  put  down  the  rascally  Whig  population  ; 
Muzzled  by  thee  is  the  mouth  of  Jeffrey's  oracular  journal; 
Onion  and  onionet  there  have  suffered  a  vast  degradation.  (14) 
Nobody  minds  them  now,  not  even  the  drinkers  of  toddy,  (15) 
Who  in  the  days  of  old,  in  garrets  loftily  seated, 
Thought  it  a  wonderful  feat  to  be  able  to  read  through  its  pages : 
Nobody  minds  them  now,  save  awfully  ancient  old  women. 
But  1  should  never  be  done,  did  I  tell  even  half  of  thy  slaughters. 
Amadis,  hero,  of  Gaul,  nor  the  Grecian  Don  Belianis, 
Hector  the  champion  of  Troy,  or  Cribb  the  champion  of  England, 
Floor'd  never  have  such  a  lot  as  thou  in  the  days  of  thine  anger. 

Though  I  have  much  to  say,  I  shall  soon  bring  my  song  to  an  ending, 
Almost  out  is  my  candle,  my  punch  is  out  altogether. 

Hail  to  thee,  pride  of  the  North  !  hail,  Christopher,  star  of  Edina  ! 
Joyous  am  I,  when  I  read  thy  soul-enlivening  pages, 
Cramm'd  with  delicious  prose,  and  verses  full  as  delicious ; 
Whether  thy  theme  be  grave,  sublime,  abstruse,  or  pathetic, 
Merry,  jocose,  or  slang,  quiz,  humbug,  gay  or  satiric, 
Equally  thou  in  all  soar'st  over  the  rest  of  creation. 
Still  are  thy  efforts  devote  to  the  honour  and  glory  of  Britain  ; 
Then  be  thou  read  where'er  the  language  of  Britain  is  heard  of, 


1821.3  Hymn  to  Christopher  North,  Esq.  63 

Through  merry  England  herself,  the  much-honour  'd  land  of  the  mighty, 

Over  the  kingdom  of  Scotland,  north  and  south,  highland  and  lowland, 

Over  the  hills  and  dales  of  Cambria,  region  delightful, 

And  in  the  green-mantled  island  of  Erin,  the  knd  of  potato. 

Then  thou  shall  cross  the  sea  to  the  Yankee  dominion  of  Monroe,  (16) 

On  to  the  regions  of  Canada,  snow-covered,  upper  and  lower. 

Southward  away  to  the  islands  discover'd  by  Christopher  Colon, 

Which  the  blundering  name  of  the  Western  Indies  delight  in. 

Off  to  the  East,  thou  fliest  to  the  realms  of  the  Marquis  of  Hastings,  (V7) 

Where  the  wild  natives  of  Ind  regard  thce  with  much  veneration, 

Placing  thee  there  with  the  gods,  next  after  Brama  and  Seeva. 

Thence  to  the  Austral  land,  where  fly  the  friends  of  the  Scotsman, 

Leaving  their  native  soil,  at  the  nod  of  judge  or  recorder, 

Like  patriotical  folks,  all  for  the  good  of  their  country. 

There  thou  art  somewhat  read  by  the  honest  Botany  Bayers, 

Who  at  the  ends  of  the  earth  live  under  the  sway  of  Macquarie  ;  (18) 

Severn,  and  Trent,  and  Thames,  Forth,  Tweed,  and  Teviot,  and  Leven, 

Dovey,  and  Towey,  and  Neath,  Lee,  Liffy,  Slaney,  and  Shannon, 

Lawrence,  Potowmac,  Missouri,  Indus,  and  Ganges,  and  Oxley, 

Wander  through  countries  possess'd  by  jolly-faced  readers  of  Blackwood. 

Thus  have  I  sail'd  round  the  earth,  like  Captain  Cook  or  Vancouver, 
Here  then  I  luff  to  the  land,  and  haul  in  my  bellying  canvas, 
Ending  my  elegant  hymn  with  the  self-same  line  that  began  it, 

HAIL  TO  THEE,  PRIDE  OF  THE  NORTH,  HAIL,  CHRISTOPHER,   STAR  OF  KDINA  T 


NATIONS  OF  EARTH  !  who  have  heard  my  hymn  so  gloriously  chauntod, 
Answer,  as  honest  men,  did  you  ever  hear  any  thing  like  it  ?• 
Never  !  I  swear,  by  the  God,  whom  Homer  calls  Argyrotoxos, 
And  whom  the  bards  of  Cockaigne  address  by  the  name  of  Apollor  ! 
Come,  and  contend,  if  you  dare,  great  laurel-crown'd  Bard  of  Kehama  f 
Come,  and  contend  if  you  dare,  in  the  metre  of  dactyle  and  spondee  ! 
That  I  should  beat  you  in  song,  I  bet  you  a  rump  and  a  dozen, 
A  rump  and  a  dozen  I  bet,  —  and  there  is  an  end  of  the  matter. 


1.)  "Wlke 


(1.)  "  Wake  not  for  me,  ye  maids  of  Helicon,"  quoth  Miss  Holford.  I  am  more  po- 
lite ;  for  I  call  them  "  fair  maids." — (2.)  Rideo  si  credis,  &c — (3.)  Lord  Byron  comme, 
morales  this  adventure  in  a  note  on  one  of  his  poems,  Childe  Harold,  I  believe. — (4.)  "  The 
kettle  singing  its  low  undersong,"  W.  W.  also,  "  A  fig  for  your  languages,  German 
and  Norse,  &c.  (5.)  Odi  IX.  L  221.  &c.  I  give  Cowper's  translation  as  the  most  literal 
I  can  find,  though  it  does  not  do  any  thing  like  justice  to  the  raciness  of  the  original. 

"  I  went ;  but  not  without  a  goatskin  filled 
With  richest  wine,  from  Maron  erst  received  ; 
The  offspring  of  Evanthes,  and  the  priest 
Of  Phoebus,  whom  in  Ismarus  I  saved, 
And  with  himself,  his  children,  and  his  wife, 
Through  reverence  of  Apollo  ;  for  he  dwelt 
Amid  the  laurel  sacred  to  his  God, 
He  gave  me,  therefore,  noble  gifts  ;  from  him 
Seven  talents  I  received  of  beaten  gold ; 
A  beaker,  urgent  all,  and  after  these, 
No  fewer  than  twelve  jars,  with  wine  replete, 
Rich,  unadult'rate,  drink  for  gods  ;  nor  knew 
One  servant,  male  or  femak,  of  that  wine 
In  all  his  house,  none  knew  it,  save  himself, 
His  wife,  and  the  intendant  of  his  stores  ; 


64  Hymn  to  Christo^tcr  North,  Esq. 

Oft  as  they  drank  that  luscious  juice,  he  slaked 
A  single  cup  with  twenty  from  the  stream ; 
And  even  then  the  beaker  breathed  abroad 
A  scent  celestial,  which,  whoever  smelt, 
Henceforth  no  pleasure  found  it  to  abstain. 

(ft.)  Vinosus  Homerus.  He  deserves  the  title.  None  but  a  wine-bibber  could  have 
so  joyously  described  the  wine  as  '»Jiiv  axr^ac-icv,  QEION  WOTO'V — (7-)  oJ/txA  tintiiix  am 
xfi)T>?i?o?  <5J*Jsi  0ia-wi<n'ij ;  which  is  very  flatly  rendered  by  Cowper.  If  I  mistake  not,  the 
Landlord,  in  the  beginning  of  the  Antiquary,  panegyrizes  his  claret  in  the  same  manner, 
which  I  throw  out  as  a  hint  to  the  future  collector  of  parallel  passages,  such  as  Mr  C. 
Metellus  and  Mr  Watts — (8.)  With  General  Hart — (!).)  A  Chaldean  phrase.  See  Chal. 
MS — (10.)  Sir  Richard's  contributors.  Vid.  Hour's  Tete-a-Tete  with  the  Public.  In- 
deed that  admirable  work  should  be  carefully  studied  by  those  who  wish  duly  to  appre- 
ciate my  hymn — (11.)  Vid.  Chal.  MS.  again — (12.)  See  No.  38.  Luctus  over  Sir  D.  D. 
He  is  there  called  Demosthenes  Dowden,  but  I'could  not  get  Demosthenes  to  scan.  I 
therefore  substituted  Cicero,  which  I  hope  Mr  Dowden  will  be  satisfied  with. — (13.)  He, 
it  appears,  does  not  agree  with  an  elegant,  and  judicious  poet  of  the  Literary  Gazette, 
who  sings  concerning  the  cover  of  the  Magazine  ; 

On  that  calm  mild  face  I  doat, 
Which  is  on  thy  back  impressed. 

(14.)  Again  to  the  Hour's  Tete-a-tete. — (15.)  Ibid. — (16.)  We  are  not  overpopular 
among  the  Yankees,  but  Munroe,  who  is  a  man  of  gumption,  spoke  rather  civilly  of  us 
in  his  last  message  to  the  Senate.  It  is  a  good  omen,  that  America  will  not  long  be  al- 
together so  barbarous  as  Tommy  Moore  represents  her.  C.  N — (I?-)  3Iarquis  of  Hast- 
ings, and  (18)  Governor  Macquarie — two  particular  friends  and  contributors  of  ours. 
C.  N. 

P.  S.  I  hope  a  sense  of  modesty  will  not  hinder  you ,  from  printing  this  hymn  of 
mine.* 

P.  S.  Concerning  the  scansion  of  the  hymn,  it  was  my  intention  to  have  dissertated 
somewhat,  but  I  fear  I  should  trespass  too  much  on  your  pages.  Send  it  over  to  Pro- 
fessor Dunbar,  and  he  will  settle  ths  matter  for  you  in  a  minute.  He  can  apply  his 
new  canon  of  Homeric  poetry  to  it,  and  if  that  wUl  not  make  it  scan,  nothing  that  I 
know  of,  will.  For  instance,  see  1.  99.  Thou,  if  thou,  &c.  which  he  could  account  for 
on  the  same  principle  as  he  does  a=tf  ajec,  and  all  other  lines  in  an  equally  luminous 
manner.  Give  me,  however,  a  verse-mouth  to  read  my  poetry,  and  I  despise  all  the 
gew-gaw  work  of  the  prosodians.  Indeed,  I  think  the  rule  of  the  learned  Merlinus 
Cocaius,  or  Macaronicus,  might  be  well  transferred  to  English  Hexameter — "  Denique 
sicut  Virgilius,  ac  ceteri  vates  in  arte  poetica  potuerunt  alterare  sillabas  auctoritate  sua, 
verbi  gratia,  Relliquias,  ita  Macaronicus  poeta  non  minus  hanc  auctoritatem  possidet 
circa  scientiam,  et  doctrinam  propriam," — it  being  a  mighty  convenient  regulation,  and 
tending  to  save  much  trouble. 

P.  S.  There  is  not  a  figure  of  rhetoric,  from  Metaphor  or  Apostrophe,  down  to  Pa- 
ragoge  or  Anadiplosis,  which  the  learned  will  not  find  in  my  poem.  I  have  not  time-  to 
enlarge  on  the  subject,  but  I  cannot  help  throwing  out  a  hint  to  the  ingenious. 

*  We  never  have  any  objection  to  print  truth;  of  course  we  publish  this  hymn. — C.  N. 


MANCHESTER  POETRY.f 

HERE  is  a  book  of  poetry,  good  read-  instance,  in  your  mind  the  ideas  of 
er,  written  and  published  in  Manches-  Manchester  and  Wordsworth,  and  see 
ter.  The  phenomenon  has  absolutely  if,  by  any  mental  process,  you  can  re  - 
astounded  us !  We  protest  we  should  duce  them  into  any  sort  of  union.  The 
as  soon  have  expected  a  second  edition  genius  of  that  great  man  would  have 
of  the  miracle  performed  in  the  desert  been  absolutely  clouded  for  ever  by  one 
for  appeasing  the  thirsty  Israelites,  as  week's  residence  in  the  fogs  of  Man- 
to  find  a  Hippocrene  bubbling  up  chester !  Poetry  from  Manchester ! 
amidst  the  factories  of  that  smoky  why,  we  should  as  soon  have  ex- 
town.  There  is  something  in  the  very  pected  a  Miltonian  epic  from  the  mo- 
name  itself  which  puts  to  flight  all  nosyllabical  Tims.  The  only  associ- 
poetical  associations.  Only  couple,  for  ation  we  have  connected  with  this  very 

t  The  Muse  in  Idleness.  P,y  W.  D.  Paynter,  author  of  the  Tragedy  of  "  Kury. 
pikis."  8vo.  Manchester,  l«l!). 


Manchester  Poetry. 


65 


commercial  town  is  the  abstract  idea 
of  a  little  whey-faced  man,  in  a  brown 
frock-coat  and  dirty  coloured  neck- 
cloth, smelling — not  of  perfumes  or 
cassia,  but  of  cotton  and  callicoes ; 
talking — notof  poetry  or  the  Stagyrite, 


ther  valuable  endowment,  who  ever 
could  think  that  the  modesty  of  the 
Scotsman  could  be  attained  all  at  once? 
The  thing  is  impossible,  as  Dr  John- 
son said  of  Sheridan's  stupidity,  such 
modesty  is  not  in  nature.  It  could 


but  of  nine-eights  and  fustians ;  and    only  have  come  by  constant  and  assi- 


writing— not  of  Shakespeare  or  Pope, 
but  "  Your's  of  the  llth  ult.  duly 


duous  cultivation  and  practice,  by  lay- 
ing hold  of  every  opportunity  of  add- 


came  to  hand,  in  which  per  advice,    ing  to  the  good  gift  which  nature  ori- 


£c.  &c."  We  have  heard,  to  be  sure, 
thanks  to  their  intelligent  brethren 
who  travel  northward,  that  such  things 
are  even  to  be  found  as  poetical  bag- 
men, who  are  favoured  with  clandes- 
tine visits  of  the  Muse.  This,  how- 


ginally bestowed,  till  that  frame  of 
mind  was  procured,  which  at  once  en- 
chants and  amazes  us.  —  But  to  return 
to  our  Manchester  friends  :  Let  them 
not  think  we  are  inclined  to  be  harsh 
or  severe  with  them.  We  have  long 


ever,  may,  we  think,  be  accounted  for  eyed  them  with  benignity,  not  un- 
on  the  principle  of  locomotion,  and  the  mixed  however  with  some  compassion 
great  assistance  afforded  to  them  by  the  for  their  intellectual  darkness.  But  let 
trotting  of  horses  and  the  rumbling  of  them  not  despair.  We  have  known 
wheels  in  the  concoction  of  their  po-  cures  to  have  been  effected  when  the 
etical  elevations.  The  flattest  small  via  mater  was  even  in  a  less  promising 
beer  will,  we  all  know,  by  continual  agi-  state.  Much  may  be  done  by  a  perse- 
tation,  effervesce:  what  marvel,  then,  vering  in  a  course  of  study,  and  read- 
that  bagmen  should  write  poetry,  un-  ing  Blackwood's  Magazine,  which  ex- 
der  the  influence  of  a  like  inspiration,  cellent  Publication,  ye  Manchester 
Were  the  labours  of  these  meritorious  Neophytes, 

persons  confined  to  Manchester,  we  Nocturna  versate  manu,  versate  diurna. 
apprehend  the  afflatus  would  be  found  There  is  one  thing  however,  which 
to  cease.  These  instances,  then,  and  even  our  indulgence,  great  as  it  is,  can- 
we  believe  they  are  rare,  do  not  affect  not  excuse,  and  that  is  their  utter  ne- 
the  general  rule.  Yet  we  would  not  gleet  of  the  great  field  which  has  re- 
be  uncharitable ;  and  we  are  willing  to  cently  been  presented  to  them  for  ex- 
allow,  that  amidst  the  labours  of  the  ercising  their  poetical  powers, — needwe 
counting-house  and  sale-room,  a  few  say,  in  the  far-famed  massacre  of  Pe- 
stationary  individuals  may  be  found  terloo.  Such  a  shameful  insensibility 
who  are  competent,  upon  emergencies,  we  never  before  witnessed.  Here  was 
to  supply  their  friends  with  a  gratui-  absolutely  a  niche  vacant  in  the  temple 
tous  sonnet  or  Valentine,  which,  bating  of  Fame,  and  not  a  soul  of  them  had 
their  necessary  want  of  rhyme  and  as-  time  or  courage  to  step  into  it.  The 
saults  on  Priscian,  may  pass  for  a  very  Chronicler  of  the  enormities  of  the 
respectable  and  decent  compilation.  Manchester  magistrates,  might  have 
These  are,  however,  but  poor  tri-  taken  his  seat  with  the  utmost  com- 
umphs ;  and  though  to  the  gaping  posure,  by  the  side  of  Virgil  or  Ho- 
clerks,  and  literary  warehousemen,  of  mer,  yet  no  struggle  has  been  mani- 
that  intelligent  town,  they  may  ap-  fested  for  this  glorious  distinction ! 
pear  the  very  highest  achievements  of  What  species  of  poetry  is  there  to 
human  intellect, — fruits  only  growing  which  this  inexhaustible  theme  would 
on  the  top  and  pinnacle  of  Parnassus,  not  have  been  adapted  ?  First  for  the 
the  very  ne  plus  ultra  of  the  endow-  Epic. — Could  any  thing  have  been 
ments  of  the  Muse ;  yet  we  must  whis-  better  fitted,  from  which  to  build  the 
per  softly  into  their  ears,  that  it  is  by  lofty  rhyme,  than  the  adventures  of 
other  performances  than  these  that  that  "  pious  ^Eneas,"  Orator  Hunt  ? 
their  poetical  credit  is  to  be  establish-  Manifold  were  his  afflictions,  and  va- 
ed.  Let  them  not  mistake  the  hot-  rious  and  singular  his  mishaps,  "  mul- 
tom  for  the  top  of  the  two  forked  hill,  turn  jactatus ;"  indeed,  he  was  miser  - 
Not  that  we  expect  all  things  at  once  ably  shaken  by  the  rude  hands  of  con- 
of  them ;  we  are  not  such  hard  task-  stables,  and  catchpoles ;  yet,  amidst 
masters.  We  know,  that  in  poetry  as  all,  he  persevered  unmoved  and  unde- 
well  as  in  other  things,  progress  can  jected,  mindful  of  his  "  Lavina  Lit- 
only  be  made  slowly,  and  by  degrees,  tora,"  where  now  he  has  at  length  ar- 
To  borrow  an  illustration  from  ano-  rived ;  and  long,  may  we  say,  may  he 


66 

remain  in  the  asylum  to  which  the 
gods  have  sent  him !  Then  for  the 
Elegiac. — Is  it  possible  for  more  pa- 
thetic examples  to  be  found  any  where 
than  the  poor  creatures,  whose  ears 
and  noses  were  cut  off'  by  the  unrelent- 
ing swords  of  those  valiant  men-at- 
arms,  the  Manchester  Yeomanry  ?  If 
the  ancient  author  thought  the  loss  of 
his  hair  of  so  much  consequence  as  to 
lament  it  in  an  elegy,  how  many  elegies 
would  the  deprivation  of  his  ears  or 
his  nose  have  elicited  !  We  leave  the 
matter  to  be  determined  by  a  jury  of 
Dandies.  Then  for  the  Ode. — What 
exquisite  lyrical  in  vocations  mighthave 
been  composed  to  the  deceased  Major 
Cartwright,  or  the  spirit  of  Tom  Paine, 
evoking  from  their  elysium,  those  wor- 
thies departed,  to  return  to  earth  ac- 
companied by  Astrea,  (excellent  socie- 
ty for  her  by  the  bye,)  and  view  the 
bloodshed  and  carnage -committed  un- 
der the  eyes  of  those  modern  Neros, 
the  Manchester  quorum.  Peterloo 
might  have  been  compared  to  Mara- 
thon or  Thermopylae,  and  the  victims 
of  the  yeomanry,  to  the  patriots  who 
expired  on  those  memorable  plains. 
And  for  the  Epigram. — But  we  are 
launching  out  too  far ;  it  is  useless  fur- 
ther to  shew  what  capabilities  the  sub- 
ject presented.  The  golden  opportu- 
nity is  gone,  the  brazen  head  has  ut- 
tered the  last  monition  ;  and  even  the 
ground  of  Peterloo,  after  having,  for 
some  time,  been  daily  visited  by  pa- 
triotic bagmen,  and  other  devotees  to 
the  great  cause,  is  quickly  losing  its 
hallowed  sanctity ;  and  within  a  short 
period,  factories  may  be  erected  on  that 
distinguished  spot  where  liberty  ex- 
alted her  cap,  and  patriotism  poured 
forth  its  blood. 

Such  is  the  nature  of  things,  and 
therefore  it  was  incumbent  on  oxir  good 
friends  to  have  seized  time  by  the  fore- 
lock. But  to  return  to  our  subject. 
Seriously  we  are  inclined  to  believe 
that  Manchester  is  not  overburdened 
with  that  unmarketable  article  litera- 
ture. At  least,  we  are  pretty  certain,  it 
has  now  hardly  any  person  of  acknow- 
ledged literary  abilities  and  character 
to  boast  of.  Dr  Ferriar,  whose  elegant 
mind  and  varied  researches,  could  at 
all  times  give  interest  to  the  subject  to 
which  they  were  applied,  is  long  since 
dead,  and  has  left  no  one  behind  him 


Manchester  Poetry. 


C  April, 


competent  to  fill  his  place.  Such  a 
man  as  Roscoe  we  should  hardly  ever 
expect  from  the  level  of  Manchester 
merchants, — gentlemen,  whose  erudi- 
tion, we  believe,  consists  in  the  play- 
ing whist,  drinking  port,  and  damning 
"  form,"  as  unceremoniously  as  En- 
sign Northerton  himself.  More  learn- 
ing than  this  we  think  they  would  be 
ashamed  to  possess;  and  of  more  learn- 
ing we  would  not  willingly  accuse 
them.  If  five  or  six  have  the  rare  abi- 
lity to  get  through  a  few  sentences  of 
mawkish  common-place,  at  some  pub- 
lic meeting,  we  apprehend  that  is  the 
extent  of  their  powers,  and  the  sum- 
mit of  their  ambition.  With  respect 
to  the  society,  which  goes  under  the 
name  of  the  Manchester  *  Literary  and 
Philosophical  Society,  we  understand, 
that  like  all  other  venerable  institu- 
tions, it  is  now  falling  to  decay,  or  at 
least  principally  directed  to  mecha- 
nics and  commercial  speculations.  Its 
name  now  reminds  us  of  no  eminent 
abilities  or  extraordinary  talents  con- 
nected and  associated  with  it ;  and  we 
should  augur  that  it  has  participated 
in  that  misfortune  of  old  age,  to  out- 
live its  efficiency  and  reputation.  Be- 
sides this,  we  believe,  there  are  other 
minor  societies,  much  on  the  plan  of 
the  Edinburgh  Speculative,  to  be  met 
with  in  Manchester,  where  nonsense 
is  spouted  by  the  hour ;  and  attornies' 
clerks,  and  commercial  book-keepers, 
disinterestedly  labour  for  each  other's 
benefit  and  improvement.  Here  are  to 
befound,oratorsandrhetoriciansin  em- 
bryo, reasoners  on  free-will,  predesti- 
nation, and  other  lofty  and  mysterious 
topics, in  whose  disputations,  however, 
nothing  is  concluded ;  and  the  person 
who  generally  comes  off  the  worst,  is 
the  unfortunate  Lindley  Murray. — 
There  are,  too,  Manchester  newspapers, 
where  there  is  occasionally  a  poetical 
sketch  by  Juvenis,  or  a  stanza  to  Miss 
E.  by  Modestus,  or  an  address  to  the 
Princess  by  Euphemia,  respectively 
written  and  indited  by  grocers'  appren- 
tices, milliners'  protegees,  and  young 
scholars  of  the  Porch, 

"  Who  pen  a  stanza  when  they  should 
engross." 

Or  perhaps  on  some  suitable  and  ex- 
traordinary occasions,  there  may  be  a 
letter  from  Mr  A.  to  Mr  B.  on  the 
conduct  of  Mr  C.  with  respect  to  parish 


*  Lucus  a  non  lucendo.  The  only  readable  papers  in  the  Transactions  of  this  Society, 
are  those  of  Dr  Ferriar,  Dr  Henry,  and  a  very  few  others.  The  rest  i»  a  mere  caput  mor- 
t  ii  1 1  in.  1 


1831.3 


Manchester  Poetry. 


affairs,  or  some  facetious  and  happy 
morsels  of  wit,  which  only  want  intel- 
ligibility to  complete  them,  by  Andrew 
Birchbottom,  a  personage,  who,  as  his 
name  imports,  is  in  the  habit  of  admi- 
nistering discipline.  These  literary  bo- 
dies, and  literary  performers,  with  an 
occasional  pamphlet,  which  the  emer- 
gencies of  the  times  may  strike  out  of 
the  crack-brained  noddle  of  some  re- 
forming politician,  big  with  official  do- 
cuments and  letters  of  moment, — or 
some  dramatic  performance,  which  may 
be  extorted  from  the  unquiet  conscience 
of  some  printer  or  printer's  devil — or 
some  prologue  or  epilogue,  volunteered 
by  the  pitiful  heart  of  some  young  limb 
of  the  law,  panting  after  immortality — 
or  some  lecture  published  at  the  de- 
sire of  the  auditors,  utterly  disproving 
the  Devil  and  all  his  works — or  some 
sermon,  published  at  the  like  desire  of 
the  congregation,  and  which,  to  shew 
its  good  effects,  has  procured  sleep 
even  when  laudanum  has  failed — or 
some  handbill,  in  large  and  visible 
characters,  containing  words  "  full  of 
fire  and  fury,  signifying  nothing" — or 
some  public  address,  which  like  Elka- 
nah  Settle's  Epithalamium,  with  a  new 
facing,  serves  for  all  occasions  equally, 
and  is  excogitated  with  much  trouble, 
and  perused  with  more— constitute  the 
sum  total  and  aggregate  of  what  Man- 
chester is  producing,  or  is  likely  to 
produce,  in  the  way  of  literature. 

Our  readers  will,  we  think,  be  incli- 
ned to  wonder  at  the  accuracy  and 
completeness  of  our  information.  It  is 
indeed  perfect  omniscience.  There  is 
not,  in  fact,  a  town  in  this  large  king- 
dom of  which  we  have  not  a  full  and 
complete  literary  and  civil  account  re- 
gularly transmitted  to  us  by  our  emis- 
saries, who  are  in  number  as  countless 
as  the  sands  of  the  sea,  or  the  motes  in 
the  sunbeams.  Not  one  silly  thing  is 
said  of  our  Magazine  of  which  we  have 
not  instantly  knowledge.  A  very  whis- 
per comes  to  our  ears,  increased  to  the 
loudness  of  cannon.  Let,  therefore,  the 
evil  tremble  within  themselves,  and 
quake  with  the  consciousness  of  their 
guilt.  We  hold  but  the  rod  over  them, 
which  may  be  inflicted  when  they  are 
least  prepared.  We  have  at  this  mo- 
ment a  room  entirely  devoted  to  these 
official  communications,  which  we  are 
now  keeping  for  some  future  continua- 
tion of  Camden.  Did  not  our  advanced 
age  and  infirmities  prevent  us.  we  our- 

VOL.  IX. 


67 

selves  should,  in  all  probability,  under- 
take this  laborious  work.  In  Manches- 
ter, we  have  no  less  than  ten  different 
scribes,  who  each  take  different  de- 
partments of  the  town,  and  attend  to 
their  vocation  with  unremitting  dili- 
gence. We  give  them  handsome  sala- 
ries, but  are  extremely  select  in  the 
persons  whom  we  thus  constitute  our 
reporters.  On  their  first  outset,  not  be- 
ing accustomed  to  the  climate,  the  fogs 
and  the  effluvia  proceeding  from  the 
cotton  were  so  potent  in  their  effects, 
that  the  intellects  of  our  unfortunate 
Juvenals  were  most  grievously  discom- 
posed. When  the  communications 
came  to  our  hands,  they  were  absolute- 
ly of  such  a  nature  that  we  could  nei- 
ther make  head  nor  tail  of  them.  In- 
stead of  a  summary  of  Manchester  li- 
terature, one  sent  us  an  abstract  of  a 
Manchester  ledger.  Another,  after  in- 
forming us  of  the  state  of  the  market, 
ended  by  modestly  requiring  of  us 
someorders — for  what  dost  thou  think, 
good  reader !  For  demities  and  plates  ! 
Orders  from  us,  Christopher  North, 
for  plates  and  demities  !  ! !  Heard  ever 
man  the  like  ?  We  were,  accordingly, 
much  perplexed.  In  time,  however, 
our  messengers  became  completely  ac- 
customed to  the  fogs  and  the  etcetera 
of  a  Manchester  life,  and  having  lost 
the  unaccountable  mania  for  traffick- 
ing,'which  at  first  possessed  them,  are 
now  contented  to  forward  our  interests, 
instead  of  merely  taking  care  of  their 
own.  In  addition  to  these  regulars,  we 
now  employ  another  auxiliary,  our 
worthy  friend  Mr  Theophilus  Bailey, 
a  nephew  by  the  father  s  side  to  Miss 
Bailey  of  unfortunate  and  famous  me- 
mory, by  whom  the  slumbers  of  the 
Halifax  captain  were  so  suddenly  and 
so  unpleasantly  disturbed.  Reports 
indeed  have  been  circulated  that  he  is 
the  illicit  offspring  of  that  celebrated 
connection ;  but  this  we  considered 
mere  slander  on  the  fair  fame  of  the 
unfortunate  heroine,  and  therefore  in- 
treat  our  readers  not  to  give  it  the  least 
credit.  Being  a  native  of  Manchester, 
he  is  of  course  completely  familiarized 
to  the  climate,  and  having  the  intel- 
lectual constitution  of  a  horse,  he  can 
bear  the  conversation  even  of  Man- 
chester cotton  spinners  without  flinch- 
ing. He  is  indeed  an  extraordinary 
character.  The  alacrity  of  the  mind 
is  wonderful.  So  little  is  he  influenced 
by  locality,  that  we  have  had  letters 
I 


Manchester  Poetry. 


68 

from  him,  dated  Gotham,  on  the  Sub- 
lime and  Beautiful — comments  from 
the  Bogs  of  Tipperary  on  the  Sculpture 
of  the  Greeks,  and  to  crown  all,  dis- 
quisitions from  Glasgow,  on  the  Influ- 
ence of  Poetical  Associations. 

But  weare  wandering  from  the  subject 
and  Mr  Paynter.  Nothing  more,  we 
think,  is  necessary  to  establish  all  that 
we  have  said  of  our  intelligence,  than 
the  simple  fact  of  our  having  reviewed 
the  work  now  before  us.  We  are  almost 
certain  it  has  completely  escaped  the 
notice  of  all  our  contemporary  journal- 
ists, and  really  are  afraid  of  incurring 
the  suspicion,  a  suspicion  which  before 
has  attached  on  us,  of  reviewing  a  book 
not  actually  in  existence.  This  suspi- 
cion, we  entreat  our  readers,  in  justice 
to  Mr  Paynter,  and  in  pity  to  ourselves, 
entirely  to  put  away.  Our  purpose  is  not 
to  deprive  Mr  Paynter  of  one  iota  of  his 
merited  reputation.  We  profess  our  in- 
competence to  manufacture  any  thing 
like  the  extracts  we  are  about  to  ad- 
duce. Our  business  is  merely  to  point 
out  their  beauties,  and  enlarge  on  their 
defects.  If,  nevertheless,  our  assevera- 
tions are  of  no  avail,  and  the  reader 
shall  require  a  more  convincing  proof 
that  Mr  Paynter  is  a  man  of  this  world, 
and  consequently  entitled  to  the  credit 
of  this  performance,  (though  how  a 
person  can  doubt  of  the  existence  of  a 
member  of  the  Manchester  Philanthro- 
pical  Society  is  to  us,  we  confess,  a 
problem)  let  him  forthwith  send  to 
Manchester  for  a  copy  of  the  book,  and 
he  will  shortly  receive  a  return  which 
will  administer  much  satisfaction  to 
his  own  mind,  and  much  satisfaction 
to  the  mind  of  the  publisher. 

The  book  now  before  us,  as  we  are 
informed  by  the  title  page,  is  written 
by  D.  W.  Paynter,  author  of  the  tra- 
gedy of  Eurypilus.  When  and  where 
this  tragedy  was  published,  the  first 
crepundia  of  our  great  author,  our  most 
diligent  inquiries  have  been  unable  to 
ascertain.  As  we  never  heard  of  it  in 
any  way,  we  can  only  imagine  that  it 
came  out  "  in  luminis  oras"  before  we 
were  born,  which,  good  reader,  was  in 
the  year  1760.  According  to  this  suppo- 
sition, Mr  Paynter  must  now  be  advan- 
ced in  years,  and  therefore  in  a  very 
proper  frame  of  mind  for  writing  such 
poems  as  these,  which  certainly  bear 
sometokensof  senility.  On thissupposi- 
tion,  however,  we  cannot  account  for  the 
Jong  interval  of  time  which  has  been 
suffered  to  elapse  from  his  first  publi- 


cation  to  this  his  last  and  greatest.  We 
therefore  apprehend  that  this  conjec- 
ture is  erroneous,  and  that  this  drama- 
tic performance  has  actually  been  pub- 
lished within  the  memory  of  man, 
though  perhaps  only  in  a  confined 
town,  and  for  the  edification  of  a  cho- 
sen few.  Certes  this  was  a  delicacy  of 
which  the  multitude  was  not  worthy  ; 
still  it  is  unchristianlike  and  illiberaj. 
for  any  one  to  keep  to  himself  the  pos- 
session of  a  common  good ;  and  for 
ourselves  therefore,  as  well  as  the  other 
lovers  of  the  drama,  we  beseech  the 
person  or  persons  who  may  now  enjoy 
to  himself  the  interesting  production, 
to  suffer  others  to  be  sharers  of  its  beau- 
ties, and  to  transmit  it  to  us  without  de- 
lay, for  the  purpose  of  being  reviewed 
in  the  next  number  of  our  Magazine. 
Such  is  our  well  grounded  confidence 
in  it,  deduced  from  the  perusal  of  the 
present  work,  that  we  undertake  to  de- 
monstrate it  to  be  superior  to  Miran- 
dola,  or  any  other  recent  dramatical 
performance. 

In  hopes  shortly  of  being  blessed 
with  the  good  for  which  we  have  pe- 
titioned, we  proceed  to  the  "  Muse 
in  Idleness,"  and  first  of  all  we  must 
notice  a  very  alarming  report  which 
has  just  come  to  our  ears,  and  which 
indeed  had  no  small  influence  with 
us  in  inciting  us  to  review  this  book ; 
namely,  that  one  half  of  the  copies 
have  been  lately  transmitted  to  Edin- 
burgh, for  the  purpose  of  being  em- 
ployed by  the  pastry  cooks  in  the  lit- 
tle necessary  occasions  of  their  busi- 
ness. Now,  before  sacrilegious  hands 
are  laid  upon  the  "  Muse  in  Idleness," 
we  must  simply  beg  leave  to  ask  these 
worthy  persons,  for  whose  manufac- 
tures we  have  always  maintained  a 
great  affection,  if  they  are  aware  of  the 
grievous  sin  they  are  about  to  commit, 
in  appropriating  to  the  involution  of 
cakes  and  comfits,  "  what  was  meant 
for  mankind."  Let  them  take  heed,  for 
we  assure  them  that  even  the  recreant 
tailor,  who  was  about  to  clip  the  great 
bulwark  of  our  liberties,  Magna  Char- 
ta,  will  stand  guiltless  in  comparison 
with  the  clipper  and  mutilator  of  Mr 
Paynter's  Sybilline  leaves.  After  this 
notice,  we  shall  not  consider  ourselves 
responsible  for  any  suicides  which  may 
hereafter  happen  among  the  members 
of  this  respectable  fraternity,  from 
pangs  of  conscience  for  such  inexpiable 
poetical  sacrilege,  and  deem  ourselves 
wholly  exonerated  from  the  conse- 


1821.;] 


Manchester  Poetry. 


quences.  And  now,  having  eased  our 
mind,  as  the  old  casuists  used  to  say, 
we  must  turn  our  attention  to  the  ex- 
traordinary frontispiece  which  stares 
us  in  the  face  at  the  beginning  of  the 
book.  We  regret  extremely  that  we 
cannot  transfer  it  into  our  Magazine  in 
its  original  state,  as  an  everlasting 
puzzle  for  the  ingenuity  of  our  read- 
ers. It  is  indeed,  as  Mr  Foresight  says 
in  the  play,  very  mysterious  and  hiero- 
glyphical,  infinitely  more  perplexing 
than  any  of  those  yearly  enigmas  which 
appear  in  that  prophetical  work,  Moore's 
Almanack.  Our  anxiety  to  get  at  the 
bottom  of  it  has  been  such,  that  we 
have  actually  passed  several  nights 
without  sleep,  in  an  endeavour  at  its 
elucidation,  but  our  success,  we  la- 
ment to  say,  has  yet  been  very  small. 
At  one  time  we  conceived  it  a  repre- 
sentation of  Adam  and  Eve  in  a  state 
of  innocence,  and  certainly  there  is  a 
beast  in  the  corner  which  is  ugly  enough 
1'or  the  serpent  himself.  But,  besides 
that,  there  is  a  fourth  character  in  the 
piece,  whom,  upon  this  supposition, 
we  cannot  make  out ;  Adam  would 
then  be  represented  with  a  bowl  of 
punch  in  his  hand,  which  perhaps 
wonld  hardly  be  perfectly  in  character. 
At  one  time  we  interpreted  it  to  deli- 
neate Hunt  inllchesterprison,  solacing 
his  sorrows  with  a  drop  of  the  good 
creature  in  despite  of  his  jailor,  ad- 
umbrated in  the  blatant  beast  in  the 
corner,  and  of  the  two  persons  in  the 
back  ground,  who  appear  to  be  anxi- 
ously cheapening  a  yard  of  ribband. 
Unfortunately  for  this  view  of  the  case, 
there  is  no  appearance  of  any  of  these 
outward  and  visible  signs  which  "  du- 
rance vile"  generally  brings  along  with 
it.  Here  the  parties  seem  quite  at  ease, 
and  Mr  Hunt  himself  appears  as  com- 
fortable in  every  respect  as  if  he  were 
in  his  own  house,  (i.  e.  if  he  have  one) 
with  a  select  party  of  friends,  toasting 
Annual  Parliaments  and  Universal  Suf- 
frage. This  interpretation  has,  too,  ano- 
ther small  defect,  that  it  is  not  entire- 
ly consistent  with  chronology;  but  this 
we  regard  as  trivial.  Great  men  are 
not  to  be  circumscribed  by  rules,  and 
as  Shakespeare  went  before  time,  it  is 
not  reasonable  that  Mr  Paynter  should 
follow  after  it.  Upon  the  whole,  we  are 
very  dubious  on  the  subject,  but  are 
inclined  to  think  that  the  plate  has 
some  reference  to  the  Manchester  mas- 
sacre, and  perhaps  to  the  part  our  au- 
thor performed  in  it,  who  might  deem 


69 

it  prudent  at  the  approach  of  the  ter- 
rible crisis,  to  fortify  his  spirits  by  a 
copious  and  genial  libation. 

But  enough  of  the  plate — Our  next 
consideration  is  the  Advertisement 
which  ushers  in  the  delectable  poems. 
We  present  it  to  our  readers,  as  a  spe- 
cimen of  our  author's  prose,  and  an 
example  of  metaphorical  elegance.  Pure 
must  be  the  taste,  and  pregnant  the 
fancy,  which  can  deduce  matter  of  il- 
lustration from  the  Quarter  Sessions, 
and  the  House  of  Correction. 

"  The  heterogeneous  Children,  disposed 
herein  according  to  their  respective  tempe- 
raments, having  lived  for  a  considerable 
time,  (several  of  them,  indeed,  longer  than 
a  seven-years'  apprenticeship,)  idle  and  un- 
profitable members  of  their  father's  house- 
hold,— are  sent  into  the  world,  in  order  to 
make  some  sort  of  provision  for  themselves ; 
yet  with  no  other  recommendation,  (Hea- 
ven help  them  !)  than  self-report, — which, 
by  the  way,  people  of  thoughtful  discretion 
and  forecast  consider  but  a  scurvily-slender 
loop,  whereby  to  suspend  so  pretty  a  gim- 
crack  as  Hope ! 

"  However,  if  all  of  them  prove  honest 
enough  to  escape  the  jail  of  infamy, — and 
even  one  (be  it  the  veriest  dapperling  amongst 
them,)  have  sufficient  address  to  gain  &  set- 
tlement in  the  Republic  of  Letters, — the 
parent's  most  lively  expectations  will  be  an- 
swered, to  the  full :  and  he  gives  his  as- 
surance to  the  whole  Bench  of  worshipful 
Critics,  that  it  will  not  entirely  break  his 
heart,  (though,  peradventure,  'tis  pretty 
well  fraught  with  fatherly  affection)  to  be- 
hold the  rest  of  his  offspring,  each  by  vir- 
tue of  a  vagabond's  pass,  return — in  rags 
—to  their  native  parish  of  Obscurity." 

We  are  afraid  there  is  something 
more  here  than  meets  the  eye.  It  is 
surely  rather  an  unprecedented  intro- 
duction to  a  book  of  poetryforan  author 
to  commence  by  displaying  his  accurate 
knowledge  of  the  vagrant  laws.  There 
must  certainly  be  some  deep,  some  in- 
scrutable sense  attached  to  this  para- 
graph, for,  in  its  obvious  meaning,  we 
i'ear  it  has  no  sense  at  all.  It  cannot 
surely  be  that  this  introduction,  though 
apparently  recommendatory  of  his  va- 
gabond offspring,  is  to  be  extended  to 
their  unfortunate  father,  who  stands  in 
more  need  of  a  settlement  than  his 
children.  It  cannot  surely  be  that  this 
great  man's  labours  have  been  under 
the  inspection  and  superintendance  of 
parish  officers  and  beadles,  those  very 
incompetent  cultivators  of  poetical  ge- 
nius. It  cannot  surely  be  that  a  re- 
commendation so  modestly  made  and 
delicately  insinuated  should  have  been 


70 


Manchester  Poetry. 


made  and  insinuated  in  vain.  Alas  ! 
that  such  things  should  be.  When 
will  genius  be  rewarded  ?  When  will 
modesty  be  preferred  ?  Shall  Parnas- 
sian bards  stand  in  awe  of  the  over- 
seer's whip,  or  write  their  eternal  poems 
in  their  removals  from  parish  to  parish, 
and  from  township  to  township,  which, 
now  glad  to  get  rid  of  them,  will  at  one 
time  contend  for  the  honour  of  their 
nativity  ?  Shame  on  ye,  men  of  Man- 
chester !  Have  ye  no  bowels,  ye  cotton 
spinners  and  manufacturers  ?  Is  there 
no  Maecenas  in  your  factories,  or 
Buckingham  in  your  courts  ?  no  one 
who  wishes  to  have  fame  at  a  cheap 
rate,  and  has  ambition  beyond  the  cal- 
culations of  his  ledger?  No  one  willing 
to  receive  dedications  in  lieu  of  bank 
notes,  and  immortality  in  exchange  for 
filthy  lucre  ?  Open  your  purses,  and 
impart  of  your  superfluity  to  one  who 
stands  among  ye,  willing  and  ready  to 
receive  it.  So  shall  you  have  a  Poet 
Laureate,  who  shall  dignify  your  fogs 
as  Pindar  did  his  native  Bseotia,  who 
shall  blazon  forth  with  laudable  per- 
severance the  perfections  of  your  bodies 
and  the  excellencies  of  your  minds,  who 
shall  exalt  your  police  meetings  with 
his  Odes,  and  your  commercial  clerks' 
meetings  with  his  Songs ;  your  deaths 
with  his  Monodies,  and  your  marriages 
with  his  Epithalamia ;  your  newspa- 
pers with  his  Stanzas,  and  your  Christ- 
mas meetings  with  his  Charades ;  and 
who  may,  in  the  maturity  of  his 
powers  and  the  fulness  of  his  grati- 
tude, even  write  a  blank  Epic  poem,  in 
imitation  of  Dyer's  Fleece,  entitled 
Paynter's  Cotton. 

But  now  for  the  poetry.  We  are 
first  presented  with  an  imitation  of 
Drayton's  Nymphidia,  denominated 
Dwarfish  Warfare,  or  the  Battles  of 
the  Fairies.  The  worthy  chronicler 
of  these  great  engagements  appears  to 
have  been  truly  impressed  with  the 
dignity  of  his  subject.  His  language, 
therefore,  rises  proportionably.  In- 
stead of  the  Dog  Days,  the  term  adopt- 
ed in  common  parlance,  we  meet  with 
the  Dog's  own  Days,  which  we  prefer, 
as  more  elevated,  and  as  giving  the 
Devil,  or  rather  the  Dog,  his  due. 
Many  other  felicities  of  diction  are 
equally  apparent.  We,  however,  en- 
tirely abstain  from  giving  a  further  ac- 
count of  this  precious  morceau,  merely 
calling  the  attention  of  our  reader  to 
the  following  declaration,  in  which 


CApril, 


there  is  something  exceedingly  awful 
and  championliku : — 

'*  Let  the  wolfish  king  beware, 
Or  by  the  gods  I'll  make  him  yell." 
In  the  next  piece,  the  Solitary  Bard, 
a  representation,  doubtless,  of  Mr 
Paynter  himself,  we  discern  many 
delightful  outpourings  of  sensibility. 
There  is  a  sweet  description  of  his  rural 
abode  in  Manchester,  "  seated  on  the 
margin  of  a  lake,"  we  presume  the 
reservoir  of  some  factory,  near  which, 
like  Master  Stephen,  Mr  Paynter  is 
wont  to  sit  upon  a  stool,  and  be  me- 
lancholy like  a  gentleman.  Enviable 
indeed  is  the  situation  of  a  poet,  he 
can  see  "  silver  waves"  and  majestic 
swans  where  the  little  dirty  factory 
boys  about  him  can  discern  nothing 
but  a  pond  of  water  as  black  as  ink, 
and  a  dead  dog,  perchance,  floating  at 
the  top  of  it.  The  following  tribute  to 
the  memory  of  our  author's  parents  it 
were  injustice  to  suppress;  and  we  can- 
not but  approve  of  the  conduct  of  his 
father  in  debarring  his  son  from  clas- 
sical lore,  in  order  that  he  might  have 
leisure  to  cultivate  his  vernacular 
tongue  with  that  elegance  and  effect 
which  his  poems  display. 

*'  HisSire,  who,  in  the  heyday  noon  of  life, 
Cloy'd  with  the  luxuries  of  garnish' d 

pomp, 

Hither  retir'd  on  wreck  of  princely  wealth, 
And  with  a  Yokemate,  chaste  as  Vesta's 

self,— 
Transfus'd  into  his  mind  the  hate  of 

pride, — 

Which  soon  begat  a  gust  for  solitude ; 
And  though  himself  pre-eminently  vers'd 
In  the  rich  fruitage  of  old  Greece  and 

Rome, 

Made  him  but  master  of  his  mother- 
tongue." 

Eastcheap  in  the  Shades  next  fol- 
lows, where  we  are  introduced  to  our 
old  acquaintances  Falstaff,  Poins,  Bar- 
dolph,  and  Dame  Quickly,  whose  very 
reasonable  expostulation  with  the  Fat 
Knight  will  fully  prove,  we  think,  that 
Shakespeare  must  quail  to  his  imita- 
tor. Our  author  subsequently,  in  a 
very  ingenuous  manner,  confesses  him- 
self guilty  of  the  grievous  sin  of  diffi- 
dence. This  instance,  we  are  sure, 
will  be  sufficient  to  prove  that  the  fault 
only  exists  in  the  imagination  of  this 
solitary  and  self-accusing  bard. 

"Swift  as  domestic  Tiger  clutches  Mouse, 
Mine  Hostess  cry'd — '  Thou  knave, — 

revile  my  house ! 

Was  it  for  this  I  bought  thee  Holland- 
shirts, — 


1821. 3                                      Manchester  Poetry.  71 

And  mark'd  thy  filthy  name  upon  the  When,  afar,  he  observ'd  a  proud  City'b 

skirts  ?  bright  spires, 

Thy  Tailor  paid,  for  coats  of  finest  nap,—  Hjs  bosom  was  heated  with  opposite  fires  ; 

For  which  I  ne'er  receiv'd  a  finger-snap  ?  He  rail'd  at  his  fellows,  with  merciless  hate, 

Did  I  not  give  thee,  gratus,  bed  and  And  tax'd  with  injustice  the  rulings  of 

board,  Fate ! — 

Whilst  thou  unconscionable  reck'nings  Yet,  when  the  arch'd  welkin  was  tranquil 

scor'd  ?  and  clear, 

Was  I  not  by  thee,  at  thy  latter  end, —  The  thoughts  of  the  past  would  engender 

And  pray'd  the  Saints  thy  broken  heart  a  tear,— 

to  mend  ? —  Which  stealing,  apace,  down  his  travel- 

And     can'st     thou,    vassal-slave,    use  gain'd  scars, 

calami/  *  He  pity'd  mankind, — and  forgave  his  ill 

'Gainst  one  who  was  so  parlous  kind  to  stars  ! 

I  I  !('t'  '•* 

Ah,  tf  e  upon'thy  naughty  varlet's  tongue,  One  Friend'  whom  he  lov'd>  y*  remain'd 

Which,  like  a  pismire,  has  mine  honour  on  the  earth,— 

stung !' "  A  Brother  that  Fnend ; — from  the  place  of 

We  are  next  regaled  by  an  Ode  and  h™  ^.irth' 

an  Allegory,   both  of  which,  though  An  exUe  for  ten  weary  years  he  had  been  _ 

excellent  in  their  way,  we  are  obliged  ^  *££"£? '           "                        ' 

to  pass  over.  The  following  Tale,  which  His     irit  wa;  i0fty,_(Orsino  his  name,)— 

we  extract  entire,  is  designed  certainly  In  the  fieid  he  had  sought  and  acquir'd 

To  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  honest  fame : 

tears-"  He  brav'd  a  false  Noble, — who  fell  in  the 

It  is  very  sad  indeed.  Draw  out  your  strife, 

handkerchief,  good  reader,  for  here  is  And  valiant  Orsino  was  banish'd  for  life  J 

matter   that  would  melt  a  heart  of  T 

gtone  His  raiment  now  tatter  d — the  mock  of  the 

wind — 

«  The  Lunatic  and  the  Outccut ;  A  Tale.  ^^^^  ^  he"t'  ^  ^^^ 

By  Friendship  undone, — by  his  Mistress  Young  Leon  had  journey'd  through  regions 

betray'd, —  unknown, — 

A  Bankrupt  in   Fortune  and  Happiness  Enduring  the  frigid,  and  fierce  torrid  zone ; 

made ;  When,  seated  one  even  in  sad  reverie, 

Disown'd  by  his  equals, — revil'd  by  the  On   the  measureless   beach   of  the  wide 

mean, —  Caspian  Sea, — 

'Midst Pride'sbitter  taunts,  and  the  clamour  At  the  foot  of  a  steep  frowning  cliff,  he 

of  Spleen,  beheld 

Young  Leon  his  birth-place — a  gay  Tuscan  A   poor  naked  Maniac,    who  frightfully 

town —  yell'd ! 
At  twilight  abandon'd,  with  sorrows  weigh'd 

down; Ungracious  his  aspect, — his    eye  sternly 

Fierce  tempests  of  anguish  his   thoughts  wild, — 

rudely  hurl'd,  He  laugh'd  whilst  in  anger, — and  horribly 

A  pennyless  Outcast,  he  fled  from  the  world.  smil'd ; — 

From  his  grim  boxen  visage,  black  tresses 
O'er  the  wild  blasted  heath,  and  the  bleak  hung  down, 

barren  hill,—  Dank  sea- weed  he  wore  round  his  head,  as 

On  the  cataract's  brink, — by  the  foul  sedgy  a  crown 

rill,—  On  the  sharp  cragged  rocks  that  defac'd 

'Mid  whirlwinds  and  thunders  that  shook  the  smooth  strand, 

the  firm  Sail,—  He  cast  himself  headlong,— and  clutch'd 

He  wander'd  and  suffer'd, — unpity'd  by  the  hot  sand ; 

Then,  savag'd  by  phrensy,  sprung  up — 
Not  e'en  the  poor  peasant — (himself  sorely  w}th  void  stare, 

press'd,)  ^nd  maim'd  his  .swarth  forehead, — and 

With  a  sigh  of  compassion  his  pilgrimage  tore  his  lank  hair ! 

bless'd ! — 

His  head  was  oft  pillow'd  by  fragments  of  When  he  saw  the  lone  Outcast,  he  utter'd 

wood, —  rude  howls, — 

Marshy  water  his  drink,  moorland  berries  Like  those  of  the  wolf  when  in  forests  he 

his  food.  prowls ; — 


Calumny. 


72 

Advanced  a  few  paces,— then  paus'd,  as  in 

doubt,— 
Now,    fixing  his  eye-ball,— now,   gazing 

about. — 
At  length,  with  clench 'd  hands — and  quick 

gasping  with  rage — 
He  rush'd  fleetly  forward,   the   Stranger 

t' en  gage ; 
And    while,    with    shrewd    signals    and 

gestures,  he  brav'd, 
His  feet  toss'd  the  sand, — and  thus,  furious, 

he  rav'd : 

'  Arch-rebel !  com'st  thou  with  intent  to 

purloin 

A  Monarch's  regalia — his  jewels  and  coin  ? 
I'm  King  o'the  Elements— clouds  are  my 

steeds — 
I  grasp  all  the  thunders, — and  do  mighty 

deeds ! — 
The  wind  is  my  grandsire — a  dormouse  my 

dam — 

O'  Sundays,  I  marry  the  tiger  and  lamb  ! 
Fly — fly  my  dominions !  or  by  the  three 

Zones — 
I'll  pluck  out  thy  sinews, — and  rive  all  thy 

bones!' 
He  boisterous  spoke, — and  all-frantickly 

tore 
A  huge  fragment  of  rock  from  the  desolate 

shore : — 

He  rais'd  it ;  when  Leon  his  jeopardy  saw, 
Observ'd,  in  a  trice,  gentle  Nature's  first 

law, — 
And  smote  the  poor  Maniac,  who,  fearfully 

maim'd, 
Toppled  down  on  the  waste, — and,  scarce 

breathing,  exclaim'd — 
c  Ah,   Leon — sweet  Brother — come,  lend 

me  thine  aid  ! — 
'Tis  Orsino  who  calls— in  his  winding-sheet 

laid !' 

This  said, — with  a  faint  suspiration — he 

dy'd  !_ 

Thehorror-struck  Outcast,  in  agony,  cry'd— 
4  O,  sorrow  of  sorrows !  too  weighty  to 

bear ! — 
Mine  own  Brother  I've  slaughter'd ! — Now 

welcome  Despair !" 
He  wept  o'er  the  body, — and  kiss'd  its  cold 

cheek, — 

Then,  piercing  the  air  with  a  piteous  shriek, 
Swift  fled  tow'rd  the  billows— an  innocent 

Cain— 
And  buried  himself — and  his  griefs — in 

the  Main." 

We  are  now  completely  overcome, 
and  must  exclaim  with  Lady  Frost  in 
the  play,  "You  have  conquered,  sweet, 
melting,  moving  Sir,  youhave  conquer- 
ed !  What  heart  of  marble  can  refrain 
to  weep,  and  yield  to  such  sad  say- 
ings." Who  is  there,  indeed,  whose 
eyes  shall  not  overflow  with  tears,  and 
render  us  the  labours  of  the  washer- 


Manchester  Poetry. 


CApril, 


woman  needless,  at  the  sudden  evil  of 
this  "  innocent  Cain  ?"  It  is  verily  a 
most  melancholy  catastrophe,  and 
should  in  future  be  a  warning  to  the 
keepers  of  asylums  how  they  suffer 
their  patients  to  go  abroad  to  the  da- 
mage of  our  lord  the  king,  and  the 
fear  and  consternation  of  his  subjects. 
Our  author's  Bucolical  inspirations 
come  next,  and  Theocritus  and  Virgil 
hide  their  diminished  heads.  The  for- 
mer has  certainly  the  advantages  of 
place,  for  what  were  the  banks  of 
the  Cydnus  or  Mincio,  to  those  of  the 
river  Mersey,  or  the  Duke  of  Bridge- 
water's  Canal !  Lend  us  your  ears, 
good  folks,  and  listen  to  the  Bucolics 
of  this  Manchester  Tityrus.  One 
speech  only  we  can  quote. 


"  O,  that  this  breast  were  turn'd  to  lifeless 

clay  ! 

Yet  Wisdom  speaks,  and  I  must  needs  obey. 
My  truant  flocks  again  shall  jointly  feed, 
And  bask  at  will,  in  their  own  verdant  mead ; 
My  moping  Dog  again  shall  range  the  lawn, 
And,  wakeful,  guard  the  fold,  from  Eve  to 

Dawn : 

Tho' sad  at  heart,  I'll  seem  as  blithe  a  Swain, 
As  e'er  ply'd  crook,  or  pip'd  the  jocund 

strain, 
But  (woe  the  while !)  should  Phyllis  still 

pursue 

Her  cruel  scorn,  and  ne'er  appear  to  rue,— 
My  Dog  may  pine ;  my  Lambs  deserted, 

stray ; — 

My  crook  and  pipe,  at  once,  I'll  cast  away ; 
And  straight  retiring  to  this  silent  Vale, 
I'll  lay  me  down, — and,  dying,  end  my 
Bale." 

Attentive  to  the  last,  you  see,  to  the 
affairs  of  the  warehouse.  The  eyes  of 
this  Lycidas,  who,  we  opine,  was  a 
packer,  could  not  be  closed  in  peace 
till  the  bale  was  made  up.  What  a 
stroke  of  nature  !  What  excellent  con- 
sistency of  delineation  !  The  author 
has  here  contrived  to  unite  the  before- 
deemed -in  compatible  characters  of 
a  Manchester  warehouseman  and  an 
Arcadian  shepherd  !  He  has  managed 
to  depict  a  genius  who  can  tend  sheep 
and  pack  up  bales  with  equal  facility. 
Henceforth  let  us  no  more  talk  of  the 
breathings  of  the  Doric  flute,  but  more 
judiciously  reserve  our  admiration  for 
the  louder  sounds  of  the  Manchester 
trumpet. 

Tales,  fables,  monodies,  odes,  elegies, 
epitaphs,  and  epigrams,  and  all  the 
small  artillery  of  the  Muses,  now  fol- 

r 


1821.3 


Manchester  Poetry. 


low  in  formidable  array,  to  excite  our 
wonder  and  astonishment  at  the  versa- 
tility of  this  Manchester  Bard.  We 
are  sorry  we  have  not  room  for  a  spe- 
cimen of  our  author's  powers  in  each 
of  these  different  lines ;  but  alas,  we 
cannot  be  for  ever  transcribing,  even 
from  poetry  so  luscious  as  Mr  Payn- 
ter's.  This  great  man  appears  capable 
of  writing  de  omni  scibili  et  de  quolibet 
cnie.  There  is  nothing  too  great  or 
too  little  for  his  wonderful  powers.  He 
can  wield  the  sword  of  Goliah  and  the 
missile  of  David,  at  one  and  the  same 
time.  His  genius  absolutely  appears 
co-extensive  with  poetry  itself.  His 
book  is  a  compendium  or  abstract  "  of 
the  wisest  and  best  of  all  other  men's 
books,"  the  very  choicest  culling  of  the 
Hyblaan  Honey.  Equal  in  beauty  is 
his  prose.  His  Introduction  we  have 
before  inserted,  but  the  following  note, 
written  apparently  to  prove  that  the 
author  of  Paradise  Lost  has  pillaged 
from  the  author  of  the  Muse  on  Idle- 
ness, it  would  be  unpardonable  to  omit. 

"  Not  so,  the  BEE  ;  who  quickly  found 
An  access  to  &6  pulp  profound  ;" 

"  Think  not,  most  courteous,  thrice-gen- 
tle, and  indulgent  Reader,  that  our  Au- 
thor hath  here  plagiarised  the  Miltonian 
Idiom.  "  Pulp  profound^"  independent- 
ly of  its  alliterative  elegance,  is  undoubt- 
edly a  rare  example  of  "  The  Sublime  and 
Beautiful ;"  yet,  the  Bard  of  Eden  hath 
no  more  claim  to  it,  than  the  Philosopher 
of  China.  'Twas  the  divine  emanation  of 
his  own  deep  sagacity,  and  purely  of  his 
own  fashioning ;  ergo,  according  to  all  the 
principles  of  equity,  he  certainly  ought  to 
enjoy  the  sole  and  entire  credit  of  it !" 

This  is  a  very  clear  case  indeed.  As 
we  understand  the  note,  there  is  a  mat- 
ter of  plagiarism  to  be  settled  between 
Milton  and  Paynter,  about  this  same 
"  pulp  profound,"  and  certainly  if  the 
latter  gentleman  have  not  pillaged  from 
the  former,  the  former  must  have  pil- 
laged from  the  latter.  Now  Mr  Payn- 
ter comes  forward  like  an  honest  man, 
gives  us  his  asseveration,  which  we  re- 
gard the  same  as  proof,  that  the  steal- 
ing was  not  on  his  side,  and  that  these 
two  words  arc  his  own  sole  and  exclu- 
sive property.  After  this,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  doubt  where  the  mal-feasance 
lies,  and  accordingly  we  charge  John 
Milton  with  petit  larceny  on  Mr  Payn- 
tcr's  goods  and  chattels.  Truly  it  is  a 
strange  thing  that  our  great  epic  poet, 
dead  and  departed  as  he  is,  cannot  keep 


T3 

his  hands  from  picking  and  stealing, 
especially  from  our  good  author,  who 
had  surely  every  reason  to  believe  he 
might  continue  unmolested.  We  re- 
gard the  fact  as  awfully  characteristic 
of  the  present  times.  It  is  come  to  a 
pretty  pass  indeed,  when  the  dead  arise 
to  deprive  us  of  our  property.  We 
shall  not  be  surprised  soon  to  hear  of 
coaches  robbed,  and  purses  rifled,  by 
resuscitated  highwaymen  and  pickpoc- 
kets. 

We  are,  amongst  other  interesting 
pieces,  next  presented  with  a  very  plea- 
sant epistolary  communication  between 
the  gout  and  our  author ;  and  also  with 
divers  songs,&c.  spokenbefore  the  Man- 
chester Philanthropical  Society.  How 
the  gout  and  our  author  became  con- 
nected, God  knows — they  are  two  of 
the  last  persons  between  whom  we 
should  have  expected  an  acquaintance. 
Probably,  however,  the  latter  produc- 
tion may  explain  the  former,  and  the 
primitive  diet  of  Parnell's  Hermit  may 
not  be  much  in  requisition  amongst 
the  members  of  the  above-mentioned 
benevolent  institution. 
"  His  food  was  herbs,  his  drink  the  crystal 
well." 

We  begin  to  suspect  by  the  way, 
from  this  circumstance,  that  Mr  Payn- 
ter's  case  is  not  quite  so  bad  as  we  sup- 
posed, in  our  warm,  and  we  hope  elo- 
quent appeal  to  the  benevolence  of  the 
Manchester  people.  We  really  now 
have  a  notion  that  his  residence  is  not 
so  near  to  heaven  by  two  stories  as 
we  imagined  before.  Be  he,  however, 
near  heaven,  or  near  earth,  or  in  Ma- 
homet's Paradise  between  both»  he  is 
a  personage  who  deserves  promotion  ; 
and  if  his  humility,  which,  as  our  rea- 
ders will  hereafter  see,  is  his  only  fail- 
ing, confine  him  at  present  to  the 
ground-floor,  we  hope  a  time  will  come 
when  he  will  verify  the  gospel  saying, 
"  That  lie  who  humbleth  himself  shall 
be  exalted." 

An  epitaph  on  a  lap-dog  comes  next, 
commemorating  the  various  virtues  and 
endowments  of  the  deceased.  After  an 
interval,  the  Plain-dealing  Lover,  in 
which  our  author,  after  recounting  the 
various  beauties  who  have  made  as- 
saults upon  his  heart,  concludes,  as 
might  be  expected  from  the  possessor 
of  such  poetical  powers  and  intellectual 
acomplishments,  by  declaring,  that  he 
loves  himself  the  best.  And  let  no  one 
impute  this  to  superabundance  of  va- 


74 

nity  or  self  love.  It  is  not  easy  for  a 
man  to  tell  what  he  might  say  or  do, 
were  he  equally  gifted  with  Mr  Payn- 
ter ;  were  we  but  in  that  enviable  pre- 
dicament, we  should,  we  are  persua- 
ded, be  continually  absorbed,  like  the 
Indian  god,  in  the  contemplation  of 
our  own  excellencies  ;  and  this  Maga- 
zine, and  all  that  therein  is,  might  in 
that  case,  go  to  the  Red  Sea  for  aught 
we  should  care,  any  thing  Mr  Black- 
wood  might  say  to  the  contrary  there- 
of, in  any  wise  notwithstanding. 

We  have  before  said,  that  diffidence 
appears  to  be  the  chief  foible  of  our 
author.  There  are  some  who  may  be 
inclined  perhaps  to  question  this  our 
assertion.  Let  them  therefore  listen 
to  the  poet  himself,  who  surely  ought 
to  know  best. 

"  Distressful  state ! 
Scarce  equall'd  by  the  pangs  of  hopeless 

Love. 
Whilst  happier  Bards,  dismayless,  mount 

on  high, 

And  warble  forth  their  vary'd  strains  su- 
blime,— 
With  feeble  hand,  my  Muse  attunes  her 

lyre,— 

In  tame  subjection  to  this  Giant  Fear ; 
Which  All,  through  childhood,  more  or 

less,  endure ; 
But  few,  in  modern  tunes,  save  those  whose 

nerves 

Are  exquisitely  wrought,  its  mast'ry  bear 
Beyond    their    boyish    and   unthoughtful 

days." 

The  following  lines  to  the  memory 
of  Shakespeare,  were  delivered  to  a 
small  party  of  friends,  who  assembled 
to  commemorate  the  day  on  which  that 
poet  died,  and  gratifying  indeed  must 
it  have  been  to  have  heard  such  lines 
pronounced  on  such  an  occasion. 

"  'Twas  on  this  day,  two  hundred  years 

ago, 
The  purple  tide  of  Shakespeare  ceas'd  to 

flow ; — 
This  day,  grim  Death  o'er  Stratford  wing'd 

his  flight, — 
Resolv'd   to  show  Mankind  his  keenest 

spite : — 
Swift  to  its  aim  his  shaft  unerring  sped, — 

The  Poet  fell the  soul  of  Genius  fled — 

O,  star-like  Shakespeare  !  Pride  of  ev'ry 

age! 
The  Prince, — the  God, — the  Glory  of  the 

Stage ! — 

When,  like  the  lark,  aloft  thy  spirit  soars, 
The  Critic  wonders, — but  the  Bard  adores  t 


Manchester  Poetry. 


CApril, 


Forgets  the  sapient  "Grecian's  classic  Rules, 
And  all  the  irksome  lumber  of  the  schools,— 

To  cull  the  honey  from  thy  denial  plays, 

The  wildest  sweet, — the  sweetest  past  all 

praise  ! — 
Great  Nature's  Minion  !  Fancy's  fav'rite 

Flower  ! 
The  Muse's  Darling  !  Foe  to  Art's  frail 

pow'r  ! 
"  We  few, — we  happy  few,"  with  rev'rence 

free, 
This  -fglass — now  Hushing — consecrate  to 

Thee." 

How  we  envy  those  happy  friends 
who  were  included  in  the  select  and 
Shakespeare-loving  party !  What  a 
feast  of  reason  and  flow  of  soul  must 
have  been  exhibited  here !  With  what 
a  gusto  must  the  favoured  bon  vives  have 
discussed  their  black  strap,  (unless  the 
port  be  intended  for  porter,  which  we 
are  inclined  to  believe,)  and  the  works 
of  the  commemorated  poet,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  his  greatest  living  representa- 
tive !  We  fancy  we  see  at  this  very  mo- 
ment some  hulking,  butcher-like  look- 
ing man,  with  greasy  leather  breeches 
and  scarlet  waistcoat,  a  face  running 
down  with  perspiration,  and  eyes  ab- 
solutely starting  out  of  their  sockets 
with  exertion,  rising  up  to  offer  some 
observations  to  the  president,  (who  in 
this  case  can  be  no  other  tnan  Mr 
Paynter  himself,)  on  the  character  of 
Romeo,  and  dilating  with  extraordina- 
ry sensibilty  on  his  unhappy  love.  He 
might  perchance,  be  followed  by  some 
little  mortified,  man,  "  one  of  nine," 
whose  appearance  instantly  indicated 
his  occupation,  and  round  whose  mouth 
the  bees  might  have  swarmed,  were  it 
not  for  the  mustard  which  lingered 
thereon,  discoursing  with  all  the  en- 
thusiasm of  a  kindred  spirit,  on  the 
exalted  character  of  Coriolanus.  Such 
company  as  this  who  would  not  covet  ? 
Alas,  why  were  not  we  too  invited  to 
the  feast.  It  would  indeed  have  been 
a  thing  to  talk  of  all  our  lives,  and 
proud  indeed  would  have  been  the 
moment,  when,  on  some  future  com- 
memoration day  of  Shakespeare,  we 
could  exclaim,  "On  this  day  we  had  the 
happiness  of  drinking  a  bumper  to  the 
memory  of  Shakespeare,  with  W.  D. 
Paynter,  author  of  the  tragedy  of  Eu- 
rypilus !" 

But  our  enthusiasm  is  carrying  us 
beyond  the  limits  allotted  for  our  re- 
view. We  must  return  to  the  subject 


Aristotle. 


•)•  Port-wine. 


1821.3 


Manchester  Poetry. 


and  close  our  extracts  by  the  follow- 
ing, which  indeed  might  'have  indif- 
ferently done,  as  a  beginning,  middle, 
and  conclusion. 


NONSENSE. 


An  Example  of  Holiday  Poesy. 


•  full  of  sound  and  fury, 


"  Signifying  nothing.'' — Shakespeare. 
"  The  shafts  of  Cupid  hurtle  in  the  wind ; 

The  plumy  vesture  of  his  mother's  doves 
Seems  sweetly  swan-like,  to  th'  enamourrd 
mind; 

And  all  the  graces  look  ten-thousand 
Loves  /" 

Roally  this  was  completely  a  work 
of  supererogation.  After  so  many  gra- 
tuitous specimens  of  this  sort  of  wri- 
ting, our  good  and  pains-taking  author 
was  really  carrying  the  joke  too  far,  to 
give  us  as  a  new  thing,  what  every 
page  of  the  book  from  the  first  to  the 
last,  presented.  Besides,  where  was 
the  need  of  imitating  others  in  this 
style,  when  he  writes  himself  so  much 
with  the  spirit  of  an  original  ?  But 
this  we  impute  to  the  great  modesty 
of  our  author,  who  appears  not  to  know 
what  he  is  capable  of  doing  or  has 
done.  It  is,  of  course,  incumbent  tip- 
on  us  to  set  him  right.  Let  him,  there- 
fore, for  the  future,  give  himself  no 
trouble  in  excogitating  titles  for  his 
various  productions.  The  general  and 
comprehensive  one  he  has  here  given 
to  this  last,  will  equally  serve  for  all. 
We  have  heard  an  eminent  author  say, 
that  it  is  less  difficult  to  write  a  poem 
or  play,  than  it  is  to  find  a  name  for  it 
when  it  is  written.  If  this  be  the  case, 
how  much  is  Mr  Paynter  obliged  to  ua 
for  this  felicitousanduniversal  appella- 
tion, which,  while  it  will  save  himself 
much  mental  distraction  and  trouble, 
will  at  once  be  acknowledged  by  every 
one  who  sees  it,  to  be  concise,  signifi- 
cant, and  just. 

Such  are  the  prosaical  and  poetical 
labours  of  D.  W.  Paynter,  author  of 
the  tragedy  of  Eurypilus,  Conamemo- 
rator  of  Shakespeare,  Professor  of  the 
Vagrant  Laws,  and  Poet  Laureat  to 
the  Manchester  Philanthrspical  Socie- 
ty. What  great  things  he  has  arhieved 


73 

in  the  literary  world,  we  have  attempt- 
ed to  shew ;  what  wonderous  effects  liis 
example  may  produce,  it  is  not  so 
easy  to  predict.  We  hope  and  trust  it 
will  excite  an  universal  spirit  of  emu- 
lation, and  that  in,  the  minds  of  all ; 
from  the  lowest  "factory-boy  to  the 
highest  cotton-spinner,  the  love  of 
poetry  may  be  kindled  like  a  flame. 
Thus  shall  arise  to  this  great  man  a 
more  complete  honour  than  that  of 
Orpheus,  the  civilizer  of  barbarous 
nations,  viz.  that  of  having  implanted 
in  the  very  bales  and  bagmen  of  Man- 
chester, poetical  fervour  and  feeling. 
Thus  shall  Mitchell's  Interest  Tables, 
and  Lord  Byron's  Falieri,  lie  in  appro- 
priatejuxta-position  on  the  same  coun- 
ter and  desk ;  while  in  the  place  of  in- 
spiration, shall  be  visible  the  Muse  in 
Idleness  and  the  Rhyming  Dictionary; 
and  an  entry  into  the  Ledger,  and  the 
completion  of  a  Stanza,  shall  follow 
each  other  in  alternate  succession.  Thus 
shall  pattern  books  of  prints,  and  pat- 
tern books  of  poetry,  issue  from  Man- 
chester to  the  north  and  to  the  south, 
and  to  the  east  and  to  the  west,  and 
returned  bills  and  returned  plays,  be 
sent  back  to  that  place  in  thousands  by 
the  same  capacious  and  comprehensive 
packet.  Thus  shall  we  hear  of  new 
Bloomfields,  Derraodies,  and  Clares, 
starting  up  in  regular  and  unbroken, 
array,  and  their  poems  shall  be  adorn- 
ed by  a  preliminary  essay,  written  by 
some  patronizing  oracle  of  the  counter. 
Nor  will  the  good  effects  to  be  produ- 
ced by  Mr  Paynter's  lucubrations,  be 
confined  to  the  town  which  has  the 
happiness  of  possessing  that  great  bard. 
We  also— we  speak  it  with  exultation 
— shall  reap  of  the  plenteous  harvest. 
The  commercial  book-keepers,  print- 
ers' devils,  and  attorneys'  clerks  of 
Manchester,  will  dispose  themselves 
through  our  pages  in  all  the  varieties 
of  ode,  epigram,  elegy,  satire,  and  son- 
net, and  thus  our  Magazine  receive  a 
new  impetus  from  the  offerings  which 
shall  monthly  be  brought  to  us  by  the 
commercial  travellers  from  this  peren- 
nial Fount  of  the  Muses. 


VOL.  IX. 


The  September  Foresi.  C  April, 

THE  SEPTEMBER  FOREST. 

WITHIN  a  wood  I  lay  reclined, 

Upon  a  dull  September  day, 
And  listen'd  to  the  hollow  wind, 

That  shook  the  frail  leaves  from  the  spray. 

I  thought  me  of  its  summer  pride, 

And  how  the  sod  was  gemm'd  with  flowers, 
And  how  the  river's  azure  tide 

Was  overarch'd  with  leafy  howers. 

And  how  the  small  birds  carolTd  gay, 

And  lattice  work  the  sunshine  made, 
When  last,  upon  a  summer  day, 

I  stray 'd  beneath  that  woodland  shade. 

And  now ! — it  was  a  startling  thought, 

And  flash 'd  like  lightning  o'er  the  mind,— 
That  like  the  leaves  we  pass  to  nought, 

Nor,  parting,  leave  a  track  behind ! 

Go— trace  the  church-yard's  hallow 'd  mound, 

And,  as  among  the  tombs  ye  tread, 
Read,  on  the  pedestals  around, 

Memorials  of  the  vanish'd  dead. 

They  lived  like  us — they  breathed  like  us — 

Like  us,  they  loved,  and  smiled,  and  wept ; 
But  soon  their  hour  arriving,  thus 

From  earth  like  autumn  leaves  were  swept. 

Who,  living,  care  for  them  ? — not  one  ! 

To  earth  are  theirs  dissever'd  claims  ; 
To  new  inheritors  have  gone 

Their  habitations,  and  their  names  ! 

Think  on  our  childhood — where  are  they, 

The  beings  that  begirt  us  then  ? 
The  lion  Death  hath  dragg'd  away 

By  turns,  the  victim  to  his  den ! 

And  springing  round,  like  vernal  flowers, 

Another  race  with  vigour  burns, 
To  bloom  'a  while, — for  years  or  hours, — 

And  then  to  perish  in  their  turns ! 

Then  be  this  wintry  grove  to  me 

An  emblem  of  our  mortal  state  ; 
And  from  each  lone  and  leafless  tree 

So  wither 'd,  wild,  and  desolate, 

This  moral  lesson  let  me  draw,— 

That  earthly  means  are  vain  to  fly 
Great  Nature's  universal  law, 

And  that  we  all  must  come  to  die ! 

However  varied,  these  alone 

Abide  the  lofty  and  the  less , — 
Remembrance,  and  a  sculptured  stone, 

A  green  grave,  and  forgetfulness  ! 

A. 


The  Wail  of  Lady  Anne. 

THE  WAIL  OF  LADY  ANXE. 

A  SHIP  came  bounding  with  the  gale, 
I  watch'd  with  eager  gaze  the  sail, 
More  near  it  came — it  journied  on,— 
And  on  the  beech  I  stood  alone  ! 

I  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  feet,— 
And  out  I  rush'd  my  knight  to  greet ; 
But  fast  they  gallopp'd  past  the  gate, 
And  left  me  standing  desolate  ! — 

Oh !  when,  from  foreign  climes,  shall  come, 
To  part  no  more,  my  warrior  home  ? 
When,  to  these  halls,  a  welcome  guest, 
Shall  he  return,  and  I  be  blest ! 

At  twilight's  still,  and  sombre  hour, 
Alone  I  seek  the  rosy  bower, 
And  think  of  times  when  it  was  sweet, 
In  secret  there  with  him  to  meet. 

And  I  will  teach  his  baby  fair 
To  kneel,  and  lisp  a  gentle  prayer ; 
And  Heaven  will  hear  us,  as  we  pray 
In  love,  nor  turn  from  both  away  ! 

Haste — haste  across  the  foaming  seas, 
Thou  tardy  ship,  and  woo  the  breeze  ; 
With  hoofs  of  speed,  and  sides  of  foam, 
Speed,  barb,  and  bear  Sir  William  home ! 


LETTER  FROM  FOGARTY  O  FOGARTY,  ESQUIRE, 

Inclosing  Fourth  Canto  of  Daniel  (JRourke. 

DEAR  SIB, 

I  suppose  you  think  I  am  dead,  but  I  am  happy  to  inform  you  that  I  am 
still  in  the  land  of  the  living.  I  went  out  on  the  shooting-match  with  Tom 
Hungerford,  as  your  correspondent  H.  informs  you,  (and  that  is  the  only  word 
of  truth  in  his  letter)  and  had  a  very  pleasant  time  of  it  indeed,  for  three  or 
four  days.  'Twas  just  at  the  end  of  the  partridge  season,  and  I  flatter  myself 
that  I  am  as  fine  a  shot  as  my  neighbours.  I  was  getting  on,  knocking  down 
my  eight  or  ten  brace  a-day,  when  just  on  beating  up  a  cover  of  Lord  Car- 
bery's  (the  same  nobleman  whose  loyal  and  elegant  little  pamphlet  you  have 
lately  noticed)  our  party  was  joined  by  a  couple  of  people  from  Cork,  who 
had  just  been  emancipated  from  the  counter,  I  believe,  and  though  mere  pro- 
vincials like  myself,  were  complete  Cockneys  in  sporting.  One  of  these  wor- 
thies in  the  first  shot  that  he  fired,  levelling  at  a  hay-stack,  I  imagine,  for  no 
other  object  except  myself  was  within  range  of  his  piece,  but  missing  it,  put 
the  contents  of  his  gun  (and  they  were  at  least  a  finger  too  much)  right  into 
the  centre  of  my  hand.  I  have  lost  two  fingers  by  the  accident,  (the  surgeons 
here  call  them  metacarpal  bones, — I  am  sure  they  are  fingers)  but  have  re- 
covered the  use  of  my  hand  again,  as  you  may  perceive,  though  my  penman- 
ship is  somewhat  altered  for  the  worse.  You  will  own  then,  I  had  some  other 
fish  to  fry,  beside  continuing  Daniel  O'Rourke  for  you.  I  declare,  upon  ho- 


7*                                Letter  from  Fogariy  O'Fogarty.  £April, 

nour,  I  had  not  my  pen  to  paper,  until  the  day  before  yesterday,  since  I  wrote 
the  third  canto ;  and  I  now  send  you  the  fourth,  which  I  hope  you  will  receive 
in  time  to  make  its  appearance  in  your  49th  number.  You  were  wrong  to  print 
Holts'  letter  about  himself  and  spider.  My  poem  came  into  his  hands  without 
my  knowledge,  and  I  have  severely  rebuked  those  who  entrusted  it  to  him.  I 
am  surprised  how  you  allowed  yourself  to  be  humbugg'd  by  him,  but  you  are 
not  the  only  Magazine  he  plays  upon,  as  Professor can  tell  you.  De- 
pend upon  it,  (save  accidents)  you  shall  have  Cantos  Fifth  and  Sixth  in  due 
course ;  meanwhile,  believe  me  to  be, 

Dear  Sir, 

yours,  &c. 

FOfiARTY  0*  FOGARTY. 

Blarney,  April  1,  1821. 

P.  S.  I  am  told  Mathews  has  made  use  of  my  poem  at  some  of  his  exhibi- 
tions. I  am  too  remote  from  London  to  get  authentic  intelligence  on  theatri- 
cal affairs,  but  he  is  quite  welcome,  particularly  as  I  am  sure  he  has  done  it 
justice.  I  remember  supping,  after  the  play,  with  Mathews  when  he  was  last 
in  Dublin,  at  Tom  Lee's  of  the  Shamrock,  and  a  mighty  pleasant  fellow  I  found 
him  to  be.  We  were  together  until  four  in  the  morning  1 


DANIEL   O  ROURKE, 

An  Epic  Poem,  in  Six  Cantos, 

BY  FOGARTY  0*FOGARTY,  ESQ.  OF  BLARNEY. 

CANTO  IV. 

THE  MOON* 


i     . — —  t'  inquire 
Whether  the  moon  be  sea  or  land 

Or  charcoal  or  a  quench'd  firebrand  ; 
Or  if  the  dark  holes  that  appear 
Are  only  pores,  not  cities  there  ? 

BUTTER. 

Lungo  tard,  tc  tutte  in  verso  orditco 
Le  cose,  che  glifur  guivi  dimostrc, 
Ch%  dopo  .mille,  c  millc  io  nonjimsca, 
E  vi  ton  tutte  f  occorrenze  nostre. 

AHIOSTO,  Canto  34. 

1. 

Blessed !  thrice  blessed  was  the  age  of  gold, 
Of  which  so  much  the  ancient  poets  sing  7 

I  laud  it  not,  because  the  rivers  roll'd 
In  streams  of  milk,  to  ocean  wandering ; 

Nor  because  mountains  rose,  which  we  are  told 
Were  built  of  buns,  or  many  a  nicer  thing; 

Or  because  oaks  distill'd  the  honey  sweet, 

And  most  melodious  pigs  ran  roasted  through  the  street. 


1821/]  Daniel  O'Rourke.     Canto  IP. 

2. 

These  famous  glories  of  old  Lubberland, 

I  own  were  never  yet  admired  by  me ; 
Milk  I  ne'er  deem'd  a  beverage  o'er  grand, 

Whether  supp'd  plain,  or  dabbled  into  tea ; 
For  such  weak  drink,  let  Cockney  bards  expand 

Their  ass-like  jaws, — it  suits  their  poetry : 
In  syllabubs  'twill  pass  :  for  to  my  thinking, 
Your  syllabub  is  mighty  pleasant  drinking. 

3. 

Honey  and  buns, — but  curse  me  if  I  pen 
For  themes  like  these,  my  ever-living  rhyme ; 

But  blest,  thrice  blessed  will  I  say  again, 
Were  the  glad  ages  of  the  golden  time ; 

For  then  there  lived  an  honest  race  of  men, 
Who  would  have  thought  it  folly,  ay  or  crime, 

Were  any  one  to  think  himself  so  bright, 

As  to  refuse  due  credence  to  his  sight 

4. 

These  days  are  gone !  this  glorious  happy  age, 
When  every  man  believed  the  things  he  saw  ; 

Where  none  sought  truth  in  learning's  mystic  page, 
Or  bow'd  the  knee  to  philosophic  law  ; 

When  nature  knew  not  telescope,  nor  sage 

Swallowing  .down  science  with  omnivorous  maw  ; 

Great  is  the  change,  but  I  shall  scarce  allow, 

That  things  are  any  better  managed  now. 

5. 

In  former  times,  men  thought  the  glorious  Moon 
Was  something  near  a  supper  plate  in  size, 

And  no  one  would  have  ventured  to  impugn 
The  man  -who  trusted  to  his  naked  eyes ; 

And  all  would  laugh  right  fairly  at  the  loon, 

Who'd  tell  of  hills  and  mountains  in  the  skies;  (1) 

But  now,  good  thanks  to  telescopic  glass, 

He  who  his  senses  trusts  is  deem'd  an  ass. 

6. 

Who  would  have  dared,  except  by  way  of  fun, 
In  times  of  old,  to  say  that  Luna's  face 

Into  some  thousand  miles  in  breadth  was  spun, 
And  that  above  she  iiU'd  a  monstrous  space ; 

Who'd  have  Relieved,  that  gaily  round  the  sun, 
This  earth  kept  .moving  at  a  steady  pace; 

Or  that  the  stars  were  fill'd  with  merry  creatures, 

Just  like  ourselves  in  wisdom  and  in  features. 

7. 

None — no,  not  one !  and  they  were  right,  you'll  find, 
For  Newton's  self  knew  nothing  of  the  matter ; 

Astronomers  were  either  mad  or  blind, 

Thus  through  the  world  such  heaps  of  trash  to  scatter, 

For  e'er  I've  done  I'll  satisfy  each  mind, 

The  Moon's  not  bigger,  spite  of  all  their  chatter, 

Than  a  round  jolly  butt  of  joyous  ale, 

Or  good  Sir  William's  face,  or  Lady  ****'s  tail.  (2) 


80  Daniel  O'Rourke.    Canto  IV.  £  April, 

8. 

For  I  presume  it  must  appear  quite  plain, 

That  Dan  advantage  had  of  all  before, 
For  none  besides  himself,  I  will  maintain, 

Did  thus  into  the  lunar  region  soar ; 
Astronomers,  and  poets  lacking  brain, 

Against  these  truths,  perhaps,  may  fume  and  roar ; 
But  on  my  word,  I  mind  them  not  a,  jot, 
But  credit  Dan ; — for  Dan  was  on  the  spot. 

9. 

I'll  ask  what  Ariosto  could  have  known, 

Who  never  left  this  earth  for  half  a  minute ; 
Who  never  on  an  eagle's  back  had  flown 

To  the  bright  Moon,  to  see  what  fun  was  in  it. 
I  think  the  poet  should  at  least  have  shown, 

Some  proof  for  what  he  said  was  found  within  it ; 
But  the  fact  is,  (it  strikes  us  with  conviction) 
That  all  this  bard  has  sung  is  purely  fiction. 

10. 

Credit  me,  gentle  reader,  that  not  one 

Is  true  of  all  the  various  tales  he  told, 
The  Moon  contains  not  the  apostle  John, 

Nor  vases  made  lost  senses  to  enfold ; 
Milton,  who  says,  that  tenements  thereon, 

Translated  saints,  and  middle  spirits  hold, 
Is  just  as  wrong.  (Pope's  epic  of  the  Lock, 
I  quite  pass  by,  because  'tis  only  mock.) 

11. 

Now  how  could  Dan  have  sat  at  all  with  ease, 
If  he  had  Herschel's  mighty  Moon  to  straddle, 

Tell  me  my  friend,  Sir  William,  if  you  please, 
How  he  could  cross  a  thousand  miles  of  saddle. 

'Tis  evident  absurdities  like  these, 

Were  humbugs  merely, — barely  fiddle-faddle ; 

Something  (I  mention  it  without  apology) 

Meant  for  mere  lies, — like  Phillips  s  Chronology.  (3) 

12. 

Oh  !  brave  Sir  Dick  ! — my  pen  cannot  refrain 

From  laying  down  an  offering  at  thy  throne ; 
A  foe  to  Newton,  and  a  friend  to  Paine ; 

Rival  to  Cobbett  and  to  Billy  Hone ! 
Thou  who  with  highest  wisdom  can  maintain 

That  Nap's  a  god,  and  Wellington  a  drone  ; 
How  sages  will  admire  in  ages  hence, 
The  uncommon  nonsense  of  thy  "  Common  Sense.' 

13. 

And  now  that  I  have  proved  these  witlings  knew 

Nought  of  the  essence  ef  that  heavenly  ball, 
I  shall  endeavour,  in  a  word  or  two, 

Just  to  explain  the  matter  to  you  all, 
Who  grant  me  patient  hearing  ;  and  in  lieu 

Of  maudlin  epithets,  which  only  pall 
On  ears  of  taste,  I'll  give  you,  if  you  please, 
In  simple  terms,  its  nature :— 'Tis  A  CHEESE.  (4). 


1821/3  Daniel  ffRourke.     Canto  17.  81 

14. 

A  large  round  cheese,  of  polish'd  silver  hue, 

(Not  as  some  people  fancy,  blue  or  green,) 
Measuring  across,  exactly  eight  foot  two, 

From  side  to  side  ;  where  wondrous  things  are  seen, 
But  not  more  wondrous,  than  in  strictness  true, 

Which  from  my  readers  I'll  no  longer  screen. 
Dan  was  not  many  minutes  there  before 
In  the  mid  Moon  he  spied  a  snug  hall  door. 

15. 

This,  in  the  centre,  did  our  friend  behold, 

But  nothing  more  in  that  spot  could  he  spy, 
A  misty  vapour  here  in  masses  roll'd, 

And  quite  deluded  Daniel's  prying  eye  ; 
But  on  the  surface,  on  the  outer  mould, 

Muddling  in  filth,  a  numerous,  nimble  fry 
Of  pigmy  animals  were  here  begotten, 
And  ran  about  such  places  as  were  rotten. 

16. 

And  there  were  myriads  of  these  little  elves, 

Tumbling  and  leaping,  jostling,  pushing,  running, 
Types,  Dan  could  see,  of  beings  like  ourselves  ; 

Some  bent  on  sport,  on  business  the  more  cunning- 
Some  lumpish  folios,  quartos  some,  or  twelves- 
Some  joking,  crying,  laughing,  groaning,  punning, 
In  short  such  mites  were  here  together  hurl'd, 
Dan  view'd  the  bustle  of  a  mimic  world. 

17. 

The  fact  is  this ;  whatever  mean  or  base, 

Grovelling,  or  filthy  fellow,  li ves  down  here, 
Is  pre-existent  in  the  lunar  space, 

Like  to  a  maggot  in  her  cheesy  sphere  ; 
And  'tis  no  wonder  then,  since  that's  the  case, 

That  the  same  dirty  natures  will  appear 
Here  on  the  globe  of  our  sublunar  earth, 
As  in  the  upper  world,  which  gave  them  birth. 

18. 

By  some  strange  art,  I  try  not  to  expound, 

Dan  knew  each  insect  at  first  glance,  as  easy 
As  the  tyth  proctor,  or  his  pig  in  pound^ 

Or  as  his  old  companion  at  the  Daisy  ; 
And  though  you'll  say  his  intellect  was  drown'd 

In  brandy,  and  of  course  his  optics  mazy, 
Yet  the  fact's  true :  He  saw  three  years  ago 
The  types  of  those  who  live  here  now  below. 

19. 

(As  for  the  matter  of  the  Lord  of  day, 

Although  'tis  somewhat  foreign  to  my  theme, 
Yet  it,  perhaps,  is  not  amiss  to  say 

That  'tis  no  other  than  a  cheese  of  cream : 
There  you  will  meet  superior  mites ;  for  they 

Who  sport  and  wanton  in  the  solar  beam 
Typify  those  predoom'd  to  be  earth's  glories, 
Great  poets,  statesmen,  warrior,  wits,  and  tories.) 
i 


Daniel  O  Rourke.     Canto  IV.  QAPri!> 

20. 

Now  aid  me,  potent  ruler  of  the  brain, 

Parent  of  thought  and  polisher  of  rhyme, 
Whiskey  supreme  !  to  send  in  dulcet  strain 

What  Dan  heheld  along  the  stream  of  time ; 
For  worthier  theme  there's  none,  I  will  maintain, 

In  any  poem,  lyric  or  sublime ; 
I  care  not  in  what  pages  you  may  look, 
To  Morgan  Dogherty,  from  Lalla  llookh. 

21. 

Why  should  I  go  to  washy  Hippocrene  ? 

I  care  not  for  such  vapid  water's  flow ! 
'Tis  you  that  add  a  spirit  to  the  scene, 

Clear  the  dull  thoughts,  and  brighten  up  the  brow  ; 
Cowper  a  bard  more  jovial  would  have  been, 

Had  he  to  mix  a  jolly  bowl  known  how ; 
And  HOGG,  I'm  sure,  much  more  admired  would  be,  (5} 
Did  he  swig  punch,  and  leave  off  drinking  tea. 

29. 

Inspired  by  punch  I've  fashion'd  many  a  tale  ; 

Inspired  by  punch  I've  counted  o'er  the  past ; 
Inspired  by  punch  I've  weather 'd  many  a  gale, 

And  dared  the  storm  and  braved  the  wintry  blast ; 
Inspired  by  punch,  unless  the  bowl  should  faH, 

In  the  next  verses  I'll  unfold  the  vast 
Countless  banditti,  that  our  hero  found, 
Compassing  this  same  mighty  cheese  around. 

23. 

Stuck  in  a  corner  busy  in  a  debate, 

Dan  saw  a  handful  of  most  restless  creatures, 
Above  them  something  like  a  bone  of  meat, 

Which  all  were  gazing  at  with  hungry  features, 
And  every  tiny  maggot  at  the  bait 

Strain'd  with  the  utmost  vigour  of  their  natures : 
But  all  in  vain  the  luckless  rogues  endeavour, 
Each  effort  put  them  farther  back  than  evec. 

•0 

There  he  saw  Tierney  busy  as  a  mouse, 

Heading  his  myrmidons  to  snatch  the  bone  ; 
There  smart  Sir  Francis  and  his  man  Boghouse,  (6)1 

And  Lambton  speeching  till  the  lights  are  gone ; 
There  cranky  Newport,  not  annoyed  with  vow, 

And  Mr  Creevy  standing  all  alone ; 
There  were  the  knights  of  the  well-foughten  field, 
Bawling  their  spears,  and  face  of  brass  their  shield. 

25. 

With  fundamental  features  high  upraised, 

Waddled  on  gallant  Gordon,  Knight  of  B ;  (7) 

There  Peter  Moore  for  wisdom  aye  be  praised ; 
And  there  Montrose's  glory  Joseph  Hume ;  (8) 

And  he  whose  wit  has  all  the  realm  amazed, 
Whittington's  rival,  Waithmam's  gallant  chum. 

(As  for  the  Lords,  I  dare  not  to  repeat  'em, 

For  fear  'twould  be  a  xcandalum  magnatum.) 


1821.3  Daniel  O'Rourke.     Canto  IV.  83 

26. 

To  know  the  next  group  Dan  was  forced  to  pause, 

They  seem'd  so  little  and  so  busy  too ; 
Beside,  they  raked  up  with  their  filthy  claws, 

So  much  thick  dust  that  it  obscured  his  view ; 
And  froth  so  fast  caroe  sputtering  from  their  jaws, 

That  he  could  barely  pierce  the  dulness  through ; 
At  length,  by  dint  of  toil,  our  gallant  Dan 
Saw  'twas  the  gathering  of  the  Cockney  clan. 

27. 

(But  they  are  all  too  worthless  for  my  muse, 

Such  names  my  epic  stanzas  sha'nt  pollute ; 
Let  them  be  known  to  dwellers  in  the  stews, 

Where  wanton  strains  their  tenants  loose  embrute.) 
There  too,  he  did  the  other  tribes  peruse, 

Who,  or  to  tinkling  lyre  or  sounding  flute, 
Perform  sweet  melody  with  force  endued, 
To  charm  themselves  and  plague  the  neighbourhood  ; 

28. 

Such  as  the  poet  of  the  sweet  Queen's  own, 

Or  snivelling  Terrot,  bard  of  common-place ; 
Or  Willy  Glass,  whose  punch-enticing  drone  (9) 

Does  the  mysterious  haunts  of  Masons  grace ; 
Or  else— but  why  repeat  the  names  unknown, 

To  us  prime  heroes  of  poetic  race ; 
Why  post  in  song  the  luckless  crowds  that  write, 
From  Arctic  Orkney  to  Antarctic  Wight. 

29. 

There  were  the  critics,  ever-nibbling  crew, 

Who  under  various  banners  criticise  ; 
Those  who  haunt  ancient  Humbug's  sage  review,  (10) 

Which  my  dear  grandam  loves  to  patronize ; 
There  were  the  petty  monthly  praters  too  ; 

There  Jeffrey  s  gentlemen,  polite  and  wise : 
There  Smug  S.  Smyth  traducing  Mater  Alma, 
And  Goody  Barker  preaching  on  ayaip.*. 

30. 

The  Irish  school  of  orators  was  there, 

Stuck  in  a  bag  of  metaphor  and  trope, 
Headed  by  Phillips  with  monarchic  air, 

Phillips  with  whom  no  living  mortals  cope, 
In  pouring /orth  a/lood  of  figures/air, 

.FVothy,  and  t/ine  as  Bubbles  Mown  from  soap  : 
Sorry  am  I  he's  sail'd  from  us  afar, 
To  waste  his  sweetness  on  the  English  bar. 

31. 

That  many  an  ass  from  this  romantic  isle, 

Besides  the  orators,  were  there  'tis  plain  ; 
And  once  I  thought  it  almost  worth  my  while, 

To  put  some  low  Corcagians  in  my  strain ; 
But  who  would  know  them?  who  could  know  the  vile 

Junto  of  prigs  that  meet  in  Falk'ner's  lane?  (12) 
Who'd  understand  me,  if  I  nam'd  the  ass,  who  (13) 
Swore  that  small  beer  inspir'd  the  muse  of  Tasso  ? 
VOL.  IX.  L 


Daniel  O'Rourkc.     Canto  IT.  £April> 


There  too,  he  saw — but  I  had  better  stop ; 

A  very  long  cantata  I  have  sung ; 
The  matter,  therefore,  I  shall  quickly  drop, 

And  go  to  bed  sweet  Blarney  s  groves  among. 
I  hold  that  bard  no  better  than  a  fop, 

Who  lingers  at  his  story  over  long, 
And  keeps  the  honest  people  all  suspended, 
Who  wish  to  know  how  his  narration's  ended.  (14) 

33. 

Then  to  my  tale  — Dan  saw  these  insects  feeding 
On  all  the  fodder  which  they  there  could  find, 

Sweet  food  it  was  !  whatever  sort  of  reading 
On  this  our  globe  is  scorn'd  by  all  mankind, 

Is,  by  a  wond'rous  system  of  proceeding, 

Whipt  to  the  moon  upon  the  wings  of  wind, 

And  being  musty,  rotten,  and  strong  smelling, 

Is  proper  food  for  mites  in  old  cheese  dwelling. 

34. 

They  feed  on  novels,  by  A.  Newman  sold, 
Written  by  people  dwelling  near  the  sky ; 

On  Mr  Cobbett's  paper  versus  gold, 

On  the  Scots'  Magazine — food  hard  and  dry ; 

On  Irish  tales,  by  Lady  Morgan  told ; 
On  Mr  Godwin's  elegant  reply ;  (15) 

And  some  have  got  as  fat  as  any  bullock, 

By  eating  down  whole  columns  of  M'Culloch. 

35. 

There  they  and  many  more  are  taken  off, 
Year  after  year,  in  never-ceasing  number ; 

People,  perhaps,  who  are  inclined  to  scoff 
May  ask  me  where  they  stow  such  lots  of  lumber : 

But  if  we  should  their  earthly  coverings  doff, 

They'll  not  be  thought,  I  ween,  much  space  to  cumber  ; 

Their  true  contents  are  all  that  upwards  come, 

And  they  are  little  more  than  vacuum. 

36. 

But  trifling  joy  found  Daniel  in  the  sight 
Of  the  proceedings  of  this  maggot  nation, 

He  would  have  thought  himself  as  happy  quite 
If  planted  in  his  own  clay  habitation  : 

Said  he,  "  'tis  certain  that  I  was  not  right, 
To  get  into  this  state  of  civilation  ;  (16) 

"  Oh  !  that  I  was,"  he  adds  with  sigh  deep  drawn, 

"  Off  of  the  back  of  this  big  Mullahaun."  (IT) 

37. 

While  thus  he  grieves,  he  hears  a  sudden  sound 

Of  a  door  opening  with  a  rusty  creak, 
And  turning  very  cautiously  around. 

For  dread  of  tumbling  off  had  blanch'd  his  cheek, 
He  saw  what  might  a  stouter  heart  astound, 

The  very  door  of  which  you  heard  me  speak  (18) 
Thrust  violently  forth  with  noise  of  thunder, 
And  forth  there  came — a  thing  at  which  you'll  wonder  ! 

3 


Daniel  O'Rourkc.     Canto  IV. 


NOTES. 


(1)1  must  here  remark,  that  your  friend  who  signs  himself  the  Midshipman,  and 
also  he  who  goes  under  the  forgery  denomination  of  the  Man  in  the  Moon,  are  merely 
gentlemen  bent  on  frolic.  Not  a  word  of  what  they  say  is  authentic.  Captain  Kater, 
I  am  sorry  to  perceive,  is  also  on  the  same  tack,  when  he  publishes  to  the  world  that  he 
has  discovered  a  volcano  in  the  moon.  This,  as  Peter  Paragraph  says,  is  pleasant,  but 
wrong.  (2)  Every  man  may  fill  this  hiatus  as  he  chuses.  (3)  A  work,  the  merits  of 
which  ought  not  to  be  told  in  a  note  ;  suffice  it  to  say  in  one  line,  it  contains,  at  least,  as 
many  lies  as  pages.  For  instance,  he  makes  Lord  Nelson,  who  was  killed  in  1805,  take 
Copenhagen  in  1806  ;  Cum  mnlt'is  aliis  quac  nunc  pcrscribere  longum  cst.  Look,  for  ex- 
ample, at  his  account  of  Waterloo.  (4)  By  this  it  appears  the  "Welshmen  are  correct  in 
their  Selenology,  except  as  to  colour.  (5)  Since  marriage,  I  understand  Mr  Hogg  has 
turned  tea-drinker,  and  mark  the  consequence.  See  how  he  has  been  since  reviewed  in 
that  competent  authority  the  Edinburgh  Review  !  He  had  better  look  to  himself. — (6.) 
Erratum,  for  BogJimue,  read  Hothouse,  vid.  Tentamen.  (7)  See  New  Whig  Guide.  He, 
on  his  side  of  the  question,  somewhat  resembles  Lord  Temple  on  Ms.  Of  the  latter,  it 
was  observed,  that  he  answered  the  description  of  the  Temple  of  Jerusalem  in  Tacitus. 
Tcmplum  in  modum  arcis.  (8)  Put  for  Hume,  by  apocope,  and  for  another  reason. 
(f>)  Willison  Glass,  Esq.  well  known  in  this  city  of  Edinburgh,  C.  N.  (10)  Editor  of 
the  British  Review,  well  spoken  of  in  the  Hour's  Tete-a-Tete,  and  Don  Juan.  (11) 
See  Thes.  (12)  The  Scientific  and  Literary  Society  of  Cork,  who  meet  in  a  bye-lane, 
mentioned  in  the  text.  (13)  A  paper  was  produced  at  the  above  society,  to  prove  some- 
thing  to  this  effect.  (14)  Let  this  be  a  hint  to  the  story-teller  of  the  Steam-boat.  (15) 
To  Malthus.  When  I  heard  of  this  reply,  it  reminded  me  of  what  my  friend  Jack 
Curran  said  to  Charley  Philips.  P.  told  him  he  intended  to  give  Grattan  a  dressing — 
Never  mind  it,  says  Curran,  it  would  be  only  a  child  throwing  a  jjclolc  at  the  leg  of  a 
Colossus.  (10)  A  cant  phrase  in  Cork  for  a  state  of  intoxication.  A  worthy  orator  of 
ours,  who  had  taken  a  glass  or  two  too  much,  was  haranguing  at  a  debating  society  on 
the  state  of  Ireland  before  the  English  invasion  ;  and  the  whole  harangue  was  this 
. — Sir,  the  Irish  had  no  civilation — civization — civilation,  I  mean.  Finding,  however, 
his  efforts  to  get  civilization  out  impracticable,  he  sat  down  with  the  satisfaction  of 
having  added  a  new  word  to  our  language.  Every  drunken  man  ever  since  is  here  said 
to  be  in  a  state  of  civilation.  (17)  A  soft  Irish  cheese.  (18)  St.  XIV. 


OWEN  S  REPORT  TO  THE  COUNTY  OF  LANARK. 

£We  have  received,  within  these  few  months,  several  good  articles  respecting 
Mr  Owen's  celebrated  system.  We  select  one,  written  ably  and  temperately, 
though  we  are  not  prepared  to  say  that  we  agree  with  our  correspondent  in  all 
his  arguments.  We  have  much  respect  for  Mr  Owen,  and  think  there  is  im- 
portant and  profound  truth  in  many  of  his  views.  To  separate  his  errors  from 
that  truth,  would  be  a  work  of  some  difficulty  ;  but  no  man  is  entitled  to  treat 
with  ridicule  the  general  reasonings  of  the  Philanthropist,  which,  while  they 
frequently  exhibit  no  ordinary  intellectual  power,  are  always  distinguished  by 
an  amiable  moral  spirit.  C.  N.^ 

Few  names  have  filled  the  world's  municating  distinct  ideas  of  the  prin- 
mouth  more  of  late  years  than  Mr  ciples  on  which  they  themselves  anti- 
Owen's;  and  few  projectors,  while  their  cipate  success.  For  ourselves  at  least, 
schemes  lay  yet  in  theory  only,  have  we  know,  that  previous  to  our  visit  to 
ever  succeeded  better  in  possessing  the  New  Lanark,  we  neither  knew  nor 
public  with  a  knowledge  of  the  ohjecls  cared  very  much  about  the  matter.  Mr 
of  their  pursuit.  And  yet  very  few,  we  Owen's  name  had  frequently  sounded 
believe,  have  ever  been  so  unsuccess-  in  our  ears,  and  we  had  heard  gene- 
ful  in  exciting  in  others  a  kindred  en-  rally  of  his  speculations,  sometimes  in 
thusiasm  to  their  own,  or  even  in  com-  respect,  more  frequently  in  derision ; 

*  Report  to  the  County  of  Lanark  of  a  Plan  for  Relieving  Public  Distress,  and  Re- 
moving Discontent,  by  giving  Permanent  ProductiveEmployment  to  the  Poor  and  Work- 
ing Classes,  under  arrangements  which  will  essentially  improve  their  Character,  and 
ameliorate  their  Condition,  diminish  the  Expenses  of  Production  and  Consumption,  and 
create  Markets  co-extensive  with  Production.  By  Robert  Owen.  4to.  Wardlaw  and 
Cunninghame.  Glasgow.  1821. 


OweA't  Report  to  the  County  of  Lanark. 


86 

but  we  had  no  definite  notions  as  to  the 
points  about  them  which  excited  either 
sentiment.     In  like  manner,  when  at 
the  Mills  we  met  a  neighbouring  cler- 
gyman of  our  acquaintance  escorting  a 
party  of  friends  over  them,  (the  fifth 
or  sixth  time,  as  he  told  us,  he  had  so 
done  their  honours,)  and  conscious  of 
the  disadvantages  under  which,  through 
this  ignorance,  we  were  making  our 
observations,  we  besought  him  to  en- 
lighten us  on  the  subject, — he,  alas  ! 
we  found  was  not  less  wandering  in 
the  dark  than  ourselves.    And  many 
times  since,  while  either  perusing  ac- 
counts of  this  establishment  in  the  pub- 
lic newspapers,  or  conversingwith  those 
who  have  visited  it,  we  have  been 
struck,  very  much  struck,  with  the  de- 
gree in  which  nearly  all  have  seemed 
attracted  by  its  minute  and  accessory 
details,  its  singing,  dancing,  machi- 
nery, &c.,  while  not  one  appeared  to 
regard  it  as  other  than  a  curiosity  in 
its  way,  mighty  interesting  to  look  at, 
but  utterly  unsound  to  build  upon,  and 
almost  unworthy  to  be  reasoned  on  at 
all.  Why  is  this  ?  we  have  said  to  our- 
selves more  than  once.    There  is  here 
a  glittering  promise,  and  nobody  cares 
about  it — the  theory  of  a  system,  and 
nobody  knows  about  it, — its  professed 
practice,  and  nobody  penetrates  it.  It 
is  plain  that  the  instinctive  common 
sense  of  the  world  is  against  the  thing ; 
but  is  it  on  this  occasion  well  found- 
ed, or  is  there  indeed  ore  at  the  bot- 
tom of  this  shaft,  although  superficial 
observers  will  not  stay  to  pick  it  up  ? 
On  the  occasion  to  which  we  have 
alluded,  although  without  other  intro- 
duction than  our  curiosity,  we  had  the 
honour  to  partake  of  Mr  Owen's  ge- 
neral hospitality,  and  the  very  great 
pleasure  of  conversing  with  him  free- 
ly during  nearly  the  whole  of  a  pretty 
long  evening.   We  are  desirous,  there- 
fore, of  commenting  on  his  system, 
with  the  utmost  deference  towards 
himself  personally  ;  but  finding  that 
he  has  just  sent  forth  a  new  book  on 
the  subject,  which  therefore  we  deem 
it  our  duty  to  review,  and  considering 
also  the  greater  number  of  his- positions 
to  be  extravagant  in  the  greatest  pos- 
sible degree,  we  cannot  compromise 
the  entireness  of  our  dissent  from  them 
on  any  such  considerations.  We  shall 
first,  therefore,  briefly  state  his  prin- 
ciples, abstracted  from  all  such  de- 
tails as  are  accidental  merely  to  them, 
not  integral ;  (this  we  shall  deem  suf- 


CApril, 

ficient  confutation  of  them  ;) — and 
shall  then  proceed  to  answer,  after  our 
manner,  the  questions  above  proposed, 
— with  more  favour,  we  shall  here  pre- 
mise, for  much  of  Mr  Owen's  practi- 
cal plans  than  will  be  expected  from 
the  expose  of  his  theoretical  views,  with 
which  we  begin. 

Mr  Owen's  positions,  theoretical  and 
practical,  may  be  arranged,  we  think, 
to  advantage,  in  the  following  order. 

1.  Man  is  in  no  degree  whatever  afree 
agent,  or  accountable  for  his  conduct. 
"One  of  the  most  general  sources  of  error 
and  evil  in  the  world,  is  the  notion  that 
infants,  children,  and  men,  are  agents 
governed  by  a  will  formed  by  them- 
selves, and  fashioned  after  their  own 
choice.  To  those  who  possess  any  know- 
ledge on  the  subject  it  is  known,  that 
man  is  the  creature  of  circumstances, 
and  that  he  really  is,  at  every  moment 
of  his  existence,  precisely  what  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  he  is  placed,  com- 
bined with  his  natural  qualities,  make 
him." — Report,  p.  41. 

2.  Every  system   of  government, 
therefore,  which  involves  the  idea  of  in- 
dividual reward  or  punishment,  praise 
or  blame,  is  founded  on  principles  un- 
just in  themselves,  and  inconsistent 
with  human  nature.    "  Through  this 
science,"  that,  namely,  of  jhe  influence 
of  circumstances  over  human  nature, 
"  new  mental  powers  will  be  created, 
which  will  place  all  those  circumstan- 
ces that  determine  the  misery  or  hap- 
piness of  man  under  the  immediate  con- 
troul  of  the  present  population  of  the 
world,  and  entirely  supersede  all  ne- 
cessity for  the  present  truly  irrational 
system  of  individual  rewards  and  pu- 
nishments ;  a  system  which  has  ever 
been  opposed  to  the  most  obvious  dic- 
tates of  common  sense  and  humanity, 
and  will  no  longer  be  permitted  than 
while  men  continue  unenlightened  and 
barbarous." — P.  32. 

3.  There  is  no  inherent  imperfec- 
tion in  man's  constitution,  his  vices  in 
times  past  have  been  exclusively  owing 
to  the  vicious  forms  of  society  in  which 
he  has  been  placed.  Let  these  be  but 
judiciously  changed,  and  he  is  "capa- 
ble of  receiving  unlimited  improvement 
and  knowledge,  and,  in  consequence, 
of  experiencing  such  uninterrupted  en- 
joyment through  this  life,  as  will  best 
prepare  him  for  an  after-existence." — 
P.  42. 

<*.  In  particular,  the  prejudice  by 
which  men  have  been  hitherto  led  to 


Owen's  Report  to  the  County  of  Lanark. 


maintain  a  certain  individuality  of  feel- 
ing— preferring  their  own  interests, 
children,  country,  &c.,  to  their  neigh- 
bours', is  entirely  an  excrescence  on 
their  original  nature,  and  not  only 
should,  but  also  very  easily  may  be, 
overcome. 

5.  In  like  manner  the  division  of  la- 
bour, which  has  hitherto  been  deemed 
a  source  of  power  in  arts  and  manufac- 
tures, is,  in  truth,  detrimental  to  both. 
Every  man  should  know  a  little  of 
every  thing.  "  It  has  been  a  popular 
opinion  to  recommend  a  minute  divi- 
sion of  labour  and  interests.  It  will 
presently  appear,  however,  that  this 
minute  division  of  labour,  and  division 
of  interests,  are  only  other  terms  for 
poverty,  ignorance,  waste  of  every  kind, 
universal  opposition  throughout  socie- 
ty, crime,  misery,  and  great  bodily  and 
mental  debility." — P.  44,  to  the  end  of 
the  paragraph. 

6.  The  proper  arrangement  then  of  so- 
ciety is  to  divide  the  whole  countryinto 
districts,  removing  the  old  land-marks, 
abandoning  the  old  habitations,  and 
constructing  new  villages  or  townships 
in  their  stead,  on  a  certain  definite 
plan,  as  traced  by  Mr  Owen  himself. 
Each  of  these  should  contain  accom- 
modation for  a  population  averaging 
8  or  1200,  but  varying  according  to 
circumstances  from  300  to  2000 ;  and 
to  each  should  be  annexed  farms,  in 
like  manner  varying  from  150  to  3000 
statute  acres  in  extent,  to  be  cultiva- 
ted by  the  whole  community  in  strict 
rotation.  Spade  cultivation  is  recom- 
mended in  preference  to  using  the 
plough,  and  the  result  is  given,  (page 
67,)  of  some  very  interesting  experi- 
ments on  this  subject,  instituted  by  a 
gentleman  of  the  name  of  Falla,  near 
Newcastle.*  But  the  whole  produce, 
according  to  the  plan,  must  be  stored 
in  the  public  granaries,  and  issued  to 
individuals  only  as  required ;  in  like 
manner  as  the  proceeds  arising  from 
labour  in  all  other  departments  must 
be  common  good.  It  were  to  encou- 
rage individuality  of  feeling  to  suffer 
an  individual  to  retain  to  himself  the 
produce  of  his  own  labour. — P.  49, 
et  pass. 


SI 

6.  The  whole  population  should  also 
be  made  to  eat  together  as  one  family, 
having  their  food  prepared  for  them 
in  one  establishment.    "  Various  ob- 
jections have  been  urged  against  this 
practice,  but  they  have  come  from  those 
only,  who,  whatever  may  be  their  other 
pretensions,  are  mere  children  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  principles  and  economy 
oj' social  life." — P.  33. 

7.  They  should  all  be  dressed  alike, 
and  the  Roman  or  Highland  garb  is  re- 
commended in  preference  to  any  other. 
"  The  advantages  of  this  part  of  the 
plan  will  prove  to  be  so  great  in  prac- 
tice, that  fashions  will  exist  for  a  very 
short  period,   and  then  only  among 
the  most  weak  and  silly  part  of  the 
creation." — Not  human  beings,  we  pre- 
sume,  but  non-descripts,  whom  no 
combination  of  circumstances  could 
materially  improve. — P.  37. 

8.  The  children  of  these  establish- 
ments are  also  to  be  common  good,  and 
all  educated  together  under  general  in- 
spection.    Two  schools  are  to  be  pro- 
vided for  them,  one  receiving  infants 
from  2  to  6  years  of  age,  the  other  those 
from  6  to  12 ;  and  in  these  schools  they 
are  to   be  lodged,  fed,   and  taught. 
"Each  child  will  receive  a  general  edu- 
cation early  in  life  that  will  fit  him  for 
the  proper  purposes  of  society,  make 
him  the  most  useful  to  it,  and  most  ca- 
pable of  enjoying  it.    Before  he  is  12 
years  old,  he  may  with  ease  be  train- 
ed to  a  correct  view  of  the  outlines 
of  all  the  knowledge  which  men  have 
yet  attained.     By  this  means  he  will 
early  learn  what  he  is,  in  relation  to 
past  ages — to  the  period  in  which  he 
lives — to  the  circumstances  in  which 
he  is  placed — to  the  individuals  around 
him,  and  to  future  events.     He  will 
then  only  have  any  pretensions  to  the 
name  of  a  rational  being." — P.  45. 

9.  "  The  peculiar  mode  of  govern- 
ing these  establishments  will  depend 
on  the  parties  who  form  them.  Those 
founded  by  land  owners  and  capital- 
ists, public  companies,  parishes  or  coun- 
ties, will  be  under  the  direction  of 
the  individuals  whom  those  powers 
may  appoint  to  superintend  them,  and 
will,  of  course,  be  subject  to  the  rules 


*Mr  Falla's  attention,  it  seems,  has  been  turned  to  this  subject  for  nearly  eighteen 
years,  and  he  states  his  result  to  be,  that  the  expence  of  cultivating  an  acre  of  land  by 
the  spade  is  only  5s.  more  than  that  by  the  plough,  while  the  excess  of  profit  is  above 
,£12.  This  seems  worth  inquiring  about,  certainly  ;  and  we  should  be  very  glad  if  any 
practical  or  theoretical  agriculturist  would  favour  us  with  his  opinion  on  the  subject. 


88 

and  regulations  laid  down  by  their 
founders.  Those  formed  by  the  mid- 
dle and  working  classes  upon  a  com- 
plete reciprocity  of  interests,  should 
be  governed  by  themselves  upon  prin- 
ciples that  will  prevent  divisions,  op- 
position of  interests,  jealousies,  or  any 
of  the  common  and  vulgar  passions 
which  a  contention  for  power  is  sure 
to  generate.  Their  affairs  should  be 
conducted  by  a  committee,  composed 
of  all  the  members  of  the  association 
between  certain  ages ;  for  instance,  of 
those  between  35  and  45,  or  between 
40  and  50,  &c."— P.  48. 

10.  By  these  committees  according- 
ly, not  only  are  all  matters  of  internal 
economy  to  be  arranged,  but  those  also 
qf  exchange  of  surplus  of  produce  with 
other  societies,  and  of  external  inter- 
course generally.  The  principle,  how- 
ever, according  to  which  these  ex- 
changes are  to  be  effected,  if  we  under- 
stand it  at  all,  of  which  we  are  not 
very  certain,  is  a  novel  one.  Values 
are  to  be  estimated  not  according  to 
any  conventional  sign,  nor  any  re- 
lation to  rarity  of  production,  or  a- 
mouiit  of  capital  embarked  in  raising 
it,  but  solely  by  the  labour  which  the 
article  to  be  valued  may  have  cost. 
"  The  natural  standard  of  value  is  in 
principle  human  labour,  or  the  com- 
bined manual  and  mental  powers  of 
men  called  into  action."  "  On  the 
principle  by  which  the  average  phy- 
sical power  of  horses  is  obtained,  that 
of  men  may  also  be  learnt ;  and  as  it 
forms  the  essence  of  all  wealth,  its  va- 
lue in  every  article  of  produce  may  al- 
so be  ascertained,  and  its  exchangeable 
value  with  all  other  value  fixed  accord- 
ingly, the  whole  to  be  permanent  for 
a  given  period.  Human  labour  would 
thus  acquire  its  natural  or  intrinsic 
value,  which  would  increase  as  science 
advanced :  and  this  is,  in  fact,  the  only 
really  useful  object  of  science.  The 
demand  for  human  labour  would  be 
no  longer  subject  to  caprice,"  &c.  &c. 
P.  7. 

And  this  then  is  Mr  Owen's  system  ; 
this  tissue,  we  must  call  it,  of  all  that 
is  distempered  in  fancy,  unfounded  in 
fact,  rash  in  assumption,  inconclusive 
in  reasoning,  unattainable  in  prac- 
tice, is,  with  the  addition  of  a  little 
singing  and  dancing,  the  far-famed 
system  which  is  to  renew  the  fair  face 
of  humanity,  lost  for  so  many  ages ; 
and  in  the  words  of  the  projector  him- 
self, to  "  exchange  meus'  poverty  for 


Owen's  liejwrt  to  the  County  of  Lanark. 


wealth,  their  ignorance  for  knowledge, 
their  anger  for  kindness,  their  divi- 
sion for  union ;  effecting  this  change 
too,  without  subjecting  a  single  indi- 
vidual even  to  temporary  inconveni- 
ence." (P.  59.)  The  incredible  blind- 
ness of  man  to  the  limits  of  his  own 
powers,  the  worth  of  his  own  inven- 
tions ! — But  we  shall  not  trouble  our 
readers  with  anyformal  commentary  on 
it ;  in  very  truth,  as  we  have  already 
intimated,  we  could  not  say  any  thing 
which  could  bear  half  so  hard  on  it 
as  this  brief  and  unvarnished  summary 
of  it,  couched  almost  every  where  in 
its  author's  own  words.  We  shall 
pass  on  rather  to  consider  the  causes 
at  once  of  the  sort  of  mystery  in  which 
it  has  ever,  and  still  is,  in  some  de- 
gree, involved  to  the  eye  of  casual  ob- 
servers, and  of  the  indifference  with 
which,  spite  of  its  pretensions,  it  con- 
tinues for  the  most  part  to  be  received. 
And  in  the  first  place  it  has  been 
overlooked,  because  nothing  can  be 
more  opposite  to  it  than  Mr  Owen's 
own  practice  ;  insomuch,  that  it 
were  even  impossible  from  examining 
that  to  surmise  it.  It  may  astonish 
our  readers,  perhaps,  after  what  they 
have  just  read,  but  we  can  assure 
them  that  New  Lanark  is  really  a 
very  interesting  spectacle, — a  pattern 
for  manufacturing  establishments—- 
and we  cannot  express  the  pleasure 
with  which  we  there  contemplated  the 
success  of  its  benevolent  proprietor,  in 
disseminating  habits  of  industry,  and 
contented  chearfulness  among  the 
grown  population  under  his  charge, 
and  application  and  study  among  the 
fine  children,  whose  education,  almost 
step  by  step,  he  superintends.  It  were 
well  for  the  country  at  large,  and  most 
honourable  to  human  nature,  if  the 
example  he  thus  sets  were  imitated  by 
other  great  manufacturers,  and  the 
bond  of  kindness  and  consideration, 
now  so  much  interrupted,  between  the 
higher  and  lower  classes  of  so  large  a 
proportion  of  our  population,  thus 
again  renewed.  But  then  Mr  Owen 
was  the  practical  conductor  of  an  es- 
tablishment like  New  Lanark  long 
before  he  was  a  theorist  in  political 
economy,  and  the  tact  which  he  thus 
acquired  in  early  life,  adheres  to  him 
still  amidst  all  the  mist  with  which 
his  later  studies  have  enveloped  him. 
Here  accordingly  we  find  none  of  those 
extravagancies  introduced,  which  so 
abundantly  disfigure  his  paper  sys- 


1821.3  Owen's  Report  to  the 

tern:  on  the  contrary,  a  great  many 
most  benevolent  and  beneficent,  though 
not  very  novel,  views  are  consistently 
and  judiciously  reduced  to  practice. 
For  instance,  instead  of  maxims  and 
opinions  opposed  to  those  of  our  faith, 
we  find  at  New  Lanark,  as  elsewhere 
in  this  Christian  country,  Sabbath 
evening  schools,  and  liberal  subscrip- 
tions, encouraged  by  the  example  of 
the  proprietor,  in  aid  of  Bible  Societies. 
Instead  of  man  being  considered  an  ir- 
responsible being,  journals  are  kept  in 
every  apartment  of  the  conduct,  good 
or  bad,  of  the  people  employed  in  it, 
and  we  are  well  persuaded,  although 
we  do  not  know  it,  that,  in  cases  of 
flagrant  delinquency,  reproof  would  be 
administered  upon  the  showing  of  the 
ledger,  even  by  the  good  theorist  him- 
self. Again,  so  far  from  the  cotton 
spinners  of  New  Lanark,  being  invited 
to  legislate  for  themselves  between  any 
two  given  ages,  we  are  sure  Mr  Owen 
would  consider  even  an  offered  advice 
from  any  of  them  a  most  unwarrant- 
able intrusion,  and  would  much  rather 
legislate  himself  for  all  the  world,  than 
suffer  any  one  to  interfere  with  him  in 
his  own  peculiar  charge  at  home.  Fur- 
ther, there  is  precisely  the  same  divi- 
sion of  labour  at  these  mills  as  at  any 
other, — not  a  rood  of  land  is  attached 
to  them  for  any  purposes  of  either  gar- 
dening or  husbandry,* — no  eating  in 
common,  though  we  believe  that  is 
intended, — no  community  of  goods — 
but  on  the  contrary,  savings  banks  for 
the  accumulation  of  individual  gains, 
and  Mr  Owen  boasting  that  these  were 
established  before  they  were  introdu- 
ced generally  by  act  of  parliament,  and 
that  several  of  his  workmen  have  above 
L.100  vested  in  them,  encouraged  to 
such  accumulation  by  his  liberality  in 
allowing  them  five  per  cent,  on  their 
highest  as  well  as  their  lowest  deposits, 
in  opposition  to  the  principle  in  the 
national  banks,  which  he  characterizes 
as  sordid,  by  which  that  rate  of  inte- 
rest is  limited  to  sums  under  L.10. 
Again,  at  New  Lanark  there  is  no  doubt 
a  public  store,  and  every  workman  has 
a  weekly  credit  opened  at  it  under  Mr 
Owen's  own  hand,  to  the  amount  of 


County  of  Lanark.  89 

two-thirds  of  his  own  and  family's 
wages  ;  but  it  is  a  sale  store,  and  its 
profits  constitute  a  large  portion  of  the 
school  funds.  Lastly ,  children  are  there 
certainly  brought  within  the  verge  of 
school  discipline  so  early  as  two  years 
of  age,  and  it  may  be  that  this  has  a 
prospective  view  towards  weaning  the 
affection  of  their  parents  from  them  ; 
but  then  again  they  are  neither  fed 
nor  lodged  at  school, — they  are  mere- 
ly there  a  few  hours  a  day,  eight,  we 
think,  or  ten ;  during  a  portion  of 
which,  however,  they  are  either  at 
play,  or  learning  to  dance,  or  in  some 
other  way  engaged,  conducive  to  their 
health  and  strength.  All  most  excel- 
lent :  we  repeat  it,  it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  accord  too  much  praise  to  near- 
ly all  we  see  done  at  New  Lanark ; 
among  other  things  we  may  observe, 
that  although  these  children's  educa- 
tion is  certainly  much  better,  and  more 
extended  than  that  of  most  others  of 
their  rank,  it  is  yet  chiefly  out  of  the 
Bible  and  ordinary  Collections  that 
they  are  taught,  and  not  even  a  pre- 
tence is  made  of  giving  them  before 
they  are  twelve  years  of  age,  "  a  cor- 
rect view  of  the  outline  of  ail  the  know- 
ledge which  men  have  yet  attained." 
But,  amidstall this,  where  is  MrOwen's 
system,  or  how  is  it  possible  that  any 
one  seeing  this  should  have  surmised 
it? 

In  the  second  place,  however,  this 
system  sets  out  on  such  extraordinary 
assumptions,  and  reasons  on  them  after- 
wards so  loosely  and  in  conclusively,  that 
it  has  remained  in  obscurity ;  and  we 
cannot  be  surprised  at  it,  because  many 
have  thought  they  could  not  possibly 
understand  it,  when  perhaps  they 
did,  at  the  same  time  that  they  took 
little  or  no  interest  in  clearing  up  their 
doubts.  We  confess  that  this  has  been 
in  a  good  degree  the  case  with  our- 
selves ;  we  have  been  in  possession  of 
our  present  views  on  the  subject  almost 
a  year,  but  although  tolerably  convin- 
ced of  their  accuracy,  for  we  had  been 
at  considerable  pains  in  drawing  Mr 
Owen  out  and  sounding  his  real  depth, 
yet  We  always  felt  afraid  to  commit 
ourselves  to  print  concerning  his  sys- 


*  This  we  are  indeed  rather  sorry  for.  We  are  persuaded,  that  were  it  possible  in  all 
manufactories  to  give  each  workman,  the  head  of  a  family,  a  separate  house,  and  a  little 
spot  of  ground  annexed  to  it  sufficient  to  employ  his  leisure,  renovate  his  health,  and 
form  in  him  habits  of  neatness  and  order  in  his  household  economy,  it  would  be  a  great 
advantage.  But,  we  fear,  this  is  impossible  in  almost  all  cases. 


90  Owen's  Report  to  the 

tern  till  his  own  litera  scripta  appeared 
to  bear  us  out  in  our  representations 
of  it.  We  waited,  it  is  true,  with  great 
patience,  for  we  thought  very  little 
about  the  matter  at  all ;  but  this  is 
just  another  feature  of  resemblance  be- 
tween us  and  the  many  observers  to 
whom  we  have  adverted.  Perhaps  it 
may  be  advisable,  however,  to  notice  a 
point  or  two  in  the  system,  such  as  may 
justify  this  hesitation  and  indifference. 
For  instance  then,  let  us  take  the  very 
first  position  laid  down  in  it,  viz. — 
That  man  is  in  no  degree  an  account- 
able agent,  but  is  the  slave  of  the  cir- 
stances  in  which  he  is  placed,  combined 
with  his  own  natural  dispositions.  We 
marked  these  last  words  when  'we 
quoted  them  formerly,  and  we  now 
mark  them  again,  because  they  alone 
redeem  the  sentence  from  extravagance 
altogether ;  and  if  to  natural  had  been 
added  acquired  dispositions,  and  the 
first  clause  of  the  proposition  been  en- 
tirely withdrawn,  and  the  second  mo- 
dified a  little  in  universality  of  expres- 
sion, important  changes  at  the  same 
time  we  must  confess,  we  should  not 
have  had  much  hesitation  in  subscri- 
bing to  it.  As  it  stands,  it  is  opposed 
both  to  reason  and  to  revelation  ;  but 
that  is  not  all, — let  us  notice  Mr  Owen's 
inconsistency  in  it.  He  here  admits 
that  circumstances,  over  which  he  may 
have  controul,  are  combined  in  their 
operation  with  dispositions,  over  which 
he  has  none ;  and  yet  in  every  follow- 
ing sentence  of  his  theory  he  assumes, 
that  change  of  circumstances  alone  will 
work  all  the  marvellous  changes  which 
he  contemplates.  Again,  let  us  take 
his  second  position,  that,  because  man 
is  thus  trammelled  by  circumstances, 
for  already  even  he  has  forgotten  dis- 
positions, therefore,  every  system  of 
government  which  involves  the  idea  of 
individual  rewards  or  punishments, 
praise  or  blame,  is  necessarily  unjust 
and  unnatural ;  as  if,  granting  even 
his  own  premises,  these  very  accidents 
had  not  as  good  a  claim  to  a  place  as 
links  in  our  fetters,  circumstances  by 
which  we  are  to  be  controlled,  as  any 
of  Mr  Owen's  own  arrangements. — 


County  of  Lanark.  [[April, 

And  lastly,  for  it  cannot  be  necessary 
to  go  to  length  on  this  head,  that 
position,  that  it  is  possible  to  deprive 
a  human  individual  of  all  feeling  of 
individuality,  to  make  him  love  any, 
or  rather  every  other's  interest,  off- 
spring,* advancement,  as  well  as  his 
own ;  and  that  all  this  may  be  effect- 
ed by  a  mere  community  of  goods,  a 
common  table,  an  intimately  connect- 
ed public  interest ! — What  could  we 
say  to  this,  contradicted  as  it  is  by  the 
private  history  of  every  monastic  in- 
stitution, in  which,  from  the  want  of 
offspring,  there  must  have  been  infi- 
nitely less  scope  for  selfish  feeling  than 
must  exist  in  general  society  however 
framed,  and  where,  notwithstanding, 
all  its  most  noxious  productions  bloom- 
ed fresh  and  fair  even  as  in  the  wilder- 
ness of  the  great  world — what  could  we 
say,  we  repeat,  to  this,  but  just  "  there 
must  be  some  mistake  here,  Mr  Owen 
never  could  mean  this  ;  but  it  is  of  no 

great  consequence,  let  us  pass  on." 

But  in  the  third  place,  Mr  Owen's 
system  has  been  neglected,  because  the 
world  must  always  have  felt  that  what- 
ever truth  there  might  be  in  his  as- 
sumptions, or  probability  in  his  con- 
clusions, he  was  in  no  sufficient  degree 
qualified,  either  from  experience  or 
personal  character,  to  reason  on  the 
one  or  conduct  to  the  other,  in  the 
dogmatical  manner  which  he  has  uni- 
formly assumed ;  at  least  we  are  sure, 
that  whether  the  indifference  with 
which  his  speculations  have  been  recei- 
ved, has  arisen  in  any  degree  from  this 
source  or  not,  it  was  certainly  well 
merited  upon  this  score.  It  is  painful 
to  us  to  express  ourselves  in  this  man- 
ner— painful,  because  in  his  place  we 
really  have  a  high  respect  for  Mr  Owen, 
but  we  never  either  knew  or  heard  of 
pretensions  so  magnificent  as  his,  so 
very  inadequately  borne  out.  Mr  Owen 
piques  himself  on  his  experience — it  is 
in  truth  very  limited,  he  has  only  had 
it  in  his  power  to  make  one  experi- 
ment on  human  nature,  and  even  that, 
as  we  have  seen,  is  not  the  experiment 
on  which  he  reasons.  And  as  to  his 
philosophical  talents,  granting  all  his 


*  We  ought  here  to  notice,  however,  that  this  particular  height  of  improvement,  in- 
difference to  our  own  children,  will  not  be  found  adverted  to  in  the  report  from  which 
we  have  taken  almost  every  other  part  of  our  representation  of  this  system.  The  fact  is, 
it  would  not  print,  it  is  really  too  monstrous — But  it  is  a  legitimate  and  necessary  con- 
sequence of  the  remainder,  and  we  assert,  no.it ra  pcr'uutlo,  that  in  conversation  Mr  OWCH 
states  it  as  such. 


Owen's  Report  to  the  County  of  Lanurii. 


premises  unassailable,  what  can  we  say 
of  those  of  one  who  leaps  at  his  con- 
clusions in  the  manner  he  does,  with- 
out looking  to  right  or  to  left,  or  ma- 
king a  single  allowance  for  derange- 
ment of  any  sort,  expecting  for  exam- 
ple, to  have  floating  wealth  in  his  com- 
monwealths, yet  no  desire  in  any  to  ap- 
propriate it, — diversities  of  character  in 
his  subjects,  yet  precisely  the  same  ef- 
fects produced  on  all  by  the  same  ex- 
ternal circumstances, — legislative  and 
executive  assemblies,  yet  no  differences 
of  opinion,  no  rivalry,  no  collision  be- 
tween their  members  ?     We  do  not 
wish  to  wound  Mr  Owen's  feelings,  but 
we  cannot  but  say,  that  so  far  from 
feeling  disposed  to  pin  our  faith  to  his 
dicta  when  he  advances  propositions 
like  these,  they  go  far  to  indispose  us, 
and  they  must  have  indisposed  the 
world  at  large,  against  every  thing  he 
might  bring  forward  along  with  them  ; 
and  that  himself  when  seriously  ad- 
vancing them,  we  can  compare  to  no- 
thing more  exactly  than  an  inexperi- 
enced mariner  adrift  on  a  first  voyage 
of  discovery,  and  setting  down  as  land 
in  his  chart  every  fog-bank  which  rises 
within  his  horizon.  Or  still  more  nearly 
perhaps,  a  raw  and  rash  mechanic,  cal- 
culating the  power  of  a  first  supposed 
invention,  and  not  only  laying  out  of 
view  every  allowance  for  friction  or 
other  impediment,  but  actually  decom- 
posing in  imagination  the  materials 
with  which  he  proposes  to  work,  and 
saying  to  their  elements,  "  such  and 
such  properties  shall  you  possess  in  all 
time  to  come  and  no  other,  for  such 
and  such  only  will  suit  my  purposes 
and  enable  me  to  attain  my  ends !  And 
although  I  reason  not  upon  experiment, 
but  rather  in  its  defiance,  yet  let  me 
but  bring  forward  my  own  stool  to 
stand  on,  and  I  am  ready  to  demon- 
strate,  like  the  Alchymists  of  old,  that 
experiment  and  experience  are  alike 
wrong,  and  ought  to  have  been  diffe- 
rent." 

Lastly,  Mr  Owen's  theory  has  been, 
overlooked  and  neglected  by  the  world,  * 
pretty  much  because  it  has  been  not 
less  forgotten  by  himself.  We  have 
already  shewn  that  his  practice  is  quite 
different :  but  that  is  not  all,  his  heart 
is  in  that  practice  only,  and  his  system 
is  among  the  least  of  all  his  thoughts, 
excepting  only  as  associated  in  his  ima- 
gination with  certain  supposed  and  re- 
mote consequences.  Every  one  who 
VOL.  IX. 


91 

has  been  at  Xew  Lanark  must  know 
that  Mr  Owen's  life  is  passed  at  his 
mills,  and  that  in  superintending  their 
details,  displaying  these  to  visitors,  and 
caressing  the  children  at  his  school, 
scarcely  all  the  hours  of  the  day  arc 
sufficient  for  him.  And  we  repeat 
the  sentiment, — happy  and  enviable, 
and  innocent  and  useful,  and  even 
virtuous,  arc  the  hours  thus  spent; 
his  benevolent  feelings  gratified, — his 
success,  and  he  is  very  successful,  en- 
joyed,— his  hobby  put  on  all  its  paces 
without  let  or  molestation.  But  mean- 
while, where  is  his  theory,  or  where 
the  arguments  by  which,  not  in  con- 
junction with  that  success,  but  in  op- 
position to  it,  he  is  to  recommend  it  to 
others  ? — Why,  just  where  they  ought 
to  be, — in  oblivion ;  whence,  it  is  true, 
we  have  now  for  a  moment  sought  to 
draw  them,  but  whither  we  cannot  but 
think  that  the  sooner  they  are  again 
and  for  ever  consigned,  the  better  and 
the  wiser. 

We  conclude,  then — The  world  has 
been   quite  right   in   neglecting   Mr 
Owen's  system ;  and  every  attempt  like 
that  which  we  have  learnt,  with  equal 
surprise  and  concern,  is  at  present  in 
the  contemplation  of  his  country  neigh- 
bours, to  drag  it  from  the  shade,  and 
even  petition  Parliament  in  its  behalf, 
is  not  merely  wrong — it  is  ridiculous. 
Have  these  gentlemen  forgotten   Sir 
W.  De  Crespigny's  failure  in  the  same 
cause  ?  the  precedent  had  been  worth 
their  adverting  to,  even  for  their  own 
sakes.     But  the  truth  we  in  charity 
believe  to  be,  that  they  have  no  dis- 
tinct idea  of  what  they  wish  to  recom- 
mend :  they  have  looked  at  New  La- 
nark, (a  seduction  to  which  the  one 
dissentient  speaker  among  them,  Lord 
Belhaven,    seems   singularly   enough 
never  to  have  exposed  himself,)  am' 
unaccustomed,   probably,    to  analyze 
minutely  what  they  read,  they  have 
taken    for   granted    that   what    they 
saw  there  was  also  in  the  book,  some- 
where stowed  away  amid  the  decla- 
mation with  which  it  is  chiefly  filled. 
And   their  hearts,  naturally  enough 
warmed  by  the  sight,  have  carried 
their  heads  along  with   them.     But 
even  yrf  it  is  not  too  late  to  retrace 
their  steps,  even  yet  their  monstrous 
petition  may  be  strangled  in  its  birth  ; 
and  still  they  may  take  New  Lais  -rk 
for  their  pattern  and  their  guide.    We 
would  have  all  men  go  there  indeed, 
M 


Owen's  Rcf>ort  to  the  County  of  Lanark. 


92 

who  are  possessed  of  even  tolerable 
reasoning  powers;  and  who,  as  proprie- 
tors of  great  estates,  extensive  mer- 
chants, manufacturers,  masters  of  fami- 
lies, schools,  or  in  any  other  way,  possess 
either  direct  authority,  or  indirect  in- 
fluence over  considerable  bodies  of  their 
fellow  men  in  the  lower  ranks  of  life. 
We  would  have  them  go,  however,  not 
to  listen,  but  to  look  ;  not  to  have  their 
faith  perverted,  or  their  imaginations 
beguiled  by  Mr  Owen's  fancies, — but 
their  understandings  enlightened,  and 
their  affections  kindled  by  the  realities 
which  he  has  created  around  him.  Amid 
these  they  will  find  much  that  is  valua- 
ble to  learn,  even  while  they  reject  the 
trash  with  which  it  is  surrounded ;  for 
instance  they  will  see  it  demonstrated, 
that  however  fallen  in  nature  or  sunk 
in  circumstances,  there  is  still  much 
moral  good  in  man, — that  that  good  will 
be  much  more  certainly  and  extensively 
elicited  by  kindness  than  severity,  the 
expression  of  interest  than  neglect,  edu- 
cation than  ignorance,  in  every  case  ; — 
finally,  for  their  own  encouragement, 
that  independently  of  all  the  commands 
of  religion,  or  the  hopes  of  futurity, 
there  is  much  worldly  wisdom,  even,  in 
a  spiritof  active  beneficence ;  in  practice 
it  is  generally  successful,  however  theo- 
retically mistaken ;  in  feeling  it  is  al- 
ways happy,  in  example  always  re- 
spectable and  praiseworthy.  And  when 
they  have  thus  got  their  lesson,  let 
them  carry  it  home,  not  to  prate 
about  it  at  public  meetings,  nor  yet 
still  less  to  neglect  and  forget  it, 
as  so  many  others  have  done  while 
they  thought  it  inseparably  connected 
with  absurdities  at  which  their  reason 
revolted,  but  to  interweave  it  with  , 
principles  derived  from  a  far  higher 
source  than  even  the  best  human  spe- 
culations, and  reduce  it  patiently  and 
systematically  to  practice,  each  within 
his  own  locality,  his  own  sphere.  Lay- 
ing down,  at  all  events,  the  following 
as  fundamental  axioms  of  political  ex- 
pediency, whatever  the  particular  con- 


elusions  at  which  they  subsequently 
arrive-, — that  it  is  not  by  embark- 
ing in  gigantic  schemes,  not  by  con- 
templating violent  changes,  not  by 
meddling  with  the  forms  of  society, 
(thosecrystalline  forms,  theuniformity 
of  which,  in  all  ages  and  countries, 
demonstrates  that  they  are  regulated 
by  affinities  inherent  in  our  nature  and 
of  course  beyond  our  controul,)  not  by 
casting  doubt  on  the  first  principles  of 
the  Christian  religion, — the  religion  of 
the  age,  had  it  even  no  other  recom- 
mendation,— not  by  substituting  for 
its  views  of  human  nature  through  time 
and  through  eternity,  the  visions  of  a 
distempered  imagination ;  not,  in  a  word, 
by  trusting  the  reins  to  Mr  Owen  even 
for  one  moment,  however  they  may 
suffer,  and  even  thank  him,  to  pio- 
neer the  road  before  them ;  not,  we  say, 
by  any,  or  all  of  these  modes,  that 
they  can  serve  their  country  or  their 

kind. But,  by  uniting  in  a  series  of 

minute  endeavours  to  purify  and  im- 
prove the  substance  of  which  that 
country,  that  kind,  morally  speaking, 
are  composed,  educating  the  poor, 
eliciting  their  kindly  feelings,  cultiva- 
ting their  religious  impressions,  tight- 
ening thus  the  silken  cords  which  bind 
without  fettering  mankind,  dischar- 
ging every  man  his  own  duties,  social 
and  domestic,  in  his  own  place,  che- 
rishing and  patronizing  his  own  de- 
pendants, loving  his  own  children, 
pursuing  his  own  best  interests  both 
here  and  hereafter ;  which,  when 
rightly  understood,  whatever  MrO wen, 
or  the  freeholders  of  Lanark  may  think 
of  it,  a  wise  and  kind  Providence  has 
already  sufficiently  identified  with 
those  of  the  world  at  large,  in  con- 
junction with  the  best  and  strongest 
feelings  of  our  common  nature,  with- 
out its  being  necessary  for  them  to 
endeavour  to  cement  the  union,  al- 
though, in  truth,  certain  in  such  case 
to  do  what  may  lay  in  them  to  destroy 
it,  by  their  breach. 

E. 


1  8210 


Lard  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 
LORD  BYRON'S  DOGE  OF  VENICE.  * 


93 


THE  Edinburgh  Reviewers,  in  their 
usual  tone  of  self-complacency,  said, 
when  the  first  cantos  of  Child  Harold 
were  published,  that  the  promise  of 
future  excellence  held  out  by  these 
cantos  was  "  really  quite  comfortable!" 
We  trust  we  never  have  been,  and  are 
quite  sure  we  never  shall  be,  guilty  of 
talking  in  terms  of  such  contemptible 
ignorance  and  irreverence  concerning 
any  one  who  has  vindicated  to  himself, 
(as  Lord  Byron  had  most  effectually 
done  by  any  given  score  of  stanzas  in 
his  Child  Harold)  the  character  of  a 
truly  nervous,  manly,  and  classical 
writer  of  the  English  tongue.  But  we 
must  borrow  so  far  the  spirit  of  Mr 
Jeffrey's  dictum,  and  say,  that  nothing 
has  for  a  long  while  afforded  us  so 
much  pleasure  as  the  rich  promise  of 
dramatic  excellence  unfolded  in  this  new 
production  of  our  Noble  Exile.  Lord 
Byron  in  his  preface  says  well,  that  the 
City  of  the  Plague,  the  Fall  of  Jerusa- 
lem, and  Miss  Baillie's  De  Montfort, 
are  sufficient  proof  of  the  present  ex- 
istence of  dramatic  power  somewhere  : 
he  might  with  great  propriety  have 
added  to  this  list  the  name  of  "  the 
Cenci,"  a  very  powerfully  conceived 
and  powerfully  executed  tragedy  which 
was  published  last  year  by  Mr  P.  B. 
Shelly.  But  perhaps  his  Lordship  was 
withheld  from  mentioning  that  work, 
as  we  ourselves  were  from  reviewing  it 
at  the  time  when  it  appeared,  by  the 
very  disgusting  nature  of  its  subject — 
those  vue  extravagances,  namely,  of 
parricide  and  incest,  by  perpetual  re- 
pititions  of  which,  or  of  something  of 
the  same  kind,  we  begin  to  fear  it  is 
Mr  Shelly 's  mad  resolution  to  destroy 
the  effect  of  all  his  genius,  and  blast 
all  the  harvest  of  his  fame.  But  Lord 
Byron's  own  tragedy  is  infinitely  su- 
perior to  the  "  Cenci,"  even  in  the 
merits  of  vigorous  conception,  and  vi- 
gorous diction ;  while  it  has  the  happi- 
ness to  be  distinguished  both  from  that 
and  from  toomanyof  the  productions  of 
his  Lordship's  own  genius,  by  uniform 
purity  of  thought  and  purpose.  With- 
out question,  no  such  tragedy  as  this 
of  Marino  Faliero  has  appeared  in 
English  since  the  day  when  Otway  also 
was  inspired  to  his  master-piece  by  the 
interests  of  a  Venetian  story  and  a 
Venetian  conspiracy. 


The  story  of  which  Lord  Byron  has 
possessed  himself  is,  we  think,  by  fa- 
the  finer  of  the  two, — and  we  say  pos- 
sessed, because  we  believe  he  has  ad- 
hered almost  to  the  letter  of  the  trans- 
actions as  they  really  took  place.  In 
the  beginning  of  the  14th  century, 
when  the  winged  lion  of  St  Mark  soar- 
ed over  the  Adriatic  in  all  his  "  pride 
of  place,"  an  old  fierce  warrior,  whose 
valour  had  twice  saved  all  but  the  ex- 
istence of  his  country,  was,  in  his  own 
absence,  and  without  solicitation,  in- 
vested with  the  ducal  dignity.  The  se- 
nate, ever  jealous  and  ever  ambitious, 
curtail  his  prerogative  at  the  outset, — 
buthe  does  his  duty  bravely  and  wisely. 
Their  jealousy  has  cut  him  off,  indeed, 
from  the  private  pleasures  in  which  he 
had  hither  to  found  the  best  solace  of  his 
public  toils — the  intimate  companion- 
ship of  friends  no  longer  his  equals — 
no  longer,  in  their  patrician  jealousy 
of  their  prince,  willing  to  be  treated  by 
him  as  his  equals.  But  for  these  de- 
privations, and  for  every  evil  beside, 
he  finds  abundant  compensation  in  the 
affectionsof  a  young,  abeautiful,  ahigh- 
spirited,  and  yet  a  most  gentle  wife. 
She  had  been  bequeathed  to  him  as  a 
legacy  by  her  father,  the  dearest  friend 
of  his  youth.  She  loves  him  with  a  love 
which  is  not  the  less  dear  to  him,  be- 
cause it  partakes  somewhat  of  the  re- 
verence of  filial  love, — while  he,  again, 
both  loves  her  as  his  bride,  and  che- 
rishes her  like  a  daughter.  There  is 
something  entirely  new  and  altogether 
•admirable  in  the  manner  of  bringing 
out  these  charming  varieties  of  the  con- 
jugal passion.  Alas  !  that  he  who  has 
done  this  should  have  ever  prostituted 
his  pen  to  paint,  record,  or  foster  the 
pollution  of  woman ! 

The  lovely  and  innocent  young  wife 
of  the  old  warrior  does  not,  however, 
escape  the  wound  of  evil  tongues.  A 
young  patrician,  by  name  Michel 
Steno,  dares  to  inscribe  the  ducal 
throne  itself  with  a  vile  libel  upon 
her  purity.  He  is  detected— and  the 
wrath  of  the  haughty  Prince  of  Venice 
knows  no  bounds.  He  is  tried  by  the 
Council  "  of  the  Forty,"  and  found 
guilty — and  he  is  condemned — to  a 
month's  imprisonment. 

The  Doge,  who  conceives  himself  to 
be  insulted  alike  as  a  man,  a  soldier,  a 


1    Marino  Faliero,  Doge  of  Venice,  an  Historical  Tragedy,  in  Five  Acts,  with  Notes. 
The  Prophecy  of  Dante,  a  Poem.    By  Lord  Byron.    8vo.    Murray,  Londom,  1821. 


94  Lord  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 

noble,  and  a  sovereign,  by  this  inade-  A  shadow  on  thy  iancy  of  a  thing 
quate  punishment  inflicted  on  the  ri- 
bald Steno,  is  tempted,  at  the  critical 
moment  when  his  passions  are  in  their 
highest  state  of  effervescence,  first  by 
(he  artful  condolences,  and  then  by  the 
no  less  artful  solicitations,  of  one  Israel 
Betruccio,  a  Venetian  citizen,  who  is 
at  the  head  of  a  plot  recently  formed 
by  the  commons  of  the  city  against  the 
unbounded  and  intolerable  insolence  of 
the  nobles.  Faliero  enters  into  the  de- 
signs of  these  men,  and,  though  not 
without  many  "  compunctious  visit- 
ings,"  he  persists  in  acting  as  their 
leader.  Every  thing  under  his  direc- 
tion is  prepared  for  an  instant  blow. 
At  dawn  of  day  the  great  bell  of  St 
Martin's  Church  is  to  be  rung ;  that 
bell  can  be  sounded  only  by  com- 


Which  would  not  have  thee  mourn  it,  but 
icm  ember. 

Such  is  the  simple  outline  of  the  story 
of  Marino  Faliero.  As  the  Tragedy 
must  be  in  the  hands  almost  of  all  our 
readers,  we  shall  be  contented  with 
quoting  a  very  few  specimens  of  its 
dialogue,  ar.d  we  shall  have  no  difficul- 
ty in  choosing  specimens  that  cannot 
be  read  too  often. 

Perhaps  the  finest  scene  in  the  whole 
play  is  that  in  which  the  Doge  first 
meets  his  wife  after  he  has  been  made- 
acquainted  with  the  sentence  of  Steno, 
and  has  listened  to  the  communication 
of  the  conspirator  Bertuccio.  The 
character  of  the  calm,  pure  spirited 
Angiolina  is  developed  in  it  most  ad- 
mirably ; — the  great  difference  between 


maud  of  the  Doge,  and  at  the  sound  of  ner  temper  and  that  of  her  fiery  hus- 
it  every  Venetian  noble  must  hasten  to 
the  Council  Hall.  The  conspired  ple- 
beian bands  are  on  this  occasion  to  obey 
the  same  signal :  they  are  to  rush  from 
every  district  of  the  city,  and  occupy 
the  great  place  of  St  Mark, — and 

then,  says  the  Doge, 

"All  the  Patricians  flocking  to  the  Council, 
(Which  they  dare  not  refuse,  at  the  dread 

signal 
Pealing  from  out  their  patron  Saint's  proud 

tower) 

Will  then  be  gathered  in  unto  the  harvest, — 
And  we  will  reap  them  with  the  sword  for 

sickle." 

The  great  bell  does  sound,  and  all 
Venice  is  alarmed ;  but  in  the  interim 
between  the  framing  and  the  execution 
of  the  design,  the  whole  harbeen  be- 
trayed by  the  virtue  or  the  vice  of  one 


„«,.„  is  vividly  pourtrayed, — but  not 
less  vividly  touched  is  that  strong  bond 
of  their  union  which  exists  in  the  com- 
mon nobleness  of  their  deeper  natures. 
There  is  no  spark  of  jealousy  in  the 
old  man's  thoughts, — he  does  not  ex- 
pect the  fervours  of  youthful  passion  in 
his  wife,  nor  does  he  find  them :  but 
he  finds  what  is  far  better, — the  fear- 
less confidence  of  one,  who  being  to 
the  heart's  core  innocent,  can  scarcely 
be  a  believer  in  the  existence  of  such 
a  thing  as  guilt.  He  finds  every  charm 
which  gratitude,  respect,  anxious  and 
deep-seated  affection  can  give  to  the 
confidential  language  of  a  lovely,  and 
a  modest,  and  a  pious  woman.  She 
has  been  extremely  troubled  by  her  ob- 
servance of  the  troubled  countenance 


trayed  by  the  virtue  or  the  vice  of  one  &nd  esture  of  tne  Doge,  ever  since  the 
of  the  conspirators,  who  could  not  per-  ,h'scovery  of  steno's  guilt;  and  she 
mit  his  own  friend  and  kind  patron  to  doeg  &u  Jghe  can  to  sooth  him  from  his 


proud  irritation.  Strong  in  her  con- 
sciousness of  purity,  she  has  brought 
herself  to  regard  without  anger,  the 
insult  offered  to  herself,  and  the  yet 
uncorrected  instinct  of  a  noble  heart 


mit  his  own  friend  and  kind  patron  to 
share  in  the  destined  fate  of  all  the 
Venetian  nobility.  The  hand  is  ar- 
rested after  it  has  struck  but  a  few 
blows  upon  the  bell  of  St  Mark's.  The 
Doge  is  seized  in  his  palace — he  is 
tried — he  is  beheaded  immediately  ;  JjjJJ^  heTtry  "to  persuade  her  lord,  as 

and  in  place  of  his  picture  in  the  great      ,      '   i        A .i~i    *i,«4.  <f,.,,,. 

Council  Hall,  where  all  his  predeces- 
sors and  all  his  successors  are  repre- 
sented, there  is  a  blank  space  covered 
with  a  sable  veil,  over  which  still  re- 
mains the  original  inscription :  "  H etc 
est  locus  Marini  Faletro  decapitati  pro 
crimiiiibus."  The  Duchess  seeks  re- 


fuge  in  a  cloister,  there,  doubtless,  to 
do  more  than  her  modest  old  lord  re- 
quests of  her  in  these  fine  words — 
When  I  urn  nothing,  let  that  which  I  was 
Be  still  sometimes  a  name  on  thy  sweet  lips, 


she  is  herself  persuaded,  that  Steno, 
whatever  be  the  sentence  of  his  judges, 
mitxt  be  punished — more  even  than  they 
would  wish  him  to  be— by  the  secret 
suggestions  of  his  own  guilty  consci- 
ence^— the  deep  blushes  of  his  priva- 
cy. At  this  the  Doge,  experienced  in 
the  ways  both  of  good  and  evil  men, 
smiles  compassionately  upon  Angio- 
lina. She  then  goes  on  thus : — 

Jtixiolina.  Heaven  bids  us  to  forgive  our 
enemies. 


1 821.]]  Lord  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 

Doge.  Does  heaven  forgive  her  own  ?  Is     To  make  my  dowry  equal  to  the  rank 


Satan  sav'd 
From  wrath  eternal ! 

Aug.  Do  not  speak  thus  wildly — 
Ueaven  will  alike  forgive  you  and  your  foes. 
Doge.  Amen  !  may  heaven  forgive  them. 
Aug.  And  will  you  ? 
Doge.  Yes,  when  they  are  in  heaven ! 
Ang.  And  not  till  then  ? 
Doge.  What  matters  my  forgiveness?  an 

old  man's, 
Worn  out,  scorn'd,  spurn'd,  abused  ;  what 

matters  then 

My  pardon  more  than  my  resentment  ?  both 
Being  weak  and  worthless  ?  I  have  lived 

too  long — 

But  let  us  change  the  argument.  My  child ! 
My  injured  wife,  the  child  of  Loridano, 
The  brave,  the  chivalrous — how  little  deem'd 
Thy  father,  wedding  thee  unto  his  friend, 
That  he  was  linking  thec  to  shame  !  Alas  ! 
Shame  without  sin,  for  thou  art  faultless. 

Had'st  thou 

But  had  a  different  husband,  uuy  husband 
In  Venice  save  the  Doge,  this  blight,  this 

brand, 

This  blasphemy  had  never  falTn  upon  thee. 
So  young,  so  beautiful,  so  good,  so  pure, 
To  suffer  this,  and  yet  be  unavenged  ! 
Ang.  I  am  too  well  avenged,  for  you 

still  love  me, 
And  trust,  and  honour  me ;  and  all  men 

know 
That  you  are  just,  and  I  am  true :  What 

more 
Could  I  require,  or  you  command  ? 

Doge.  'Tis  well, 

And  may  be  better ;  but  whatever  betide, 
Be  thou  at  least  kind  to  my  memory. 
Ang.  Why  speak  you  thus  ? 
Doge.  It  is  no  matter  why, 
But  I  would  still,  whatever  others  think, 
Have  your  respect  both  nowand  in  my  grave. 
Ang.  Why  should  you  doubt  it — has  it 

ever  fail'd  ? 
Doge.  Come  hither,  child,  I  would  a 

word  with  you. 

Your  father  was  my  friend,  unequal  fortune 
Made  him  my  debtor  for  some  courtesies 
Which  bind  the  good  more  firmly  ;  when, 

opprest 

With  his  last  malady,  he  will'd  our  union, 
It  was  not  to  repay  me,  long  repaid 
Before  by  his  great  loyalty  in  friendship  ; 
His  object  was  to  place  your  orphan  beauty 
In  honourable  safety  from  the  perils, 
Which,  in  this  scorpion  nest  of  vice,  assail 
A  lonely  and  undow'red  maid.     I  did  not 
Think  •with  him,  but  would  not  oppose  the 

thought 
Which  sooth'd  his  death-bed. 

Aug.  I  have  not  forgot 
The  nobleness  with  which  you  bade  me 

speak, 

If  my  young  heart  held  any  preference 
Which  would  have  made  me  happier ;  nor 
your  offer 


Of  aught  in  Venice,  and  forego  all  claim 
My  father's  last  injunction  gave  you. 

Doge.  Thus, 

'Twas  not  a  foolish  dotard's  vile  caprice, 
Nor  the  false  edge  of  aged  appetite, 
Which  made  me  covetous  of  girlish  beauty 
And  a  young  bride :  for  in  my  fireiest  youth 
I  sway'd  such  passions ;  nor  was  this  my 

age 

Infected  with  that  leprosy  of  lust 
Which  taints  the  hoariest  years  of  vicious 

men, 

Making  them  ransack  to  the  very  last 
The  dregs  of  pleasure  for  their  vanish'd 

joys; 

Or  buy  in  selfish  marriage  some  young  vic- 
tim, 

Too  helpless  to  refuse  a  state  that's  honest, 
Too  feeling  not  to  know  herself  a  wretch. 
Our  wedlock  was  not  of  this  sort,  you  had 
Freedom  from  me  to  choose,  and  urged  in 

answer 
Your  father's  choice. 

Aug.  I  did  so  ;  I  would  do  so 
In  face  of  earth  and  heaven ;  for  I  have 

never 
Repented   for  my   sake  ;   sometimes   for 

yours, 

In  pondering  o'er  your  late  disquietudes. 
Doge.    I  knew  my  heart  would  never 

treat  you  harshly — 

I  knew  my  days  could  not  disturb  you  long  ; 
And  then  the  daughter  of  my  earliest  friend, 
His  worthier  daughter,  free  to  choose  again, 
Wealthier  and  wiser  in  the  ripest  bloom 
Of  womanhood,  more  skilful  to  select 
By  passing  these  probationary  years  ; 
Inheriting  a  prince's  name  and  riches, 
Secured  by  the  short  penance  of  enduring 
An  old  man  for  some  summers,  against  all 
That  law's  chicane  or  envious  kinsman 

might 
Have  urged  against  her  right ;  my  best 

friend's  child 
Would  choose  more  fitly  in   respect  of 

years, 

And  not  less  truly  in  a  faithful  heart. 
Aug.  My  lord,  I  look'd  but  to  my  fa- 
ther's wishes, 

Hallow'd  by  his  last  words,  and  to  my  heart 
For  doing  all  its  duties,  and  replying 
With  faith  to  him  with  whom  I  was  affi- 
anced. 
Ambitious  hopes  ne'er  cross'd  my  dreams, 

and  should 
The  hour  you  speak  of  come,  it  will  be  s«en 

so. 
Doge.  I  do  believe  you,  and  I  know  you 

true ; 

For  love,  romantic  love,  which,  in  my  youth 
I  knew  to  be  illusion,  and  ne'er  saw 
Lasting,  but  often  fatal,  it  had  been 
No  lure  for  me  in  my  most  passionate  days, 
And  could  not  be  so  now,  did  such  exist. 
But  such  respect,  and  mildly  paid  regard 
As  a  true  feeling  for  your  welfare,  and 


Lord  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 


96 

A  free  compliance  with  all  honest  wishes, 
A  kindness  to  your  virtues,  watchfulness 
Not  shown,  but  shadowing  o'er  such  little 

failings 

As  youth  is  apt  i  i,  so  «>s  not  tr>  check 
Rashly,  but  viii  you  from  them  ere  you 

knew 
Vou  had  been  won,  but  thought  the  change 

your  choice ; 

A  pride  not  in  your  beauty,  but  your  con- 
duct, 

A  trust  in  you,  a  patriarchal  love, 
And  not  a  doting  homage ;  friendship,  faith, 
Such  estimation  in  your  eyes  as  these 
Might  claim,  I  hoped  for. 

Ang.  And  have  you  ever  had. 

Doge.  I  think  so.   For  the  difference  in 

our  years, 
You  knew  it,  choosing  nie,  and  chose.    I 

trusted 

Not  to  my  qualities,  nor  would  have  faith 
In  such,  nor  outward  ornaments  of  nature, 
Were  I  still  in  my  five-and-twentieth  spring ; 
I  trusted  to  the  blood  of  Loridano, 
Pure  in  your  veins  ;  I  trusted  to  the  soul 
God  gave  you — to  the  truths  your  father 

taught  you — 
To  your  belief  in  heaven — to  your  mild 

virtues — 

To  your  own  faith  and  honour,  for  my  own. 
Ang.  You  have  done  well. — I  thank  you 

for  that  trust, 

Which  I  have  never  for  one  moment  ceased 
To  honour  you  the  more  for. 

Doge.  Where  is  honour, 

Innate  and  precept-strengthen'd,   'tis  the 

rock 

Of  faith  connubial ;  where  it  is  not — where 
Light  thoughts  are  lurking,  or  the  vanities 
Of  worldly  pleasure  rankle  in  the  heart, 
Or  sensual  throbs  convulse  it,  well  I  know 
'Twere  hopeless  for  humanity  to  dream 
Of  honesty  in  such  infected  blood, 
Although  'twere  wed  to  him  it  covets  most : 
An  incarnation  of  the  poet's  god 
In  all  his  marble-chisell'd  beauty,  or 
The  demi-deity,  Alcides,  in 
His  majesty  of  superhuman  manhood, 
Would  not  suffice  to  bind  where  virtue  is 

not. 

It  is  consistency  which  forms  and  proves  it ; 
Vice  cannot  fix,  and  virtue  cannot  change. 
The  once  fall'n  woman  must  for  ever  fall ; 
Her  vice  must  have  variety,  while  virtue 
Stands  like  the  sun,  and  all  which  rolls 

around 
Drinks  life,  and  light,  and  glory,  from  her 

aspect. 
Ang.  And  seeing,  feeling  thus  this  truth 

in  others, 
(I  pray  you  pardon  me,)  but  wherefore 

yield  you 

To  the  most  fierce  of  fatal  passions,  and 
1  lisquiet  your  great  thoughts  witli  restless 

hate 
Of  such  a  thing  us  Steno  ? 

Doge.  You  mistake  me. 


It  is  not  Steno  who  could  move  me  thus  : 
Had  it  been  so,  he  should— —but  let  that 

pass. 
Ang.  What  is't  you  feel  so  deeply,  then, 

ev'n  now  ? 

Doge.  The  violated  majesty  of  Venice, 
At  once  insulted  in  her  lord  and  laws." 

Another  nobly  conceived  scene  is 
that  at  the  opening  of  the  third  act, 
where  the  old  Doge  is  introduced  as 
waiting  by  himself  in  the  twilight  for 
Bertuccio,  who  is  at  that  hour  to  con- 
duct him  into  the  presence  of  the  as- 
sembled conspirators.  The  rendez- 
vous is  on  the  space  between  the  ca- 
nal and  the  church  di  San  Giovanni 
San  Paolo.  In  that  church  repose  the 
ashes  of  all  the  Falieri, — and  before  its 
gate,  right  over  against  where  the  ex- 
pecting prince  has  taken  his  stand,  ap- 
pears an  equestrian  statue  erected 
long  ago  by  the  senate,  to  one  of  his 
ancestry,  who  centuries  before,  rilled, 
under  better  auspices,  the  ducal  chair 
of  Venice.  A  gondola  lies  at  some  dis- 
tance on  the  canal.  The  Doge  alone, 
and  disguised,  stands  by  the  water  side, 
and  this  is  his  soliloquy. 

Doge,  solus.  I  am  before  the  hour,  the 

hour  whose  voice, 

Pealing  into  the  arch  of  night,  might  strike 
These  palaces  with  ominous  tottering, 
And  rock  their  marbles  to  the  corner-stone, 
Waking  the  sleepers  from  some  hideous 

dream 

Of  indistinct,  but  awful  augury 
Of  that  which  will  befal  them.  Yes,  proud 

city  ! 
Thou  must  be  cleansed  of  the  black  blood 

which  makes  thee 

A  lazar-house  of  tyranny  :  the  task 
Is  forced  upon  me,  I  have  sought  it  not ; 
And  therefore  was  I  punish'd,  seeing  this 
Patrician  pestilence  spread  on  and  on, 
Until,  at  length,  it  smote  me  in  my  slum- 
bers, 

And  I  am  tainted,  and  must  wash  away 
The  plague-spots  in  the  healing  wave.  Fall 

fane  ! 
Where  sleep  my  fathers,  whose  dim  statues 

shadow 
The  floor  which  doth  divide  us  from  the 

dead, 
Where  all  the  pregnant  hearts  of  our  bold 

blood, 

Moulder'd  into  a  mite  of  ashes,  hold 
In  one  shrunk  heap  what  once  made  many 

heroes, 
When  what  is  now  a  handful,  shook  the 

earth 

Fane  of  the  tutelar  saints  who  guard  our 

house ! 
Vault,  where  two  doges  rest my  sires  ! 

who  died, 
The  one  of  toil,  the  other  in  the  field, 


1821-3 


Lord  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 


With  a  long  race  of  other  lineal  chiefs 
And  sages,  whose  great  labours,  wounds, 

and  state, 

I  have  inherited, — let  the  graves  gape, 
Till  all  thine  aisles  be  peopled  with  the 

dead, 
And  pour  them  from  thy  portals  to  gaze  on 

me ! 

I  call  them  up,  and  them  and  thee  to  wit- 
ness 
What  it  hath  been  which  put  me  to  this 

task; 
Their  pure  high-blood,  their  blazon  roll  of 

glories, 

Their  mighty  name  dishonour'd  all  in  me, 
Not  by  me,  but  by  the  ungrateful  nobles 
We  fought  to  make  our  equals,  not  cur 

lords : 

And  chiefly  those,  Ordelafo  the  brave, 
Who  perish'd  in  the  field,  where  I  since 

conquer'd, 

Battling  at  Zara,  did  the  hecatombs 
Of  thine  and  Venice'  foes,  there  offer'd  up 
By   thy  descendant,   merit   such  acquit- 

ance  ? 
Spirits !    smile  down  upon  me ;    for  my 

cause 

Is  yours,  in  all  life  now  can  be  of  yours, — 
Your  fame,  your  name,  all  mingled  up  in 

mine, 

And  in  the  future  fortunes  of  our  race  ! 
Let  me  but  prosper,  and  1  make  this  city 
Free,  and  immortal,  and  our  house's  name 
Worthier  of  what  you  were,  now  and  here- 
after ! 

Enter  ISRAEL  BERTUCCIO. 

/*.  Her.  Who  goes  there  ? 
Doge.  A  friend  to  Venice. 
/*.  Ber.  'Tis  he — 
Welcome,  my  lord, — you  are  before  the 

time. 
Doge.  I  am  ready  to  proceed  to  your 

assembly. 
Is.  Ber.  Have  with  you.    I  am  proud 

and  pleased  to  see 

Such  confident  alacrity.    Your  doubts 
Since  our  last  meeting,  then,  are  all  dis- 

pell'd  ? 
Doge.  Not  so — but  I  have  set  my  little 

left 

Of  life  upon  this  cast :  the  die  was  thrown 
When  I  first  listen'd  to  your  treason — Start 

1     not! 
That  is  the  word  ;    I  cannot  shape  my 

tongue 

To  syllable  black  deeds  into  smooth  names, 
Though  I  be  wrought  on  to  commit  them. 

When 
I  heard  you  tempt  your  sovereign,  and 

forbore 

To  have  you  dragg'd  to  prison,  I  became 
Your  guiltiest  accomplice  !  now  you  may, 
If  it  so  please  you,  do  as  much  by  me. 
Is.  Ber.  Strange  words,  my  lord,  and 

most  unmerited ; 
I  am  no  spy,  and  neither  are  we  traitors. 


sr 

Doge.  We —  We  /—no  matter — you  have 

earn'd  the  right, 

To  talk  of  us — But  to  the  point — If  this 
Attempt  succeeds,  and  Venice,  render'd  free 
And  flourishing,  when  we  are  in  our  graves, 
Conducts  her  generations  to  our  tombs, 
And  makes  her  children  with  their  little 

hands 
Strew  flowers  o'er  her   deliverers'  ashes 

then 

The  consequence  will  sanctify  the  deed, 
And  we  shall  be  like  the  two  Bruti  in 
The  annals  of  hereafter  ;  but  if  not, 
If  we  should  fail,  employing  bloody  means 
And  secret  plot,  although  to  a  good  end, 
Still  we  are  traitors,  honest  Israel ; — thou 
Mo  less  than  he  who  was  thy  sovereign 
Six  hours  ago,  and  now  thy  brother  rebel. 
Is.  Ber.  'Tis  not  the  moment  to  consider 

thus, 

Else  I  could  answer. — Let  us  to  the  meet- 
ing, 

Or  we  may  be  observed  in  lingering  here. 
Doge.  We  are  observed,  and  have  been. 
Is.  Ber.  We  observed  ! 
Let  me  discover — and  this  steel—— 

Doge.  Put  up  ; 

Here  are  no  human  witnesses  :  look  there — 
What  see  you  ? 

/.*.  Ber.  Only  a  tall  warrior's  statue 
Bestriding  a  proud  steed,  in  the  dim  light 
Of  the  dull  moon. 

Doge.  That  warrior  was  the  sire 
Of  my  sire's  fathers,  and  that  statue  was 
Decreed  to  him  by  the  twice  rescued  city  : 
Think  you  that  he  looks  down  on  us,  or  no  ? 
/*.  Ber.  My  lord,  these  are  mere  phan- 
tasies ;  there  are 
No  eyes  in  marble. 

Doge.  But  there  are  in  death. 
I  tell  thee,  man,  there  is  a  spirit  in 
Such  things,  that  acts  and  sees,  unseen, 

though  felt ; 

And  if  there  be  a  spell  to  stir  the  dead, 
'Tis  in  such  deeds  as  we  are  now  upon. 
Deem'st  thou  the  souls  of  such  a  race  as 

mine 
Can  rest,  when  he,  their  last  descendant 

chief, 
Stands  plotting  on  the  brink  of  their  pure 

graves 
With  stung  plebeians  ? 

Is.  Ber.  It  had  been  as  well 
To  have  ponder'd  this  before, — ere  you  em- 

bark'd 
In  our  great  enterprize.    Do  you  repent  ?" 

There  is  a  great  deal  more  of  the  same 
natural  struggle  in  thebreast  of  the  high- 
born and  haughty  Doge,  between  the  re- 
sentment with  which  heburnson  the  one 
hand,  and  the  reluctance  with  which  he 
considers  the  meanness  of  the  associates 
with  whom  he  has  leagued  himself,  on 
the  other.  The  conspiring  Doge  is  not, 
we  think,  meant  to  be  ambitious  for  him- 
self, but  he  issternly,proudly,a  Venetian 


98  Lord  Byron  a 

Noble,  and  it  is  impossible  for  him  to 
tear  from  his  bosom  the  scorn  for  every 
thing  plebeian  which  has  been  implant- 
ed there  by  birth,  education,  and  a  long 
life  of  princely  command.  There  are 
other  thoughts  too,  and  of  a  gentler 
kind,  which  cross  from  time  to  time 
his  perturbed  spirit.  He  remembers, 
— he  cannot  entirely  forget — the  days 
and  nights  of  old  companionship,  by 
which  he  had  long  been  bound  to  those 
whose  sentence  he  has  consented  to 
seal.  He  has  himself  been  declaiming 
against  the  folly  of  mercy, — and  argu- 
ing valiantly  the  necessity  of  total  ex- 
stirpation,  and  that  too,  in  the  teeth 
even  of  some  of  the  plebeian  conspira- 
tors themselves;  yet  the  poet,  with 
profound  insight  into  the  human  heart, 
makes  him  shudder  when  his  own  im- 
petuosity has  brought  himself  and  all 
who  hear  him  to  the  brink.  He  can- 
not look  upon  the  bloody  resolution, 
no  rjot  even  after  he  himself  has  been 
the  chief  instrument  of  its  formation. 
Israel  Bertuccio  says  to  him,  percei- 
ving the  alteration  in  his  look, 

"  — —  Why  stand  you  wrapt  ? 

A  moment  back,  and  you  were  all  impa- 
tience."— 
He  makes  his  reply,  starting  as  if 

trom  some  dream : 

Doge.  And  is  it  then  decided  ?   must 

they  die  ? 
/*.  Ber.  Who  ? 
Doge.    My  own  friends  by  blood  and 

courtesy, 

And  many  deeds  and  days — the  Senators  ? 
Is.  Ber.  You  pass'd  their  sentence,  and 

it  is  a  just  one. 
Doge.  Ay,  so  it  seems,  and  so  it  is  to 

you; 

You  are  a  patriot,  a  plebeian  Gracchus — 
The  rebel's  oracle — the  people's  tribune — 
I  blame  you  not,  you  act  in  your  vocation  ; 
They  smote  you,  and  oppress'd  you,  and 

despised  you  ; 
So  they  have  me, ;  but  you  ne'er  spake  with 

them ; 
You  never  broke  their  bread,  nor  shared 

their  salt  ; 

You  never  had  their  wine-cup  at  your  lips ; 
You  grew  not  up  with  them,  nor  laugh 'd, 

nor  wept, 

Nor  held  a  revel  in  their  company  ; 
Ne'er  smil'd  to  see  them  smile,  nor  claim 'd 

their  smile 

In  social  interchange  foryour's,  nor  trusted, 
Nor  wore  them  in  your  heart  of  hearts,  as  1 

have; 
These  hairs  of  mine  are  grey,  and  so  are 

their's, 

The  elders  of  the  council ;  I  remember 
When  all  our  locks  were  like  the  raven's 

wings, 


Doge  of  Venice.  £  April, 

As  we  went  forth  to  take  our  prey  around 
The  isles  wrung  from  the  false  Mahome- 
tan ; 

A  nd  can  I  see  them  dabbled  o'er  with  blood  ? 
Each  stab  of  them  will  seem  my  suicide. 
Is.  Ber.  Doge  !  Doge  !  this  vacillation  is 

unworthy 

A  child;  if  you  are  not  in  second  childhood, 
Call  back  your  nerves  to  your  own  purpose, 

nor 
Thus  shame  yourself  and  me.  By  heavens  ! 

I'd  rather 

Forego  even  now,  or  fail  in  your  intent, 
Than  see  the  man  I  venerate  subside 
From  high  resolves  into  such  shallow  weak- 
ness ! 

You  have  seen  blood  in  battle,  shed  it,  botli 
Your  own  and  that  of  others  ;    can  you 

shrink  then 

From  a  few  drops  from  veins  of  hoary  vam- 
pires, 
Who  but  give  back  what  they  have  drain'd 

from  millions  ? 
Doge.  Bear  with  me  !  Step  by  step,  and 

blow  on  blow, 

I  will  divide  with  you  ;  think  not  I  waver  ; 
Ah  !  no ;  it  is  the  certainty  of  all 
Which  I  must  do  doth  make  me  tremble 

thus. 
But  let  these  last  and  lingering  thoughts 

have  way, 

To  which  you  only  and  the  night  are  con- 
scious, 

And  both  regardless.  .  When  the  hour  ar- 
rives, 
'Tis  mine  to  sound  the  knell,  and  strike  the 

blow, 

Which  shall  unpeople  many  palaces, 
And  hew  the  highest  genealogic  trees 
Down  to  the  earth,  strew'd  with  their 

bleeding  fruit, 

And  crush  their  blossoms  into  barrenness  ; 
This  icill  I — must  I — have  I  sworn  to  do, 
Nor  aught  can  turn  me  from  my  destiny  ; 
But  still  I  quiver  to  behold  what  I 
Must  be,  and  think  what  1  have  been  ! 

Bear  with  me. 
Is.  Ber.  Re-man  your  breast ;  1  feel  no 

such  remorse, 
I    understand   it   not  ;    why    should    you 

change  ? 

You  acted,  and  you  act  on  your  free  will. 
Doge.  Ay,  there  it  is — you  feel  not,  nor 

do  I, 

Else  I  should  stab  thee  on  the  spot,  to  save 
A  thousand  lives,  and,  killing,  do  no  mur- 
der ; 

You  feel  not — you  go  to  this  butcher- work 
As  if  these  high-born  men  were  steers  for 

shambles  ! 

When  all  is  over,  you'll  be  free  and  merry, 
And  calmly  wash  those  hands  incarnadine  ; 
But  I,  outgoing  thee  and  all  thy  fellows 
In  this  surprising  massacre,  shall  be, 
yhall  see,  and  feel — oh  God  ! — oh  God  ! 

'tis  true, 

And  thou  dast  well  to  answer  that  it  was 
"  My  own  free  will  and  act ;"  and  yet  you 
err, 


1821.;] 


Lord  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 


For  I  will  do  this  !  Doubt  not — fear  not,  I 
Will  be  your  most  unmerciful  accomplice  ! 
And  yet  I  act  no  more  on  my  free  will, 
Nor  my  own  feelings — both   compel  me 

back ; 

But  there  is  hell  within  me,  and  around, 
And  like  the  demon  who  believes  and  trem- 
bles 

Must  I  abhor  and  do.  Away  !  away  ! 
Get  thee  unto  thy  fellows,  I  will  hie  me 
To  gather  the  retainers  of  my  house. 
Doubt  not,  Saint  Mark's  great  bell  shall 

wake  all  Venice, 

Except  her  slaughter'd  senate  :  ere  the  sun 
Be  broad  upon  the  Adriatic,  there 
Shall  be  a  voice  of  weeping,  which  shall 

drown 

The  roar  of  waters  in  the  cry  of  blood  ! 
I  am  resolv'd — come  on. 

At  last  the  moment  arrives  when 
the  bell  is  to  be  sounded,  and  the  whole 
of  the  conspiring  bands  are  watching 
in  impatience  for  the  signal.  The  ne- 
phew of  the  Doge  and  the  heir  of  his 
house,  (for  he  is  childless)  leaves  Fa- 
liero  in  his  palace,  and  goes  to  strike 
with  his  own  hand  the  fatal  summons. 
The  Doge  is  left  alone — And  English 
poetry,  we  think,  contains  few  passages 
superior  to  that  which  follows : 

Doge  (solus).  He  is  gone, 
And  on  each  footstep  moves  a  life.    'Tis 

done. 

Now  the  destroying  angel  hovers  o'er 
Venice,  and  pauses  ere  he  pours  the  vial, 
Even  as  the  eagle  overlooks  his  prey, 
And,  for  a  moment,  pois'd  in  middle  air, 
Suspends  the  motion  of  his  mighty  wings, 
Then  swoops  with  his  unerring  beak.  Thou 

day ! 
That  slowly  walk'st  the  waters  !  march — 

march  on  ! 
I  would  not  smite  i'  the  dark,  but  rather 

see 
That  no  stroke  errs.  And  you,  ye  blue  sea 

waves ! 
I  have  seen  you  dyed  ere  now,  and  deeply 

too, 

With  Genoese,  Saracen,  and  Hunnish  gore, 
While  that  of  Venice  flow'd  too,  but  victo- 
rious : 
Now  thou  must  wear  an  unmix'd  crimson  ; 

no 

Barbaric  blood  can  reconcile  us  now 
Into  that  horrible  incarnadine, 
But  friend  or  foe  will  roll  in  civic  slaughter. 
And  have  I  li v'd  to  fourscore  years  for  this  ? 
I,  who  was  named  Preserver  of  the  City  ? 
I,  at  whose  name  the  million's  caps  were 

flung 

Into  the  air,  and  cries  from  tens  of  thousands 
Rose  up,  imploring   heaven  to  send  me 

blessings, 
And  fame,  and  length  of  days — to  see  this 

day  ? 

But  this  day,  black  within  the  calendar, 
VOL.  IX. 


Shall  be  succeeded  by  a  bright  millenium. 
Doge  Dandalo  survived  to  ninety  summers 
To  vanquish  empires,  and  refuse  their 

crown  ; 

I  will  resign  a  crown,  and  make  the  state 
Renew  its    freedom — but  oh  !    by   what 

means  ? 

The  noble  end  must  justify  them.    What 
Are  a  few  drops  of  human  blood  ?  'tis  false, 
The  blood  of  tyrants  is  not  human  :  they, 
Like  to  incarnate  Molochs,  feed  on  our's, 
Until  'tis  time  to  give  them  to  the  tombs 
Which  they  have  made  so  populous.     Oh 

world  ! 

Oh  men  !  what  are  ye,  and  our  best  de- 
signs, 
That  we  must  work  by  crime  to  punish 

crime  ? 
And  slay,  as  if  Death  had  but  this  one 

gate, 
When  a  few  years  would  make  the  sword 

superfluous  ? 
And   I,  upon  the  verge  of  the  unknown 

realm, 

Yet  send  so  many  heralds  on  before  me  ? 
I  must  not  ponder  this.        (A  pause.) 

Hark  !  was  there  not 
A  murmur  as  of  distant  voices,  and 
The  tramp  of  feet  in  martial  unison  ? 
What  phantoms  even  of  sound  our  wishes 

raise  ! 

It  cannot  be — the  signal  hath  not  rung — 
Why  pauses  it  ?    My  nephew's  messenger 
Should  be  upon  his  way  to  me,  and  he 
Himself,  perhaps,  even  now  draws  grating 

back 
Upon  its  pond'rous  hinge  the  steep  tower 

portal, 
Where  swings  the  sullen,  huge  oracular 

bell, 
Which  never  knells   but  for  a  princely 

death, 

Or  for  a  state  in  peril,  pealing  forth 
Tremendous  bodements  ;  let  it  do  its  office, 
And  be  this  peal  its  awfullest  and  last. 
Sound  till  the  strong  tower  rock  ! — What ! 

silent  still  ? 

I  would  go  forth,  but  that  my  post  is  here, 
To  be  the  centre  of  re-union  to 
The  oft  discordant  elements  which  form 
Leagues  of  this  nature,  and  to  keep  compact 
The  wavering   or   the  weak,  in    case    of 

conflict ; 

For  if  they  should  do  battle,  'twill  be  here, 
Within   the   pahfce,   that   the   strife   will 

thicken  : 

Then  here  must  be  my  station,  as  becomes 
The   master-mover. — Hark !   he  comes — 

he  comes, 

My  nephew,  brave  Bertuccio's  messenger — 
What  tidings  ?   Is  he  marching  ?  hath  he 

sped?— 

They  here  ! — alj  is  lost — yet  will  I  make 
an  effort. 

Enter  a  Slgnor  of  the  Night,  -with 

Guards,  Qc. 

Siffiior.    Doge,    I  arrest  thee  of  high 
treason ! 

N 


Lord  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 


100 

Doge.  Me ! 

Thy  prince  of  treason  ? — Who   are  they 

that  dare 

Cloak  their  own   treason  under  such  an 
order  ?" 

The  drama,  which  is  indeed  full  of 
uniformly  sustained  interest  from  be- 
ginning to  end,— and  which  has  the 
high  merit  so  uncommon  in  modern 
performances,  of  embodying  no  episo- 
dical deformity  whatever — now  hurries 
in  full  career  to  its  close.  Every  thing 
is  dispatched  with  the  stern  decision 
of  a  tyrannical  aristocracy.  There  is 
no  hope  of  mercy  on  any  side, — there 
is  no  petition, — nay,  there  is  no  wish 
for  mercy.  Even  the  plebeian  con- 
spirators have  too  much  Venetian 
blood  in  them  to  be  either  scared  by 
the  approach,  or  shaken  in  the  mo- 
ment of  death ;  and  as  for  the  Doge, 
he  bears  himself  as  becomes  a  warrior 
of  sixty  years,  and  a  deeply  insulted 
pri  nee.  A  t  the  moment,  however,  which 
immediately  precedes  the  pronouncing 
of  the  sentence,  admission  is  asked 
and  obtained,  by  one  from  whom  less 
of  the  Spartan  firmness  might  have 
been  expected.  This  is  Angiolina. 
She  indeed  hazards  one  fervent  prayer 
to  the  unbending  Senate ;  but  she  sees 
in  a  moment  that  it  is  in  vain,  and 
she  recovers  herself  on  the  instant; 
and  turning  to  her  lord,  who  stands 
calm  and  collected  at  the  foot  of  the 
council  table,  speaks  words  worthy  of 
him  and  of  herself.  Nothing  can  be 
more  unexpected,  or  more  beautiful 
than  the  behaviour  of  the  young  Pa- 
trician, who  interrupts  their  conver- 
sation. 

lien  intends.  Lady,  it  cannot  be. 

Aiiff.  (Ttn-n'uiff  to  the  Dope.)  Then  die, 

Faliero !  since  it  must  be  so  ; 
But  with  the  spirit  of  my  father's  friend. 
Thou  hast  been  guilty  of  a  great  offence, 
Ilalf-cancell'd  by  the  rashness  of  these  men. 
I  would  have  sued  to  them — have  pray'd 

to  them — 
Have  begg'd  as  famish'd  mendicants  for 

bread — 

Have  wept  as  they  will  cry  unto  their  God 
Formercy,andbeanswcr'd  as  they  answer — 
Had  it  been  fitting  for  thy  name  or  mine, 
And  if  the  cruelty  in  their  cold  eyes 
Had  not  announced  the  heartless    wrath 

within. 
Then,  as   a  prince,   address  thee  to  thy 

doom  ! 
Doge.   1  have  lived  too  long  not  to  know 

how  to  die  ! 
Thy   suing  to   these  men   were   but   the 

bleating 
Of  the  lamb  to  the  butcher,  or  the  cry 


CAP 


Of  seamen  to  the  surge  :  I  would  not  take 
A  life  eternal,  granted  at  the  hands 
Of  wretches,  from   whose  monstrous  vil- 
lainies 

I  sought  to  free  the  groaning  nations  ! 
Michel  Stciw.  Doge, 

A  word  with  thee,  and  with  this  noble  lady, 
Whom  I  have  grievously  offended.  Would 
Sorrow,  or  shame,  or  penance  on  my  part, 
Could  cancel  the  inexorable  past ! 
But  since  that  cannot  be,  as  Christians  let  us 
Say  farewell,  and  in  peace:  with  full 

contrition 
I  crave,  not  pardon,  but  compassion  from 

you, 
And  give,  however  weak,  my  prayers  for 

both. 
Aug.  Sage  Benin tende,  now  chief  judge 

of  Venice, 

I  speak  to  thee  in  answer  to  yon  signor. 
Inform  the  ribald  Stcno,  that  his  words 
Ne'er  weigh'd  in  mind  with  Loredano's 

daughter, 

Further  than  to  create  a  moment's  pity 
For  such  as  he  is :  would  that  others  had 
Despised  him  as  I  pity  !   I  prefer 
My  honour  to  a  thousand  lives,  could  such 
Be  multiplied  in  mine,  but  would  not  have 
A  single  life  of  others  lost  for  that 
Which  nothing  human  can  impugn — the 

sense 

Of  virtue,  looking  not  to  what  is  call'd 
A  good  name  for  reward,  but  to  itself. 
To  me  the  scorner's  wouis  were  as  the  wind 
Unto  the  rock  :  but  as  there  are,  alas  ! 
Spirits  more  sensitive,  on  which  such  things 
Light  as  the  whirlwind  on  the  waters ;  souls 
To  whom  dishonour's  shadow  is  a  substance 
More  terrible  than  death  here  and  hereafter ; 
Men  whose  vice  is  to  start  at  vice's  scoffing, 
And  who,  though  proof  against  all  bland- 
ishments 

Of  pleasure,  and  all  pangsof  pain,  are  feeble, 
When  the  proud  name  on  which  they  pinn- 

cled 
Their  hopes  is  breathed  on,  jealous  as  the 

eagle 

Of  her  high  aiery ;  let  what  we  now 
Behold,  and  feel,  and  suffer,  be  a  lesson 
To  wretches  how  they  tamper  in  their  spleen 
With  beings  of  a  higher  order.     Insects 
Have  made  the  lion  mad  ere  now  ;  a  shaft 
I'  the  heel  o'erthrew  the  bravest  of  the  brave ; 
A  wife's  dishonour  was  the  bane  of  Troy  ; 
A  wife's  dishonour  unking'd  Home  for  ever, 
An  injured  husband  brought  the  Gauls  to 

Clusium, 
And  thence  to  Rome,  which  perish'd  for  a 

time ; 

An  obscene  gesture  cost  Caligula 
His  life,  while  earth  yet  bore  his  cruelties  ; 
A  virgin's  wrong  made  Spain  a  Moorish 

province ; 
And  Steno's  lie,  couch'd  in  two  worthless 

lines, 

Hath  decimated  Venice,  put  in  peril 
A  senate  which  hath  MOI  •(  c'i;;ht  hundrol 

years. 


1821-3 


Lord  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 


Discrown'd  a  prince,  cut  off  his  crownless 

head, 

And  forged  new  fetters  for  a  groaning  peo- 
ple ! 

Let  the  poor  wretch,  like  to  the  Courtesan, 
Who  fired  Persepolis,  be  proud  of  this, 
If  it  so  please  him — 'twere  a  pride  fit  for 

him  ! 

But  let  him  not  insult  the  lost  hours  of 
Him,  who,  whate'er  he  now  is,  was  a  hero, 
J5y  tlie  intrusion  of  his  very  prayers  ; 
Notlung  of  good  can  come  from  such  a  source, 
Nor  would  we  aught  with  him,  nor  now, 

nor  ever : 

We  leave  him  to  himself,  that  lowest  depth 
Of  human  baseness.     Pardon  is  for  man, 
And  not  for  reptiles — we  ha  ve  n  on  e  for  S  teno, 
And  no  resentment :  things  like  him  must 

sting, 

And  higher  beings  suffer  ;  'tis  the  charter 
Of  life.    The  '.nan  who  dies  by  the  adder's 

fang 
May  have  the  crawler  crush'd,  but  feels  no 

anger : 
'Twas  the  worm's  nature  ;  and  some  men 

are  worms 
In  soul,  more  than  the  living  things  of 

tombs. 
Doge  (to  Benintende.)  Signer !  complete 

that  which  you  deem  your  duty, 
lit1 11.  Before  we  can  proceed  upon  that 

duty, 

We  would  request  the  Princess  to  withdraw, 
'Twill  move  her  too  much   to  be  witness 

to  it. 
Ang.  I  know  it  will,  and  yet  I  must  en. 

dure  it, 

For  'tis  a  part  of  mine  ;  I  will  not  quit, 
Except  by  force,  my  husband's  side.    Pro- 
ceed ! 
Nay,    fear  not  either  shriek,   or  sigh,  or 

tear ; 
Though  my  heart  burst,  it  shall  be  silent. 

Speak ! 
I  have  that  witliin  which  shall  o'ermaster 

all. 

The  sentence  is  pronounced ;  a  brief 
hour  is  permitted  for  the  last  devotions, 
and  then, — still  robedinhis  ducal  gown, 
and  wearing  thediadem,— precededwith 
all  the  pomp  of  his  station,  from  which 
lie  is  to  be  degraded  in  the  moment 
only  before  the  blow  be  struck, — Ma- 
rino Faliero  is  led  solemnly  to  the 
Giant's  stair-case,  at  the  summit  of 
which  he  had  been  crowned.  On  that 
spot  he  is  to  expiate  his  offence  against 
the  majesty  of  the  Venetian  state.  His 
wife  struggles  to  accompany  him  to 
the  dreadtul  spot,  but  she  faints,  and 
he  leaves  her  on  the  marble  pavement, 
forbidding  them  to  raise  her  until  all 
had  been  accomplished  with  himself. 

Lord  Byron  breaks  out  with  all  his 
power  in  the  curse  with  which  he 
makes  this  old  man  take  leave  of  the 


101 

scene  of  his  triumphs  and  his  sorrows. 
The  present  abject  condition  of  her 
that  "  once  did  hold  the  gorgeous  East 
in  fee" — the  barbarian  sway  under 
which  she  is  bowed  down  to  the  dust 
— the  profligacy  of  manners,  which 
ought  rather,  perhaps,  to  have  been 
represented  as  the  cause  than  the  con- 
sequence of  the  loss  of  Venetian  liberty ; 
— all  these  topics  are  handled — and 
handled  as  no  living  writer  but  Byron 
could  have  dared  to  handle  them.  We 
shall  quote  the  greater  part  of  the  pe- 
nult scene,  and  the  whole  of  the  last. 

Ben.  Hast  thou  more 
To  utter  or  to  do  ? 
Doge.  May  I  speak  ? 
lien.  Thou  may'st ; 
But  recollect  the  people  are  without, 
Beyond  the  compass  of  the  human  voice. 

Doge.  I  speak  to  Time  and  to  Eternity, 
Of  which  I  grow  a  portion,  not  to  man. 
Ye  elements  !  in  which  to  be  resolved 
I  hasten,  let  my  voice  be  as  a  spirit 
Upon  you  !  ye  blue  waves,  which  bore  my 

banner, 
Ye  winds  !  which  flutter'd  o'er,  as  if  you 

loved  it, 
And  fill'd  my  swelling  sails  as  they  were 

wafted 
To  many  a  triumph  !  Thou,  my  native 

earth, 
Which  I  have  bled  for,  and  thou  foreign 

earth, 
Which  drank  this  willing  blood  from  many 

a  wound  ! 
Ye  stones,  in  which  my  gore  will  not  sink, 

but 
Reek  up  to  Heaven  !  Ye  skies,  which  will 

receive  it ! 
Thou  sun  !  which  shinest  on  these  things, 

and  Thou  ! 
Who  kindlest,  and  who  quenchest  suns  ! 

attest  ! 

I  am  not  innocent — but  are  these  guiltless  ? 
I  perish,  but  not  unavenged  ;  far  ages 
Float  up  from  the  abyss  of  time  to  be, 
And  show  these  eyes,  before  they  close,  the 

doom 

Of  this  proud  city,  and  1  leave  my  curse 
On  her  and  hers  for  ever  ! — Yes,  the  hours 
Are  silently  engendering  of  the  day, 
When  she,  who  built  'gainst  Attila  a  bul- 
wark, 
Shall   yield,    and  bloodlessly,  and  basely 

yield 

Unto  a  bastard  Attila,  without 
Shedding  so  much  blood  in  her  last  defence 
As  these  old  veins,  oft  drain'd  in  shielding 

her, 

Shall  pour  in  sacrifice — She  shall  be  bought 
And  sold,  and  be  an  appanage  to  those 
Who  shall  despise  her  ! — She  shall  stoop  to 

be 

A  province  for  an  empire,  petty  town 
In  lieu  of  capital,  with  slaves  for  senates, 


102 


Beggars  for  nobles,  pandars  for  a  people  ; 
Then  when  the  Hebrew's  in  thy  palaces  — 
The  Hun  in  thy  high  places,  and  the  Greek 
Walks  o'er  thy  mart,  and  smiles  on  it  for 

his! 

When  thy  patricians  beg  their  bitter  bread 
In  narrow  streets,  and  in  their  shameful 

need 

Make  their  nobility  a  plea  for  pity  ! 
Then,  when  the  few  who  still  retain  a  wreck 
Of  their  great  father's  heritage  shall  fawn 
Round  a  barbarian  vice   of  king's  vice- 

gerent, 
Even  in  the  palace  where  they  sway'd  as 

sovereigns  — 
Even  in  the  palace  where  they  slew  their 

sovereign, 
Proud  of  some  name  they  have  disgraced, 

or  sprung 

From  an  adultress,  boastful  of  her  guilt, 
With  some  large  gondolier  or  foreign  sol- 

dier, 

Shall  bear  about  their  bastardy  in  triumph 
To  the  third  spurious  generation  ;  —  when 
Thy  sons  are  in  the  lowest  scale  of  being, 
Slaves  turn'd  o'er  to  the  vanquish'd  by  the 

victors, 

Despis'd  by  cowards  for  greater  cowardice, 
And  scorn'd  even  by  the  vicious  for  such 

vices 
As    in  the  monstrous  grasp  of  their  con- 

ception, 

Defy  all  codes  to  image  or  to  name  them  ; 
Then,  when  of  Cyprus,  now  thy  subject 

kingdom, 

All  thine  inheritance  shall  be  her  shame, 
Entail'd  on  thy  less  virtuous  daughters, 

grown 

A  wider  proverb  for  worse  prostitution  ; 
When  all  the  ills  of  conquer'd  states  shall 

cling  thee, 

Vice  without  splendour,  sin  without  relief, 
Even  from  the  gloss  of  love  to  smooth  it  o'er, 
But  in  its  stead  coarse  lusts  of  habitude, 
Prurient  yet  passionless,  cold  studied  lewd- 

ness, 

Depraving  nature's  frailty  to  an  art  ; 
When  these  and  more  are  heavy  on  thee, 

when 
Smiles  without  mirth,  and  pastimes  without 

pleasure, 

Youth  without  honour,  age  without  respect, 
Meanness  and  weakness,  and  a  sense  of 

woe 
'Gainst  which  thou   wilt  not   strive,  and 

dar'st  not  murmur, 
Have  made  thee  last  and  worst  of  peopled 

deserts, 

Then,  in  the  last  gasp  of  thine  agony, 
Amidst  thy  many  murders  think  of  mine  ! 
Thou  den  of  drunkards  with  the  blood  of 

princes  ! 

Gehenna  of  the  waters  !  thou  sea  Scdom  ! 
Thus  I  devote  thee  to  the  infernal  gods  ! 
Thee  and  thy  serpent  seed  ! 

(Heir  the  Doge  turns  and  addresses  the 
executioner.) 


Lord  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 

Slave,  do  thine  office  ! 
Strike  as  I  have  struck  the  foe  !  Strike  as 

I  would 
Have  struck  those  tyrants  !  strike  deep  as 

my  curse  ! 
Strike,  and  but  once. 

(The  Doge  throws  himself  upon  his 
knees,  und  as  the  executioner  raises 
his  sword  the  scene  closes.) 


SCENE  iv. —  The  Piazza  and  Piazzetta  of 
St  Mark's The  people  in  crowds  ga- 
thered round  the  grated  fates  of  the  Du- 
eul  Palace,  which  are  shut. 

First  Cit.   I  have  gain'd  the  gate,  and 

can  discern  the  Ten, 
Robed  in  their  gowns  of  state,  ranged  round 

the  Doge. 
Second  Cit.   I  cannot  reach  thee  with 

mine  utmost  effort. 

How  is  it  ?  let  us  hear  at  least,  since  sight 
Is  thus  prohibited  unto  the  people, 
Except  the  occupiers  of  those  bars. 

Firxt  Cit.  One  has  approach'd  the  Doge, 

and  now  they  strip 

The  Ducal  bonnet  from  Ms  head — and  now 
He  raises  his  keen  eyes  to  heaven  ;  I  see 
Them  glitter,  and  his  lips  move — Hush  ! 

hush  ! — no, 
'Twas  but  a  murmur — Curse  upon   the 

distance ! 

His  words  are  inarticulate,  but  the  voice 
Swells  up  like  mutter'd  thunder ;  would 

we  could 
But  gather  a  sole  sentence  ! 

Second  Cit.     Hush!   we  perhaps  may 

catch  the  sound. 

Fir.it  Cit.  'Tis  vain, 

I  cannot  hear  him — How  his  hoary  hair 
Streams  on  the  wind  like  foam  upon  the 

wave' ! 
Now — now — he    kneels — and    now    they 

form  a  circle 

Round  him,  and  all  is  hidden — but  I  see 
The  lifted  sword  in  air—Ah !  hark !  it  falls ! 
(The people  murmur. 
Third  Cit.   Then  they  have  murdered 

him,  who  would  have  freed  us. 
Fourth  Cit.  He  was  a  kind  man  to  the 

commons  ever. 
Fifth  Cit.  Wisely  they  did  to  keep  their 

portals  barr'd. 
Would  we  had  known  the  work  they  were 

preparing 
Ere  we  were  summon'd  here,    we  would 

have  brought 
Weapons,  and  forced  them  ! 

Si. i- fit  ('it.  Are  you  sure  he's  dead  ? 
Firxt  Ci{.     I  saw  the  sword  full— I  .o  ! 
what  have  we  here  ? 

Enter  on  the  balcony  of  the  Palaec 
which  fronts  St  Mark's  Place,  u 

CHIEF    OF    THE    TEN,    with  (I 

bloody  sword.  He  wares  it  thrice 
before  the  people,  mid  exclaims — 
"  Justice  hath  dealt  upon  the  mighty- 
traitor  !" 


1821.^ 


Lord  Byron's  Doge  of  Venice. 


(The  gates  are  opened  ;  the  popu- 
lace n<*li  hi  to-curdxtlie'-'-G  hmfs 
Staircase,"  where  the  execution 
lias  take u  place.  The  foremost 
of  them  ci  claims  to  those  behind, 

The  gory  head  rolls  down  the  "  Giant's 
Steps!" 

[The  curtain  falls. 

We  earnestly  advise  our  Edinburgh 
readers  who  have  not  yet  seen  the  pa- 
norama of  Venice,  at  present  exhibit- 
ed in  this  city,  to  go  forthwith  and 
see  it.  It  is  the  finest  piece  of  the 
kind  we  ever  saw — not  even  excepting 
the  finest  we  ever  saw,  that  of  Serin- 
gapatam.  It  places  the  spectator  at 
once  in  the  midst  of  all  the  moulder- 
ing but  yet  visible  magnificence  of  the 
"  Sea  Cybelle."  The  piazza  of  St  Mar- 
tin lies  at  your  feet,  all  surrounded 
with  the  finest  possible  ranges  of  old 
demi-Saracenic  architecture ;  the  walls 
of  every  edifice  blazing  with  tapestries 
and  banners  ;  every  window  full  of 
flowers ;  every  roof  crowded  with 
mimes  and  laughing  boys.  The  whole 
of  the  immense  area  below  shews  like 
the  beau  ideal  of  Vanity-fair.  There 
are  mountebanks,  apes,  buffoons,  pro- 
cessions, pimps,  scuffles,  merriment, 
gaudiness,  glitter  endless  and  bound- 
less. It  is  the  vain  affected  extrava- 
gance of  self-inflicted  degradation. 
Turn  to  the  blue  sea,  which  meets 
every  where  around  t)ie  embrace  of  the 
bright  Italian  heavens,  and  observe  the 


103 

Lion  of  St  Mark,  yet  floating  there 
against  the  sea  and  the  sky.  Turn  to 
the  old  church,  with  all  its  gilded  cu- 
polas, and  Mosaic-covered  walls,  and 
twisted  pillars,  and  oriental  windows ; 
and,  last  of  all,  turn  towards  the  two 
flag-staff's,  and  observe  between  them 
some  hundred  or  two  white-coated 
black-gaitered  Austrians,  drawn  up  to 
the  sound  of  fife  and  drum  by  the  side 
of  a  field-piece. — Look  at  this  beauti- 
ful picture,  and  then  read  once  again 
the  curse  of  the  Doge  Marino  Faliero. 
The  present  volume  contains  also 
"  The  Prophecy  of  Dante,"  of  which 
we  have,  at  this  moment,  no  time  to 
say  any  thing  more  than  that  it  seems 
to  be  quite  worthy  of  its  author,  so  far 
as  the  spirit  of  it  goes ;  but  that  it  by 
no  means  reconciles  our  ear  to  the  me- 
lody of  the  riina  terza  in  English. 
This,  however,  may  be  merely  the 
effect  of  its  novelty.  We  are  not,  in- 
deed, quite  sure  that  even  the  Lau- 
reate's attempt  to  introduce  the  an- 
cient hexameter  into  our  prosody, 
ought  to  be  entirely  reprobated.  We 
do  not  think,  that,  in  the  general,  Mr 
Southey  makes  quite  so  much  of  that 
measure  as  he  might  have  done  ;  but 
in  spite  of  all  the  extravagance  of 
"  The  Vision  of  Judgment,"  he  must 
be  no  very  worshipful  critic  who  has 
not  discovered  in  that  production  a 
great  deal  both  of  true  poetry  and  of 
delicious  versification, 


101  Works  Preparing  for  Publication. 

WORKS  PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 


LONDON. 


In  the  press,  and  speedily  will  be  publish- 
ed,  a  second  edition,  revised,  corrected,  and 
enlarged,  in  four  large  volumes  8vo.  illus- 
trated with  maps  and  numerous  fac-similes 
of  Biblical  MSS.  of  The  Introduction  to 
the  Critical  Study  and  Knowledge  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures.  By  Thomas  Hartwell 
Home,  M.  I),  author  of  the  Scripture  Doc- 
trine of  the  Trinity  Defended,  Deism  Re- 
futed, &c. 

Travels  through  Denmark,  Sweden,  Lap- 
land, Finland,  Norway,  and  Russia,  with 
a  description  of  the  City  of  St  Petersburgh, 
during  the  tyranny  of  the  Emperor  Paul. 
By  E.  D.  Clarke,  L.L.D.  being  the  sixth 
and  concluding  volume  of  the  author's 
Travels  in  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa. 

A  Reply  to  the  "  End  of  Religious  Con- 
troversy," by  Rev.  J.  Milner,  D.D.  Bi- 
shop of  Castabala,  from  the  pen  of  Rev. 
Richard  Grier,  A.M. 

Will  be  published  in  a  few  weeks,  A 
Historical  and  Topographical  Account  of 
Devonshire,  being  the  ninth  part  of  Mag- 
na  Britannia,  or  a  concise  account  of  the 
several  counties  of  Great  Britain  ;  by  Rev. 
Dan.  Lysons,  and  the  late  Samuel  Lysons, 
Esq. 

Elements  of  the  Science  of  Political  Eco- 
norr.y,  by  Mr  Mill,  author  of  the  History 
of  British  India. 

The  History  and  Antiquities  of  the 
Towerof  London ;  with  Biographical  Anec- 
dotes of  royal  and  distinguished  Persons ; 
by  John  Bayley,  Esq.  F.S.A.  of  the  Hon. 
Society  of  the  Inner  Temple,  and  his  Ma- 
jesty's Record  Office  in  the  Tower. — It 
will  be  illustrated  with  numerous  engra- 
vings, by  artists  of  the  first  eminence ;  and 
be  comprized  in  two  parts ;  the  first  of 
which  will  be  published  early  in  the  month 
of  May,  and  the  other  in  the  course  of  the 
present  year. 

In  the  course  of  the  month  will  be  pub- 
lished, a  Satirical  Novel,  entitled,  Money 
Raising ;  or  a  Day  in  Cork-street ;  contain- 
ing sketches  of  character,  and  original  let- 
ters. 

Observations  on  some  of  the  general 
Principles,  and  on  the  particular  Nature  and 
Treatment  of  the  different  Species  of  Inflam- 
mation ;  by  J.  H.  James,  surgeon  to  the 
Devon  and  Exeter  Hospital. 

Archbishop  King's  Sermon  on  Predesti- 
nation ;  a  new  edition,  with  notes ;  by  Rev. 
R.  Whalley,  Fellow  of  Oriel. 

Preparing  for  publication,  by  Rev.  Hugh 
Owen,  and  Rev.  J.  Blackeway,  a  History 
of  the  Town  of  Shrcwsbury,in  2  quarto  vols. ; 
with  numerous  antiquarian  illustrations. 

Observations  on  the  Diseases  of  Females. 
Part  II.  by  Charles  Mansfield  Clarke. 


Shortly  will  be  published,  the  first  num- 
ber of  Illustrations  of  Shakspeare,  engra- 
ved in  the  finest  style,  by  the  most  eminent 
historical  engravers,  from  pictures  painted 
expressly  for  this  work,  by  Robert  Smirke, 
Esq.  R.A. 

Mr  Thomas  Taylor  is  about  to  publish 
by  subscription,  in  one  volume,  Kvo.  lam- 
blichus  on  the  Alysteries  of  the  P^gyptians, 
Chaldeans,  and  Assyrians ;  being  the  most 
copious,  clearest,  and  most  satisfactory  de- 
fence of  the  theology  of  the  ancients. 

Mr  Partington,  of  the  London  Institu- 
tion, will  shortly  publish  a  work  on  Steam 
Engines,  comprising  a  description  of  this 
stupendous  machine,  in  all  its  varied  mo- 
difications ;  with  a  complete  analysis  of  the 
various  patents  connected  with  this  branch 
of  mechanics  to  the  present  time. 

Another  work  on  Steam  Engines  and 
Steam-boats,  by  Mr  John  Farey,  junior, 
illustrated  with  numerous  engravings,  by 
Lowrie,  is  in  a  state  of  great  forwardness. 

The  Legend  of  Argyle,  a  novel,  in  3  vols. 
12mo. 

The  Hall  of  Hellingsby,  a  tale  in  2  vols. ; 
by  the  author  of  Mary  de  Clifford,  Arthur 
Fitz-Albini,  &c.  &c. 

A  Treatise  on  the  Epidemic  Cholera  of 
India;  by  James  Boyle,  surgeon  of  his 
Majesty  ship  Minden. 

Preparing  for  publication  by  Mr  Ed- 
ward Blaquiere,  Letters  from  Spain,  con- 
taining an  account  of  the  past  and  present 
condition  of  the  Peninsula;  observations 
on  public  character,  literature,  manners, 
&c. 

Sermons  on  important  subjects,  by  T. 
L.  O'Beime,  D.D.  Bishop  of  Meath. 

A  Treatise  on  Indigestion,  by  A.  P.  W. 
Philip,  M.D.  is  nearly  ready  for  publica- 
tion. 

Memoirs  of  die  Carbonari,  and  of  the 
Secret  Societies  of  the  South  of  Italy ;  with 
Biographical  Memoirs  of  several  Persons 
who  have  lately  distinguished  themselves 
in  the  revolutions  of  that  kingdom ;  with  an 
appendix  of  original  documents.  Illustrated 
with  portraits  and  other  interesting  plates. 

Mr  Elmes  has  issued  proposals  for  pub- 
lishing by  subscription,  Memoirs  of  the 
Life  and  Works  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren, 
with  a  view  of  the  Progress  of  Architecture 
in  England,  from  the  beginning  of  the 
reign  of  Charles  I.  to  the  end  of  the  seven- 
teenth century. 

A  Treatise  on  Acupuncturation,  being  a 
description  of  a  surgical  operation,  original- 
ly peculiar  to  the  Japanese  and  Chinese, 
now  introduced  into  European  practice, 
with  cases  illustrating  the  success  of  the 
operation,  by  Mr  J.  M.  Churchill. 


Works  Preparing  for  Publication. 


Dr  Forbes  of  Penzance  is  preparing  for 
publication,  a  Translation  of  M.  Laennec's 
work,  on  die  Pathology  and  Diagnosis  of 
the  Diseases  of  the  Chest 

The  Theory  of  Topographical  Plan- 
Drawing  and  Surveying ;  or,  Guide  to  the 
just  Conception  and  accurate  Representation 
of  the  Surface  of  the  Earth,  in  maps  and 
plans ;  by  J.  G.  Lehmann,  Major  in  the 
Saxon  Infantry.  Published  and  illustrated 
by  G.  A.  Fischer,  Professor  at  the  Saxon 
Royal  Academy,  and  translated  from  the 
original  German  ;  by  William  Siborn, 
lieutenant,  H.P.  9th  infantry,  with  seven- 
teen plates,  engraved  by  Lowry. 

Mr  Woolnoth  is  preparing  for  publica- 
tion, a  Series  of  views  of  our  ancient  Castles, 
to  be  engraved  from  drawings  by  Arnold, 
Fielding,  &c.  with  descriptions,  by  E.  W. 
Brayley,  jun. 

The  fifth  volume  of  the  Personal  Narra- 
tive of  M.  de  Humboldt's  Travels  to  the 
Equinoctial  Regions  of  the  new  Continent, 
during  the  years  I?!)!)- 1804,  translated  by 
Helen  Maria  Williams,  under  the  imme- 
diate inspection  of  the  author. 

A  View  of  the  Structure,  Functions,  and 
Disorders  of  the  Stomach,  and  Alimentary 
Organs  of  the  Human  Body,  with  remarks 
on  the  qualities  and  effects  of  food  and 
fermented  liquors;  by  Thomas  Hare,  F.L.S. 

In  the  press,  Correlative  Claims  and 
Duties ;  or,  an  Essay  on  the  Necessity  of  a 
Church  Establishment,  and  the  means  of 
exciting  among  its  members  a  spirit  of  de- 
votion, to  which  the  Society  for  Promoting 
Christian  Knowledge  and  Church  Union,  in 
the  diocese  of  St  David's,  adjudged  a  pre- 
mium of  £50  in  December  1820 ;  by  Rev. 
S.  C.  Wilks,  A.M. 

Shortly  will  be  published  by  Mr  Wilson, 
teacher  of  dancing,  (from  the  King's  Thea- 
tre,) an  Essay  on  Deportment,  chiefly  re- 
lating to  the  person  in  dancing. 

Principles  of  the  Bankrupt  Law ;  by 
Archibald  Cullen,  Esq.  Second  Edition,  in 
2  vols.  (!vo.  with  great  Alterations  and  Ad- 
ditions down  to  the  time  of  Publication. 
The  Second  Volume  will  contain  the  Sta- 
tutes, General  Orders,  Forms,  and  Matters 
of  Practice. 

An  Elementary  Treatise  on  the  Theory 
of  Equations  of  the  Higher  Orders  ;  and 
on  the  Summation  and  Revertion  of  Alge- 
braic Series ;  by  the  Rev.  B.  Bridge,  in  1 
vol.  ovo. 

A   Second   Edition   of  M.    Lavaysse's  - 
Work  (edited  by  Edward  Blaquiere,  Esq.) 
on  Venezuela,  New  Granada,  Tobago  and 
Trinidad,  is  also  in  the  press. 


105 

Doctor  Wood,  Author  of  the  Prize  Es- 
say on  Irish  History  and  Antiquities,  pub- 
lished in  the  thirteenth  volume  of  the 
Transactions  of  the  Royal  Irish  Academy, 
has  now  in  the  press,  a  work,  entitled  "  An 
Inquiry  concerning  the  Primitive  Inhabi- 
tants of  Ireland,"  which  is  expected  to  ap- 
pear on  the  1st  of  May,  in  1  vol.  8vo.  il- 
lustrated with  a  curious  Map,  containing 
the  local  situations  of  the  tribes  of  Ireland 
in  the  second  century — partly  Ptolemy's, 
and  partly  the  Author's.  There  will  be 
a  dissertation  proving  the  authenticity  of 
Ptolemy's  Map.  From  the  talents,  re- 
search, acute  reasoning,  and  antiquarian 
knowledge  displayed  by  the  learned  author 
in  his  Prize  Essay,  we  are  led  to  expect  a 
faithful  history  of  Ireland,  abounding  with 
curious  and  interesting  matter  relative  to 
its  antiquities,  and  the  degree  of  civiliza- 
tion, manners  and  customs,of  its  primitive 
inhabitants.  The  Work  will  be  brought 
down  to  the  close  of  the  twelfth  century. 

A  Volume  of  Original  Poetry  is  in  the 
press,  and  will  speedily  appear  in  a  hand- 
some form,  comprising  "  Ismael,  or  the 
Arab,  an  Oriental  Romance,  Sketches  of 
Scenery,  Foreign  and  Domestic,  with  other 
Poems ;"  by  the  author  of  the  novel  of 
"  I/ochiel,  or  the  Field  of  Culloden." 

Preparing  for  immediate  Publication,  a 
Series  of  Portraits,  illustrative  of  the  No- 
vels and  Tales  of  the  Author  of  Waverley, 
&c.  The  whole  will  be  engraved  in  the 
most  highly  finished  manner,  from  Draw- 
ings made  expressly  for  the  purpose,  from 
the  most  authentic  originals. 

Memoirs  of  the  Revolution  of  Mexico, 
with  a  Narrative  of  the  Campaign  of  Ge- 
neral Mina,  Anecdotes  of  his  Life,  and  Ob- 
servations on  the  Practicability  of  connect- 
ing the  Pacific  with  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  by 
means  of  Navigable  Canals ;  by  W.  D. 
Robinson,  2  vols.  8vo. 

Saul,  a  Tragedy ;  translated  from  the 
Italian  of  Count  Victorio  Alfieri  ;  and 
Jephtha ;  a  Scriptural  Drama ;  by  a  Lady. 
Notes  and  Illustrations  to  "  The  Life  of 
Lorenzo  de  Medici,"  Including  a  Vindica- 
tion of  the  Author's  Character  against  the 
Criticisms  and  Misrepresentations  of  several 
Writers  who  have  noticed  that  Work,  and 
accompanied  by  original  Documents ;  by 
William  Roscoe,  Esq.  In  1  vol.  8vo. 

Sermons ;  by  Edward  Maltby,  D.  D. 
Volume  2d.  8vo. 

Shortly  will  be  published,  the  Expeid- 
tion  of  Orgua,  and  Crimes  of  Lope  de 
Aguirre;  by  Dr  Southey. 


106 


Works  preparing  for  Publication. 
EDINBURGH. 


CApril, 


Annals  of  the  Parish  ;  or,  the  Chronicles 
of  Dalmailing,  during  the  Ministry  of  the 
Rev.  Minvh  Balwhidder ;  written  by  him- 
self. Arranged  and  Edited  by  the  Author 
of  "  The  Ayrshire  Legatees,"  &c.  in  1  vol. 
1 2mo. 

Mr  Moffat  is  preparing  for  the  press  a 
Volume  of  Poems,  containing,  among 


others,  Christina's  Revenge,  or  the  Fate  of 
Monaldeschi,  which  will  be  published  in  a 
short  time. 

The  Supplement  to  the  llliad,  in  14 
Books,  by  Quintus  Smyrneus,  translated 
from  the  Greek,  by  Alexander  Dyce,  A.  B. 
with  Illustrative  Notes  and  a  Preface. 


MONTHLY  LIST  OF  NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 
LONDON. 


AGRICULTURE. 

An  Essay  on  Soils,  and  Composts,  and 
the  Propagation  and  Culture  of  Ornamen- 
tal Trees,  Shrubs,  and  Flowers;  by  T. 
Haynes,  nurseryman,  Oundle,  Northamp- 
ton, 12mo.  5s. 

ANTIQUITIES. 

Index  Monasticus ;  or,  Abbeys  and  other 
Monasteries,  Alien  Priories,  Friaries,  &c. 
formerly  established  in  the  diocese  of  Nor- 
wich, and  the  ancient  kingdom  of  East 
Anglia ;  by  Richard  Taylor  of  Norwich. 
Folio.  £3,  3s. 

Views  of  the  Remains  of  Ancient  Build- 
ings in  Rome  and  its  vicinity,  with  a  descrip- 
tive and  historical  account  of  each  subject; 
by  M.  Dubourg.  1  Vol.  Adas  4to.  half 
bound,  engraved  on  26  plates,  and  beauti- 
fully coloured,  to  imitate  drawings.  £?, 
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The  Topography  of  Athens,  with  some 
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Leake ;  with  maps  and  plates ;  the  latter 
from  the  drawings  of  C.  Cockerell,  Esq. 
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Hints  on  an  Improved  Mode  of  Build- 
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The  Architect  and  Antiquary's  Club, 
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Principles  of  Design  in  Architecture, 
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Books  for  1821-22.  Part  I. 

Bossange'sCatalogueRaisonneof  French, 
Italian,  and  Spanish  books,  4s. 


BIOGRAPHY. 

Memoirs  of  Rev.  Mark  Wilks,  late  of 
Norwich,  by  Sarah  Wilks,  with  a  Portrait, 
Ilium.  7s. 

Life  of  the  Duke  de  Berri ;  by  M.  Cha- 
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Right  Rev.  Brian  Walton,  D.D.  Lord  Bi- 
shop of  Chester,  editor  of  the  London  Poly- 
glott  Bible;  by  Rev.  H.  I.  Todd,  M.A. 
8vo.  2  voLs.  i'l,  Is. 

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portrait,  8vo.  10s.  fid. 

Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  the  Right  Hon. 
William  Pitt ;  by  George  Tomline,  D.D. 
Bishop  of  Winchester,  4to.  vols.  1,  2. 

DRAMA. 

The'rese,  the  Orphan  of  Geneva.    Is.  fid. 

Dramatic  Works  of  Hon.  R.  B.  Sheri- 
dan, with  a  Preface  by  Thomas  Moore, 
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Hamlet,  and  As  You  Like  It ;  a  speci- 
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Grammatical  Studies  in  the  Latin  and 
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An  Italian  Translation  of  Mad  Cottin's 
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The  Pastorals  of  Virgil,  with  a  course  of 
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18210 

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us.  Gd. 

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High  Birth,  a  Satire,  in  imitation  of  Ju- 
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Machin  ;  or,  the  Discovery  of  Madeira, 
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Aonian  Hours  ;  by  J.  H.  Wiffen.  Se- 
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Two  Letters  to  the  Earl  of  Liverpool  on 
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Monthly  List  of  New  Publications.  107 

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9s. 

Thoughts  on  the  Criminal  Prisons  of  this 
Country  ;  by  George  Holford,  Esq.  M.  P. 
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A  Letter  to  Mr  Whitbread,  M.  P.  on 
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the  Bible,  and  confirmed  from  quotations 
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The  Liturgy  of  the  Church  of  England 
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tions ;  by  Gamaliel  Smith,  Esq.  Price  Is. 

VOYAGES  AND  TRAVELS. 

Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy,  from 
the  Emperor  of  China,  Kang  Hee,  to  the 
Khan  of  Tourgouth  Tartars,  in  1712-15  ; 
by  the  Chinese  Ambassador.  Translated 
from  the  original  Chinese,  with  an  Appen- 


influence  on  the  Manufactures,  Trade,  and     dix,  &c. ;  by  Sir  G.  T.  Staunton,  writer, 
Commerce  of  the  United  Kingdom  ;  with    'L.  L.  D.  F.  R.  S.  ftvo.  with  a  Map.     18s. 
Observations   on  Cash  Payments,   and  a 
Free  Trade ;  by  Lord  Stourton,  8vo.     3s. 


Letters  to  Mr  Malthus  on  several  Sub- 
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on  the  Cause  of  General  Stagnation  of 
Commerce,  translated  from  the  French  of 
J .  B.  Say  ;  by  John  Richer,  Esq.  8vo.  Gs. 

Conversations  on  Political  Economy,  in 
a  Series  of  Dialogues ;  by  J.  Pinsent.  3s.  Gd. 

An  Essay  on  the  Political  Economy  of 


Belzoni's  Narrative  of  Operations  and 
Discoveries  in  Egypt.  Second  edition,  with 
an  Appendix  and  Map,  4to.  ,£2,  5s. 

The  Appendix  to  First  Edition  sold  se- 
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Journal  of  New  Voyages  and  Travels  ; 
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Denmark,  Sweden,  and  Norway,  and  a  Vi- 
sit to  Madras  in  the  Year  1811.  3s.  Gd. 


VOL.  IX. 


N  2 


Munthli)  List  <>j'  New  Publications. 


108 

II  I'ugutelio,  intended  to  facilitate  the 
study  of  Italian  to  young  beginners  ;  by  E. 
llcallc,  12nio.  Ms. 

ri.VE  ARTS. 

A  Picturesque  Tour  of  the  Sienne,  from 
Paris  to  the  Sea;  No.  I.  and  II.  each  il- 
lustrated by  four  highly  coloured  engra- 
vings, elephant  4 to.  14s.  each. 

Picturesque  Delineations  of  the  Southern 
Coast  of  England,  containing  views  of  Lul- 
worth  Castle,  Torbay,  Minehead,  &c. ;  by 
M.  and  G.  Cooke  ;  Part  XL 

Twelve  Plates  of  Birds,  designed  for  the 
use  of  the  Artist,  Connoisseur,  and  Natu- 
ralist, demy  fol.  us.  Gd. 

HISTORY. 

Historical  Memoirs  of  the  English,  Irish, 
and  Scottish  Catholics ;  by  Charles  Butler, 
Esq.  Vols.  .'J,  4,  8vo.  £1,  10s. 

An  Essay  on  the  History  of  the  English 
Government  and  Constitution,  from  the 
Reign  of  Henry  VII.  to  the  Present  Time ; 
by  Lord  John  Ilussell.  Post,  8vo. 

Memoirs,  by  James  Earl  Waldegrave, 
K.  G.  one  of  his  Majesty's  Privy  Council 
in  the  reign  of  George  II.  and  Governor  of 
George  III.  when  Prince  of  Wales,  being 
a  short  Account  of  Political  Contentions, 
Party  Quarrels,  and  Events  of  Consequence 
from  17*>4  to  1757 ;  with  a  Portrait,  1  vol. 
small  4to.  £1,  5s. 

A  Narrative  of  the  Campaigns  of  the 
British  Army  at  Washington  and  New  Or- 
leans, in  1814-15  ;  by  an  Officer.  8vo.  12s. 
HORTICULTURE. 

Horticultural  Transactions.  Vol.  IV. 
Part  2.  £1,  10s. 

LAW. 

•  An  Analytical  Digest  of  the  Reports  of 
Cases  decided  in  the  Courts  of  Common 
Law  and  Equity  of  Appeal  at  Nisi  Prius, 
in  1820  ;  by  H.  Jeremy,  Esq.  8vo.  9s. 

The  Magistrates'  Memoranda ;  or  Re- 
gister for  Applications  relative  to  the  Du- 
ties of  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  4to.  4s. 
.  A  Treatise  on  the  Pleadings  in  Suits  for 
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R.  Lloyd's  New  Table  of  Costs  in  Par- 
liament, in  Chancery,  and  in  the  Exche- 
quer, 8vo.  14s. 

A  Treatise  on  the  Law  relative  to  the 
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Long,  Esq.  8vo.  13s. 

R.  II.  Coote's  Treatise  on  the  Law  of 
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Corny n's  Treatise  on  the  Law  of  Land- 
lord and  Tenant,  8vo.  £1,  3s. 

A  Treatise  on  the  Law  of  Injunctions ; 
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A  Dissertation,  shewing  that  the  House 
.of  Lords,  in  Cases  of  Judicature,  are  bound 
by  the  same  Rules  ol  Evidence  that  are  ob- 
served in  other  Courts ;  by  Professor  Chris- 
.  tian,  8vo.     Gs. 

MEDICINE. 

Peptic  Precepts  ;  pointing  out  Methods 


£  April, 


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Monthly  Journal  of  Popular  Medicine  ; 
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after  the  manner  of  Dean  Swift ;  by  a  Phy- 
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A  Treatise  on  Cataract,  intended  to  de- 
termine the  Operations  required  by  diffe- 
rent forms  of  that  Disease,  on  Physiologi- 
cal Principles  ;  by  P.  C.  Delagarde,  Mem- 
bur  of  the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons,  8vo. 
8s. 

MISCELLANIES. 

Letter  to****  *****on  Rev.  W. 
L.  Bowles's  Strictures  on  the  Life  and  Wri- 
tings of  Pope ;  by  Lord  Byron,  8vo.  3s.  Gd. 

Table  Talk ;  or,  Original  Essays ;  by 
William  Hazlitt,  8vo.  14s. 

Stockdale's  Calendar  for  1821  ;  with  a 
Peerage,  corrected  to  the  present  time.  £1 , 
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On  the  Beauties,  Harmonies,  and  Su- 
blimities of  Nature  ;  by  Charles  Bucke, 
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The  Tradesman's,  Merchant's,  and  Ac- 
countant's Assistant ;  by  David  Booth, 
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An  Essay  on  Dry  Rot,  and  Forest  Trees  ; 
by  Robert  M 'William:  £1,  lls.  Gd. 

The  Etonian,  No.  VI.     2s. 

The  Cadet's  Guide  to  India.     2s.  Gd. 

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Transactions  of  the  Cambridge  Philoso- 
phical Society,  vol.  1.  4to.  £1. 
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Helen  de  Tournon ;  by  Madame  de  Sou- 
za,  translated  from  the  French,  2  vols. 
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The  Life  and  Adventures  of  Guzmand 
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Sir  Francis  Darrell ;  or,  the  Vortex  ;  by 
R.  C.  Dallas,  Esq.  4  vols.  12mo.  £1,  8s. 

POETRY. 

The  Doge  of  Venice,  a  Historical  Tra- 
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ron, 8vo.  12s. 

The  Belvidere Apollo,  Fazio,  a  Tragedy, 
and  other  Poems ;  by  Rev.  II.  Milman, 
8v6.  8s,  Gd. 


1821.3 


Mbnthly  List  of  New  Publications. 


A  Narrative  of  Travels  from  Tripoli  to 
M ourzoak,  the  Capital  of  Fezzan,  and  thence 
to  the  Southern  extremity  of  that  Kingdom ; 


109 


by  George  P.  Lyon,  Captain  R.  N.  4to. 
with  a  Map  and  17  Coloured  Plates,  £3, 
3s. 


EDINBURGH. 


Valerius,  a  Roman  Story,  3  vols.  12mo. 
£1,  4s. 

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lantic  Ocean ;  by  J.  M'Queen.  8vo.  10s.  6d. 
Lectures  on  the  History  of  the  Week  of 
the  Passion  of  our  Blessed  Lord  and  Savi- 
our Jesus  Christ.  By  Daniel  Sandford, 
D.D.  one  of  the  Bishops  of  the  Scotch 
Episcopal  Church,  and  formerly  Student  of 
Christ's  Church  Oxford,  12mo.  7s- 

Commentaries  on  the  Laws  of  Scotland, 
and  on  the  Principles  of  Mercantile  Juris- 
prudence ;  by  George  Joseph  Bell,  Esq. 
advocate ;  in  two  large  vols.  4to.  Price 
.£5,  5s.  in  boards.  The  4th  edition,  greatly 
enlarged. 

Remarks  on  some  Fundamental  Doc- 
trines in  Political  Economy,  Illustrated  by 
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of  Britain  since  the  year  1815;  by  John 
Craig,  Esq.  F.R.S.E.  author  of"  Elements 
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Edinburgh  Christian  Instructor  for  April, 
No.  CXXIX. 

Edinburgh  Monthly  Review  for  May, 
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Edinburgh  Philosophical  Journal,  con- 
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The  Novels  and  Tales  of  the  Author  of 
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Observations  on  Derangements  of  the 
Digestive  Organs,  and  some  Views  of  their 
Connection  with  local  Complaints;  by 
William  Law,  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Col- 
lege of  Surgeons  of  Edinburgh,  8vo.  6s. 

A  System  of  Universal  Geography,  by 
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A  New  Plan  of  Edinburgh  and  its  En- 
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perial sheet  of  drawing  paper,  price  5s. 

Summary  of  the  Law  of  Scotland,  by 
way  of  question  and  answer.  Part  II. 
8vo.  5s.  (id. 

VOL.  IX. 


The  Sabbath ;  with  Sabbath  Walks  and 
other  poem»,  by  James  Graham,  ninth  edi- 
tion, with  Life,  small  8vo.  6s. 

Procedure  in  the  House  of  Lords  upon 
Appeals  from  Scotland,comprising  theForms 
and  Regulations  to  be  observed  by  Scottish 
Agents  ;  with  an  Appendix,  containing  the 
Standing  Orders  of  the  House,  Table  of 
Fees,  &c.  8vo.  5s.  6d. 

Remarks  on  the  Internal  Evidence  for 
the  Truth  of  Revealed  Religion ;  by  Tho- 
mas Erskine,  Esq.  advocate,  12mo.  3s.  (id. 
The  Life  of  John  Drouthy,  an  Edin- 
burgh coal  carter  ;  in  which  is  contained  a 
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Imperial  School  Atlas,  containing  dis- 
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Vindication  of  the  "  Clanronald  of  Glen- 
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coloured. 


Monthly  List  of  New  Publications* 


110 

A  Pronouncing  Geographical  Vocabu- 
lary, by  the  llev.  Thomas*  Nelson,  12mo. 
(kl. 

Hero  and  Leander,  a  Tale  of  Love; 
translated  from  the  Greek  of  the  ancient 
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MONTHLY  EEGISTEK. 


COMMERCIAL  REPORT.— 9tfi  April,  1821. 

Sugar.— The  demand  for  sugar  has  continued  very  steady,  and  prices  rather  on  the 
advance  for  finer  qualities.  The  descriptions  suited  for  refining  are  scarce,  and  much 
wanted.  The  demand  for  foreign  sugars  has  been  dull ;  but  the  prices  have  not  mate- 
rially given  way.  The  spring  trade  has  not  now  the  same  effect  upon  the  sugar  mar- 
ket that  it  formerly  had,  as  the  demand  from  this  country  is  greatly  lessened  from  the 
direct  trade  carried  on  between  European  continental  ports,  and  the  colonies  of  foreign 
powers.  As  new  sugars  may  soon  be  expected  in  the  market,  the  price  is  not  likely  to 
improve.  Cotton — During  the  latter  end  of  last  month  the  demand  for  cotton  was  ex- 
tremely brisk,  the  sales  extensive,  and  at  an  advance  on  price.  The  demand  has,  how- 
ever, again  subsided ;  but  the  prices  remain  nearly  stationary.  It  does  not  appear  whe- 
ther the  demand  was  occasioned  by  speculation,  from  the  exceeding  low  prices,  or  from 
the  real  wants  of  the  trade.  The  quantity  of  cotton  which  continues  to  be  imported 
into  Liverpool  is  astonishingly  great,  and  is  so  adequate  for  even  the  increased  consumpt, 
that  we  cannot  see  room  for  any  material  improvement  in  this  article.  Coffee — The  de- 
mand for  sofiee  continues  very  flat,  and  the  prices  rather  on  the  decline.  The  quantity 
of  coffee  that  is  now  imported  direct  into  various  ports  of  Continental  Europe  is  so  great 
as  to  take  away,  in  a  great  measure,  the  trade  from  the  merchants  of  Great  Britain  ;  nor 
is  there  any  hope  or  prospect  of  obtaining  the  command  of  that  trade  again.  Rum. — 
The  demand  for  rum  continues  extremely  dull,  and  prices  are  sunk  to  a  rate  which  is 
altogether  ruinous  to  the  planter  and  importer..  In  Pimento  there  has  been  an  increased 
demand,  from  the  scarcity  of  the  article.  Flax-seed  lias  declined  in  price.  Oils  remain 
nearly  stationary.  Tobacco  has  been  rather  in  more  request,  but  the  prices  are  rather 
declined.  Some  business  has  been  done  in  Quercitron  bark.  The  market  for  Fruit  is 
very  heavy.  On  Bohea  and  low  Congou  teas  there  has  been  a  small  advance.  The 
silk  market  remains  steady,  and  prices  of  some  kinds  a  shade  higher.  A  great  and  ra- 
pid advance  has  taken  place  on  the  prices  of  spirits  of  turpentine,  in  consequence  of  the 
very  small  stock.  The  Corn  Market  remains  dull.  Bonded  wheat  and  American  flou^ 
are  in  more  demand,  and  a  trifling  advance  has  taken  place  in  prices  accordingly. 


1 821  -3  Register. — Commercial  Report.  Ill 

There  is  very  little  demand  for  Rice.  Ashes  are  dull,  and  very  little  business  doing. 
Hides  are  without  alteration.  Regarding  other  articles  of  commerce  no  particular  re- 
mark  is  necessary. 

The  commencement  of  the  year  1820  saw  the  trade  of  the  British  Empire  in  an  un- 
precedented state  of  languor  and  depression.  'Since  that  period  it  has  been  slowly,  but 
gradually,  recovering  its  prosperity.  Towards  the  latter  end  of  the  year  a  very  consider- 
able  improvement  had  taken  place  in  the  chief  manufacturing  districts,  though,  in  other 
branches,  less  activity  and  improvement  was  evinced.  The  business,  however,  transacted 
was  done  upon  low  terms,  and  at  no  adequate  profit  to  the  capitalist.  The  demand  gra- 
dually extending,  and  the  price  of  the  raw  material  getting  more  into  a  settled  state,  af- 
forded prospects,  for  the  future,  more  cheering  than  had  for  a  long  time  taken  place.  The 
condition  of  the  labouring  manufacturer,  and  several  of  the  mechanical  branches  of  trade, 
were  greatly  improved.  Work  was  abundant,  and  the  rise  of  wages  very  considerable  ; 
in  some  instances  doubled,  and  in  others  much  more.  Provisions,  also,  were  to  be  had 
at  an  unusually  low  rate,  which  rendered  the  situation  of  the  labouring  poor  very  differ- 
ent indeed  at  the  end  of  1820  to  what  it  was  at  the  beginning,  and  during  the  previous 
year.  On  the  other  hand,  the  agricultural  interests  suffered  most  severely  during  the 
year  that  is  past ;  nor  are  then-  sufferings  in  any  degree  removed.  The  evils  which 
lighted  upon  the  manufacturing  and  commercial  world,  in  1819,  were  felt,  in  their  full 
force,  by  the  agricultural  part  of  the  community,  in  1820.  The  farmer  could  obtain  no 
adequate  price  for  his  produce,  and  the  landlord,  accordingly,  found  the  payment  of  his 
rents  could  only  be  obtained  from  the  farmer  who  had  accumulated  a  capital  from  the 
profits  of  more  fortunate  years.  The  revival,  however,  of  foreign  commerce  has  given  a 
stimulus  to  the  manufacturing  interest,  which  will  be  gradually  felt  by  the  agricultural ; 
and  we  have  no  doubt  but  the  year  1821  will  see  the  greater  part  of  their  distresses  re- 
moved, and  open  up  a  more  cheering  prospect  for  the  future.  The  wise  and  energetic 
measures  of  the  executive  Government  have  tended  to  silence  that  factious  spirit  which 
stalked  abroad,  spreading  discontent  and  disaffection  amongst  the  population,  and  aggra- 
vating thereby  all  our  distresses ;  and,  it  may  now  be  presumed,  that  Reason  will  re- 
sume her  empire  over  the  public  mind,  and  quietness,  peace,  and  prosperity  spread  over 
the  kingdom. 

The  trade,  in  general,  between  this  country  and  Continental  Europe  has  been  languid 
and  unprofitable.  This  proceeds  chiefly  from  the  inability  of  the  population  to  purchase 
any  thing  but  what  their  immediate  and  absolute  wants  require,  but  more  particularly 
from  the  encouragement  which  each  country  gives  to  its  internal  manufactures,  and  the 
direct  communication  which  is  opened  up  between  all  these  countries  and  other  foreign  states 
and  foreign  colonies.  This  has  deprived  Great  Britain  of  a  very  large  proportion  of  the 
trade  in  colonial  produce,  and  the  returns  for  the  same  for  the  supply  of  the  colonial  pos- 
sessions of  foreign  powers,  which  formerly  came  through  her  hands.  Thus  from  Peters- 
burgh,  and  Hamburgh,  and  other  places,  a  direct  trade  is  carried  on  with  South  Ame- 
rica, the  Spanish  colonies,  and  other  places,  which  trade  some  years  ago  was  to  them  un- 
known. The  Continental  states  derive  great  and  immediate  advantages  from  this  com- 
merce, as  they  not  only  obtain  the  produce  of  those  places  at  a  cheaper  rate,  but  the  ex- 
ports of  their  own  productions  are  greatly  increased.  This  is  remarkably  the  case  in 
Russia,  where,  it  appears,  that  under  the  New  Tariff,  the  exports  of  the  produce  of  the 
Russian  soil  and  Russian  industry  is  doubled,  and,  in  some  instances,  almost  trebled,  in 
one  year.  The  greater  part  of  the  trade  in  question  was  formerly  in  British  hands.  We 
cannot  justly  complain  of  the  loss,  as  it  is  quite  reasonable  and  natural  to  expect  that 
these  powers  will  look  to  the  interests  of  their  own  subjects  in  preference  to  the  interests 
of  other  countries,  however  friendly  the  relations  may  be  which  subsist  betwixt  them. 

Considerable  anxiety  has  existed  in  the  public  mind,  for  some  time  past,  upon  the  ru- 
mour that  the  trade  with  France  was  to  undergo  some  alterations,  and  to  be  established 
upon  a  more  liberal  scale  by  both  governments.  This,  however,  will  prove  a  matter  of 
the  greatest  difficulty,  as  it  involves  so  many  interests,  while,  at  the  same  time,  the 
French  nation  are  extremely  jealous  on  that  point.  Whatever  proposals  may  be  made 
for  a  more  liberal  system,  must,  we  are  persuaded,  come  from  the  French  government  in 
the  first  instance.  To  originate  with,  and  to  be  proposed  by  the  British  government, 
would  be  sufficient  to  insure  the  rejection  of  every  proposal  that  could  be  made.  Great 
expectations  have  been  formed,  and  held  out  to  result  from  the  opening  of  such  a  trade, 
but  we  confess  we  hold  a  different  opinion,  and  are  convinced  that  we  should  take  more 
of  the  finer  manufactures  of  France  than  France  would  take  of  our  finer  cotton  manu  • 
factures  in  return,  thereby  throwing  the  balance  of  trade,  into  the  scale  against  us. 

For  some  years  our  trade  with  the  Mediterranean  has  been  greatly  embarrassed.  The 
reason  of  that  is  very  obvious.  Upon  the  return  of  a  general  peace,  the  French  nation 
resumed  their  usual  trade  in  that  quarter,  which  the  nature  of  the  tremendous  contest,  so 
long  carried  on,  had  almost  annihilated.  In  many  places  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediter- 


112  Register.—-  Commercial  Report.  £  April, 

ranean  the  manufactures  of  France  are  preferred  to  ours.  Before  the  revolutionary  war 
commenced,  the  French  trade  up  the  Mediterranean  was  as  follows,  viz.  :— 

Exports.  Imports. 

To  Morocco,    . 400,000  francs        2,000,000  francs 

Canaan, 400,000  2,260,000 

Caramania  and  Satalia,       .     .     .        100,090  surplus 

Cyprus, 104,275  976',  160 

Aleppo  and  Alexandria,     -     .     .     2,500,000  surplus 

Tripoli  and  Syria, 200,000  2,400,000 

Seyde  and  its  dependencies,     .     .     1,000,000  1,800,000 

Egypt, 2,500,000  3,000,000 

making  together  about  half  a  million  sterling  in  exports,  and  800,OOOJ.  in  imports. 
Nearly  an  equal  amount,  if  not  more,  must  have  been  cut  off  from  our  trade,  for  we 
must  also  take  into  account  the  trade  which  the  Italian  states  had  with  these  places,  and 
which  was  lost  to  them  during  the  war.  Hence  it  is  not  difficult  to  perceive  how  the 
markets  in  the  Mediterranean  would  become  glutted  with  our  goods,  and  our  mercantile 
transactions  to  these  places  become  very  disadvantageous.  On  the  other  hand,  a  more 
liberal  system  of  commerce  and  intercourse  with  the  Mahommedan  states,  on  both  sides  of 
the  Mediterranean,  is  gradually  extending  itself,  and  our  trade  in  that  quarter  must 
continue  to  recover,  perhaps  extend  itself  in  all  these  places ;  but  it  must  always  be 
borne  in  mind,  that  the  trade  of  France  and  the  Italian  states  will  extend  in  a  similar 
manner,  and  perhaps  in  a  greater  ratio. 

The  trade  to  the  East  Indies  has  considerably  increased  since  it  was  thrown  open ; 
but  we  believe  the  exports  have  been  more  .than  what  was  necessary,  and  the  imports  a 
losing  concern.  As  yet  that  trade  has  done  no  good  to  those  engaged  in  it,  but  as  there 
is  every  appearance  of  a  desire  for  our  manufactures  extending  in  India,  so  there  is  a 
prospect  that  the  trade  may  at  last  prove  greatly  beneficial  to  the  interests  of  this  coun- 
try :  but  the  progress  must  fae  gradual — it  cannot  be  forced.  The  prosperity  of  the  co- 
lonies of  New  Holland  and  Van  Diemen's  Land  continues  to  increase,  and  will,  ere 
long,  form  an  important  branch  of  British  commerce.  The  discovery  of  immense 
rivers  in  the  interior  of  the  former,  and  *he  great  probability  that  these  communicate 
with  the  ocean,  in  the  great  bay  in  the  south-west  side  of  the  continent,  and  by  naviga- 
ble estuaries,  offer  a  grand  prospect  of  extending  colonization  in  the  fine  lands  in  the  in- 
terior of  the  country.  The  Cape  of  Good  Hope  continues  to  flourish,  and,  by  degrees, 
must  become  an  important  commercial  colony. 

The  trade  with  South  America,  in  all  its  branches,  continues  in  an  unsettled  state. 
Some  improvement  certainly  has  of  late  taken  place ;  but  while  civil  war  and  internal  com- 
motions continue  to  agitate  these  countries,  as  is  at  present  the  case,  it  is  evident  that  no 
great  improvement  can  be  expected  in  any  -branch  of  commerce.  As  peace,  however,  is 
restored,  and  liberal  governments  established,  and  the  population  increases,  commerce 
must  greatly  extend  itself  in  those  important  regions  of  the  world,  and  of  which  im- 
provement we  will  come  in  for  our  full  share.  The  markets  in  Jamaica  having  been 
greatly  cleared  of  their  superabundant  stock,  and  the  low  priced  goods  having  come  into 
the  market,  considerable  sales  have  lately  been  effected  for  the  Spanish  colonies.  But 
the  scarcity  of  bills  has  rendered  the  exchange  so  much  against  the  merchant  remitting, 
that  much  of  his  profit  is  in  this  way  lost,  while  specie  has  become  a  still  worse  remit- 
tance. If  that  specie  is  transmitted  to  the  United  States  of  America,  and  there  invested 
in  cotton,  that  tends  to  keep  up  the  price  of  that  article  so  high,  that  when  it  reaches  this 
country,  there  is  a  certain  loss  incurred,  from  the  great  depreciation  in  value  here.  The 
merchant  is  thus  beset  with  difficulties ;  but  as  the  demand  for  goods  continues,  and  is 
on  the  increase,  so  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  these  things  will  gradually  get  to  their  proper 
channel,  and  the  business  amply  remunerate  all  who  are  engaged  in  it. 

The  situation  of  our  sugar  colonies  is  at  this  moment  even  more  distressing  than  the 
state  of  the  agriculturists  at  home.  The  price  of  all  articles  of  colonial  produce  is  sunk 
to  a  rate  unprecedentedly  and  ruinously  low,  and  from  which  state  there  appears  to  be 
but  a  small  chance  of  their  reviving  again.  The  cause  of  this  is  to  be  sought  in  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  Slave  Trade  by  foreign  nations,  and  the  great  extension,  by  this  means, 
of  the  cultivation  of  colonial  produce  in  these  colonies.  The  prices  at  which  they  raise 
it  are  greatly  below  what  the  West  India  planters  can  possibly  afford,  and  the  immense 
quantities  produced  serve  to  supply  and  glut  almost  every  market,  of  which  this  country 
had  some  time  ago  almost  the  exclusive  supply.  Till  the  Slave  Trade  is  completely 
stopped,  therefore,  the  West  India  planters  can  expect  no  relief,  while,  if  the  system  is 
much  longer  continued,  even  the  stoppage  of  it  will  render  him  no  service,  because  all 
the  foreign  colonies  will  be  filled  with  slaves  sufficient  to  manufacture  sugar  for  every 
country  which  does  not  of  itself  produce  that  article.  The  united  efforts  of  the  civilized 
world  will,  upon  the  present  system,  be  found  altogether  inadequate  to  arrest  the  pro- 


1 821 .]]  Register,'- Commercial  Report.  113 

gress  of  the  Slave  Trade  with  Africa.    It  has  increased  the  amount,  and  aggravated  all 
its  horrors. 

The  same  causes  which  operated  with  such  distressing  effects  upon  the  commercial 
and  agricultural  interests  in  this  country,  operated  in  the  United  States  of  America  to  a 
still  severer  degree.  Hence  the  commerce  with  those  States  has  of  late  been  peculiarly 
Unproductive  ;  but,  as  amongst  ourselves,  so  amongst  them,  the  severe  operation  of 
these  causes  is  gradually  ceasing,  commerce  is,  accordingly,  beginning  to  rear  her 
head  again,  and  we  may  anticipate  a  progressive  improvement  in  all  our  commercial  in- 
tercourse with  these  States.  From  various  reasons,  however,  it  is  not  at  all  probable 
that  our  commercial  relations  with  that  quarter  of  the  world  can  ever  be  so  advantageous 
as  these  at  previous  periods  have  been. 

Our  North  American  colonies  have  felt,  and  are  at  present  feeling  their  share  of  the 
general  commercial  and  agricultural  misfortunes  which  have  visited  the  world.  The  ad- 
ditional duty  also  which,  it  seems,  is  now  determined  to  be  laid  on  their  timber,  and  the 
reduction  of  the  duty  upon  that  article  imported  into  Great  Britain  from  the  north  of 
Europe  will,  we  fear,  greatly  retard  the  improvement  of  these  possessions,  and  serve  to 
continue  the  difficulties  under  which  they  at  present  labour,  and  which  were  arrived  at 
that  point  from  which  gradual  melioration  might  fairly  have  been  anticipated.  The 
prosperity  of  these  valuable  possessions  is  now  become  of  the  first  consequence,  not  only 
to  the  mother  country,  but  also  to  the  West  India  colonies.  The  existence  of  the  latter, 
in  a  great  measure,  depends  upon  the  prosperity  and  extension  of  cultivation  of  our 
North  American  provinces. 

While  the  discoveries  of  Captain  Parry,  last  summer,  have  tended  to  elucidate  a  great 
geographical  question,  these  have  also  tended  to  extend  the  field  for  the  Davis'  Strait 
whale  fishery,  a  branch  of  commerce  of  no  mean  importance  to  Great  Britain.  In  the 
southern  hemisphere  a  wide  and  rich  field  for  similar  pursuits  is  laid  open,  by  the  exa- 
mination of  the  coasts  of  New  South  Shetland,  south-west  from  the  Straits  of  Magellan. 
The  fisheries  on  that  coast  will  certainly  prove  most  productive,  and  we  are  happy  to 
learn  that  the  enterprizing  merchants  of  Liverpool  have  already  eagerly  and  extensively 
engaged  in  the  fisheries  in  that  quarter. 

While  we  may  (if  peace  is  continued  to  the  world)  confidently  expect  a  gradual  im- 
provement of  our  trade  with  foreign  nations,  yet  we  must  not  look  for,  or  expect  that  it 
will  reach,  in  any  of  the  old  markets,  the  same  beneficial  extent  that  it  once  did.  We 
must  expect  and  allow  all  other  civilized  nations  to  come  in  for  their  share  of  the  trade 
of  the  world,  and  also  expect  that  every  nation  will  encourage  their  internal  trade  and  ma- 
nufactures. Under  these  circumstances  it  is  our  policy  to  look  for  new  markets  for  our 
trade — new  markets  in  countries  where  no  competition  in  native  skill,  manufactures,  and 
industry  is  at  all,  or,  at  least,  for  ages,  likely  to  come  in  competition  with,  or  injure  the 
demand  for  ours.  Such  markets  may  yet  be  found.  Through  the  wide  extent  of  the 
East  Indian  Archipelago  there  is  a  great  field ;  but,  above  all,  it  is  to  Africa  that  we 
onght  to  turn  our  attention.  There  is  a  field  of  vast  magnitude — a  field  which  at  present  we 
may  make  exclusively  our  own.  There  is  no  longer  any  room  to  doubt,  but  that  in  the  Bights 
of  Benin  and  Biafra  the  great  river  Niger  enters  the  Atlantic  Ocean  by  several  navigable 
estuaries,  and  that,  by  means  of  that  noble  river  and  its  tributary  streams,  the  whole 
central  parts  of  the  northern  quarter  of  that  great  continent  are  laid  readily  open  to  the 
operations  of  commerce.  These  countries  are  all  populous,  and  the  elements  of  com- 
merce are  most  abundant,  and  also  of  the  most  valuable  kinds.  The  productions  of 
these  places  are  those  of  which  we  are  most  in  want,  and  every  thing  which  they  require 
are  almost  exclusively  the  productions  of  our  industry  and  skill.  Hence  the  advantages 
of  a  trade  with  these  parts  becomes  very  evident,  while  planting,  and  extending  legitimate 
commerce  into  the  bosom  of  Africa,  is  the  most  effectual  way  to  benefit  our  West  India 
colonies,  and  the  only  way  by  which  we  ever  can  put  an  end  either  to  the  external  Slave 
Trade,  or  slavery  in  Africa.  Only  shew  her  princes  and  her  population  that  we  will 
give,  and  that  they  can  obtain  more  for  the  productions  of  their  soil,  and  the  labour  of 
their  slaves,  in  Africa,  than  for  the  slave  himself,  and  the  work  is  done.  The  Slave 
Trade  would  be  unheard  of,  and  trouble  us  no  more.  All  this  is  in  our  power.  A  set- 
•tlement  on  the  Island  of  Fernando  Po,  and  inland  on  the  united  stream  of  the  Niger, 
would  place  the  whole  within  the  grasp  and  under  the  controul  of  Great  Britain. 

The  following  are  the  principal  articles  imported  into  Great  Britain  during  the  last 
year : — 

SUGAR BRITISH  PLANTATION. 

Hhds. 

264,900  imported,  1820 
83,200  stock  last  year 

348,100 

276,900  for  home  use  and  export 

71.200  stock  on  hand,  1st  January,  1821. 


114  Register.— Commercial  Report.  £April, 

FOREIGN  SUGARS  IMPORTED,  1820. 
18,300  boxes  Havannah 

6,140  chests  Brazils 
181,200  bags  East  Indies 

800  packages,  other  parts. 

The  importations  of  foreign  sugars,  particularly  from  the  East  Indies  and  Ilavan- 
nah,  have  considerably  increased.  The  export  of  sugar  from  Great  Britain  to  the  Con- 
intent  of  Europe  has  greatly  decreased.  In  1818  the  value  of  refined  sugar  exported  was 
2,403,981?.,  in  1819,  2,461,706/.,  and,  on  the  year  ending  the  5th  January,  1820, 
1,527,622/.,  and  the  exports  for  the  year  ending  the  5th  January,  1821  is  still  less,  ow- 
ing to  these  places  receiving  their  supplies  direct  from  foreign  colonies. 

RUM. 

61,900  casks  imported,  1820, 
being  an  increase  of  rather  more  than  4000  puncheons. 

COTTON. 

570,568  bags  imported  in  1820, 

making  an  increase  of  21,848  bags.  The  comsumpt  last  year  was  470,000  bags,  being 
at  the  rate  of  9,040  per  week.  The  consumption  in  1815  was  only  at  the  rate  of  6,700 
per  week. 

COFFEE. 

45,600  casks.     121,110  barrels  and  bags, 

or  22,500  tons.  There  was  taken  for  home  use  3,000  tons,  and  for  exportation  20,200 
tons. 

COCOA. 

6,022  barrels  and  bags  imported  in  1820, 
of  which  there  have  been  taken  for  home  use  30,  and  for  export  5,860  barrels  and  b  gs. 

TOBACCO. 
Hhds. 

9,626  imported  into  Liverpool 
12,451      ditto     into  London 

913  and  502  bales  into  Glasgow 

of  which  there  were  taken  out  of  bond,  for  home  use,  at  London  and  Liverpool,  viz — 
London,  4,605  hluls.  ;  at  Liverpool,  4,8?2  hhds.  ;  and  at  Glasgow  and  Leith, 
1,351,075  Ibs. ;  and  from  the  two  former,  for  export,  9,552  hhds. 

GRAIN,  1820. 

Imported  into  London,  636,517  qrs.  wheat,  253,459  do.  barley,  193,966  do.  malt, 
1,150,303  do.  oats,  1,068  do.  rye,  74,633  do.  beans,  50,223  do.  pease,  6,574  do.  tares, 
87,054  do.  linseed,  7,410  do.  rapeseed,  6,691  do.  brank,  6,471  do.  mustard,  11,919  do. 
of  various  seeds,  406,349  sacks,  and  42,504  barrels  flour. 

For  the  year  ending  the  5th  July  1819,  there  was  taken  out  of  bond  for  England, 

Galls.  Duties. 

Brandy  and  Geneva, 948,548  £807,339  13    0 

Rum, 3,053,901  1,584,211     7  11 

French  Wines, 264,226  82,330  14     7 

All  other  Wines  (Foreign)    .     .     .     4,637,348  966,114     6    5 

And  1,560  tuns  Cape  Wine. 

WOOL. 

Imported,  in  1819,  16,190,343  Ibs. 
Cloth  milled,    do.     11,813,971yds. 

LINEN  MANUFACTURES. 

Exported,  in  1820,  from  the  United  Kingdom  of  Irish  and  Scotch  linens, 
6,138,185  yds.  Irish  linens 
20,590,521  do.  British  do.  of  all  sorts 

965,236  do.  British  sail-cloth. 
Scotch  and  Irish  linens  exported  from  Ireland,— 

9,930  yds.  Canvas 

117,839  do.  Coloured 

37,467,696  do.  Plain  white. 

On  the  30th  September,  1819,  the  shipping  registered  of  the  United  Kingdom,  and 
the  plantations  was  25,482  vessels,  2,666,896  tons,  and  navigated  by  174,373  men. 

Exports  and  imports  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland. 
Year  ending  5th  January,  1820, — imports,    ....     £30,775,084     3     1 

making  a  decrease  of  6,100,000£ 
Year  ending  5th  January,  1820, — exports. 

Produce  and  manufactures  of  United  Kingdom,    .    £33,481,836     9    5 
Foreign  and  colonial, 9,905,184  1 1  10 

Official  value.         Total    .    .     £43,387,021     1     3 


1821.]]  Register. — Commercial  Report.  115 

making  a  decrease  of  H),  172,000.     This  is  exclusive  of  the  trade  between  Great  Bri- 
tain and  Ireland.     The  declared  value  of  exports  stands  as  under,  viz. :— » 

Brass  and  copper  manufactures,    .     .     .  £669,403 

Cotton  manufactures, 12,338,833 

Cotton,  twist,  and  yarn, 2,707,612 

Glass  and  earthen-ware, 1,027,395 

Hardware  and  cutlery, 1,316,539 

Iron  and  steel,  wrought  and  un wrought,     .  t,  155, 173 

Linen  manufactures,        .......  1,403,005 

Silk  manufactures, 464,370 

Sugar,  British,  refined, 

Woollen  Goods,     .     .     ,    ,    ^    .     .     . 
All  other  articles,  ......-- 


Total  declared  value,    -     .     .    £37,939,506 

From  which  it  appears  that  there  is  a  falling  in  the  cotton  goods  of  4,250,000?.,  and  in 
woollen  goods,  2,100,000£,  and  British  refined  sugar  of  1,000,OOOJ.,  from  the  preceding 
year. 

TRADE  OF  IRELAND. 

Year  ending  5th  January,  1820, — imports,     ....      6,395,972  17    5| 


Produce  and  manufactures  United  Kingdom,- 
Foreign  and  colonial,     ..... 


exports, 


£5,708,582  15 
61,882  12 


71 


Total  official  value,    .     ~    £5,770,465     7  10| 
exclusive  of  trade  with  Great  Britain. 

Imports  into  Ireland,  1,093,247Z.  8s.  6d — Exports,  558,26U  10*.  9dL>  native  pro- 
duce; and  25,948/.  11*.  W±d.  colonial  and  foreign — Total,  584,210f.  2*.  7|d. 
Sundries  imported  into  Great  Britain,  1820,— 


Ashes,  barrels,     ....  34,227 

Barilla,  tons, 8,600 

Brimstone,  tons  ....  3,434 

Flax,  tons, 10,972 

Ginger,  packages,     .    .     .  67,360 

Hemp,  tons, 16,557 

Hides,  ox  and  cow,  .     .     .        353,664 

Indigo,  seroons  and  chests  .  18,297 
Lime  and  Lemon  Juice,  gallons,         645 

Madder,  casks,     .     .          .  5,297 

Madder  roots,  bales,           .  7,638 

Mahogany,  logs,  .     .          .  14,192 

Oak  bark,  tons,    .     .          .  11,134 

Oil,  whale,  tuns, .     .          .  11,628 

Ditto,  casks, 1,430 

Oil,  cod  and  dog-fish,  casks, 


Oil,  seal,  casks,     ....  5^339 

Olive  oil,  casks,     ....  3,320 

Palm  oil,  casks,     ...»  2,304 

Pepper,  packages,       .     .     .  6,477 

Pimento,  barrels  and  bags,  .  13,363 

Quercet  bark,  casks,       .     .  1,681 

Rice,  tons, 10,257 

Saltpetre, 141,441 

Sheep's  wool,  packages,  .     .  37,725 

Shumac,  bags,  .     .     •    .     .  46,161 

Seed,  flax,  quarters,    .     .     .  126,958 

Tallow,  tons, 35,663 

Tar,  barrels, 106,095 

Turpentine,  casks,      .     .     .  70,529 

Valonia,  tons, 1,584 


1,430 

Timber  imported,  1820. 

North  of  Europe,     ....        180,700  feet 
British  North  America,     .     .     3,000,000  do. 


Total, 


3,180,700 


Weekly  Price  of  Stocks,  from  1st  to  22d  March,  1821. 


1st. 

8th. 

15th. 

22d. 

Bank  stock,  rr,,,,^,^,^^,,,,^,,,,,,^  -,„„,- 

226        51 

73|       4 
73i      24 
83 
92         If 
106f        6 

2294      30 
44  42  pr. 
5  3pr. 

73|        i 
19| 

72i       i 
1064      I 

45  pr. 
5      3  pr. 
73J      2* 

724         | 
10C|        | 

48  50  pr. 
3  5pr. 

73| 

69^      JO 
104'         | 

70| 

30  pr. 
5  2  dis. 
69|     70J 
19 

3  per  cent.  reduced,  ^j^....-^.^^.^...^.^ 

3  per  cent-  wn*1^*-,,,,.?,,,,,,.,,,*,*,,;!,,,!, 

3J    per    Cent-    QOnilK>lSyMMM«OT«IMMtt*>~M 

4  per  cent-  COn4obyMM»~M»MMmMM<M 

5  ppr  cent-  n^vy  nnn.rrrrrrr,rtf^,^^JJf,^ 

Imperial  3  per  cent,  ann  ^  — 
India  stock,  ,,^,,,^,^^JfJJ  -,-,---  ,  „„  -,,,-- 

bondit~~~~~»~~~M~»M  j  „„„„„ 

Exchequer  M&|)*M_M»«»M»MMMMMM»~ 

Onisols  per  ncv-r  „,•„,,„,**,,  unjjsjsju  j  t 

T^ong  \Tm\\\tifti-  „„„„,„„„„„„„„„  ir,, 

French  5  per  cents.««-w«,«w,««««« 

116  Register*— Commercial  Report.  £  April, 

Course  of  Exchange,  April  8 — Amsterdam,  12  :  14.  C.  F.  Ditto  at  sight,  12  :  11. 
Rotterdam,  12  :  15.  Antwerp,  12  :  11.  Hamburgh,  38  :  7.  Altona,  3H  :  8.  Paris,  3 
d.  sight,  25:  80.  Ditto  26  :  15.  Bourdeaux,  26  :  15.  Frankfort  on  the  Maine,  156J. 
Petereburgh,  9}  :  3  U.  Vienna,  10  :  20  EJf.flo.  Trieste,  10  :  20  Eff.flo.  Madrid,  36. 
Cadiz,  35f.  Bilboa,  35£.  Barcelona,  35.  Seville,  35J.  Gibraltar,  3()£.  Leghorn, 
464-  Genoa,  43J.  Venice,  2?  :  60.  Malta,  45.  Naples,  38 4.  Palermo,  115.  Lis- 
bon, 494.  Oporto,  494.  Rio  Janeiro,  49.  Bahia,  55.  Dublin,  8  per  cent. 
Cork,  8  per  cent. 

Prices  of  Gold  and  Silver,  per  oz. — Foreign  gold,  in  bars,  £3:17:  lOJd.  New 
Dollars,  4s.  lOd.  Silver  in  bars,  stand.  4s.  lid. 


EDINBURGH—APRIL  11. 


Wheat. 

1st, 33s.  Od. 

2d, 31s.  Od. 

3d, 28s.  Od. 


Barley. 

1st, 22s.  Od. 

2d, 20s.  Od. 

3d, 18s.  Od. 


Oats. 

1st, 20s.  Od. 

2d, 17s.  Od. 

3d, 14s.  Od. 


Average  of  Wheat,  £1  :  10  :   10  6-2ths.,  per  bolL 
Tuesday,  March  7- 


Pease  &  Beans. 

1st, 17s.  Od. 

2d, 16s.  6d. 

3d, 15s.  Od. 


Beef  (174  oz.  per  Ib.) 
Mutton     .... 
Lamb,  per  quarter  . 
Veal     
Pork    

Os.  ."id.  to 
Os.  6d.  to 
6s.  Od.  to 
Os.  (id.  to 
Os.  6d.  to 
8s.  (id.  to 

HADI 
Barley. 
21s.  Od. 
18s.  Od. 
16s.  Od. 
Averat 

Os.    8d. 
Os.    lid. 
8s.    Od. 
Is.    Od. 
Os.    8d. 
•is.    Od. 

)INGTC 
Oi 
1st,  
2d,  
3d,  
;e,  £1  :  1 

Quartei 
Potatoe 
Fresh  I 
Salt  dit 
Ditto,  j 
Eggs,  ] 

>N  —  AP 
its. 
18s.  Od. 
16s.  Od. 
14s.  Od. 
Os.  2d.  { 

n  Loaf    .     .     Os 
s  (28  Ib.)      .     Os 
Jutter,  per  Ib.    Is 
to,  per  stone    18s. 
>er  Ih.       .     .     Is 
er  dozen       .     Os 

KIT.  6. 

Pease. 
1st,  15s.  fid. 
2d,  13s.  Od. 
3d,  12s.  Od. 

-12ths. 

9d.  to    Os.  Od 
8d.  to    Os.  Od' 
4d.  to     Is.  6d' 
Od.  to  21s.  Od" 
2d.  to     Is.  4d" 
7d.  to    Os.  Od' 

Beans. 
1st,  16s.  03. 
2d,  14s.  Od. 
3d,  12s.  Od. 

Tallow,  per  ston 

Wheat 
1st,.  ....3  Is.  (id. 
2d,  30s.  6d. 
3d,  28s.  6d. 

e    . 

1st, 
2d,. 
3d,. 

Average  Pricet  of  Corn  in  England  and  Wales,  from  the  Returns  received  in  tht  Week 

ended  3lst  March. 

Wheat.  54s.  8d.— Rye,  38s.  Id.— Barley,  24s.  Id.— Oats,  18s.  3d.— Beans,  31s.  8d.— Pease,  32s.  lOd. 
Beer  or  Big,  Os.  Od.— Oatmeal,  19s.  3d. 


London,  Corn  Exchange,  April  2.                          Liverpool,  . 

Wneat,         s.   d.       3.  a. 

s.       ».                           s.        s 

per  70  Ib. 

Wheat,  red,  new  36  to  4£ 

Hog  pease  .    .  27  to  28 

Eng.  Old     7    6  to    8    3 

Fine  ditto  .    .   48  to  54 

Maple    .    .    .  28  to  30 

Foreign  .    7    4  to   8    i 

Superfine  ditto  55  to  5' 

White    .    .    .  30  to  40 

Scotch  .  .   7    6  to    8    0 

Ditto,  old  .    .   —  to  — 

Ditto,  boilers.  36  to  38 

Waterford  7    5  to   7    6 

White,  new    .    40  to  45 

New  ditto,  .    .  —  to  — 

Limerick  .  .  —  to     — 

Fine  ditto  .    .  52  to  56 

SmallBeans,new30  to  3i 

Drogheda    7    0  to    7    3 

Superfine  ditto  58  to  62 

Ditto,  old  .    .  40  to  41 

Dublin    .    6    9  to    7    0 

Ditto,  old  .    .   —  to  — 

Tick,  new  .    .  23  to  27 

Irish  Old  .7    3  to    7    6 

Foreign,  new  .  —  to  — 

Ditto,  old  .    .   36  to  58 

Bonded  .  .  4    0  to    5     6 

Rye  .     .     .     .    28  to  32 

Foreign  .    .    .  —  to  — 

Barley,  per  60  IDS. 

Fine  ditto,  .    .  —  to  — 

Feed  oats  .    .    14  to  18 

Eng.  ...    3     9  to    4    0 

Barley  .    .    .    22  to  23 

Fine  .    .    .    .  19  to  20 

Scotch   .  .  3    2  to   3    6 

Fine,  new  .    .  24  to  25  Poland  ditto  .    16  to  19 

Irish  ...   2  10  to   3    1 

Superfine  .    .    26  to  27  Fine  .    .    .    .  20  to  22 

Oats,  per  45  Ib. 

Malt  .    .    .    .  42  to  52  Potatoe  ditto  .  20  to  22 

Eng.  pota.  2    5  to   2    7 

Fine  .    .    .    .  54  to  58  Fine  .    .    .    .  25  to  25 

Irish  do.  .    2    6  to    2    7 

Scotch  do.  2    6  to    2    7 

Seeds,  $c.     April  2. 

Stall  per  b. 
—  Fine  .  .  7    6  to   8    0 

Jeans,  per  qr. 

*.      .1.  d. 

*.         s. 

English   .50    0  to  38    0 

Must.  Brown,  8  to  10  0 

tf  empseed  .  .  54  to   58 

nsh    .  .    50    Oto  32    0 

—White  ...  6  to    80 

Linseed,  crush.  38  to    40 

lapeseed,  p.  1.  £52  to  33 

Tares,  new,   .  5  to    6  0 

New,  for  Seed  56  to    60 

Pease,grey26    0  to  28    0 

Turnips,  bsh.  16  to  20  0 

Ryegrass,  .  .     18  to    45 

—White  .40    0  to  48    0 

—  Reddtgreenl7  to  20  0 
—  Yellow,new36  to  40  0 

Clover.red  cwt  28  to    70 
-White  ...   54  to  106 

''lour,  English, 
p.2401b.fiue56    Oto  38    0 

Caraway,  cwt.  76  to  84  0 

Coriander  .  .    12  to    16 

rish  .   .    34   0  to  36    6 

Canary,  qr.     46  to  48  0 

Trefoil  .  .    .  .  7  to    28 

Rape  Seed,  per  last,    .    £36  to  £38. 

April  5. 

~Amer.p.l961b.  d.     g,  d. 

Sweet,  U.S.  21  0  to  22  0 

Do.  in  bond  21  0  to 

Sour  do.  .    27  0  to  28  0 
Oatmeal,  per  240  Ib. 

English        24  0  to  25  o 

Scotch  .  .    22  0  to  23  o 

Irish  ...    19  0  to  22  n 

Bran,  p.  24  Ib.  1  1  to  1  3 

Butter,  Beef,  $c. 
Butter.p.cwt.  *.  d.     s.  d. 
Belfast,  new  97  0  to  98  0 
Newry  .  .     96  0  to  98  8 
Waterford  .    —  to   — 
:ork,pic.2d,'91  0  to   — 

3d  dry    87  0  to  88  0 
3eef,  p.  tierce 

—  Mess      112  6  to  117  6 

—  Per  brl.  74  0  to   80  0 
ork,  p.  brl. 

—  Mess    .    64  0  to    65  0 

—  Middl.     60  Oto    61  0 
Jacon,  p.  cwt. 

Short  mids.  48  0  to  50  0 

ides  .    .     46  0  to  — 

Hams,  dry,  56  0  to  58  0 

~>een    .  .    55  0  to  57  0 

>ard,rd.p.c.58  0  to  — 

Tongue,  perflrk. 

30  Oto  — 


1821.3 


Register.— Commercial  Report. 


117 


PRICES  CURRENT,  April  1— London,  6. 


SUGAR,  Muse. 
B.  P.  Dry  Brown,  .  cwt. 
Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 
Fine  and  very  fine,    .    . 
11  ('fined  I  toub.  Loaves,    . 
Powder  ditto,      .      . 
Single  ditto, 
Small  Lumps,  .         . 
Large  ditto,  .    .             . 
Crushed  Lumps, 
MOLASSES,  British     cwt. 
COFFEE,  Jamaica,     cwt. 
Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 
Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 
Dutch  Triage  and  very  ord. 
Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 
Mid.  good,   and  fine  mid. 

LEITH. 
60      to      65 
76              86 
84              96 
130             145 
106             110 
102             106 
94              98 
91              94 
44              56 
26               27 

118             126 
126             138 

120             135 
135              140 
122             126 

GLASGOW. 

57               62 

62              70 

24           24~6 

116             HO 
120            133 

LIVERPOOL. 
57              59 
60               69 
74                83 

28               — 

115              126 

128             134 
95             118 
120             128 
129             132 
113             114 

LONDON. 
51               60 
61               66 
71               80 

92             110 

23                0 

94              124 
126              146 

Pimento  (in  Bond,)  .    .    . 
SPIRITS, 
Jam.  Rum,  16  O.  P.  gall. 

«i               8| 

2slOd    3s  Od 
4046 

74               8 
2s  3d      3s4d 

73              8 
2s  2d     is  4d 

2s  2d    3s  8d 
30       39 

Geneva,        ... 
Grain  Whisky,       .      . 
WINES, 
Claret,  1st  Growths,  hhd. 
Portugal  Red,           pipe. 
Spanish  White,    .     butt. 
Teneriffe,                  pipe- 

2              22 
68        70 

60               64 
35              46 
34              55 
30              32 
55               65 

-              - 

1    1 

17      18 

£30            £60 
45              52 

28               40 

LOGWOOD,  Jam.        ton. 

£7          77 
8              — 

7    10     8    0 

7  15     85 
8    0     8  10 

6slOd    7s  Od 
6  10       70 

Campeachy,       .    .    . 
FUSTIC,  Jamaica,  . 
Cuba,   

8              — 
7               8 
9               11 

6  10       70 
85       8  10 

8  15     9    5 
6670 
95         — 

£70      £80 
Is  3d    Is  6d 

INDIGO,  Caraccas  fine,  Ib. 
TIMBER,  Amer.  Pine,  foot 
Ditto  Oak,    

9s  fid  11s  6d 
1618 
3034 

76       86 

8090 

10    0    10    6 

Christiansand  (dut.  paid.) 
Honduras  Mahogany, 
St  Domingo,  ditto,     .    . 
TAR,  American,            brl. 

2               — 
1418 

18              — 

12       1  ~8 
14       30 

1    0     1  ~4 
1319 

18 

16    0         — 
16    6          — 

PITCH,  Foreign,         cwt. 
TALLOW,  Rus.  Yel.  Cand. 

10               11 
49              50 
53              — 

52               53 

49              50 

86      10  6 

HEMP,  Riga  Rhine,     ton. 
Petersburg!),  Clean,   .    . 
FLAX, 
RigaThies.  &Druj.  Rak. 
Dutch,     ...... 

45               — 

40              — 

57              - 
50              90 

:    : 

-               - 

£42              — 

38  10         — 

£58              59 
45              58 

Irish,        .       .       . 
MATS,  Archangel,        100. 
BRISTLES, 
Petersburgh  Firsts,    cwt. 
ASHES,  Peters.  Pearl,  .    . 
Montreal,  ditto,     .       . 
Pot, 
OIL,  Whale,        .       tun. 
Cod  

43              48 
75              80 

13  10         14 
37              38 
41              46 
37              38 

£22  10        — 
84s  (p.  brl.  )—  > 

42                43 
36              37 
2.>          23  10 
21          22 

40         40    6 
33         53    6 

£3  15       4  ~0 

37              38 
41               42 
33               34 
23               _ 
23               10 

TOBACCO,  Virgin,  fine,  Ib. 
Middling,        . 
Inferior,        .        .       . 
COTTONS,  Bowed  Georg. 
Sea  Island,  fine,       . 
Good, 
Middling,      .     . 
Demcrara  and  Bcrbicc, 
West  India, 
Pernambuco,         .        . 
Maraoham,       .       .       . 

6J             7 
6              6j 
5               5J 

6»               7* 
6i              7i 
4                4| 
0    9$       Hi 
1820 
1    6J    1    8 
1416 
1012 
0  10     0    11 
1112 
1011 

0    5§   0    8 
0    4j   0    5 
0    2J    0    3 
0    9     0  10 
1618 
1315 
1315 
0  11      12 
09     0  10J 
1  OJ      1    2 
00       1     1 

0  5d           61 
0  34      04 
03       04 
09       0  10J 
12        19 

"o  10    i  7 

1    0     1  *2 
0  11      10 

ALPHABETICAL  LIST  of  ENGLISH  BANKRUPTCIES,  announced  between  the  20th 
of  February  and  the  20th  of  March,  1821,  extracted  from  the  London  Gazette. 

Acason,  J.  Valentine  Farm,  Ridge,  Herefordshire,      Astley,  M.  Goswell-street,  china-warehouseman. 

corn-dealer. 

Alport,  T.  R.  Birmingham,  leather-dresser. 
Anderson,  J.  jun.  Whitby,  merchant. 
Arnall,  G.  Leamington,  wine  merchant. 
Ashford,  J.  and  E  L.  Ireland,  Birmingham,  fac-      Benson,  J.  R.  Artillery-place,  merchant. 

tors-  Billiflge,  J.  Bristol,  grocer, 

VOL.  IX.  I 


Bainbridge,  W.  Evenwood,  Durham,  horse-dealer. 
Barker,  J.  Great,  Titchfield-street,  upholsterer. 
Barker,  T.  Burton  in  Lonsdale,  Yorkshire,  twin** 
manufacturer. 


118 


Register. — ( 'ainmrrridl  Rrpart. 


Bird,  T.  St  Martin"  -court,  Leicester-fields,  haber- 
dasher. 

ISirks,  S.  W.  Thorne,  Yorkshire,  mercer. 

HiumU'll,  W.  Liverpool,  hardwareman. 

Bradbury,  G.  Wellington,  malstir. 

Brown,  J.  Bridgewater,  tailor. 

Burbery,  R.  Coventry,  silk-manufacturer. 

Burton,  Wolverhampton,  grocer. 

Candy .  D.  Wrson-town,  Somersetshire,  fanner. 

Clively,  E.  Woolwich,  draper. 

Coates,  G.  New  Bond-street,  druggist. 

Cooper,  J.  Eyain,  Derby,  grocer. 

Croxford,  C.  jun.  Iver,  Buckinghamshire,  collar- 
maker. 

Culshaw,  W.  Wrighington,  Lancaster,  dealer. 

Cummins,  Gloucester,  mercer. 

Danson,  J.  Millom,  Cumberland,  dealer. 

Dark,  H.  Barth,  woollen-draper. 

Davies,  J.  Liverpool,  merchant. 

Deakln,  F.  Upton-upon-Severn,  grocer. 

Dixoh,  J.  Bisnopthorp,  Yorkshire,  coal-merchant. 

Dowfies,  .S.  Cra"nbourne-strect,  Leicester-square, 
haberdasher. 

Drayton  Rayner,  J.  Bow,  mast-maker. 

Dudman,  J.  Brighton,  common  carrier. 

Durtnall,  J.  Dover,  ironmonger.  ' 

Eggleston,  B.  Great  Driltield,  York,  plumber. 

Farrell,  J.  Prospect-place,  Ncwlngton-causeway, 
merchant. 

Ferno,  G.  jun.  Stockport,  grocer. 

Field,  J.  and  T.  Muscovy-court,  Trinity-square, 
flour-factor. 

Fiscot,  W.  Bristol,  baker. 

Fletcher,  J.  and  P.  Barton-upon-IrweH,  cotton- 
spinners. 

Fox,  E.  L.  jun.  Idol-lane,  Tower-street,  broker. 

Freeland,  W.  Bedhampton,  Southampton,  miller. 

French,  J.  Coventry  and  Edinburgh,  ribbon  ma- 
nufacturer. 

Frost,  L.  Liverpool,  timber-merchant. 

Fry,  G.  Tunbndge-wells,  lime-burner. 

Gittrns,  R.  Tewkesbury,  corn-factor. 

Gough,  R.  Liverpool,  snuff  manufacturer. 

Green,  J.  Lower  East  Smithfield,  baker. 

Guy,  J.  Black  friars-road,  dealer. 

Harrison,  J.  Manchester,  cotton-spinner. 

Harrison,  J.  Sandwich,  wool-stapler. 

Heaton,  J.  Scholes,  York,  nail-manufacturer. 

Hebdin,  A.  O.  Parliament-street,  woollen-cloth 
merchant. 

Hobbs,  H.  Chichester,  farmer. 

Hollis,  J.  Goswell-strect-road ,  stone-mason. 

Hurney,  R.  Stafford-street,  Bond-street,  picture- 
dealer. 

Jackson,  T.  Bishop's  Offley,  Stafford,  malster. 

James,  W.  jun.  Abergavenny,  cabinet-maker. 

Johnson,  G.  R.  Chiswell-street,  oilman. 


Jones,  W.  Handsworth,  Stafford,  farmer. 

Jordan,  W.  Sunbury,  victualler. 

Ker,  T.  late  of  the  Strand,  boot-maker. 

Lance,  B.  Capel-court,  stock-broker. 

I.awtou,  J.  Delph,  Yorkshire,  inn-keeper. 

Lea,  W.  and  J.  F.  Paternoster-row,  ribbon  and 

silk-manufacturer. 
Lowe,  G.  Manchester,  cotton-dealer. 
Macrae,  A.  Devonshire-street,  jeweller. 
Mace,  S.  Norwich,  grocer. 
Mallorie,  W.  Leeds,  paste-board  manufacturer. 
Marshall,  P.  Scarborough',  solicitor. 
Matson,  II.  Barfrestonc,  Kent,  miller. 
Monsey,  T.  Burgh,  Norfolk,  farmer. 
Morgan,  J.  late  of  Bedford,  draper. 
Needs,  E.  Bristol,  shop-keeper. 
Newman,  J.  M.  Broonjsgrove,  dealer  in  wool. 
Nicolls,   W.  A.  A.  Stephen-street,  Tottenham- 

court-road. 

Noad,  S.  Birchin-lane,  bill  broker. 
Palmer,  T.  Gutter-Ume,  Cheapside,  silk  manufac- 
turer. 

Partridge,  H.  M.  Newport,  Monmouthshire,  iron- 
monger. 

Pitt,  D.  Fenchchureh-street,  hosier. 
Porter,  J.  Leading  Roothing,  Essex,  farmer. 
Powell,  T.  Bath,  cloth-factor. 
Priddon,  E.  late  of  Horncastle,  miller. 
Richards,  J.  and  W.  Badham,  Broomyard,  Here- 
ford, dealers  in  com. 

Rogers,  J.  and  C.  Plymouth,  coach-makers. 

Rose,  J.  Bath,  grocer. 

Saivis,  A.  Slone-street,  upholsterer. 

Seofleld,  E.  West  Bergholt,  Essex,  publican. 

Sedgewick,  London,  warehouseman. 

Shcrifle,  J.  Fairnham,  grocer. 

Sheppard,  W.  Ayr-street-hill,  baker. 

Skaif,  H.  Whitby,  draper. 

Smith,  P.  P.  ana  W.  Middleton,  Lancashire,  mus- 
lin manufacturers. 

Smith,  T.  Caponfield,  Staffordshire,  iron-master. 

Sprigens,  J.  Chesham,  draper. 

Thrapston,  B.  T.  Northamptonshire,  draper. 

Troughton,  B.  jun.  Coventry,  silkman. 

Troughton,  J.  J.  and j B.  and  A.  Newcomb,  Co- 
ventry, bankers. 

Turner,  J.  Rotherham,  engineer. 

Warbrick,  H.  Liverpool,  merchent. 

Ward,  T.  Coventry,  silk  manufacturer. 

Whaley,  J.  King's  Lynn,  Norfolk,  gunsmith. 

Wilby,  D.  late  of  Dewtibury,  clothier. 

Wilkinson,  J.  and  W.  B.  Smith  Leeds,  York,  stuff 
mei  chant. 

Wilson,  G.  Liverpool,  linen-draper. 

Wilson,  J.  Macclesfield,  bookseller. 

Windcatt,  T.  and  W.  Tavistock,  fellmonger. 

Wood,  W.  Chester,  cheese-dealer. 


AH-HABETICAL  LIST  of  SCOTCH  BANKRUPTCIES,  announced  between  the  1st  March 
and  2d  April,  1821,  extracted  from  the  Edinburgh  Gazette. 


Ainslie,  Robert,  lately  of  Edingham,  underwriter, 
residing  in  Edinburgh,  on  his  own  application, 
with  concurrence  of  Mr  Claud  Russel,  account- 
ant, Edinburgh,  his  disponee,  under  a  private 
trust,  for  purpose  of  winding  up  said  trust. 

Braid,  Robert,  jun.  tallow-chandler,  Paisley. 

Brooks  and  Blaikie,  merchants  and  comirussion- 
agents,  Grangemouth,  and  at  Glasgow,  under 
the  firm  of  William  Blaikie  and  Co. 

Brown,  Archibald,  grocer,  Leith. 

Fraser,  Alexander,  manufacturer,  Inverness. 

Duguid,  William,  jun.  merchant,  Aberdeen. 

Douglas,  Alexander,  and  Co.  grocers,  Edinburgh. 

Greatbatch,  John,  sometime  victualler  and  inn- 
keeper, Roslin  Inn,  now  stoneware  merchant, 
Paisley. 

Harthill,  James,  merchant  Aberdeen. 

Johnston,  Robert  and  John,  cattle-dealers,  Stew- 
artry  of  Birkcudbriertt. 

Johnston,  John,  in  Troquhain,  a  partner  of  the 
firm  of  Robert  and  John  Johnston,  cattle-deal- 
ers, Stewartry  of  Kirkcudbright. 

Kirkwood,  David,  cattle-dealers,  Lockridge  Hills, 
jtari&h  of  Dunlop. 

Mackav,  John,  merchant,  Thurwo. 

M'Nair,  Alexander,  merchant,  Dingwall. 

Rae,  James,  cattle-dealer  and  grain  merchant  1  Uul- 
dington. 

JRnttray,  James,  and  David,  manufacturers,  Ban- 
nockburn. 


Reid,  Francis,  and  Sons,  watchmakers,  Glasgow. 
Kussel,  John,  grocer,  Hamilton. 
Walker,  Alexander,  merchant  and  insurance-bro- 
ker, Aberdeen. 

DIVIDENDS. 

Balfour,  John,  merchant,  Kirkaldy ;  a  dividend  of 
5s.  per  pound,  17th  April. 

Burn  and  Pringle,  timber  merchants,  Fisherrow, 
a  dividend  2d  April. 

Bute,  William,  wright  and  builder,  Glasgow;  a 
final  dividend  llth  May. 

Caldwell,  David,  late  vintner,  Glasgow ;  a  first 
and  final  dividend,  M  April. 

Clark,  Arthur  Hill,  innkeper,  Portpatriek  ;  a  di- 
vidend, 13th  April. 

Fife,  James,  joiner  and  cabinet-maker,  Leith ;  a 
dividend. 

Johnstone,  John,  manufacturer,  Newabbey ;  a  di- 
vidend of  is.  Cd.  i!8th  April. 

Lawson,  George,  currier,  Edinburgh ;  a  dividend 
on  'J  1st  March. 

M 'Knight,  Samuel,  jun.  merchant,  Kirkcudbright; 
a  second  dividend,  51st  March. 

Pollock,  Alexander  and  John,  cotton  yarn  mer- 
chants, Paisley;  a  dividend,  15th  April. 

Hichardson,  William  and  James,  late  wool  mer- 
chants and  manufacturers,  Hawick ;  a  dividend, 
3d  May. 


18210 


Register. — Meteorological  Report. 


119 


METEOKOLOOICAL  TABLE,  extracted  from  the  Register  kept  at  Edinburgh,  in  the 
Observatory,  Cnlton-hUl. 

N.B.— The  Observations  are  made  twice  every  day,  at  nine  o'clock,  forenoon,  and  four  o'clock,  aftor- 
noon.— The  second  Observation  in  the  afternoon,  in  the  first  column,  is  taken  by  the  Register 
Thermometer. 


Attach. 

Ther. 

Iiaro?n. 

Ther.' 

Wind. 

Ther. 

Barom  . 

Ther. 

Wind. 

Mar.  l{ 

M.22 
A.  32 

29.1*4 
.319 

M.33\ 
A.  34  ( 

S.E. 
Mod. 

Frost  with 
.Snow. 

Mar.  17} 

M.34 

A.-  11 

29.519 
.103 

M.48) 
A.  46  )" 

Cble. 
H'fih. 

•"air. 

2{ 

M.25 
A.  87 

.4-18 
.527 

M.37\ 

A.  58) 

S.E. 
Mod. 

Foggy 

18} 

M.29 
A.  59 

.798 

28.783 

M.43\ 
A.  40  / 

N.W. 

High. 

Showers  of 
tail. 

f 

M.30 

.457 

M.391 

S.E. 

. 

) 

M.24 

.675 

M.38\ 

N.W. 

\ 

A.40 

.583 

A.40/ 

Mod. 

Rain. 

/ 

A.  55 

.994 

A.  40  ) 

High. 

?air. 

4{ 

M.30 
A.40 

,980 

..•51.5 

M.-10) 
A.  58  / 

S.E. 
Mod. 

Dull  with 

showers. 

20} 

M.29 
A.41 

.950 
29.144 

M.41\ 
A.41/ 

N. 
High. 

Frost  morn. 
showers  hail. 

_  f 

M.29J 

.657 

M.57\ 

Cble. 

Dull,  but 

\ 

M.28 

.366 

M.41\ 

N. 

frost  morn. 

X 

A.  55 

.C57 

A.  36) 

Mod. 

fair. 

/ 

A.  40 

.690 

A.  40  ) 

High. 

dull  day. 

4 

M.50 

A.  5ri 

.358 
.237 

M.571 
A.  41  / 

Cble. 
Mod. 

Ditto. 

22} 

M.25 
A.  36 

.766 
.675 

M.41\ 
A.  40  / 

N. 

Mod. 

Showers  of 

hail. 

7/ 

M.52 

.146 

H.«8\ 

W. 

Rain.  morn. 

M.22 

.454 

M.39\ 

W. 

Frost  morn. 

7X 

A.  42 

28.954 

A.  44) 

Mod. 

fair  day. 

tat 

A.  35 

28.975 

A.  42  / 

High. 

dull  day. 

M.52A 

.902 

M.44\ 

Cble. 

• 

s 

M.35J 

.629 

M.1.5\ 

s.w. 

Showers  of 

X 

A.  44 

.948 

A.45) 

Mod. 

r  air. 

24  > 

A.45 

.995 

A.  46  / 

Brisk. 

snow. 

Q  / 

M.55 

.'9.175 

M.46\ 

Cble. 

Fair  foren. 

•j 

M.29 

.999 

M.46\ 

W. 

Frost  morn. 

X 

A.  44 

28.885 

A.  45  ) 

High. 

rain  aftern. 

) 

A.  44 

JM 

A.  43) 

Mod. 

fair  day. 

io{ 

M.57 
A.  47 

.885 
.999 

M.47\ 

A.  46) 

Cble. 
Mod. 

Showery. 

26} 

M.29 
A.  38 

29.242 

M.43\ 
A.  44) 

Cble. 
Mod. 

Frost  morn, 
rainy  day. 

"{ 

M.54.J 
A.  42" 

jy.'-'i)!' 

.446 

M.45  \ 
A.  45  ) 

N.W. 
Mod. 

Ditto. 

27} 

M.28 
A.  38 

28.975 
.603 

M.42\ 
A.  41  / 

Cble. 
Mod. 

Frost  morn, 
fair  day.  • 

_  _  ( 

M.2!l 

.431 

M.45) 

W. 

Rain  morn. 

M.53 

.944 

M.43\ 

Cble. 

i 

A.  46 

.506 

A.  46  ) 

Mod. 

fair  day. 

28} 

A.40 

.810 

A.  42  / 

Mod. 

Ditto. 

15{ 

M. 

A.  38 

.486 
.591 

M.46\ 

A.  -1  1  )' 

W. 

Mod. 

Dull,  with 
showcri. 

29} 

M.28 
A.40 

.hl< 
.903 

M.43  \ 
A.  4,5  ) 

SW. 

Mod. 

Ditto. 

**{ 

M.28 
A.40 

.MO 

JUt 

M.42\ 
A.45) 

W. 

Mod. 

Frost  morn, 
fair  day. 

30} 

M.30 
A.  39 

29.150 

28.762 

M.42\ 

A.  42) 

N.W. 

High. 

Ditto. 

15/ 

M.29 

.945 

M.44  \ 

W. 

. 

31  \ 

M.31 

.555 

M.471 

N.W. 

Showers  of 

x 

A.  42 

.975 

A.  1.)  ) 

High. 

IJltlO. 

01  / 

A.  44 

.973 

A.  42  ) 

High. 

hail. 

,    .  1 

M.50 

.803 

M.46\ 

N.W. 

. 

1('X 

A.  1.5 

.735 

A.  46  / 

High. 

Fair. 

Average  of  Rain,  2.4GO  inches. 


APPOINTMENTS, 

Brevet       Capt.  H.  Light,  R.  ArL  to  be  Major  in 

the  Army  12th  Aug.  1819 

R.  H.  Gds.  Vet.  Kurg.  J.  Siddal,  from  h.  p. Vet.  Surg. 

vice  J.  Siddal,  dead.     15th  Feb.  1S21 

11  Dr.  Cornet  Ahmuty,  from  21  Dr.  Cornet 

vice  Mallet,  h.  p.  il  Dr.  7th  Aug.  1820 

As.  Surg.  Sandham,  from  53  F.  Surg. 

vice  O'Mcally,  dead  28th  July 

17         Lieut.  Fisk,  Adjut.  vice  Smith,  dead. 

21st  June 

Cren.  Gds.  Ens.  and  Lieut.  Fludyer,  Lt  and  Capt. 
by  purch.  vice  Trelawny,  ret.        do. 

Rowley,  from  h.  p.  Ens. 

and  Lieut.  do. 

As.  Surg.  Johnson,  from  h.  p.  As.  Surg. 

.    vice  Gibson,  prom.  15th  Feb. 

Colo.Gds.  A.  R.  Wellesley,  Page  of  Honour  to  the 

King,  Ens.  and  Lt.  vice  Griffiths,  dead. 

25th  Jan. 

3  F.  G.  Ens.  and  Lt.  Blane,  Lt  and  Capt.  by 

purch.  vice  Tuffnel,  ret.     15th  Mar. 

H.  Bowden,  Ens.  and  Lt.    do.          do. 

1  F.  Lieut.  Everett,  from  h.  p.  R.  Afr.  C. 

Lieut,  vice  Glen,  cancelled,  15th  Feb. 

2  Ens.  Wilmot,   from  35  F.   Ens.  vice 

Delaney,  h.  p.  3  F.  8th  Mar. 

8       Capt.  Hay,  fiom  81  F.  Capt.  vice  de 

Havilland,  55  F.  do. 

Lieut.  Vans  Machen,  Capt.  by  purch. 

vice  Moyle  ret.  15th  do. 

Ens.  T.  R.  Thompson.  Lt.  do.          do. 

T.  J.  Neill.  Ens.  by  purch.  do. 

11       Lieut.  Prideaux,  from  53  F.  Lieut,  vice 

Kerr,  h.  p.  Iu4  F.  do. 

13 Clayton,    Ens.  vice  M'Donald, 

superseded  do. 

14       Lieut.  Bower,  from  34  F.  vice  Way, 

dead  1st  Mar.  1819. 


PROMOTIONS,  &c. 

17      Ens.  Nagel,  Lieut  vice  Bennet,  dead 
10th  July,  1820. 

J.  D.  O'Brien,  Ens.        15th  Mar.  1821. 

22      Surg.  Black,  from  h.  p.  Staff  Surg.  vice 

Bolton,  cancelled  25tn  Feb. 

24      Gent  Cadet  R.  Bennet,  from  R.  Milit. 

Coll.  Ens.  vice  Kchoof,  prom.lSthMar. 

53  G.  Pigott,  Ens.  vice  Patton,  46  F.  1st  do. 

54  Gent  Cadet  R.  Airey,  from  R.  Mil.  Coll. 

Ens.  vice  Alex.  Adam,  res.  15th  do. 
35  Ens.  O'Hara,  from  h.  p.  5  F.  Ens.  vice 

Wilmot,  2  F.  8th  do. 

42  Lt.  Wardcll,  from  h.  p.  24  Dr.  Paym. 

vice  Aitkin,  h.  p.  7th  Feb. 

45  —  Urquhart,  Ens.  vice  Wetherall,  69  F. 

15th  Mar. 

46  Ens.  Stuart,   Lieut,  vice  Smith,  dead 

25th  Feb.  1820. 

J.  Stuart,  Ensign,  22d  Jan. 

Capt  Wallis,  Major  by  purchase,  vice 

Mackenzie,  ret  1st  Mar.  1821. 

Lieut  Dawe,  Capt         do.  do. 

Ens.  Patton,  from  33  F.  Lt.  by  purch. 

do. 

53      Lieut  Greene,  Capt.  vice  Giles,  prom. 
1st  Mar.  1820. 

Ens.  Carpenter,  Lieut.  do. 

Lieut  Kelly,  from  h.  p.  104  F.  Lieut 

vice  Prideaux,  11  F.  15th  Mar.  1821. 

E.  H.  Dodd,  Ens.  vice  Carpenter,  prom. 

do. 

As.  Surg.  M'Lean,  from  h.  p.  As.  Surg. 
vice  Sandham,  11  Dr.  2Jth  July  1820. 

55  Bt  Major  de  Havilland,  from  8  F.  Capt. 

vice  Morris,  h.  p.  14  F.  8th  Mar.  1821. 

61      Lieut.  Hall,  from  h.  p.  79  F.  Lieut  vice 

Patience,  cancelled,  15th  do. 


1*0 


Appointments,  Promotions, 


Opril, 


B5      S.H.Widdrington,  Ens.  vice  Donithronc, 

cancelled,  do. 

B7      Lieut.  Rowan,  Capt.  vice  Gray,  dead, 

9th  June,  1820. 

B.  Gormley,  (late  Serj.  Maj.)  y.  Mast. 

vice  Hennessey,  dead,  22d  Feb.  1821. 

69      Ens.  Boultbee,  Lieut.  20th  April,  1820. 

Wetherall,  from  45  F.  Ens.  vice 

Boultbee,  Hth  Mar.  1->21. 

81  Capt.  White,  from  h.  p.  14  F.  vice  Hay, 

8  F.  8th  do. 

82  T.  Byrne,  Ens.  vice  Lord  F.  Montagu, 

1  Ceylon  Reg.  15th  do. 

88      Lieut  Hon.  C.  Napier,  Capt.  by  purcli. 

vice  Christie,  ret.  2'2d  Feb. 

Ens.  Gibson,  Lieut.  do.    do. 

Gent.  Cadet  W.  Codriggton,  from  R. 

Mil.  Coll.  Ens.  by  purch.  do. 

92      Wm.  Aimsinck,  Ens.  vice  A.  Aimsinck, 

dead  1st  Mar. 

1  Ceyl.  R.  Lieut.  Daly,  Capt.  by  purchase,  vice 

Hamilton,  ret.  8th  do. 

Lord  F.  Montagu,  from  82  F.  Lt.  do. 

Miscellaneous. 
Capt.  T.  St  G.  Lister,  II  F.  Fort  Major  and  Adjut. 

at  Jersey,  vice  Miller,  dead  8th  Feb.  1 82 1 . 

Lieut.  J.  Chadwick,  assisting  in  the  Riding  School 

of  the  Army,  to  have  the  Rank  and  pay  of  Cant. 

of  Cavalry  22d  do. 

Capt.  W.  Goddard,  Barrack  Mast,  at  Nova  Scotia, 

vice  Lynn,  res.  22d  Jan. 

Rev.  D.  Evans,  Chaplain  to  the  Forces. 

Exchanges. 
Lieut  Col.  Napier,  3  F.  G.  with  Lieut  Col.  Sir 

G.  H.  Berkeley,  44  F. 

Bt  Lieut  Col.  Hay,  from  18  Dr.  rec.  diff.  between 
full  pay  Cav.  and  full  pay  Inf.  with  Major  Synge, 
h.  p.  25  Dr. 
Major  Bloomfield,  from  16  F.  with  Bt  Lieut  Col. 

Hook,  19  F. 
•"  M'Intyre,  from  53  F.  with  Major  Fane, 

1  W.  I.  R. 

Capt  Jones,  from  15  Dr.  with  ("apt  Garth,  37  F. 

Lister,  from  11  F.  with  Capt  Derinzy,  h.  p. 

— —  Wiltshire,  from  21  F.  with  Capt  Daniel,  h.  p. 

—  •    Sanderson,  89  F.  rec.  dirt',  with  Capt  Savage, 

rr.  p. 
Lieut  Tighe,  from  Gren.  Gds.  rec.  diff.  with  Lieut 

Sir  John  Burgoyne,  h.  p. 

.          Purdon,  from  41  F.  with  Lieut  Townsend, 
h.  p. 

O'Brien,  from  48  F.  with  Lieut.  Robison, 

h.  p.  22d  Dr. 
— —  O'Neill,  from  58  F.  with  Lieut  Stevenson, 

64  F. 
i  A.  Cameron,  from  "9  F.  with  Lt  Beckham, 

89  F. 

.      .-  Fenton,  from  81  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt  Hall, 
h.  p.  69  F. 

. Randal,  from  92  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt  Clarke, 

h.p. 
Ens.  and  Adjt  Osborne,  from  1  F.  with  Lieut  and 

Adjut  Russell,  h.  p.  62  F. 

Ens.  Honeywood,  from  45  F.  with  Ens.  Wetherall, 
h.  p.  1  F. 

Innes,  from  49  F.  with  Ens.  Birney,  h.  p.  97  F. 

— —  Couper,  from  64  F.  with  Ens.  Thomas,  h.  p. 
37  F. 

Macleod,  from  79  F.  with  Ens.  Boates,  h.  p 

6F. 

Surg.  Erskine,  from  22 F.  with  Surg.  Helton,  h.  p. 
— -  Reynolds,  from  72  F.  with  Surg.White,  h.  p. 
—  Spencer,  from  62  F.  with  Surg.  Alderson, 
h.  p.  York  Rangers. 

Smyth,  from  45  F.  with  Surg.  Herriot,  h.  p. 

6F. 


Assist  Surg.  Alexander,  from  >  Dr.  with  Assist 

Surg.  Stewart,  h.  p.  28  F. 
Strachan,  from  99  F.  with  As.  Surg. 

Lenon,  h.  p.  3  W.  I.  R. 

Resignations  and  Retirement*. 
Major  Mackenzie,  46  F. 
Capt  Hamilton,  1  Ceylon  Reg. 

Trelawney,  Gren.  Gds. 

Tuffnel,  3  F.  G. 

Moyle,  8  F. 

Christie,  88  F. 

Ensign  Alexander  Adam,  34  F. 

Removed  from  the  Service. 
Lieut.  Machell,  18  Hussars. 

Superseded. 
Ensign  P.  E.  M'Donell,  13  F. 

Appointments  Cancelled. 
Lieut.  Glen,  1  F. 

Patience,  61  F. 

Ensign  Donithorne,  65  F. 
Surg.  Bolton,  22  F. 
Assist  Surg.  Mouat,  87  F. 

Deaths. 
Lieut  Gen.  Rochfort,  R.  Inv.  Art.  Woolwich, 

24th  Feb.  1821. 
Major  Gen.  R.  Marriott,  late  of  24  F.  Paris, 

9th  Mar.  1821. 

Colonel  Robertson,  h.  p.  Insp.  Field  Of.  Rec.  Dist 
Major  Thistlethwaite,  2  F.  Berbice,  22d  Dec.  1820. 

Clarke,  5  F.  Nevis,  Antigua,  4th  Jan.  1821. 

Cowper,  R.  Art.  London,  10th  Feb. 

Fenton,  h.  p.  58  F.  Kingsale,  5th  Aug.  1820. 

Hicks,  h.  p.  99  F.  formerly  of  37  F.  London, 

Harrison,  late  of  60  F. 

Capt.  Ackland,  h.  p.  2  F.  Tenby,  10th  Dec.  1820. 

De  Glutz,  h.  p.  Roll's  Reg.   Hth  Jan.  1821. 

Lieut.  Brannan,  14  F.  Meerut,  Bengal, 

2()th  Aug.  1820. 

Demoor,  17  F.  Fort  William,  Bengal, 

29th  Sept. 

Pickering,  17  F.     do.  3d  Oct. 

Wilton,  53  F.  Bangalore,  28th  Sept 

Hilliard,  4  R.  Vet  Bat  Liverpool, 

18th  Jan.  1821. 

•  Goodman,  h.  p.  4  Dr. 

Watkins,  h.  p.  4  Dr. 

Cazalet,  h.  p.  6  Dr. 

Crewe,  h.  p.  36  F.  12th  Nov.  1820. 

DeLaflfert,  h.  p.  3  Line  Germ.  Leg.  Hanover, 

7th  Oct. 
Cornet  Hon.  D.  Carleton,  h.  p.  4  Dr.  Newbury, 

Berks. 

Ensign  Gamble,  4  F.  Trinidad,       22d  Jan.  1821. 
— —  Aimsinck,  92  F.  on  passage  from  Jamaica. 

Ford,  1  W.  I.  R.  Dominica,  14th  Dec.  1820. 

White,  Inval.  Pimlico,        17th  Feb.  1821. 

Quart  Mast.  Parkes,  h.  p.  4  Dr.  Wolverhamton, 
,    23d  Feb.  1821. 
Dep.  Assist.  Com.  Gen.  Braybrooke,  Berbice, 

l"th  Dec.  1820. 

•  Aekroyd,  Barbadoes, 

13th  Jan.  1821. 
Richardson,  Berbice, 

17th  Jan.  Ir21. 

Physician   Joseph  Taylor,  on  passage  from  Ja- 
maica to  Canada,  20th  Nov. 
Staff  Surg.  Codrington,  Coventry,          21st  Mar. 
Surg.  O'Meally,  11  Dr. 
Assist.  Surg.  Webb,  h.  p.  58  F.  Castle  Pollard, 

30th  Sept  1820. 

Apothecary  Leeson,  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
llospit.  Assist.  Conway,  Goree,  Africa, 

19th  Oct  1820. 


1821.3 


Register. — Births,  Marriages,  and  Deaths. 


121 


BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BIRTHS. 

At  St  Thomas's  Mount,  Madras,  13th  October, 
1820,  the  lady  of  Major  Limmond,  Honourable 
East  India  Company's  Artillery,  of  a  daughter. 

Feb.  21.  The  Right  Honourable  Harriet  Paget, 
of  a  daughter. 

24.  Mrs  James  Campbell,    Northumberland 
Street,  of  a  daughter. 

28.  At  Fortwilliam,  Mrs  Thomas  Macdonald, 
of  a  daughter. 

March  1.  Mrs.  C.  Terrot,  West  Nicholson's 
Street,  of  a  son. 

'-'.  At  Springkell,  the  lady  of  Lieutenant  Colonel 
Sir  John  Heron  Maxwell,  Bart,  of  a  son. 

3.  At  Levenside-house,    Mrs    Blackburn,    of 
Killearn,  of  a  son. 

4.  Mrs  John  Menzies,  Salisbury  Street,  of  a 
son. 

6.  At  Auchenard,  the  lady  of  Major  Alston,  of 
a  daughter. 

—  At  London,  the  lady  of  David  Chas.  Guthrie, 
Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

11.  At  Largs,  the  lady  of  Captain  Chas.  Hope 
Reid,  of  his  Majesty's  ship  Driver,  of  a  son. 

12.  At  25,  Gayfield  Square,  Mrs  A.  Thomson, 
of  a  son. 

15.   Mrs  Corrie,  Queen  Street,  of  a  daughter. 

17.  At  Bonnington  Bank,  Mrs  Wyld,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Speid,  St  John  Street,  of 
a  son. 

18.  At  6,  Park  Street,  Mrs  Hogg,  Altrive  Lake, 
«f  a  son. 

—  The  lady  of  John  Anstruther  Thomson,  Esq. 
of  Charleton,  of  a  daughter. 

19.  At  29,  Northumberland  Street,  the  lady  of 
W.  Macdonald,  M.  D.  of  Balyshear,  of  a  daughter. 

—  Mrs  Douglas,  Drummond  Place,  of  a  son. 

20.  The  lady  of  John  Watson,  Esq.  of  Upper 
Bedford  Place,  London,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Clapham,  the  lady  of  Alex.  Gordon,  Esq. 
of  Old  Broad  Street,  London,  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  Clifton,  the  lady  of  Arnold  Thomson  Esq. 
of  the  81st  regiment,  of  a  daughter. 

21.  At  St  Andrews,  Mrs  Lee,  of  a  daughter. 

22.  At    Paris,    the  Countess  of  Airly,  of  a 
daughter. 

25.  Mrs  Mowbray,  Howe  Street,  of  a  son. 

26.  In  George  Street,  the  lady  of  John  Mans- 
field, Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

—  Mrs  John  Scotland,  of  a  daughter. 
31.   Mrs  Richard  Mackenzie,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Macleod,  jun.  of  Cadboll, 
of  a  son. 

Lately.  Mrs  M'Culloch,  Shandwick  Place,  of  a 
son.  „ 

—  At  Kew,  the  lady  of  Captain   Archibald 
Buchanan,  R.  N.  of  a  son. 

MARRIAGES. 

Fc6.  27.  At  Wigton,  Mr, James  Thomson,  sur- 
geon, Newton-Stewart,  to  Miss  Janet  Parker, 
Wigton. 

—  At  Spott-house,  Captain  Alexander  Renton 
Sharpe,  royal  navy,  C.  B.  to  Catherine,  eldest 
daughter  of  Robert  Hay,  Esq.  of  Spott. 

March.  1.  At  Aberdeen,  the  Rev.  Patrick  Cheyne, 
minister  of  St  John's  Episcopal  Chapel,  to  Eliza, 
youngest  daughter  of  the  deceased  John  Annand  of 
Belmont,  Esq. 

—  At  Glasgow,  Mr  Dugald  Maclachlan,  mer- 
chant, Tobermory,  to  Miss  Catherine  Macdonald, 
only  daughter  ot    the  late  Captain  Macdonald, 
Alva. 

6.  At  Glasgow,  Mr  Charles  Kennedy,  surgeon, 
Edinburgh,  to  Isabella,  youngest  daughter  of  the 
late  Rev.  Mr  Gilbert  Dickson. 

—  At  Leith,  Mr  Thomas  Hardie,  merchant, 
Leith,  to  Ann,  daughter  of  Mr  William  Goddard. 

9.  At  St  Patrick  Sqiure,  Lieutenant  Grant,  late 
92d  regiment,  to  Mary  Ann,  eldest  daughter  of 
the  late  Captain  Watson. 


10.  Lieutenant-Colonel  James  Johnstone  Coch- 
rane,  of  the  3d  regiment  of  guards,  to  Charlotte, 
daughter  of  J.  Wiltshire,  Esq.  of  Shockerwick- 
house. 

12.  At  St  John's  Church,  Horsly  Down,  Lon- 
don, Mr  James  B.  Scott,  brewer,  Leith,  to  Jane, 
eldest  daughter  of  John  Donaldson,  Esq  of  Tho- 
mas Street. 

16.  At  Gilmore  Place,  Mr  Robert  Gilmour,  to 
Elizabeth  Beatson,  daughter  of  David  Boswell 
Beatson,  Esq.  late  of  the  North  Glassmount,  and 
relict  to  Dr  O'Flaharty,  late  of  the  island  of  St 
Eustatia. 

19.  At  Queen  Street,  George  Augustus  Borth- 
wick,  M.  D.  to  Janet,  daughter  of  George  Kinnear, 
Esq.  banker. 

21.  At  Oatridge,  the  Rev.  John  Geddes,  one  of 
the  ministers  of  Paisley,  to  Dora,  eldest  daughter 
of  the  late  Mr  James  Thomson,  Oatridge. 

23.  At  Inverness,  Lieutenant-ColonelA.  Mack- 
intosh, H.  E.  I.  C.  S.  to  Anna,  eldest  daughter  of 
the  late  David  Sheriff,  Esq. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  William  Jamieson,  build- 
er, to  Helen,  daughter  of  Mr  Alexander  Aber- 
nethy,  farmer,  Westside. 

24.  At  Charlotte  Square,  Major  William  Power, 
of  his  Majesty's  7th  dragoon  guards,  to  Miss  Ann 
Homer,  youngest  daughter  of  John  Horner,  Esq. 

26.  At  Kenmore  Castle,  Mr  J.  Maitland,  Edin- 
burgh, to  Frances,  eldest  daughter  of  the  late 
James  Dalzell,  Esq.  of  Barncrosh. 

29.  At  Edinburgh,  William  Young,  M.  D.  to 
Margaret,  daughter  of  the  late  Mr  R.  White,  Ha- 
mildean. 

30.  Mr  Thomas  Hardy,  surgeon  and  dentist, 
Duke  Street,  to  Rosabina,  daughter  of  Robert 
Forrester,  Esq.  treasurer  of  the  Bank  of  Scotland. 

DEATHS. 

June,  21,  1820.  At  Hydrabad,  Captain  Pringle, 
Fraser,  7th  regiment  native  infantry  aged  85  years, 
eldest  son  of  the  late  Rev.  John  Fraser,  Libberton, 
Lanarkshire. 

July  27.  At  Mullye,  on  the  Nepaul  frontier, Major 
Charles  Peter  Hay,  of  the  22d  regiment,  Bengal 
infantry,  commanding  the  Champarur  light  in- 
fantry. 

Aug.  25.  At  Bandah,  Bengal,  Mr  Hay  Mac- 
dowall,  youngest  son  of  the  late  H.  D.  Macdow- 
all  of  Walkingshaw,  Esq. 

ill.  At  Delhi,  Lieutenant  Charles  George  Con- 
stable, Adjutant  to  the  I  st  battalion,  26th  regiment 
native  infantry,  much  regretted. 

Sept.  5.  At  Calcutta,  Robert  Campbell,  Esq.  of 
the  civil  department  there. 

11.  At  Baroche,  Mrs  Campbell,  wife  of  Captain 
A.  Campbell,  of  the  Artillery,  and  Commissary  of 
Stores,  on  the  Bombay  Establishment,  having 
given  birth  to  a  son  on  the  5th. 

12.  At  Calcutta,  Walter  Davidson,  Esq.  of  the 
firm  of  Hogue,  Davidson,  Robertson,  and  Co. 

Oct.  8.  At  Chittagong,  East  Indies,  Lieutenant 
James  Ewart,  of  the  Bengal  artillery,  son  of  Mr 
Ewart,  clerk  in  Chancery. 

Nov.  20.  At  Port  Maria,  Jamaica,  Captain  James 
Gordon,  late  of  the  Aberdeenshire  militia. 

Dec.  17.  At;St  Helena,  Robert  Grant,  Esq.  R.  N. 
second  son  of  the  late  Francis  Grant,  Esq.  of  Kil- 
graston. 

26.  At  Berbice,  Miss  Margaret  Johnston,  eldest 
daughter  of  the  late  Dr  Archibald  Johnston  of 
that  colony. 

Fcb.5, 1821.  At  Lucia,  in  the  50th  year  of  his  age, 
John  M'Call,  Esq.  late  President  of  the  Council  in 
that  island,  second  son  of  the  late  John  M'Call, 
Esq.  merchant  in  Glasgow. 

4.  At  their  house,  near  Pinkie,  Miss  Jean  ;  and 
on  the  28th,  Miss  Ann,  her  sister,  daughters  of 
the  deceased  Mr  Main. 

16.  At  York  Place,  Edinburgh,  Edward,  the 
youngest,  and  on  the  2Gth  William,  aged  2i.',  the 
eldest  son  of  Mr  Peter  Lorimer,  builder. 


122 


Register.— Deaths. 


Opril, 


20.  At  Bath,  Thomas  Macdonald,  Esq.  former- 
ly of  Hind  Street,  London,  late  first  commission- 
er of  the  board  appointed  by  the  act  of  parliament 
for  deciding  on  the  claims  of  British  subjects  upon 
the  American  government. 

23.  At  Rockingham,  in  Ireland,  aged  88,  the 
honourable  Colonel  King,  governor  of  the  county 
of  Sligo. 

24.  At  Hamburgh,  Beatrice  Jane,  infant  daugh- 
ter of  Mr  Alexander  M'Laren. 

86.  At  Stirling,  Mr  Burdon,  late  rector  of  the 
gramar  school  there. 

28.  At  Edinburgh,  aged  12,  Ilay  Campbell  Tail, 
son  of  Craufurd  Tail  of  Harviestoun,  Esq.  W.  tj. 

—  Mr  Robert  Callender,  accountant  in  Edin- 
burgh. 

March  2.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Ann  Gardner,  wife 
of  Mr  Sylvester  Reid,  accountant  and  deputy  clerk 
of  teinds. 

—  At  Cupar  Fife,  Mrs  David  Methven. 

3.  At  Arthurstone,  Perthshire,  Mary  Harris, 
infant  daughter  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  Dick  of 
Tullymet. 

—  At  Montrose,  Mrs  Major  Gardyne. 

—  At  Moor  Park,  Richard  Alexander  Oswald, 
Esq. 

4.  At  Edinburgh,  David  Pringle,  son  of  the 
late  James  Pringle,  Esq.  of  Lampikewells. 

—  At  Linlithgow,  Mary  Martin  relict  of  Alex. 
Jamieson,  in  the  99th  year  of  her  ai;e. 

—  At  her  house,  in  Elder  Street,  Mrs  Magdalene 
Lythgow,  relict  of  John  Young,  Esq.  architect  in 
Edinburgh. 

5.  At  Bellfield,  in  the  86th  year  of  his  age,  Mr 
James  Stalker,  who  long  enjoyed  the  highest  cele- 
brity as  a  teacher  of  English  in  the  city  of  Edin- 
burgh. 

6.  At  CrossmounL  Mrs  Janet  Butter,  spouse  of 
Captain  John  Campbell  of  Boreland. 

—  At  his  house  in  Bolton  Row,  Viscount  Chet- 
wynd,  aged  84. 

—  At  Portobello,  Mr  John  Pringle,  late  sur- 
geon, R.  N. 

7.  At  Haddington,  Mr  William  Veitch,  in  the 
87th  year  of  his  age. 

•  —   At  Dundas  Castle,   Adamina,    the  infant 
daughter  of  James  Dundas,  Esq.  of  Dundas. 
9.  At  Paris,  Major  General  Randolph  Marriott. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  aged  22,  Ronald  C.  F.  Tullis, 
son  of  Mr  Robert  Tuflis,  Abbotshall,  Fifeshire. 

—  At  Farr,  Inverness-shire,  James  Mackintosh, 
Esq.  of  Farr,  in  the  89th  year  of  his  age,  and  one 
of  the  oldest  Justices  of  the  Peace  in  the  county — 
a  gentleman  highly  distinguished  for  soundness  of 
judgment  and  upright  conduct. 

11.  At  Gorgie,   Marion,   second  daughter  of 
Robert  Robb,  farmer  thore. 

—  At   his  house,  Stockbridge,   Mr  William 
Neaves,  writer. 

12.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  Manchester,  aged 
20  years,  Richard  Thomas,  second  son  of  the  late 
Mr  Thomas  Hunt  of  Berford,  Oxon.  It  is  impos- 
sible for  those  who  were  acquainted  with  this  ex- 
traordinary young  man  to  record  his  death,  which 
took  place  under  circumstances  peculiarly  distress- 
ing ,  without  the  most  unfeigned  and  sincere  re- 
gret.   Of  the  instances  of  promises  cut  short,  and 
expectations  blighted,  few  more  melancholy  can 
be  found.  He  was  the  possessor  of  talents  and  abi- 
lities of  no  ordinary  or  common  rank,  with  a  por- 
tion of  intellectual  energy,  still  rare  to  be  met  with ; 
high  in  hope,  and  fervent  in  fancy — enthusiastic  in 
his  researches,  and  indefatigable  in  his  zeal.  Such 
was  his  disposition,  and  such  his  manners,  that 
no  one  could  know  him  without  being  concilia- 
ted by  his  address,  and  won  by  his  conversation. 
By  those  who  had  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance 
he  will  not  soon  be  forgotten  ;  and  those  even  to 
whom  he  was  unknown,  may  perhaps  not  refuse  to 
lament  over  the  memory  of  one  who,  had  he  lived, 
might  have  attained  the  highest  dignities  of  his 
profession,  and  become  one  of  its  greatest  orna- 
ments. 

—  At  his  house,    Simon   Square,  Mr  John 
Brown,  geneologist  to  his  present  Majesty  when 
Prince  of  Wales,  aged  81. 

—  At  her  house,  Cur/on  Street,  May  Fair, 
London,  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Essex,  aged  87. 

—  At  Spring  Garden,   Alicia   Sophia   llairii, 
youngest  daughter    of   Sir  James  G.  Baird  of 
Saughtonhall,  Bart. 


—  At  Alloa,  Thomas  Drummond,  second  son 
of  Mr.  George  Charles. 

—  At  her  house,  Canongate,  Christian,  young- 
est daughter  of  the  late  Mr  John  Henderson. 

13.  At  her  house,  Pitt  Street,  Mrs  Christian 
Baird,  relict  of  Mr  George  Callender,  surveyor  in 
Edinburgh. 

—  At  London,  John  Hunter,  Esq.  Vice-Admiral 
of  the  Red,  aged  85. 

14.  At  Earlstoun,  Mrs  Esther  Lauriston,  widow 
of  the  late  Rev.  Laurence  Johnston,  minister  of 
that  parish. 

15.  At  Castle-Douglas,  Mr  William  Crosbie, 
wine  and  spirit  merchant. 

—  At  his  house,  Broughton  Street,  Mr  Thomas 
Goodsir. 

—  At  his  house,  10,  Catherine  Street,  Mr  John 
Hor.sburgh,  shoemaker. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  the  Hon,  Mary  Duncan, 
youngest  daughter  of  Viscount  Duncan. 

—  At  Orchardton,  James  Douglas  of  Orchard- 
ton,  Esq. 

16.  At  Stratford  Place,   London,   Lieutenant 
Colonel  P.  Douglas,  late  of  the  honourable  East 
India  Company's  service,  on  the  Bengal  establish- 
ment. 

17.  George  Tate,  Admiral  in  the  Russian  ser- 
vice, Senator,  and  Knight  of  St  Alexander  Nevs- 
koy,  &c.  &c.  in  the  76th  year  of  his  age. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Miss  Jane  Charters  Ilardie, 
second  daughter  of  the  late  Dr  Hardie,  minister  of 
Aslikirk. 

—  At  Leith,  Mrs  M'Gibbon.  Her  remains  were 
deposited  in  the  same  grave  with  those  of  tier  hus- 
band, her  son,  and  daughter-in-law,  all  of  whom 
fell  victims  to  suffocation,  in  a  very  confined  apart- 
ment, in  one  night. 

—  Mrs  Ann  Bell,  wife  of  Mr  James  Alison, 
merchant  in  Leith,  aged  41. 

—  At  Elm-House,   Haddington,  of  apoplexy, 
James  Cockburn,  Esq.  in  the  68th  year  ot  his  age. 

18.  Mr  Andrew  Lawrie,    late  upholsterer  in 
Edinburgh. 

—  At  Camlarg  Lodge,  Ayrshire,  David  Wood- 
burn,  Esq. 

—  At  the  Manse  of  Gigha,  Mrs  Margaret  Ste- 
venson, 8]K>use  of  the  Rev.  Malcolm  MacDonald. 

19.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Gloag,  wife  to  Mr  John 
Gloag,  late  merchant,  Edinburgh. 

20.  At  his  house,  James's  Place,  Leith  Links, 
Mr  Robert  Dudgeon,  merchant,  Leith. 

—  At  Stephen's  Green,  Dublin,  Mrs  Plunkett, 
wife  of  the  right  honourable  W.  C.  Plunkelt. 

—  Colonel  Sandeman,  of  Denfield,   near  Ar- 
broath. 

—  At  Haddington,  Lieutenant  John  Henning, 
Adjutant  of  the  East  Lothian  yeomanry  cavalry. 
•  His  remains  were  attended  to  the  grave  by  the  gen- 
tlemen of  the  corps  in  their  uniforms. 

—  At  Torbreck,  Alexander  Fraser,  Esq.  of  Tor- 
breck,  deeply  and  justly  regretted. 

23.  At  Edinburgh,  Miss  Isabella  Webster,  third 
daughter  of  the  late  Rev.  John  Webster. 

24.  At  Shrub  Place,   Edinburgh,    Miss  Janet 
Wood. 

—  At  Pitt  Street,  Edinburgh,  George  John,  son 
of  Dr  Robertson. 

2.5.  At  London,  Mrs  Wylie,  mother  of  Dr  Wylie, 
of  the  Madras  artillery. 

27.  At  Montrose,  Mrs  Airth,  wife  of  Alexander 
Airth,  Esq.  of  Craigs. 

—  At  his  house  in  Craig's  Close,  Mr  David  Wil- 
lison,  printer. 

—  At  his  house  in  Frederick  Street,  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Thomas  Ingles. 

28.  At  Slateford,  Mrs  Janet  Cox,  wife  of  tha 
Rev.  Dr  Belfrage. 

—  Mr  Thomas  Morton,  late  farmer  in  Balhouf- 
fie.  parish  of  Kilrenny,  aged  85  years,  deeply  re- 
gretted. 

—  At  Meadow  Place,  Lieutenant  Donald  Grant, 
of  the  Inverness-shire  militia. 

—  At  Fisherrow,  Mr  Peter  Cathie,  merchant. 
Lntcli/.  In  Stephen's  Grean,  Dublin,  in  the  8<<th 

year  of  his  age,  Mr  William  Gilbert,  late  of  Dame 
Street,  bookseller. 

—  At  Exeter,  aged  8'J,  Lady  Mary  Hamilton, 
great  aunt  to  the  Earl  of  l.even  and  Melville,  anil 
aunt  to  the  Earl  of  Northesk. 

—  In  the  West  Indies,  Colonel  Clark  of  the  5th 
regiment  of  foot. 


1821. 


Register.— DeatJa. 


133 


JAMES  BONAR,  ESU. 

S5.  At  Edinburgh,  James  Bonar,  Esq.  Solicitor  of  liest  interest  in  every  institution  which  propo- 

Excise.afterashortillness.  Thisgentleman  wasemi-  sed   the  dissemination  of  that  truth  as  its  ob- 

nentlydistinguishedasamanof  science,  asascholar,  ject ;    for  thirty  years  he  discharged  the  duties 

and  as  a  Christian.  Possessed  of  an  active  mind,  and  of  one  of  the  principal  officers  of  the  Society  for 

of  a  studious  disposition,  Mr  Bonar  early  devoted  Propagating  Religious  Knowledge.     He  was  se- 

much  of  his  time  and  attention  to  those  literary  cretary  to  the  Society  for  the  Sons  of  the  Clergy, 

pursuits,  which  qualified  him  to  fill  the  highest  of-  as  also  one  of  the  secretaries  of  the  Edinburgh 

fiees  in  many  of  the  most  distinguished  literary  Bible  Society ;  and  indeed  there  is  scarcely  a  so- 

and  scientific  societies  of  this  city.  He  was  an  early  ciety  in  the  city  or  neighbourhood,  whose  object 

member  of,  and  for  many  years  Secretary  to  the  was  to  promote  either  the  present  or  future  hap- 

Speculative  Society, — a  member  of  the  Royal  So-  piness  of  mankind,  in  which  he  has  not  been  re- 

ciety  of  Edinburgh,  and  a  member  of  the  Astro-  cognized  as  an  active  and  useful  member. — And 

nomical  Institution,  in  each  of  which  he  held  the  when  to  this  we  add  the  exemplary  piety  of  his  pri- 

ofHce  of  treasurer  at  the  time  of  his  death.  But  his  vate  life,  his  cheerfulness  of  disposition,  unnbtru- 

personal  exertions  were  not  confined  to  the  pro-  sive  manners,  extensive  knowledge,  indefatigable 

motion  of  literature  and  science,  as,  with  a  deep  industry,  and  unwearied  zeal  in  every  pursuit  in 

impression  on  his  own  mind  of  the  yet  greater  which  he  engaged,  we  cannot  but  consider  the 

value  of  religious  truths,  he  ever  evinced  the  live-  death  ot  such  a  man  a  public  loss. 


SAMUEL  ANDERSON,  ESQ. 


27.  Samuel  Anderson,  Esq.  of  Rowchester  and 
Moredun,  banker  in  this  city.  Mr  Anderson  had 
set  off  for  his  seat  in  Berwickshire  on  that  day, 
accompanied  by  his  lady  and  daughter,  and  whilst 
the  horses  were  changing  at  the  inn  of  Whitburn, 
he  was  suddenly  taken  ill,  and,  in  a  short  time, 
breathed  his  last. 

Few  individuals  have  been  looked  up  to  with 
more  confidence  and  respect,  as  a  citizen  of  Edin- 
burgh, than  Mr  Anderson.  Endowed  with  supe- 
rior talents,  and  educated  for  a  mercantile  profes- 
sion, his  mind  acquired  an  expansion  of  ideas,  and 
a  liljerality  of  thought,  by  which  his  public  con- 
duct was  ever  regulated.  In  early  life  he  was  as- 
sumed as  a  partner  in  the  banking-house  of  Sir 
William  Forbes  and  Co.  and  his  situation  there 
brought  him  more  in  contact  with  the  public. — 
Easy  of  access — all  ranks  found  in  him  a  ready  and 
able  friend,  either  to  direct  at  the  outset — regulate 
in  the  progress — or  support  at  the  close  of  life.  His 
acts  of  liberality  and  generosity  were  no  less  nu- 


merous than  they  were  judicious ;  but  of  the  ex- 
tent of  these  no  idea  can  be  formed,  as  genuine 
modesty,  and  a  total  want  of  ostentation,  were 
most  conspicuous  traits  in  his  character. 

In  general  society,  his  manners  were  affable  and 
unobtrusive — his  conversation  lively  and  instruc- 
tive— his  remarks,  at  all  times  shrewd,  were  uni- 
formly to  the  point  at  issue.  When  retired  in  the 
bosom  of  his  family,  he  shone  conspicuous  as  an 
attentive  and  an  affectionate  husband,  and  a  fond 
father.  He  was  cheerful,  humorous,  and  gay — en- 
joying at  all  times  innocent  mirth,  and  possessing 
a  vein  of  wit,  which,  though  often  displayed,  was 
never  known  to  touch  upon  the  foibles,  or  wound 
the  feelings  of  any  one. 

The  general  regret  that  his  death  has  occasioned 
is  the  best  testimony  of  his  public  character  and 
private  worth,  and  must  prove  a  balm  of  consola- 
tion to  the  family  and  relations  whom  he  has  left 
to  lament  his  loss. 


DR  GREGORY. 


April  2.  At  Edinburgh,  Dr  James  Gregory,  Pro- 
fessor of  the  Practice  oi  Medicine  in  the  University 
of  Edinburgh,  and  first  Physician  to  his  Majesty 
for  Scotland.  He  was  interred  on  the  9th  with  great 
solemnity,  his  funeral  being  attended  by  the  Lord 
Provosf  and  Magistrates,  Professors  of  the  Univer- 
sity, and  other  Public  Bodies,  by  his  numerous 
students,  and  private  friends. 

It  is  seldom  our  lot  to  record  the  death  of  an  in- 
dividual so  universally  esteemed,  or  whose  loss 
will  occasion  so  irreparable  a  blank,  both  in  the 
academical  celebrity  of  this  city,  and  the  national 
celebrity  of  the  country.  He  has  been  long  at  the 
head  both  of  the  Medical  School  and  the  Medical 
Practice  of  Edinburgh ;  and  to  his  great  talents  and 
distinguished  character,  much,  not  only  of  the 
eminence  of  the  University,  but  also  of  the  pros- 
perity of  the  city,  is  to  be  ascribed.  For  above 
thirty  years  he  has  annually  taught  the  medical 
students  of  the  University  the  most  important  part 
of  their  professional  duties,  and  an  admiration  of 
his  abilities  and  reverence  for  his  character  have  in 
consequence  extended  not  only  as  far  as  the  Eng- 
lish language  is  spoken,  but  as  far  as  the  light  of 
civilizationlias  spread  in  the  world.  Perhaps  there 
is  no  scientific  man  now  in  existence  whose  name 
is  so  universally  revered,  or  whose  instructions 
have  diffused  over  so  wide  a  sphere  the  means  of 
relieving  human  distress. 

He  was  appointed  in  the  year  1776,  at  the  early 
age  of  twenty-three,  to  the  Professorship  of  the 
Theory  of  Physic,  and  he  continued  to  teach  this 
class  with  great  distinction  for  upwards  of  twelve 
years.  As  a  text  book  for  the  lectures,  he  publish- 
ed in  the  year  17S-,  his  Conspectus  Medicime  The- 
itreticiK,  which  soon  became  a  work  of  standard  re- 
putation over  all  Europe,  not  only  in  consequence 
of  the  scientific  merits  which  it  possessed,  but  the 
singular  felicity  of  classical  language  with  which  it 
was  written.  In  the  year  1790  he  was  appointed,  in 


consequence  of  the  death  of  Dr  Cullen,  to  the  Chair 
of  the  Piactice  of  Physic,  the  most  important 
medical  professorship  in  the  University ;  and  for 
thirty-two  years  he  sustained  and  increased  the 
celebrity  which  the  eminence  of  his  predecessor 
had  conferred  upon  the  office.  During  this  long 
period  the  fame  which  his  talents  had  acquired 
attracted  students  from  all  parts  of  the  world  to 
this  city,  all  of  whom  returned  to  their  homes  with 
feelings  of  reverence  for  his  character,  more  nearly 
resembling  that  which  the  disciples  of  antiquity 
felt  for  their  instructors  than  any  thing  which  is 
generally  experienced  in  the  present  situation  of 
society. 

Of  the  estimation  in  which  his  scientific  merits 
were  held  throughout  Europe,  it  is  a  sufficient 
proof  that  he  is  one  of  the  few  of  our  countrymen 
who  have  been  honoured  with  a  seat  in  the  Insti- 
tute of  France,  a  distinction  which  is  only  con- 
ferred upon  a  very  small  and  select  number  of 
foreigners. 

As  a  literary  man,  he  has  long  enjoyed  a  very 
high  reputation.  His  acute  and  discriminating 
mind  was  early  devoted  to  the  study  of  metaphy- 
sics ;  and  in  the  Literary  and  Philosophical  Essays 
which  he  published  in  the  year  1792,  is  to  be  found 
one  of  the  most  original  and  forcible  refutations  of 
the  dangerous  doctrine  of  necessity  which  has  ever 
appeared.  To  his  reputation  as  an  accomplished 
scholar,  all  the  well  informed  persons  in  both  parts 
of  the  island  can  bear  testimony.  He  was  one  of 
the  few  men  who  have  rescued  this  country  front 
the  imputation  of  a  deficiency  in  classical  taste, 
which  is  thrown  upon  it  with  too  much  justice  by 
our  southern  neighbours,  and  demonstrated  that 
the  vigour  of  Scottish  talent  may  be  combined 
with  the  elegance  of  English  accomplishments. 

He  was  one  of  the  last  of  that  illustrious  body 
of  literary  and  scientific  men  whose  labours  gave 
distinction  to  their  country  during  the  latter  part 


Register.— Deaths. 


124 

of  the  Ia«t  century ;  and  among  the  names  of  his 
intimate  friends  may  be  ranked  those  of  almost  all 
of  his  cotemporaries,  who  will  be  remembered  in 
future  ages  as  men  of  science  or  learning,  of  Cullen 
ami  Black,  ->f  Reid,  and  Smith,  and  Stewart;  and 
we  will  venture  to  say,  that  the  spot  where  his 
remains  now  lie  interred,  beside  those  of  Adam 
Smith,  will  long  be  visited  by  the  admirers  of 
Scottish  genius,  as  fitted  to  awaken  no  common 
recollections. 

Great,  however,  as  was  his  reputation  as  a  Pro- 
fessor, and  as  a  man  of  science  and  literature,  it 
was  yet  inferior  to  that  which  his  character  had 
acquired  among  his  personal  friends.  Descended 
by  the  father's  side  from  a  long  and  memorable 
line  of  ancestors,  among  whom  the  friend  and  co- 
temporary  of  Newton  is  remembered,  and  by  the 
mauler's,  from  one  of  the  most  ancient  noble  fa- 
milies of  Scotland,  his  character  was  early  formed 
on  an  elevated  model ;  and  throughout  his  whole 
life,  he  combined,  in  a  degree  seldom  equalled,  the 
studies  and  acquirements  of  a  man  of  science  with 
the  taste  and  honourable  feelings  of  a  high  born 
gentleman.  While  his  name,  in  consequence,  was 
respected  throughout  Europe,  his  society  was 
sought  after  by  the  first  persons  of  rank  and  emi- 
nence in  this  country,  and,  like  his  lamented  friend 
Mr  Playfair,  he  maintained  in  no  ordinary  degree 
the  important  communication  between  the  aristo- 
cracy of  rank  and  of  talent.  The  brilliancy  of  his 
wit,  and  the  epigrammatic  force  of  his  conversa- 
tion, will  long  be  remembered  by  those  who  had 
the  good  fortune  to  enjoy  his  acquaintance ;  while, 
amongst  a  numerous  circle  of  relations  and  friends, 
the  kindness  and  generosity  of  his  character  have 
rendered  his  death  an  irreparable  loss.  To  the 
poorer  classes  his  advice  was  at  all  times  gratui- 
tously open ;  and  such  was  the  disinterestedness  of 
his  conduct,  that  his  income  never  was  nearly  so 
great  as  the  celebrity  of  his  name  might  have  pro- 
He  was  distinguished  through  life  by  a  nice  and 
chivalric  sense  or  honour,  which  was  perhaps  too 
high  toned  for  the  tranquil  exercise  of  the  profes- 
sion to  which  he  belonged ;  and  occasionally  led 
him  into  differences  with  his  professional  brethren, 
which  his  friends  could  not  but  lament,  even  while 
they  admired  and  venerated  the  high  notions  of 
personal  and  professional  honour  in  which  they 
originated.  His  whole  character,  indeed,  was  ra- 
ther formed  upon  the  exalted  model  of  ancient 
virtue,  than  accommodated  to  the  lower  standard 
of  mere  professional  respectability  ;  and  we  know 
of  no  one  to  whose  life  and  conduct  we  can  more 
truly  apply  the  classical  words  which  he  inscribed 
on  the  tomb  of  one  of  his  earliest  and  most  velued 

friends 

"  Fir  pritcae  virtutii,  per  omnes  wta:  gradus,  et 
In  omnl  vltx  qfficio,  probatisiimtK." 


CApril, 


THK  FirNERAI.  PROCESSION. 
The  procession,  upwards  of  500  in  number, 
moved  from  St  Andrew's  Square  a  few  minutes 
past  one  o'clock,  along  Prince's  Street,  the  North 
Bridge,  down  the  High  Street,  to  the  Canongata 
Church  Yard,  in  the  following  order : — 
Four  Batomnen. 
Six  Ushers. 
Two  Mutes. 

The  Gentlemen  of  the  Doctor's  ClaM, 

walking  four  and  four. 

Two  Mutes. 

THE  BODY, 

The  Pall  suported  by 

Chief-mourner—John  Gregory,  Esq. 

Right  side.  Left  tide. 

1.  Mr  James  Gregory       1.  Mr  William  Gregory 

2.  Mr  Donald  Gregory     2.  Rev.  Archd.  Alison 

3.  Dr.  W.  P.  Alison          3.  Mr  Archd.  Alison 

4.  Sir  G.  Mackenzie         4.  T.   Farquharson, 

Bart.  Esq. 

5.  Dr  A.  M.  Ross  5.  George  Bell,  Esq. 

William  Kerr,  Esq.  G.  P.  O. 
Three  gilded  battens  on  each  side  of  the 

Pall  Bearers. 

The  Lord  Provost,  Magistrates,  and  Council,  in 
their  robes,  preceded  by  the  City  Halberts, 

Sword,  and  Mace,  covered  with  crape. 
The  Scnatus  Academicus,  in  their  gowns, 

preceded  by  their  Janitor, 
with  the  University  Mace  covered  with  crape. 

The  Physicians. 
The  Royal  Medica'l  Society,  walking 

four  and  four. 
The  Royal  Physical  Society, 

four  and  four. 

The  Friends  of  the  Deceased,  not  connected 

with  the  Public  Bodies,  comprehending 

many  of  the  most  eminent  characters 

of  the  country. 

The  Procession  closed  with  the  carriage  of  the 
deceased,  and  those  of  the  Gentlemen 

attending. 

On  the  arrival  at  the  Church-yard,  the  proces- 
sion moved  round  the  Church  by  the  east  end  ;  on 
the  students  arriving  at  the  gate,  they  opened  to 
the  right  and  left,  to  allow  the  coffin  to  pass 
through,  uncovering  at  the  same  time.  The  friends 
proceeded  from  the  gate  of  the  Church-yard  direct 
to  the  grave. 

The  streets  through  which  the  procession  pass- 
ed, and  the  windows,  were  crowded,  and  the  pres- 
sure was  such  that  the  procession  had  repeatedly 
to  halt.  The  Regent  Road,  and  the  other  terraces 
on  the  Calton  Hill  overlooking  the  place  of  inter- 
ment, were  also  covered  with  spectators.  After  the 
interment  the  Magistrates,  Council,  and  Profes- 
sors retired  into  the  church  and  disrobed,  and  the 
company  separated  on  the  burying  ground. 


Printed  by  Jama  Batianlynt  and  to. 


BLACKWOOD'S 

EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


No.  L. 


MAY,  1821. 


VOL.  IX. 


VANDERDECKEN  S  MESSAGE  HOME  ; 

Or,  the  Tenacity  of  Natural  Affection. 


OUR  ship,  after  touching  at  the  Cape, 
went  out  again,  and  soon  losing  sight 
of  the  Table  Mountain,  began  to  be 
assailed  by  the  impetuous  attacks  of 
the  sea,  •  which  is  well  known  to  be 
more  formidable  there  than  in  most 
parts  of  the  known  ocean.  The  day 
had  grown  dull  and  hazy,  and  the 
breeze,  which  had  formerly  blown 
fresh,  now  sometimes  subsided  almost 
entirely,  and  then  recovering  its 
strength,  for  a  short  time,  and  chan- 
ging its  direction,  blew  with  temporary 
violence,  and  died  away  again,  as  if 
exercising  a  melancholy  caprice.  A 
heavy  swell  began  to  come  from  the 
south-east.  Our  sails  flapped  against 
the  masts,  and  the  ship  rolled  from 
side  to  side,  as  heavily  as  if  she  had 
been  water-logged.  There  was  so  little 
wind  that  she  would  not  steer. 

At  two  P.  M.  we  had  a  squall,  ac- 
companied by  thunder  and  rain.  The 
seamen,  growing  restless,  looked  anxi- 
ously a  head.  They  said  we  would 
have  a  dirty  night  of  it,  and  that  it 
would  not  be  worth  while  to  turn  in- 
to their  hammocks.  As  the  second 
mate  was  describing  a  galp  he  had  en- 
countered off  Cape  Race,  Newfound- 
land, we  were  suddenly  taken  all  a- 
back,  and  the  blast  came  upon  us  fu- 
riously- We  continued  to  scud  under  a 
double  reefed  mainsail  and  foretopsail 
till  dusk ;  but,  as  the  sea  ran  high,  the 
captain  thought  it  safest  to  bring  her 
to.  The  watch  on  deck  consisted  of 
four  men,  one  of  whom  was  appointed 
to  keep  a  look-out  a-head,  for  the 
weather  was  so  hazy,  that  we  could 
not  see  two  cables'  length  from  the 
bows.  This  man,  whose  name  was 
Tom  Willis,  went  frequently  to  the 
bows,  as  if  to  observe  something  ;  and 
when  the  others  called  to  him,  inqui- 

VOL.  IX. 


ring  what  he  was  looking  at,  he  would 
give  no  definite  answer.  They  there- 
fore went  also  to  the  bows,  and  ap- 
peared startled,  and  at  first  said  no- 
thing. But  presently  one  of  them 
cried,  "  William,  go  call  the  watch." 

The  seamen,  having  been  asleep  in 
their  hammocks,  murmured  at  this 
unseasonable  summons,  and  called  to 
know  how  it  looked  upon  deck.  To 
which  Tom  Willis  replied,  "  Come  up 
and  see.  What  we  are  minding  is  not 
on  deck,  but  a-head." 

On  hearing  this,  they  ran  up  with- 
out putting  on  their  jackets,  and  when 
they  came  to  the  bows  there  was  a 
whispering. 

One  of  them  asked,  "  Where  is 'she  ? 
I  do  not  see  her."  To  which  another 
replied,  "  The  last  flash  of  lightning 
shewed  there  was  not  a  reef  in  one  of 
her  sails ;  but  we,  who  know  her  his- 
tory, know  that  all  her  canvass  will 
never  carry  her  into  port." 

By  this  time,  the  talking  of  the  sea- 
men had  brought  some  of  the  passen- 
gers on  deck.  They  could  see  nothing, 
however,  for  the  ship  was  surrounded 
by  thick  darkness,  and  by  the  noise  of 
the  dashing  waters,  and  the  seamen 
evaded  the  questions  that  were  put  to 
them. 

At  this  juncture  the  chaplain  came 
on  deck.  He  was  a  man  of  grave  and 
modestdemeanour,andwas  much  liked 
among  theseamen,  who  called  him  Gen- 
tle George.  He  overheard  one  of  the 
men  asking  another,  ' '  If  he  had  ever 
seen  the  Flying  Dutchman  before,  and 
if  he  knew  the  story  about  her  ?"  To 
which  the  other  replied,  "  I  have  heard 
of  her  beating  about  in  these  seas. 
What  is  the  reason  she  never  reaches 
port  ?" 

The  first  speaker  replied,  "  They 
Q 


Fanderdtttken't  Message  Home. 


128 

give  different  reasons  for  it,  but  my 
story  is  this :  She  was  an  Amsterdam 
vessel,  and  sailed  from  that  port  se- 
venty years  ago.  Her  master's  name 
was  Vanderdecken.  He  was  a  staunch 
seaman,  and  would  have  his  own  way, 
in  spite  of  the  devil.  For  all  that,  ne- 
ver a  sailor  under  him  had  reason  to 
complain ;  though  how  it  is  on  board 
with  them  now,  nobody  knows ;  the 
story  is  this,  that  in  doubling  the  Cape, 
they  were  a  long  day  trying  to  weather 
the  Table  Bay,  which  we  saw  this 
morning.  However,  the  wind  headed 
them,  and  went  against  them  more  and 
more,  and  Vanderdecken  walked  the 
deck,  swearing  at  the  wind.  Just  after 
sunset,  a  vessel  spoke  him,  asking  if 
he  did  not  mean  to  go  into  the  Bay 
that  night.  Vanderdecken  replied, 
"  May  I  be  eternally  d — d  if  I  do, 
though  I  should  beat  about  here  till  the 
day  of  judgment !"  And  to  be  sure, 
Vanderdecken  never  did  go  into  that 
bay  ;  for  it  is  believed  that  he  conti- 
nues to  beat  about  in  these  seas  still, 
and  will  do  so  long  enough.  This  ves- 
sel is  never  seen  but  with  foul  weather 
along  with  her." 

To  which  another  replied,  "  We 
must  keep  clear  of  her.  They  say  that 
her  captain  mans  his  jolly  boat,  when 
a  vessel  comes  in  sight,  and  tries  hard 
to  get  along-  side,  to  put  letters  on  board, 
but  no  good  comes  to  them  who  have 
communication  with  him." 

Tom  Willis  said,  "  There  is  such  a 
sea  between  us  at  present,  as  should 
keep  us  safe  from  such  visits." 

To  which  the  other  answered :  "  We 
cannot  trust  to  that,  if  Vanderdecken 
sends  out  his  men." 

Some  of  this  conversation  having 
been  overheard  by  the  passengers,  there 
was  a  commotion  among  them.  In  the 
mean  time,  the  noise  of  the  waves 
against  the  vessel,  could  scarcely  be 
distinguished  from  the  sounds  of  the 
distant  thunder.  The  wind  had  ex- 
tinguished the  light  in  the  binnacle, 
where  the  compass  was,  and  no  one 
could  tell  which  way  the  ship's  head 
lay.  The  passengers  were  afraid  to  ask 
questions,  lest  they  should  augment  the 
secret  sensation  of  fear  which  chilled 
every  heart,  or  learn  any  more  than 
they  already  knew.  For  while  they 
attributed  their  agitation  of  mind  to 
the  state  of  the  weather,  it  was  suffi- 
ciently perceptible  that  their  alarms 
also  arose  from  a  cause  which  they  did 
not  acknowledge. 


The  lamp  at  the  binnacle  being  re- 
lighted, they  perceived  that  the  ship 
lay  closer  to  the  wind  than  she  had 
hitherto  done,  and  the  spirits  of  the 
passengers  were  somewhat  revived. 

Nevertheless,  neither  the  tempestu- 
ous state  of  the  atmosphere,  nor  the 
thunder  had  ceased ;  and  soon  a  vivid 
flash  of  lightning  shewed  the  waves 
tumbling  around  us,  and,  in  the  dis- 
tance, the  Flying  Dutchman  scudding 
furiously  before  the  wind,  under  a  press 
of  canvass.  The  sight  was  but  mo- 
mentary, but  it  was  sufficient  to  re- 
move all  doubt  from  the  minds  of  the 
passengers.  One  of  the  men  cried  a- 
loud,  "  There  she  goes,  top-gallants 
and  all." 

The  chaplain  had  brought  up  his 
prayer-book,  in  order  that  he  might 
draw  from  thence  something  to  forti- 
fy and  tranquillize  the  minds  of  the 
rest.  Therefore,  taking  his  seat  near 
the  binnacle,  so  that  the  light  shone 
upon  the  white  leaves  of  the  book,  he, 
in  a  solemn  tone,  read  out  the  service 
for  those  distressed  at  sea.  The  sailors 
stood  round  with  folded  arms,  and 
looked  as  if  they  thought  it  would  be 
of  little  use.  But  this  served  to  oc- 
cupy the  attention  of  those  on  deck  for 
a  while. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  flashes  of 
lightning  becoming  less  vivid,  shewed 
nothing  else,  far  or  near,  but  the  bil- 
lows weltering  round  the  vessel.  The 
sailors  seemed  to  think  that  they  had 
not  yet  seen  the  worst,  but  confined 
their  remarks  and  prognostications  to 
their  own  circle. 

At  this  time,  the  captain,  who  had 
hitherto  remained  in  his  birth,  came  on 
deck,  and,  with  a  gay  and  unconcerned 
air,  inquired  what  was  the  cause  of 
the  general  dread .  He  said  he  thought 
they  had  already  seen  the  worst  of  the 
weather,  and  wondered  that  his  men 
had  raised  such  a  hubbub  about  a 
capful  of  wind.  Mention  being  made 
of  the  Flying  Dutchman,  the  captain 
laughed.  He  said,  "he  would  like 
very  much  to  see  any  vessel  carrying 
top-gallant-sails  in  such  a  night,  for  it 
would  be  a  sight  worth  looking  at." 
The  chaplain,  taking  him  by  one  of 
the  buttons  of  his  coat,  drew  him  aside, 
and  appeared  to  enter  into  serious  con- 
versation with  him. 

While  they  were  talking  together; 
the  captain  was  heard  to  say,  "  Let  us 
look  to  our  own  ship,  and  not  mind 
such  things  ;"  and  accordingly,  he  sent 


1821.^ 


Van derdeckens  Message  Home, 


a  man  aloft,  to  see  if  all  was  right  about 
the  forctop-sail  yard,  which  was  chaf- 
ing the  mast  with  a  loud  noise. 

It  was  Tom  Willis  Avho  went  up; 
and  when  he  came  down,  he  said  that 
all  was  tight,  and  that  he  hoped  it 
would  soon  get  clearer ;  and  that  they 
would  see  no  more  of  what  they  were 
most  afraid  of. 

The  captain  and  first  mate  were 
heard  laughing  loudly  together,  while 
the  chaplain  observed,  that  it  would 
be  better  to  repress  such  unseasonable 
gaiety.  The  second  mate,  a  native  of 
Scotland,  whose  name  was  Duncan 
Saunderson,  having  attended  one  of  the 
University  classes  at  Aberdeen,  thought 
himself  too  wise  to  believe  all  that  the 
sailors  said,  and  took  part  with  the 
captain.  He  jestingly  told  Tom  Wil- 
lis, to  borrow  his  grandam's  spectacles 
the  next  time  he  was  sent  tokeepa  look- 
out a-head.  Tom  walked  sulkily  away, 
muttering,  that  he  would  nevertheless 
trust  to  his  own  eyes  till  morning,  and 
accordingly  took  his  station  at  the  bow, 
and  appeared  to  watch  as  attentively  as 
before. 

The  sound  of  talking  soon  ceased, 
for  many  returned  to  their  births,  and 
we  heard  nothing  but  the  clanking  of 
the  ropes  upon  themasts,  and  the  burst- 
ing of  the  billows  a-head,  as  the  ves- 
sel successively  took  the  seas. 

But  after  a  considerable  interval  of 
darkness,  gleams  of  lightning  began  to 
reappear.  Tom  Willis  suddenly  call- 
ed out,  "  Vanderdecken,  again  f  Van- 
derdecken,  again !  I  see  them  letting 
down  a  boat." 

All  who  were  on  deck  ran  to  the 
bows.  The  next  flash  of  lightning 
shone  far  and  wide  over  the  raging  sea, 
and  shewed  us  not  only  the  Flying 
Dutchman  at  a  distance,  but  also  a 
boat  coming  from  her  with  four  men. 
The  boat  was  within  two  cables'  length 
of  our  ship's  side. 

The  man  who  first  saw  her,  ran  to 
the  captain,  and  asked  whether  they 
should  hail  her  or  not.  The  captain, 
walking  about  in  great  agitation,  made 
no  reply.  The  first  mate  cried, "  Who's 
going  to  heave  a  rope  to  that  boat  ?" 
The  merj  looked  at  each  other  without 
offering  to  do  any  thing.  The  boat 
had  come  very  near  the  chains,  when 
Tom  Willis  called  out,  "  What  do 
you  want  ?  or  what  devil  has  blown 
you  here  in  such  weather."  A  pier- 
cing voice  from  the  boat,  replied  in 
English,  "  We  want  to  speak  with 
your  captain."  The  captain  took  no 


129 

notice  of  this,  and  Vanderdecken's  boat 
having  come  close  along  side,  one  of 
the  men  came  upon  deck,  and  appear- 
ed like  a  fatigued  and  weatherbeaten 
seaman,  holding  some  letters  in  his 
hand. 

Our  sailors  all  drew  back.  The 
chaplain,  however,  looking  stedfastly 
upon  him,  went  forward  a  few  steps, 
and  asked,  "  What  is  the  purpose  of 
this  visit?" 

The  stranger  replied,  "  We  have 
long  been  kept  here  by  foul  weather, 
and  Vanderdecken  wishes  to  send  these 
letters  to  his  friends  in  Europe." 

Our  captain  now  came  forward,  and 
said  as  firmly  as  he  could,  "  I  wish 
Vanderdecken  would  put  his  letters  on 
board  of  any  other  vessel  rather  than 
mine." 

The  stranger  replied,  "  We  have 
tried  many  a  ship,  but  most  of  them 
refuse  our  letters." 

Upon  which,  Tom  Willis  muttered, 
"  It  will  be  best  for  us  if  we  do  the 
same,  for  they  say,  there  is  sometimes 
a  sinking  weight  in  your  paper." 

The  stranger  took  no  notice  of  this, 
but  asked  where  we  were  from.  On 
being  told  that  we  were  from  Ports- 
mouth, he  said,  as  if  with  strong  feel- 
ing, "  Would  that  you  had  rather  been 
from  Amsterdam.  Oh  that  we  saw 
it  again  ! — We  must  see  our  friends 
again."  When  he  uttered  these  words, 
trie  men  who  were  in  the  boat  below, 
wrung  their  hands,  and  cried  in  a 
piercing  tone,  in  Dutch,  ' '  Oh  that  we 
saw  it  again  !  We  have  been  long  here 
beating  about :  but  we  must  see  our 
friends  again." 

The  chaplain  asked  the  stranger, 
"  How  long  have  you  been  at  sea." 

He  replied,  "  We  have  lost  our 
count ;  for  our  almanack  was  blown 
over  board.  Our  ship,  you  see,  is 
there  still ;  so  why  should  you  ask 
how  long  we  have  been  at  sea ;  for 
Vanderdecken  only  wishes  to  write 
home  and  comfort  his  friends." 

To  which  the  chaplain  replied, 
"  Your  letters,  I  fear,  would  be  of  no 
use  in  Amsterdam,  even  if  they  were 
deli vered,  for  the  persons  to  whom  they 
are  addressed  are  probably  no  longer 
to  be  found  there,  except  under  very 
ancientgreen  turf  in  the  church-yard." 
The  unwelcome  stranger  then  wrung 
his  hands,  and  appeared  to  weep ;  and 
replied,  "  It  is  impossible.  We  can- 
not believe  you.  We  have  been  long 
driving  about  here,  but  country  nor 
relations  cannot  be  so  easily  forgotten. 


Vanderdecken  s  Message  Hume. 


130 

There  is  not  a  rain  drop  in  the  air  but 
feels  itself  kindred  to  all  the  rest,  and 
they  fall  back  into  the  sea  to  meet  with 
each  other  again.  How  then,  can 
kindred  blood  be  made  to  forget  where 
it  came  from  ?  Even  our  bodies  are 
part  of  the  ground  of  Holland ;  and 
Vanderdecken  says,  if  he  once  were 
come  to  Amsterdam,  he  would  rather 
be  changed  into  a  stone  post,  well  fix- 
ed into  the  ground,  than  leave  it  again ; 
if  that  were  to  die  elsewhere.  But  in 
the  mean  time,  we  only  ask  you  to  take 
these  letters." 

The  chaplain,  looking  at  him  with 
astonishment,  said,  "  This  is  the  in- 
sanity of  natural  affection,  which  re- 
bels against  all  measures  of  time  and 
distance." 

The  stranger  continued,  "  Here  is 
a  letter  from  our  second  mate,  to  his 
dear  and  only  remaining  friend,  his 
uncle,  the  merchant  who  lives  in  the 
second  house  on  Stuncken  Yacht 
Quay." 

He  held  forth  the  letter,  but  no  one 
would  approach  to  take  it. 

Tom  Willis  raised  his  voice,  and 
said,  "  One  of  our  men,  here,  says  that 
he  was  in  Amsterdam  last  summer, 
and  he  knows  for  certain,  that  the 
street  called  Stuncken  Yacht  Quay, 
was  pulled  down  sixty  years  ago,  and 
now  there  is  only  a  large  church  at  that 
place." 

The  man  from  the  Flying  Dutch- 
man, said,  "  It  is  impossible,  we  can- 
not believe  you.  Here  is  another  let- 
ter from  myself,  in  which  I  have  sent 
a  bank-note  to  my  dear  sister,  to  buy 
some  gallant  lace,  to  make  her  a  hign 
head  dress/' 

Tom  Willis  hearing  this,  said,  "  It 
is  most  likely  that  her  head  now  lies 
under  a  tomb-stone,  which  will  out- 
last all  the  changes  of  the  fashion.  But 
on  what  house  is  your  bank-note  ?" 

The  stranger  replied,  "  On  the  house 
of  Vanderbrucker  and  Company." 

The  man,  of  whom  Tom  Willis  had 
spoken,  said,  "  I  guess  there  will  now 
be  some  discount  upon  it,  for  that 
banking-house  was  gone  to  destruction 
forty  years  ago ;  and  Vanderbrucker 
was  afterwards  amissing. — But  to  re- 
member these  things  is  like  raking  up 
the  bottom  of  an  old  canal." 

The  stranger  called  out  passionate- 
ly, "  It  is  impossible — We  cannot  be- 
lieve it !  It  is  cruel  to  say  such  things 
to  people  in  our  condition.  There  is  a 
letter  from  our  captain  himself,  to  his 


much-beloved  and  faithful  wife,  whom 
he  left  at  a  pleasant  summer  dwelling, 
on  the  border  of  the  Haarlemer  Mer. 
She  promised  to  have  the  house  beau- 
tifully painted  and  gilded  before  he 
came  back,  and  to  get  a  new  set  of 
looking-glasses  for  the  principal  cham- 
ber, that  she  might  see  as  many  images 
of  Vanderdecken,  as  if  she  had  six 
husbands  at  once." 

The  man  replied,  "  There  has  been 
time  enough  for  her  to  have  had  six 
husbands  since  then ;  but  were  she 
alive  still,  there  is  no  fear  that  Vander- 
decken would  ever  get  home  to  disturb 
her." 

On  hearing  this  the  stranger  again 
shed  tears,  and  said,  if  they  would 
not  take  the  letters,  he  would  leave 
them  j  and  looking  around  he  offer- 
ed the  parcel  to  the  captain,  chaplain, 
and  to  the  rest  of  the  crew  successive- 
ly, but  each  drew  back  as  it  was  offer- 
ed, and  put  his  hands  behind  his  back. 
He  then  laid  the  letters  upon  the  deck, 
and  placed  upon  them  a  piece  of  iron, 
which  was  lying  near,  to  prevent  them 
from  being  blown  away.  Having  done 
this,  he  swung  himself  over  the  gang- 
way, and  went  into  the  boat. 

We  heard  the  others  speak  to  him, 
but  the  rise  of  a  sudden  squall  pre- 
vented us  from  distinguishing  his  re- 
ply. The  boat  was  seen  to  quit  the 
ship's  side,  and,  in  a  few  moments, 
there  were  no  more  traces  of  her  than 
if  she  had  never  been  there.  The  sail- 
ors rubbed  their  eyes,  as  if  doubting 
what  they  had  witnessed,  but  the  par- 
cel still  lay  upon  deck,  and  proved  the 
reality  of  all  that  had  passed. 

Duncan  Saunderson,  the  Scotch  mate, 
asked  the  captain  if  he  should  take 
them  up,  and  put  them  in  the  letter- 
bag  ?  Receiving  no  reply,  he  would 
have  lifted  them  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Tom  Willis,  who  pulled  him  back,  say- 
ing that  nobody  should  touth  them. 

In  the  mean  time  the  captain  went 
down  to  the  cabin,  and  the  chaplain 
having  followed  him,  found  him  at  his 
bottle-case,  pouring  out  a  large  dram 
of  brandy.  The  captain,  although 
somewhat  disconcerted,  immediately 
offered  the  glass  to  him,  saying, "  Here, 
Charters,  is  what  is  good  in  a  cold 
night."  The  chaplain  declined  drink- 
ing any  thing,  and  the  captain  having 
swallowed  the  bumper,  they  both  re- 
turned to  the  deck,  where  they  found 
the  seamen  giving  their  opinions  con- 
cerning what  should  be  done  with  the 


18210 


Vanderdecken's  Message  Home. 


letters.  Tom  Willis  proposed  to  pick 
them  up  on  a  harpoon,  and  throw  it 
overboard. 

Another  speaker  said,  "  I  have  al- 
ways heard  it  asserted  that  it  is  nei- 
ther safe  to  accept  them  voluntarily, 
nor  when  they  are  left  to  throw  them 
out  of  the  ship." 

"  Let  no  one  touch  them,"  said  the 
carpenter.  "  The  way  to  do  with  the 
letters  from  the  Flying  Dutchman  is  to 
case  them  upon  deck,  by  nailing  boards 
over  them,  so  that  if  he  sends  back  for 
them,  they  are  still  there  to  give  him." 


131 

The  carpenter  went  to  fetch  his  tools. 
During  his  absence,  the  ship  gave  so 
violent  a  pitch,  that  the  piece  of  iron 
slid  off  the  letters,  and  they  were  whirl- 
ed overboard  by  the  wind,  like  birds  of 
evil  omen  whirring  through  the  air. 
There  was  a  cry  of  joy  among  the  sail- 
ors, and  they  ascribed  the  favourable 
change  which  soon  took  place  in  the 
weather,  to  our  having  got  quitof  Van- 
derdecken.  We  soon  got  under  weigh 
again.  The  night  watch  being  set,  the 
rest  of  the  crew  retired  to  their  births. 


FAMILIAR  LETTEK  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT,  CONTAINING  PROJECTS,  PROMISES, 
AND  IMITATIONS. 


DEAR  KIT, 

I  write  this  in  the  earnest  hope  of 
its  finding  you  less  molested  by  your 
inveterate  enemy  in  the  great  toe ;  and 
brimful  of  the  delight,  which  your  mo- 
desty and  diffidence  cannot  prevent 
you  feeling,  in  hearing  it  acknowledged 
from  all  quarters,  that  yours  is  the  most 
excellent  work  of  its  kind,  which  has 
appeared  in  any  country  since  the  in- 
vention of  printing.  Do  let  me  know 
what  the  Edinburgh  Review  people 
are  saying  about  it,  or,  if  they  are  at 
kst  fairly  beat  to  a  stand  still,  and  se- 
riously thinking  of  giving  up  the  con- 
cern. I  heard,  indeed,  that  a  meeting 
of  their  contributors  has  been  lately 
convened,  either  for  that  purpose,  or 
perhaps  for  petitioning  you  to  make 
your  journal  a  general  receptacle  for 
speculations  of  all  kinds ;  and  that, 
thus,  such  of  them  as  were  capable, 
might  be  transferred  to  the  legion  of 
Black  wood,  and  not  utterly  cast  desti- 
tute. But  this  is  a  matter,  friend 
North,  on  which  I  would  advise  you 
to  proceed  with  cautious  circumspec- 
tion— it  might  prove  like  marriage — 
alas  !  the  day — a  step  not  easy  to  be 
remedied.  Many  of  your  supporters 
would  find  a  delicacy  in  making  com- 
mon cause  with  the  generality  of  these 
folks,  as  they  have  uttered  such  a  quan- 
tity of  unsound  and  unsatisfactory  stuff, 
in  every  branch  and  department  of  hu- 
man knowledge,  and  ridiculed  every 
thing  worthy  of  respect  and  venera- 
tion. Exempli  gratia,  but  that's  a  trifle, 
there  is  your  humble  servant,  who 
could  not,  with  any  degree  of  honour, 
act  in  concert  with  men,  who  depre- 
ciated the  late  glorious  war,  and  every 
battle  in  it,  mid  whose  blood-shed, 
and  under  whose  "  sulphrous  canopy" 


he  plucked  a  leaf  of  laurel  for  his  brow. 
But  we  shall  drop  the  subject,  as  not 
worth  speaking  about — conscious  that 
where  the  glory  of  his  country,  and 
the  reputation  of  his  work  is  concern- 
ed, no  man  will  direct  the  helm  witlt 
a  more  intrepid  spirit,  or  maul  the  in- 
vaders with  a  more  unerring  hand,  than 
yourself,  the  redoubted  Christopher 
North,  Esquire. 

You  asked  me  in  your  last,  if  I  ever 
now-a-days  read  any  ?  and  if  so,  what 
books  occupy  my  attention  and  time  ? 
A  question  with  a  vengeance.  Do  you 
think  that  my  knowledge  comes  to  me 
by  intuition  ?  After  having  written 
above  half  a  hundred  articles  to  you, 
in  every  department  of  human  know- 
ledge, you  ask  me  if  ever  I  read  any. 
That  reminds  me  of  the  tower  of  Ba- 
bel— you  might  as  well  ask  it  if  it  rear- 
ed itself.  But,  in  writing  so,  I  doubt 
not  you  have  only  made  a  lapsuslinguce, 
or  at  any  rate  a  joke  on  my  multitudi- 
nousresearches.  All  kinds  of  books  come 
welcome  enough  to  me.  I  have  a  capa- 
city of  digestion  rather  ostrich-like, 
and  capable  of  managing  a  great  far- 
rago ;  and  assimilating  the  same  into 
solid  nourishment.  I  like  the  drama 
very  much  ;  and  Alexander  Macpher- 
son  being  now  in  the  middle  of  the 
fifth  act,  will  soon  shew  whether  or 
not  the  genius  of  the  drama  loves  me. 
Novels  are  "  an  appetite  and  a  feeling" 
which  I  cannot  resist — Political  eco- 
nomy I  like  better  than  1  do  some  of 
its  professors — Metaphysics  are  excel- 
lent food  for  me;  and,  over  a  ten- 
hour's  mathematical  proposition,  I  am 
as  cool  as  a  cucumber ;  but  entre  nous, 
theological  controversy  is  my  favour- 
ite study  ;  but  don't  mention  this,  as 
the  Roman  Catholic  clergy  like  nothing 


1S9 

better  than  to  have  a  bull-baiting  with 
me ;  and,  in  spite  of  all  my  assevera- 
tions and  protestations  to  the  contrary, 
they  will  insist  that  I  am  a  little  loose 
both  in  my  moral  and  religious  prin- 
ciples ;  but  I  am  thoroughly  convinced 
that  they  are  wrong. 

When  you  see  Wastle,  tell  him  I 
have  found  it  quite  out  of  my  power 
to  be  over,  according  to  promise,  at  the 
walking  of  the  Commissioner;  buthope 
yet  to  have  that  honour  along  with  him. 
At  all  events,  I  am  determined  to  be 
over  at  the  Edinburgh  races,  as  I  have 
got  possession  of  as  fine  a  bit  of  horse 
flesh  as  ever  put  hoof  to  turf;  and  I 
would  like  to  know  what  success  Sala- 
manca would  have,  in  taking  a  few 
rounds  for  the  hunters'  plate.  If  he  be 
successful,  it  will  be  a  good  specula- 
tion ;  if  not,  I  will  sell  him  the  next 
day  at  Wordsworth's  out  of  pure  vex- 
ation, although  I  had  him  as  a  present 
from  a  military  friend  of  mine,  who 
rode  him  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo. 
He  has  not  yet  lost  tooth-mark,  and 
gallops  like  a  fury.  The  best  of  it  is, 
that  the  longer  he  runs  he  continues 
to  improve ;  and,  if  there  be  above 
three  four  mile  heats,  I  never  saw  the 
horse,  mare,  or  gelding,  that  I  would 
not  back  him  against,  at  considerable 
odds.  He  is  a  little  stiff  for  the  first 
mile  or  so  after  starting ;  but  when  he 
begins  to  warm,  you  never  beheld  a 
finer  personification  of  the  fine  idea, 
which  Lord  Byron  has  applied  to  de- 
note the  beauty  and  swiftness  of  Ma- 
zeppa's  charger, 

Who  look'das  though  the  speed  of  thought 
Were  in  his  limbs. 

I  have  him  in  training  already,  and 
hope  to  show  him  off'  in  style  to  you  in 
July;  If  I  was  not  so  lengthened  in  the 
nether  extremities,  I  would  not  care 
much  to  jockey  him  myself;  but  that, 
to  be  sure,  is  an  after  consideration. 

Do  give  us  a  paper  from  your  edito- 
rial pen  on  the  Pope  and  Bowles  con- 
troversy. I  cannot  fathom  what  Camp- 
bell and  Byron  would  be  at.  Lord  By- 
ron compares  the  poetry  of  Pope  to  a 
Grecian  temple,  and  the  poetry  writ- 
ten by  Campbell,  Scott,  Wastle,  Sou- 
they,  Wordsworth,  Hogg,  Coleridge, 
himself,  myself,  &c.  to  the  tower  of 
Babel.  A  pretty  comparison  of  a  sure- 
ty ;  but  it  is  all  in  my  eye,  Betty 
Martin,  that  men,  like  Campbell  and 
Byron,  should  imagine  that  the  essence 
of  poetry  consisted  in  the  manners  and 
morals  6f  society ;  in  drawing  pictures 


Familiar  Letter  from  the  Adjutant. 


CMay, 


of  merchants  with  spectacles,  and  goose 
quills  stuck  behind  their  ears,  ponder- 
ing over  their  ledgers  ;  of  awfully  an- 
cient spinsters,  leering  from  behind 
their  fans,  and  looking  unutterable 
things;  of  grocers' apprentices,  sanding 
the  sugar,  watering  the  tobacco,  and 
then  walking  aloft  to  prayers ;  of  the 
lack-a-daisical  exclamations  of  board- 
ing-school misses,  and  the  pettifogging 
dandyism  of  lawyers'  clerks, — and  yet, 
that  these  poets,  in  hostility  to  their 
own  doctrines,  should  write  of  such 
natural  personages  as  a  Corsair,  with 
"  one  virtue,  and  a  thousand  crimes ;" 
of  a  Lord  Lara,  who,  seeing  a  ghost, 
broke  out  into  a  perspiration,  and  then 
spoke  Gaelic  or  some  other  outlandish 
tongue ;  of  Count  Manfred,  alias  Dr 
Faustus,  jun.  who 

— saw  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold, 
The  madman. 

Of  the  Giaour,  who  turned  an  infidel 
monk,  because  he  ran  away  with  ano- 
ther man's  wife,  who  was  sewed  up 
in  a  sack,  and  thrown  into  the  sea ; — 
or  of  such  a  true  and  natural  person  as 
Andes,  "  Giant  of  the  western  star," 
sitting  with  his  cheek  reclined  on  his 
dexter  hand,  and  a  flambeau  in  his  left 
fist,  looking  over  in  the  dark  from  Ame- 
rica to  Europe ; — or  of  a  gentleman  of 
the  second-sight,  begging  his  master 
not  to  go  to  battle,  as  he  had  a  presen- 
timent that  he  would  be  much  safer  at 
home ; — and  a  thousand  other  things, 
well  enough  adapted  to  poetry,  in  my 
humble  opinion,  but  having  as  slight 
an  application  to  the  practice  of  life,  as 
can  well  be  imagined.  Sir  Walter 
Scott  must  immediately  send  Lord 
Cranstoun's  goblin  page  an  errand  to 
the  Red  Sea,  and  let  him  be  for  ever 
"  lost !  lost !  lost !"  And  as  for  his  re- 
doubted namesake,  Michael,  the  flag- 
stone must  be  no  more  lifted  from  his 
grave ; — Coleridge  must  tie  the  Aun- 
cient  Marinere  to  a  stake,  and  have  a 
shot  at  him  with  the  cross-bow,  as  he 
so  treated  the  "  harmless  Albatross ;" 
— and  as  for  the  Lady  Cristabel,  he 
must,  without  delay,  scribble  four  do- 
zen of  letters,  inviting  his  friends  to 
her  funeral, — let  him  employ  a  patent 
coffin,  as  she  is  rather  a  restless  and 
unruly  subject. — Wordsworth  must 
dispatch  the  Danish  Boy  to  the  land  of 
shadow ; — and  Hogg  should  purchase 
a  pennyworth  of  saddle-tacks,  and, 
with  a  trusty  hammer,  nail  the  ears  of 
the  Gude  Grey  Catte  to  his  stable- 
door,  to  frighten  away  the  rats,  as  she 
will  no  longer  be  able  to  act  as  gover- 


1821.] 


familiar  Letter  from  the  Adjutant. 


ness  to  the  Seven  Daughters  of  the 
Laird  of  Blair.     As  for  Miss  Kilma- 
ny,  when  she  comes  back  at  the  end  of 
the  next  seven  years,  let  him  give  her 
a  furlough,  specifying  perpetual  leave  of 
absence. — Dr  Southey  ought  to  send  a 
specimen  of  a  Petrified  Glendoveer  to 
the  College  Museum,  ere  the  species 
becomes  utterly  extinct,  that  future 
antiquarians  may  not  be  completely 
puzzled,  if  their  boues  be  found,  like 
those  of  the  mammoth,  in  a  fossil  state; 
andheought  togivethewitchMaimuna 
in  Thalaba,  that  was  perpetually  sing- 
ing, a  half-crown's  worth  of  the  most 
choice  ballads,  to  set  her  up  in  a  decent 
line  of  trade,  and  have  done  with  her. 
Thomas  Moore's  Veiled  Prophet,  with- 
out the  nose,  should  get  a  proper  certifi- 
cate, and  be  sent  to  the  Chelsea  Hospi- 
tal; and,  on  proper  representation  being 
made,  the  Peri,  who  had  neither  house 
nor  hold,  may  be  received  into  the  Cha- 
rity-Workhouse.— Do,    North,    con- 
vince both  Mr  Campbell  and  his  Lord- 
ship, that  the  world  is  tolerably  well 
contented  with  the  poetry  they  have 
foolishly  thought  proper  to  give  it; 
that  though  Mr  Campbell's  criticism 
is  sometimes  a  little  vapid,  yet  that  his 
verses  are  generally  excellent;  and  that, 
if  Lord  Byron's  system  of  moral  and 
ethical  poetry  be  after  his  old  way, — 
that  is,  if  Beppo  and  Don  Juan,  like 
the  brick  of  the  pedant  in  Hierocles, 
are  specimens  of  the  materials  of  wlxich 
it  is  to  be  composed,  we  should  think, 
that  the  world  will  be  contented  with 
the  specimens  it  has  already  enjoyed. 
Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast,  "  where 
ignorance  is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise ;" 
and,  as  I  am  tired  of  it,  I  will  drop  the 
subject. 

Friend  North,  I  have  a  crow  to  pluck 
with  you. — You  are  as  strange  a  fel- 
low as  ever  fell  within  the  circle  of  my 
acquaintance,  always  excepting  Mrs 
M'Whirter,  for  she  beats  cockfight- 
ing.  You  will  pretend,  now,  that  you 
did  not  know  to  whom  the  memoran- 
dum-book belonged,  out  of  which  you 
treated  your  readers,  or  rather  the 
world,  for  all  the  world  are  your  read- 
ers, a  month  or  two  ago.  Really  this 
is  provoking,  and  I  do  not  take  it  al- 
together well  at  your  hands.  Would 
it  not  have  been  more  creditable  to  you, 
instead  of  creating  a  few  smiles  at  my 
expence,  to  have  written  to  the  wan- 
dering sinner  of  a  Bagman,  into  whose 
hands  my  book  fell,  that  you  knew  the 
proprietor ;  and  that  you  would  thank 


133 

him  to  transmit  it  to  you,  that  you 
might  transmit  it  to  the  proper  owner  ? 
It  would  not  surprise  me  much,  though 
you  were  yet  to  write  me  a  letter,  pro- 
fessing your  entire  ignorance  of  the 
whole  transaction;  and  that  you  are 
free  to  give  your  oath,  that  you  had 
not  so  much  as  the  smallest  suspicion 
that  the  memorandum -book  could  pos- 
sibly belong  to  me.  Do  you  think  me  in- 
nocent enough  to  believe  any  stuff  of 
this  sort?  Though  I  am  not  a  Highland- 
er, I  have  enough  of  the  second-sight  to 
see  clearly  through  trifles  of  this  kind. 
But  I  will  waste  no  more  words  on  the 
subject ;  and,  though  we  are  hundreds 
of  miles  apart,  our  hearts  are  always 
together.  I  can  take  a  joke,  and  can 
give  one;  so  we  will  shake  hands 
and  forget  the  whole  matter :  Indeed 
I  am  almost  sorry  that  I  mentioned  it ; 
but  don't  give  any  more  extracts  with- 
out my  consent. 

Tell  our  divan,  the  first  time  you  all 
meet  in  Ambrose's,  to  remember  me 
in  their  prayers  ;  as  I  am  sure  that  I 
never  empty  a  tumbler  or  two,  solus, 
without  toasting  them  all  alternately  ; 
and,  as  I  allow  each  a  bumper,  it  some- 
times obliges  me  to  have  a  third  brew- 
ing. Let  them  know,  that  I  will  see 
them  all  in  July,  and  that  I  have  a 
budget  of  famous  anecdotes  and  ren- 
contres to  entertain  them  with ;  some 
of  them  out-hector  Hector,  and  they 
are  all  personal,  ipso  teste,  as  Maturin 
says.  But  I  shall  drop  the  subject,  as 
I  do  not  wish  to  promise.  "  There's 
a  braw  time  coming,"  as  the  deacon's 
son  observes. 

What  would  you  think  of  it,  I  have 
been  amusing  myself  with  some  imi- 
tations of  the  living  authors ; — it  was 
during  the  time  I  was  confined  to  my 
room,  from  having  sprained  my  left 
ankle,  in  leaping  over  a  five-bar  gate 
for  a  wager,  and  I  intend  to  make  a 
complete  cabinet  of  them.  I  have  al- 
ready allowed  Hazlitt  a  complete  ration 
of  epigram,  antithesis,  and  paradox. 
Godwin  sails  in  a  parachute  of  theory, 
suspended  to  a  balloon  inflated  with 
sulphurated  hydrogen ;  Cobbett  writes 
an  official  document,  currente  calamo, 
with  all  the  courtier-like  dignity  be- 
coming a  secretary  to  her  majesty;  and 
Charley  Philips,  with  his  fists  tied  into 
large  bladders,  knocks  arguments  from 
off  their  feet,  by  repeated  douces  on  ei- 
ther side  of  the  chops,  with  his  uncea- 
sing one,  twos.  I  have,  likewise,  a  com- 
plete set  of  the  poets,  good,  bad,  and 


134  Familiar  Letter  from  tJu:  Adjutant. 

indifferent.    The  Cockneys  I  found  it  tage.     To  begin   with   the  mightiest 

desperately  hard  to  imitate,  as  I  could  man  of  our  age,  do  you  think  that 

not  make  my  genius  to  descend  so  low.  in  the  following,  I  have  caught  the 

I  do  not  know,  but  that  I  have  carica-  chivalrous  flow,  the  tone  of  the  olden 

tured  some  of  them  a  little  ;  but  this  time,  the  grace,  and  the  harmony,  and 

was  unintentional,  as  they  have  fair-  the  strength,   that    characterise    the 

ly  baffled  me  in  many  particulars.  poetry  of  the  Ariosto  of  the  North  ? 

As  you  seem  interested  in  my  lite-  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  and 

rary  doings,  I  will  treat  you  with  two  Marmion,  form  eras  in  the  mind  of 

or   three   short   specimens,  as  I   see  every  true  living  admirer  of  poetical 

you  are  already  in  for  a  double  pos-  excellence. 

The  hounds  in  the  kennel  are  yelling  loud, 

The  hawks  are  boune  for  flight ; 
For  the  sun  hath  burst  from  his  eastern  shroud, 
And  the  sky  is  clear,  without  a  cloud, 

And  the  steed  for  the  chase  is  dight : 
The  merry  huntsmen,  up  in  the  morn, 
Crack  the  long  whip,  and  wind  the  horn. 

Lord  Timothy  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  rose 

When  he  heard  the  merry  crew ; 
He  scarce  took  space  to  don  his  clothes, 

And  his  night-cap  quick  he  threw 
Back  on  the  pillow,  and  down  the  stair, 
Disdaining  brush  or  comb  for  hair, 

With  lightning  speed  he  flew ; 
And,  in  the  twinkling  of  a  fan, 
With  frock  and  cap,  the  gallant  man, 
Caparison'd  all  spick  and  span, 

Was  with  the  waiting  crew. 
Sir  Abraham  rode  his  bonny  grey ; 

Sir  Anthony  his  black ; 

Lord  Hector  hath  mounted  his  sprightly  bay  ; 
Lord  Tom,  Lord  Jack,  and  all  are  away ; 
Curvet,  and  demivolte,  and  neigh, 
Mark  out  their  bold  and  brisk  array, 
With  buckskins  bright,  and  bonnets  gay, 
And  bugles  at  each  back. 

They  had  hardly  ridden  a  mile,  a  mile, 

A  mile  but  barely  ten, 
As  each  after  each  they  leaped  a  stile, 
When  their  heart  play'd  pit-a-pat  the  while, 

To  see  a  troop  of  armed  men-, 
A  troop  of  gallant  men  at  drill. 
With  well  soap'd  locks,  and  stifFen'd  frill ; 
Each  in  his  grasp  held  spear  or  sword, 
Ready  to  murder  at  a  word, 
And  ghastly  was  each  warrior's  smile, 
Beneath  his  barred  aventayle ; 
BufF  belts  were  girt  around  each  waist ; 
Steel  cuisses  round  each  thigh  were  braced  ; 
Around  each  knee  were  brazen  buckles ; 
And  iron  greaves  to  save  their  knuckles  ; 
High  o'er  each  tin-bright  helmet  shone 
The  casque,  and  dancing  morion, 
Which  reach'd  to  where  the  tailor  sets, 
On  shoulder,  woollen  epaulets; 
Their  blades  were  of  Toledo  steel, 
Fcrrara,  or  Damascus  real ; 

Yea !  human  eye  did  never  see, 

Through  all  the  days  of  chivalry, 
Men  more  bedight  from  head  to  heel,  &c. 
10 


1821-3  Familiar  Letter  from  the  Adjutant.  135 


Lady  Alice  she  sits  in  the  turret  tower, 

A-combing  her  raven  hair ; 
The  clock  hath  tolled  the  vesper  hour, 
Already  the  shadows  of  evening  lower 

To  veil  the  landscape  fair. 
To  the  jetty  fringe  of  her  piercing  eye 

She  raised  her  opera  glass, 
For  she  was  anxious  to  espy 

If  her  worthy  knight  should  pass.— 
"  Lo  !  yonder  he  comes," — she  sigh'd  and  said, 
Then  with  a  rueful  shake  of  head — 
"  Shall  I  my  husband  ne'er  discover— 
'Tis  but  the  white  cow  eating  clover !" 
She  looked  again, — "  Sure  yon  is  he, 
That  gallops  so  fast  along  the  lea ! 
Alas !  'tis  only  a  chesnut  tree ! ! 
Standing  as  still  as  still  can  be ! ! !" — 
— "  Come  hither,  come  hither,  my  little  foot  page, 
And  dance  my  anguish  to  assuage ; 
And  be  it  jig,  or  waltz,  or  reel, 
I  care  not,  so  it  doth  conceal 
The  ghosts,  that  of  a  thousand  dyes, 
Float  evermore  before  mine  eyes  ; 
And  I,  to  make  thee  foot  it  gay, 
With  nimble  finger,  by  my  fay, 
Upon  the  tambourine  will  play  !"  &c. 

But  I  must  not  give  you  too  much  of  it,  as  it  will  spoil  the  interest  of  the 
•work,  which  will  shortly  appear  in  three  octavo  volumes,  printed  uniformly, 
and  with  portraits  ;  something  like  Peter's  Letters.  The  imitation  extends  to 
three  cantos,  together  with  an  introductory  epistle  to  my  friend  Dr  Scott. — 
Under  the  head  of  Coleridge,  you  will  find  the  continuation  of  Cristabel,  and 
the  Auncient  Waggonere ;  both  of  which  were  ushered  into  public  notice  by 
your  delightful  and  discriminating  work,  together  with  the  following 

Fragment  of  a  Vision. 

A  dandy,  on  a  velocipede, 

I  saw  in  a  vision  sweet, 
Along  the  highway  making  speed, 

With  his  alternate  feet. 
Of  a  bright  and  celestial  hue 
Gleam'd  beauteously  his  blue  surtout ; 
While  ivory  buttons,  in  a  row, 
Show'd  like  the  winter's  cavern'd  snow, 
Which  the  breezy  North 
Drives  sweeping  forth, 
To  lodge  in  the  cave  below ; 
Ontario's  beaver,  without  demur, 
To  form  his  hat  did  lend  its  fur : 
His  frill  was  of  the  cambric  fine, 
And  his  neckcloth  starch'd,  and  aquiline ; 
And  oh,  the  eye  with  pleasure  dwells 
On  his  white  jean  indescribables ; 
And  he  throws  the  locks  from  his  forehead  fair, 
And  he  pants,  and  pants,  and  pants  for  air; 
What  is  the  reason  I  cannot  tell, — 
There  is  a  cause — I  know  it  well ; 
Too  firmly  bound — too  tightly  braced, 
The  corsets  grasp  his  spider  waist, 
VOL.  IX.  II 


136  Familiar  Letter  from  the  Adjutant. 

Till  his  coat  tails  are  made  to  fly 

Even  from  the  back  they  glorify. 

Look  again,  he  is  not  there — 

Vanish'd  into  the  misty  air ! 

Look  again  ! — do  ye  see  him  yet  ? 

Ah  no  .'the  bailiff  hath  seized  him  for  debt ; 

And,  to  and  fro,  like  a  restless  ghost, 

When  peace  within  the  grave  is  lost, 

He  paces  as  far,  as  far  he  should, 

Within  the  bounds  of  Holyrood ! 

His  Lordship  of  Byron,  I  have  not  handled  roughly  enough ;  I  cannot  yet 
forget  the  tower  of  Babel ;  what  a  speech  ! — as  if  we  were  a  parcel  of  jack- 
asses !  I  shall  yet  have  at  him  for  it.  What  do  you  think  of  The  Galiongee, — 
A  fragment  of  a  Turkish  Tale? 

THE  GALIONGEE, 

A  Fragment  of  a  Turkish  Tale. 

Advertisement — The  Author  of  this  tale  begs  to  inform  the  public,  that  the  scattered 
fragments  which  it  presents  were  collected  from  an  improvisatore,  who  recited  during 
the  time  that  the  author  drank  his  fifth  cup  of  Mocha  with  that  civillest  of  all  gentlemen, 
Ali  Pacha. 

The  Pacha  sat  in  his  divan, 
With  silver-sheathed  ataghan ; 
And  call'd  to  him  a  Galiongee, 
Come  lately  from  the  Euxine  Sea 
To  Stamboul ;  chains  were  on  his  feet, 

And  fetters  on  his  hands  were  seen, 

Because  he  was  a  Nazarene : 
When,  duly  making  reverence  meet, 
With  haughty  glance  on  that  divan, 
And  curling  lip,  he  thus  began. 

"  By  broad  Phingari's  silver  light, 
When  sailing  at  the  noon  of  night, 
Bismillah !  whom  did  we  descry 

But  dark  corsairs,  who,  bent  on  spoil, 

Athwart  the  deep  sea  ever  toil ! — 
We  knew  their  blood-red  flags  oh  high : 
The  Capitan  he  call'd,  belike, 
With  gesture  proud,  to  bid  us  strike, 
And  told  his  Sonbachis  to  spare 
Of  not  one  scalp  a  single  hair, 
Though  garbs  of  green  shew'd  Emirs  there ! 
It  boots  not,  Pacha,  to  relate 

What  souls  were  sent  to  Eblis  throne, 
How  Azrael's  arrows  scatter'd  fate, 

How  wild,  wet,  wearied,  and  alone, 
When  all  my  crew  were  drench'd  in  blood, 
Or  floated  lifeless  on  the  flood, 
I  fought  unawed,  nor  e'er  thought  I 
To  shout  '  Amaun/  the  craven's  cry. — 

I  took  my  handkerchief  to  wipe 

My  burning  brow,  and  then  I  took, 
With  placid  hand,  my  long  chibougue, 
That  is  to  say,  my  Turkish  pipe, 
And  having  clapp'd  it  in  my  cheek, 
Disdaining  e'er  a  word  to  speak, 
1  shouted  to  the  pirate,  '  Now, 
You've  fairly  beat  me,  I  allow,' "  &c. 


Familiar  Letter  from  the  Adjutant.  137 

Perhaps, — as  I  know  that  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage  is  one  of  your  first 
favourites, — you  will  find  an  account  of  his  step-brother,  Childe  Paddy's* 
banishment  to  New  Holland,  more  to  your  taste.  This  is  the  commencement. 

Oh !  mortal  man  how  varied  is  thy  lot, 

Thy  ecstasies  of  joy  and  sorrow,  how 
Chill'd,  sunk,  and  servile  art  thou,  or  how  hot 

Flashes  indignant  beauty  from  thy  brow  ! 

Times  change,  and  empires  fall ;  the  gods  allow 
Brief  space  for  human  contemplation,  and 

Above  all  partial  dictates  disavow 
Unequal  love ;  how  can  we,  at  their  hand, 
For  individual  fate  a  gentler  boon  demand ! 

Childe  Paddy  parted  from  his  father's  cot ; 

It  was  not  castle  proud,  nor  palace  high, 
Extraneous  symmetry  here  glitter'd  not, 

But  turf-built  walls  and  filth  did  meet  the  eye ; 

Loud  was  the  grumph  and  grumble  from  hog-stye ; 
Swans  gleam'd  not  here,  as  on  the  Leman  lake, 

But  goose  and  ducklings,  famed  for  gabbling  cry, 
With  quack,  quack,  quack,  did  make  the  roofs  to  shake, 
Till  in  their  utmost  holes  the  wondering  rats  did  quake ! 

He  thought  of  father,  whom  he  loved,  and  left ; 

He  thought  of  mother,  at  her  booming  wheel ; 
He  thought  of  sister,  of  his  care  bereft, 

He  thought  of  brethren  dear ;  and,  to  conceal 

The  endless  pangs  that  o'er  his  brain  did  reel, 
As  through  the  vale  his  pensive  way  he  took, 

For  fear  his  onward  purpose  would  congeal, 
He  sung,  while  pacing  with  right-forward  look, 
"  Sweet  Kitty  of  Coleraine,"  and  "  Fair  of  Donabrooke !" 

I  rejoice  that  your  prophecy,  as  to  the  popularity  of  Hogg's  Tales,  has  been 
abundantly  verified.  Natural  power  and  genius  will  fight  their  way,  in  spite 
of  opposition,  and  "  disdainful  of  help  or  hindrance."  I  doubt  not  that  his 
better  half  has  had  a  hand  in  the  purgation  of  the  new  edition.  Give  my  com- 
pliments to  him ;  tell  him  I  shall  never  forget  the  kindness  I  experienced  at 
Eltrive  Lake  ;  and,  above  all,  ask  him  how  he  likes  the  following  stanzas,  the 
opening  of  a  ballad,  as  long  as  "  Kirkmabreck,"  that  celebrated  modern  Timon, 
or  rather  she-Tjmon,  or  woman  hater. 

Theyre  wals  ane  Brounie  offe  mucle  faime 

Thatte  ussit  too  cumme  too  ane  aulde  fairme  housse, 

Ande  evir  the  maydes  fro  theyre  beddes  came, 
Alle  theyre  werke  wals  dune,  soo  cannye  and  douce. 

The  cauppis  wure  cleanit ;  the  yerne  wals  spunne, 

Ande  the  parritche  aye  maide  forre  the  oulde  guidman, 

The  kye  wure  milkit,  the  yill  wals  runne, 

Ande  shininge  lyke  goude  wals  the  ould  brasse  pan. 

Ande  mickle  they  wonderit,  and  mair  theye  thocht, 
But  neivir  ane  wurde  too  theyre  minny  spake  theye, 

Theye  lukit  aye  too  the  braas  theye  hadde  coift, 
Too  buske  theyre  hay  re,  and  to  maike  theme  gaye. 


*  It  was  first  written  "  Childe  Raddy,"  but  I  was  afraid  of  angering  the  Scotsman. 

M.  O. 


138  Familiar  Letter  from  the  Adjutant. 

Then  outte  spake  Jennye,  the  youngeste  ane, 
"  I'm  shure  to  mye  Jocke  itte  wull  gie  delyghte, 

Ande  maike  the  laddye  a'  fidginge  faine, 

Too  see  the  luffes  ofFe  mye  handes  soe  whyte." 

Thenne  outte  spake  Kirstene,  as  doune  she  satte 

Before  the  glasse  toe  kaim  herre  hayre, 
"  Oh  !  luke/'  quoth  she,  "  I  amme  gettinge  soe  fatte, 

Thatte  I  offe  idlesse  muste  beware. 

"  The  neiburs  theye  wille  kenne  noe  mee, 

Forre  I'm  scrimply  aible  to  gaung  aboutte, 
Iffe  I  gette  on  soe,  ye  wulle  brieflye  see 

A  hurlye  cofFt  toe  carrye  mee  outte,"  &c. 

Speaking  of  Wordsworth,  what  is  he  dreaming  about  ?  The  published  part 
of  the  Excursion  does  not  extend  to  a  week,  and  we  have  had  no  more  of  it 
for  the  last  seven  years  •  if  the  poet's  life  and  peregrinations  are  to  occupy  an 
equally  proportionate  space,  published  at  the  same  distance  of  time,  the  world 
may  expect  to  see  the  conclusion  of  the  work  at  much  about  the  same  time 
when  Blackwood's  Magazine  intends  retiring  from  public  notice,  that  is  to  say, 
somewhere  about  the  year  3000.  The  following  is  a  small  portion  of  a  fifty 
page  episode.  It  is  entitled 


THE  KAIL  POT. 

If  e'er,  in  pensive  guise,  thy  steps  have  stray'd 
At  eve  or  morn,  along  that  lofty  street, 
Yclept  the  Canongate,  exalt  thine  eyes, 
And  lo !  between  thee  and  the  azure  sky, 
Dangling  in  negro  blackness  beautiful, 
A  kail  pot  hangs,  upon  an  iron  bar 
Suspended,  and  by  iron  chains  hung  down. 
Beneath  it  yawns  a  threshold,  like  the  den 
Of  Cacus,  giant  old,  or  like  the  caves 
Of  sylvan  satyrs  in  the  forests  green ; — 
There  enter,  and,  amid  his  porter  butts, 
In  conscious  wisdom  bold,  sits  Nathan  Goose, 
Worshipping  the  muses  and  a  mug  of  ale ! 

Sweet  are  the  songs  of  Nathan  Goose,  and  strong, 
Yea !  potent  is  the  liquor  that  he  sells  ; 
On  many  a  cold  and  icy  winter  night, 
When  stars  were  sparkling  in  the  deep  blue  sky, 
Have,  circling  round  his  board,  a  jovial  throng, 
Tippled  until  the  drowsy  chime  of  twelve. 
Strange  has  it  seem'd  to  me,  that  we,  who  breathe 
Vapours,  as  watery  as  the  cooling  drops 
Of  Rydal  Mere,  should  drink  combustibles, 
And  perish  not ;  yet,  thereby,  of  the  soul 
The  cogitations  are  disturb'd ;  its  dreams 
Are  hollows  by  reality  and  time 
Fulfill'd  not,  and  the  waking  spirit  mourns, 
When  shines  the  sun  above  the  eastern  sea, — 
The  ocean  seen  from  Black  Comb's  summit  high, 
And  throws  his  yellow  light  against  the  pane 
Of  chamber  window, — window  deep  embower 'd 
With  honey-suckle  blossoms ; — o'er  the  wrecks 
Of  such  fantastical,  and  inane  stuff, 
Shadows,  and  dreams,  and  visions  of  the  night. — 
Then  follow  headaches  dreadful,  vomitings 


Familiar  Letter  from  the  Adjutant.  139 

Of  undigested  biscuit,  mingled  with 

The  sour  and  miserable  commixture  of 

Hot  aquavitie,  with  the  mountain  lymph,—- 

If  city  water  haply  be  so  call'd, — 

The  lymph  of  Fountain-well,  hard  by  the  shop 

Where  seeds  and  roots  are  sold,  above  whose  door 

The  black-eyed  eagle  spreads  his  golden  wings. 

Hard  is  the  lot  of  him,,  whom  evil  fates 
Have  destined  to  a  way  of  life  unmeet : 
Whose  genius  and  internal  strength  are  clogg'd 
By  drudgery,  and  the  rubs  of  common  men. 
But  I  have  gazed  upon  thee,  Nathan  Goose, 
Gazed  on  the  workings  of  thy  inward  soul— 
Hail'd  with  delight  thy  planet  in  the  sky, 
And  mid  the  constellations  planted  thee  !  &c. 

As  you  are  one  of  the  prime  admirers  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads,  as  who,  with  the 
smallest  pretensions  to  poetical  taste,  does  not  acknowledge  most  of  them  to  be 
extremely  fine,  and  studded  over  with  the  very  pearls  of  poetry, — I  have  co- 
pied over  for  you  a  lyrical  ballad  of  the  true  breed.  I  do  not  know  but  that  you 
will  like  it  almost  as  well  as  the  Waggoner,  or  Peter  Bell. 


BILLY  BLINK. 


I  knew  a  man  that  died  for  love, 

His  name,  I  ween,  was  Billy  Blinn  ; 

His  back  was  hump'd,  his  hair  was  grey, 

And,  on  a  sultry  summer  day, 

We  found  him  floating  in  the  linn. 

Once  as  he  stood  before  his  door 

Smoking,  and  wondering  who  should  pass, 
Then  trundling  past  him  in  a  cart 
Came  Susan  Foy,  she  won  his  heart, 

She  was  a  gallant  lass. 

And  Billy  Blinn  conceal'd  the  flame 

That  burn'd,  and  scorch'd  his  very  blood  ; 
But  often  was  he  heard  to  sigh, 
And  with  his  sleeve  he  wiped  his  eye, 
In  a  dejected  mood. 

A  party  of  recruiters  came 

To  wile  our  cottars,  man  and  boy ; 
Their  coats  were  red,  their  cuffs  were  blue, 
And  boldly,  without  more  ado, 

Off  with  the  troop  went  Susan  Foy ! 

When  poor  old  Billy  heard  the  news, 
He  tore  his  hairs  so  thin  and  grey  ; 

He  beat  the  hump  upon  his  back, 

And  ever  did  he  cry,  "  Alack, 
Ohon,  oh  me ! — alas  a-day !" 

His  nights  were  spent  in  sleeplessness, 
His  days  in  sorrow  and  despair, 

It  could  not  last — this  inward  strife  ; 

The  lover  he  grew  tired  of  life, 
And  saunter'd  here  and  there. 


140  Familiar  Letter  from  the  Adjutant.  [[May, 

At  length,  'twas  on  a  moonlight  eve, 

The  skies  were  blue,  the  winds  were  still ; 
He  wander'cl  from  his  wretched  hut, 
And,  though  he  left  the  door  unshut, 

He  sought  the  lonely  hill. 

He  look'd  upon  the  lovely  moon, 

He  look  d  upon  the  twinkling  stars ; 
"  How  peaceful  all  is  there,"  he  said, 
*'  No  noisy  tumult  there  is  bred, 

And  no  intestine  wars." 

But  misery  overcame  his  heart, 

For  all  was  waste  and  war  within  ; 
And  rushing  forward  with  a  leap, 
O'er  crags  a  hundred  fathoms  steep, 

He  plunged  into  the  linn. 

We  found  him  when  the  morning  sun 

Shone  brightly  from  the  eastern  sky ; 
Upon  his  back  he  was  afloat — 
His  hat  was  sailing  like  a  boat — 

His  staff  was  found  on  high. 

Oh  reckless  woman,  Susan  Foy, 

To  leave  the  poor,  old,  loving  man, 
And  with  a  soldier,  young  and  gay, 
Thus  harlot-like  to  run  away 

To  India  or  Japan. 

Poor  Billy  Blinn,  with  hair  so  white, 

Poor  Billy  Blinn  was  stiff  and  cold  ; 
Will  Adze  he  made  a  coffin  neat, 
We  placed  him  in  it  head  and  feet, 

And  laid  him  in  the  mould  ! 

I  dare  say  you  will  suppose  that  there  is  no  end  to  my  prosing.  But  hold 
my  pen  ! — For  the  present  I  am  determined  to  have  done.  As  to  Southey, 
Lamb,  Milman,  Croley,  Shelley,  Wastle,  Wilson,  Campbell,  Hunt,  Montgo- 
mery, Bowles,  Dr  Scott,  Frere,  Rogers,  Bloomfield,  Herbert,  Thurlow,  Wil- 
lison  Glass,  &c.  you  shall  have  more  of  them  in  my  next ;  and  meantime  be- 
lieve me,  more  than  ever  has  been  yet  professed  by 

Yours,  &c. 

MORGAN  ODOHEUTY. 
Coleraine,  lied  Cow  Inn,  April  30. 


LETTER.  FROM  »R  PETRE. 

SIR,  writers  of  that  pestilent  school.  I  have 

IN  a  letter  written  by  me  some  time  since  learned,  with  unaffected  pain, 

ago,  and  which  circumstances  not  ne-  that  they  were  written  by  Mr  Lamb, 

cessary  to  be  mentioned,  have  made  a  gentleman  whose  avowed  writings  I 

rather  conspicuous,  I  had  occasion  to  have  always  perused  with  the  utmost 

advert  to  a  series  of  articles  in  a  con-  pleasure.     I  do  not  know  anywhere  a 

temptible  magazine,  which  were  mark-  more  delightful  Tale  than  his  Rosa- 

ed  by  the  signature  Elia.    I  said  that  mond  ;  and  many  of  his  smaller  pieces 

they  were  filled  with  unjustifiable  per-  abound  with  the  most  pathetic  touches 

sonalities,  and  applied  to  their  writer  of  simple  and  natural  beauty.    Of  his 

the  title  of  a  "  Cockney  Scribbler."  John  Woodvillc,  will  you  suffer  me  to 

Such  he  appeared   to  me,  from  his  speak  in  the  language  of  an  article, 

style,  matter,  and  connection  with  the  which  the  wit  of  its  gay,  and  the  elo- 


1821.]]  Letter  from 

quence  of  its  graver  portions,  render 
the  most  attractive  paper  that  has  ever 
graced  the  pages  of  a  magazine :  "  This 
little  composition  (Mr  Lamb's  trage- 
dy) glistens  with  the  most  vivid  and 
beautiful  poetry — nature  keeps  giving 
hints  of  herself  throughout  all  its 
scenes — now  in  all  that  quaintness, 
which  at  that  period  of  human  life, 
she  more  peculiarly  loved — and  now 
in  that  universal  language,  in  which, 
without  reference  to  time  or  place,  she 
wantons  forth  in  her  strong  and  rejoi- 
cing existence — there,  passion  is  sim- 
ple as  the  light  of  day,  or  various  as 
the  coruscations  of  the  northern  lights 
— there,  truths  so  obvious  as  to  com- 
mon eyes  even  to  seem  dull  and  trivial, 
become  affecting — even  sublime,  by 
their  connection  with  profoundest  re- 
flections, and  most  woful  catastrophes 
— there,  character  apparently  artless 
and  unformed,  yet  rises  up  like  what 
we  see  conflicting,  suffering,  enjoying, 
dying,  in  this  our  every-day  world — 
so  that  when  all  is  shut  up  unostentati- 
ously at  last,  we  feel  the  grandeur  of 
the  powers,  and  the  awfulness  of  the 
destinies  of  our  human  nature,  in  that 
simple  picture  of  humble  but  high  hu- 
manity, more  mournfully  and  also  more 
majestically  than  when  the  curtain  falls 
before  the  dead  bodies  of  conquerors  or 
of  kings." 

Agreeing  with  this  eloquent  tribute 
of  applause  on  one  of  his  works,  and 
feeling  a  strong  attachment  to  many 
other  of  his  performances,  it  was,  as  I 
said  before,  with  unaffected  pain  I  dis- 
covered that  such  an  author  was  the 
man,  whose  anonymous  writings  had 
drawn  from  me  so  contumelious  an 
epithet ;  and  I  am  still  more  sorry  to 
find  that  a  more  attentive  perusal  of 
his  magazine  articles  has  only  confirm- 
ed me  in  my  opinion  of  their  reprehen- 
sible nature.  Look,  for  example,  at 
his  ribald  treatment  of  G.  D.  (one  of 
the  most  inoffensive  men  on  the  face 
of  the  earth)  of  which,  to  be  sure,  he 
had  afterwards  grace  enough  to  be 
ashamed ;  or  turn  (to  take  one  in- 
stance out  of  a  hundred)  to  his  sneer 
on  Middleton,  Bishop  of  Calcutta,  for 
his  conduct  in  the  Oriental  Church,  or 
wade  through  the  columns  of  mere  in- 
anity and  very  cockneyism,  of  which 
the  paper  on  April  Fools,  in  imitation 
of  the  style  of  Rabelais,  is  a  flagrant 
specimen,  and  seriously  say,  could  you 
have  ever  suspected  this  stuff  to  have 


Dr  Petre. 


141 


come  from  the  author  of  Rosamond 
and  John  Woodville  ? 

The  society  with  which  we  mix, 
must  gradually  impart  to  us  its  tinge  ; 
and  it  is  little  wonder  that  the  being 
bound  up  in  the  same  cover  with  Haz- 
litt,  and  others  of  that  deplorable  set 
of  men,  should  contaminate.  The  very 
perusal  of  their  writings,  unless  it  be 
accompanied  by  any  feelings  but  those 
of  admiration,  is  noxious.  "  The  fly," 
says  old  Herbert, 

"  That  feeds  on  dirt  is  coloured  thereby." 
Providence  has  indeed  diminished  their 
power  of  injury,  by  denying  them  ta- 
lent, and  suffering  them  to  fill  them- 
selves with  stupid  and  ridiculous  va-« 
nity  ;  but  if  a  gentleman  should  un- 
fortunately pennit  himself  to  overlook 
their  glaring  defects,  and  connect  him- 
self with  them  in  any  undertaking 
whatever,  we  must  confess  that  they 
still  can  injure,  and  only  regret  that 
their  victim,  insensible  of  his  degrada- 
tion, should  of  necessity  gradually  sink 
to  their  level.  It  is  the  sad  condition 
of  our  nature ;  we  are  all  docile  enough 
in  imitating  the  wicked  and  depraved, 
whether  in  the  real  every  day  world, 
or  the  world  of  authorship.  So  it  is 
with  Mr  Lamb  and  the  Cockneys ;  he 
allied  himself  to  them  "  culpa  vacuus," 
(to  use  the  words  of  Sallust)  but  it  is 
to  be  feared,  that  unless  he  abandons 
the  disgraceful  connexion,  he  will  be 
rendered  "  quotidiano  usu  atque  illece- 
bris  facile  par  similisque  cseteris;"  and, 
indeed,  the  symptoms  of  assimilation 
are  too  manifest  already. 

There  was  a  time  when  Mr  Lamb 
was  classed  with  nobler  associates ; 
men  misguided  indeed  by  the  enthu- 
siasm, which  at  the  day  not  unnatu- 
rally seized  upon  the  warm  minds  of 
youthful  poets,  glowing  from  the  con- 
templation of  the  visions  of  ideal  per- 
fection, the  creatures  of  their  vivid 
imaginations,  and  fresh  from  the  per- 
usal of  the  inspiring  writings  of  Greece 
and  Rome,  while  theywere  not  yet  pos- 
sessed of  experience  sufficient  to  apply 
with  true  philosophy  the  lessons  of  an- 
tiquity to  modern  days.  Anti-jacobin 
as  I  am,  and  as  I  ever  have  been,  and 
trust  ever  shall  continue,  I  wonder  not 
that  such  minds  should  have  contem- 
plated the  beginning  of  the  French 
revolution,  with  the  feelings  so  di- 
vinely painted  by  Wordsworth. 

"  Oh  !  times 
In  which  the  meagre  stale  forbidding  ways 


Letter  from  Dr  Pelre. 


142 

Of  custom,  law,  and  statute,  took  at  once 
The  attractions  of  a  country  in  romance. 
*  »  *  «  \Vhat  temper  at  the  prospect  did 

not  wake 

To  happiness  unthought  of  ?  The  inert 
Were  roused,  and  lively  natures  rapt  away ! 
They  who  had  fed  their  childhood  upon 

dreams, 

The  playfellows  of  fancy,  who  had  made 
All  powers   of  swiftness,   subtility,   and 

strength " 

— but  why  need  I  continue  quotations 
from  a  poem  which  is  in  the  hands, 
and  should  be  in  the  memories  of  all 
the  readers  in  England  ?  While  they 
were  yet  under  the  influence  of  the 
day-dreams,  the  witty  muse  of  Can- 
ning sung  of 
"  Southey  and  Coleridge,  Lloyd  and 

Lamb,  and  Co." 

—in  derision  indeed,  but  who,  nume- 
rous as  their  aberrations  of  that  period 
were,  would  now  be  ashamed  of  being 
ranked  with  such  master  minds,  even 
in  derision  ?  These  gifted  men  have 
long  since  abandoned  the  unholy  rank 
for  which  they  were  too  pure.  Is  it 
possible  that  Mr  Lamb  still  remains  ? 
Is  it  possible  that  he  can  still  hold  com- 
munion with  men,  who,  after  the  un- 
utterable horrors  of  the  French  revo- 
lution, after  witnessing  the  succession 
of  one  set  of  blood-boultered  villains 
after  another,  chaunting  the  praises  of 
freedom,  and  enforcing  its  cause  by  the 
knife  or  the  guillotine,  until  it  ended 
in  the  sullen  military  despotism  of  a 
heartless  and  bloody  usurper,  can  still 
hold  up  that  revolution  as  the  strug- 
gle of  liberty,  and  these  monsters,  and 
their  iron-souled  successor,  as  its  cham- 
pions ?  Who  can  stigmatize  those  who 
overthrew  that  savage  chief  as  tyrants, 
and  can  mourn  over  his  slavish  satel- 
lites, whose  only  merit  was  a  blind  and 
sanguinary  obedience  to  his  mandates, 


as  martyrs  to  their  attachment  to  the 
interests  of  mankind  ?  That  would  be 
degradation  indeed  :  and,  even  in  a  li- 
terary point  of  view,  what  a  different 
figure  would  the  name  of  Mr  Lamb 
make,  were  we  parodying  Mr  Can- 
ning's line,  to  rank  him  with  his  pre- 
sent friends,  and  class  together 
Hazlitt  and  Janus,  Webb  and  Lamb  and 

Co. 

Oh  !  what  a  falling  off  is  there,  from 
Southey,  Coleridge,  Lloyd,  to  such  as 
these  ! 

I  am  not  so  weak  as  to  imagine  that 
what  I  have  said  will  have  the  effect 
on  Mr  Lamb,  which  I  desire  ;  but,  I 
trust,  a  sense  of  his  own  dignity  will 
sooner  or  later  dissolve  his  partnership 
with  the  Cockney  brotherhood,  and 
that  I  shall  see  him  emerge  from  the 
Slough  of  Despond,  in  which  he  is 
now  overwhelmed,  bearing 

— "  No  token  of  the  sable  streams, 
And  mount  far  off  among  the  swans  of 

Thames." 

So  much  have  I  deemed  it  necessa- 
ry to  say  in  my  defence,  for  making 
the  charge  on  Mr  Lamb  which  I  did.- 
I  have  only  to  add,  because  I  under- 
stand there  has  been  some  absurd  cri- 
ticism on  the  subject,  that  the  name 
I  use  is  fictitious ;  that  I  am  indebted 
to  Mr  North  for  my  diploma  of  D.  D. ; 
that  those  who  object  to  so  usual  a 
practice,  particularly  in  magazines, 
may  go  quarrel  with  Bentley  for  using 
the  signature  of  Phileleutherus  Lip- 
siensis,  or  Dr  Parr  for  using  that  of 
Philopatris  Varvicensis ;  and  that,  if 
they  do,  I  shall  consider  them  to  be 
exactly  what  they  are,  most  superlative 
blockheads. — I  am,  &c. 

OLINTHUS  PETRE,  D.  D. 

Trinity  College,  Dublin,  \ 
May  \,  1821.  / 


CAROLINE  MATILDA,  QUEEN  OF  DENMARK. 


OF  all  the  accounts  published  by  writ- 
ers of  various  nations  respecting  the 
unhappy  fate  of  this  queen,  the  follow- 
ing appears  to  me  more  affecting  and 
nearer  the  truth  than  any  that  has  yet 
appeared  in  the  English  language.  I 
felt  induced,  therefore,  to  translate  it, 
and  trust  that  it  may  find  a  place  in 
your  excellent  Magazine.  It  was  writ- 
ten by  Mr  Augustus  Mahlmaun,  a 
German. 

Queen  Caroline  Matilda  arrived  in 
Denmark  in  the  bloom  of  youth  and 
beauty.  She  possessed  a  soul  formed 


for  the  tenderest  sympathies  of  human 
nature;  and  the  Danes  hailed  her 
arrival  with  enthusiasm.  But  some 
wretches,  headed  by  the  queen  dowa- 
ger, regarded  the  beauteous  Matilda 
with  envious  eyes.  They  could  not 
bear  the  lustre  which  she  shed  on 
Denmark,  and  planned  the  most  insi- 
dious cabals  against  her,  because  she 
bade  fair  to  gain  the  hearts  of  the  peo-1 
pie  by  her  amiable  disposition,  at  the 
same  time  that  her  mental  endowments 
could  not  but  acquire  a  decided  in- 
fluence over  the  king.  They  soon  sue- 


18210 


Caroline  Matilda,  Queen  of  Denmark. 


ceeded  in  robbing  her  of  the  king's  af- 
fections ;  they  withdrew  from  her  the 
admiration  of  the  court,  and  even  lost 
sight  of  the  respect  due  to  her  exalted 
rank.  Thus,  without  a  friend,  without 
a  counsellor,  surrounded  by  hateful 
and  despicable  beings,  Matilda  had  no- 
thing to  oppose  to  her  enemies  but 
tears.  Her  heart  felt  no  solace  but  in 
her  tender  care  for  her  only  and  dearly 
beloved  child,  the  present  king.  When 
he  was  inoculated  with  the  small-pox 
in  the  year  1 770,  she  never  stirred  from 
his  bed ;  she  nursed  him  herself ;  the 
tenderness  of  her  maternal  care  would 
suffer  no  stranger  to  approach  the  dar- 
ling of  her  heart. 

Struensee,  the  body  physician,  who 
had,  since  the  king's  return  from  his 
last  foreign  travels,  occupied  one  of 
the  first  places  among  the  favourites  of 
the  monarch,  had  performed  the  ope- 
ration of  inoculating  the  crown  prince, 
and  he  attended  him  during  his  illness. 
Matilda,  accustomed  to  be  annoyed  by 
all  who  possessed  the  favour  of  her 
consort,  had  hitherto  disliked  Struen- 
see, although  he  had  ever  treated  her 
with  respect.  But  when  the  duties  of 
his  station  brought  him  daily  into  the 
queen's  apartment,  she  became  better 
acquainted  with  him.  Struensee  pos- 
sesseda  great  mind  and  extensive  know- 
ledge, with  high  courage  and  resolution. 
During  the  illness  of  the  crown  prince, 
he  passed  several  hours  daily  with  the 
queen  alone ;  and  took  occasion  to  ex- 
press his  sympathy  in  her  situation. 
The  queen,  who  had  long  sought  a 
friend  and  a  bosom  into  which  she 
could  pour  forth  her  sorrow,  accepted 
the  offers  of  his  friendship,  made  him 
her  confidant,  and  obtained  from  him 
the  promise  that  he  would  counteract 
her  enemies.  Struensee  kept  his  word. 
He  brought  back  the  king  to  the  em- 
braces of  his  consort,  and  young  Count 
H***,  who  had  been  the  chief  cause 
of  the  king's  coldness,  was  removed. 
His  place  was  given  to  Mr  Brandt, 
Struensee's  friend.  This  first  step  deci- 
ded every  thing.  The  king  being  gain- 
ed, it  was  easy  to  remove  all  others, 
who  had  shewn  themselves  to  be  the 
queen's  enemies,  and  to  give  to  her 
own  and  Struensee's  friends  all  the 
influence  that  could  be  desired.  If 
matters  had  gone  no  farther,  the  horri- 
ble catastrophe,  which  effected  the  ruin 
of  Matilda,  and  stained  the  soil  of 
Denmark  with  the  blood  of  two  inno- 
cent men,  would  never  have  occurred. 
VOL.  IX. 


143 

But  Struensee,  led  astray  by  the  fortu- 
nate turn  his  fate  had  taken,  aspired 
to  higher  objects.  He  rose  from  the 
situation  of  body  physician  and  lec- 
turer to  the  dignity  of  a  cabinet  mi- 
nister ;  he  was  ennobled,  and  obtained, 
together  with  Mr  Brandt,  the  title  of 
count.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  that 
it  was  his  serious  intention  to  render 
Denmark  happy.  He  possessed  the 
courage  and  acquirements  necessary  to 
the  purpose ;  but  he  was  destitute  of 
political  experience,  and  that  provident 
care  which  introduces  the  best  mea- 
sures with  as  much  caution  and  pre- 
paratory management,  as  if  they  were 
the  very  worst.  With  the  precipitation 
and  ardour  of  an  enthusiast,  he  intro- 
duced reform  into  all  departments  of 
the  state.  Salutary,  however,  as  those 
measures  were  to  the  public,  they  pro- 
ved oppressive  to  individuals,  who,  in 
consequence,  became  his  most  impla- 
cable enemies.  Struensee's  administra- 
tion lasted  scarcely  a  year  and  a  half, 
but  it  is  incredible  what  he  effected 
in  that  short  period.  He  changed  the 
entire  system  of  foreign  policy  ;  he  re- 
scued the  court  of  Denmark  from  the 
degrading  dependence  in  which  it  had 
been  so  long  held  by  Russia,  and  es- 
tablished a  more  intimate  connexion 
with  Sweden  and  France.  Russia  in 
vain  tried  all  means  to  effect  his  ruin ; 
but  he  displayed  equal  boldness  and 
resolution.  Of  domestic  affairs,  the  fi- 
nances particularly  engaged  his  atten- 
tion, from  the  dilapidated  state  into 
which  they  had  been  thrown  by  the 
wasteful  system  hitherto  pursued.  He 
retrenched  the  expenditure  of  the  court, 
discontinued  many  pensions,  abolished 
several  public  boards,  disbanded  the 
Life  Guards,  curtailed  the  privileges  of 
the  nobility,  did  away  many  places  of 
the  court,  in  short,  he  introduced  eco- 
nomy, wherever  it  was  practicable. 
But  these  measures,  however  excellent, 
being  so  rapidly  carried  into  execution, 
placed  numbers  out  of  employment, 
and  raised  enemies  against  their  author 
among  all  classes  of  the  people.  Dis- 
content became  general,  but  Struensee 
still  possessed  sufficient  energy  and 
boldness  to  defy  all  his  enemies.  Fate, 
it  would  seem,  was  unwilling  to  permit 
his  downfall,  before  he  had  carried  a 
great  and  beneficent  measure  into  exe- 
cution— the  abolition  of  vassalage.  The 
lands  were  granted  to  the  peasantry  in 
possession,  and  the  industrious  portion 
of  the  people  were  relieved  from  a  yoke, 
9 


Caroline  Matilda,  Queen  of  Denmark. 


144 

under  which  they  had  hitherto  groan- 
ed— personal  service  was  pkced  with- 
in moderate  hounds.  The  establish- 
ment of  the  liberty  of  the  press  was 
the  most  inconsiderate  of  Struensee's 
measures ;  this  was  putting  the  readi- 
est instrument  into  the  hands  of  his 
enemies  to  enrage  the  whole  nation 
against  himself.  The  first  works  that 
appeared  under  the  protection  of  the 
liberty  of  the  press,  were  directed  against 
Struensee.  Every  day  satires  and  li- 
bels were  put  forth.  At  first  he  re- 
garded these  publications  with  con- 
tempt. But  when  his  enemies,  in  con- 
sequence, grew  bolder,  and  not  only  at- 
tacked him,  but  even  the  king  and  the 
queen,  in  the  most  abusive  terms,  si- 
lence became  no  longer  possible,  and 
severe  penal  laws  were  enacted  to  put 
an  end  to  such  nuisances.  From  this 
moment  Struensee's  fall  may  be  dated. 
The  writings,  which  had  appeared 
against  him  had  opened  his  eyes  to  the 
number  of  his  enemies  and  to  their 
malignity ;  he  saw  himself  and  the 
court  exposed  to  the  scorn  of  the  mob. 
In  addition,  a  mutiny  of  the  seamen 
took  place.  It  was  found  necessary  to 
yield  to  their  demands,  and  apprehen- 
sions were  entertained,  that  the  exam- 
ple might  occasion  more  scenes  of  a 
similar  kind.  Struensee's  situation  was 
perilous,  and  he  felt  the  danger.  But 
r.n  effectual  resistance  demanded  all 
the  energy  of  his  soul,  and  that  forsook 
him. 

To  return  to  Matilda-. — Levity  and 
indiscretion,  the  usual  companions  of  a 
careless  and  cheerful  disposition,  were 
the  only  faults  with  which  the  young 
queen  could  be  reproached.  Friendship 
and  gratitude  attached  her  to  Struensee. 
The  intimacy  subsisting  between  the 
queen  and  Struensee  did  not  escape  the 
Argus-eyed  courtiers.  Matilda  was  too 
frank  to  dissemble,  her  levity  rendered 
her  unfit  for  intrigue,  and  Struensee 
was  imprudent,  llumours  were  pro- 

{>agated  among  the  populace,  who  de- 
ight  in  nothing  so  much  as  in  listen- 
ing to  tales  of  what  passes  within  the 
precincts  of  courts.  These  rumours 
gained  importance  by  being  repeated 
at  the  court  of  the  queen  dowager, 
Matilda's  most  implacable  enemy.  By 
means  of  the  liberty  of  the  press,  these 
rumours  were  disseminated,  and  Ma- 
tilda was  represented  as  the  cause  of 
all  the  oppressions  which  the  people 
endured.  Her  honour  and  her  good 
name  fell  a  prey  to  her  enemies,  and 


TMay, 


she  found  herself  robbed  of  the  love  of 
a  nation  by  whom  she  had  once  been 
idolized.  Struensee's  courage  failed 
him ;  an  oppressive  anguish  bowed 
down  his  mind,  and  deprived  him  of 
all  energy  of  action.  He  threw  himself 
at  the  queen's  feet,  he  poured  forth  the 
agonies  of  his  soul,  he  begged  permis- 
sion to  leave  a  country  where  he  was 
surrounded  by  an  innumerable  host  of 
enemies,  and  where  a  dreadful  fate 
seemed  to  lead  him  on  to  a  most  wretch- 
ed end.  He  pointed  out  to  the  queen 
that  the  same  danger  impended  over 
her,  and  that  his  dismissal  would  af- 
ford the  only  means  of  escaping  it.  But 
all  in  vain  ;  his  solicitations  produced 
no  effect  on  the  queen's  heart,  she  pos- 
sessed a  bolder  spirit  than  he.  She 
endeavoured  to  tranquillize  his  fears, 
she  begged  him  so  stay,  she  conjured 
him,  she  even  threatened  him.  The 
unibrtunate  Struensee  yielded,  he  be- 
held tremblingly  his  approaching  fate, 
and  staid. 

The  plans  of  the  queen  dowager  and 
her  creatures  had  attained  maturity 
soon  after  the  commencement  of  the 
year  1772.  The  regiment  of  Colonel 
Roller,  the  most  determined  enemy  of 
Struensee,  mounted  guard  at  the  pa- 
lace on  the  16th  of  January.  A  ball 
at  court  fixed  for  the  evening,  facilita- 
ted the  preparations  making  for  the 
infamous  enterprize  of  the  conspira- 
tors. 

Trumpets  and  kettledrums  ushered 
in  the  portentous  day.  Matilda,  un- 
concerned, danced  tUl  midnight,  not 
at  all  surmising,  that  those  were  the 
last  pleasurable  hours  of  her  life.  The 
ball  was  over  at  about  one  o'clock.  A 
deathlike  stillness  pervaded  the  palace. 
All  slept  save  the  conspirators,  busied 
in  preparing  the  work  of  treason.  The 
clock  struck  three.  They  rushed  into 
the  king's  bed-room.  The  monarch 
was  panic-struck,  and  the  conspirators 
terrified  him  still  more,  by  fabricated 
accounts  of  a  dreadful  insurrection. 
He  was  told  that  the  populace  were  on 
the  point  of  storming  the  palace,  that 
the  danger  was  most  imminent,  that  his 
life  was  in  jeopardy,  and  that  he  could 
only  save  himself  by  signing  certain  pa- 
pers presented  to  him.  Under  the  first 
impressions  of  terror,  the  king  seized 
the  pen,  but  threw  it  indignantly  down 
when  he  discovered  the  name  of  his 
consort  at  the  top  of  a  page.  The  con- 
spirators besieged  him  afresh — they 
painted  his  danger  in  frightful  colours; 


1821.3 


Caroline  Matilda,  Queen  of  Denmark. 


they  declared  him  to  be  undone,  unless 
he  subscribed ;  they  urged,  they  be- 
sought, they  forced  him.  Overwhelm- 
ed with  agony,  deprived  by  terror  of 
his  senses,  the  king  signed  the  wretch- 
ed orders  for  the  arrest  of  his  queen, 
Struensee,  Brandt,  and  all  his  friends. 
Without  waiting  for  the  orders  being 
signed,  Colonel  Koller  had  already 
hastened  to  Struensee's  apartments. 
He  pulled  him  out  of  bed,  and  treated 
him  with  the  coarsest  brutality.  The 
unfortunate  Struensee  had  not  even 
the  presence  of  mind  to  ask  for  the  or- 
der for  his  arrest.  A  manly  resistance 
would  have  brought  the  officers  stand- 
ing at  the  door  into  the  apartment,  and 
the  colonel,  who  had  no  written  or- 
der, would  have  been  unmasked.*  Per- 
haps the  whole  enterprize  might  have 
been  defeated,  had  Struensee  shewn 
any  presence  of  mind. 

The  most  important  part  in  this 
tragedy,  the  arrest  of  the  queen,  was 
committed  to  Count  Ranzan  and  Co- 
lonel Eichstadt.  Accompanied  by  se- 
veral officers,  they  entered  her  Majes- 
ty's antichamber.  Matilda  awoke  and 
called  her  waiting-women.  Pale  and 
trembling  they  entered,  and  informed 
her  Majesty,  that  Ranzan  wished  to 
speak  with  her  in  the  king's  name. 
"  Ranzan,"  exclaimed  the  queen,  "  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  in  the  name  of 
the  Icing !"  She  immediately  sent  a  mes- 
sage to  Struensee,  but  the  waiting- wo- 
man, in  broken  accents,  told  her  ma- 
jesty, that  he  was  arrested.  Dreadful 
surmises  of  abominable  treason  now 
took  possession  of  Matilda's  mind ;  "  I 
am  betrayed,  I  am  lost,  all  is  lost !" 
she  exclaimed,  wringing  her  hands. 
But  her  composure  returned  in  an  in- 
stant. "  Let  the  traitors  come  in,"  she 
said  calmly,  "  I  am  prepared  for  the 
worst."  She  advanced  to  meet  Ranzan, 
as  he  entered.  He  read  to  her  the 
king's  order,  to  which  she  listened 
with  composure.  She  then  took  the 
order  herself,  read  it,  and  threw  it 
with  contempt  at  Ranzan's  feet.  "  The 
king's  weakness  has  been  abused,"  she 
said, "  such  orders  are  not  to  be  obeyed 
by  a  queen."  Ranzan  ventured  to  threa- 
ten ;  but  the  queen  treated  him  with 
the  most  sovereign  contempt.  He  then 
became  exasperated,  and  beckoned  his 
officers.  They  employed  force,  but 


145 

the  queen  struggled  and  resisted,  her 
danger  adding  to  her  strength.  She 
struck  the  first  officer  down,  who  pre- 
sumed to  lay  his  traitorous  hands  up- 
on her  person.  Several  others  then 
fell  upon  her.  In  her  despair  she  at- 
tempted to  throw  herself  out  at  the 
window,  but  she  was  kept  back.  Her 
strength  was  at  last  exhausted.  The 
conspirators  then  dressed  her  quickly, 
and  put  her,  deprived  of  all  sense,  in- 
to a  coach.  A  captain  of  dragoons, 
with  a  drawn  sword,  seated  himself 
beside  her.  What  a  ridiculous  pre- 
caution against  a  defenceless  princess 
of  twenty  years !  A  subaltern,  and  one  of 
her  majesty's  chambermaids,  occupied 
the  other  places  in  the  carriage,  which 
was  surrounded  by  thirty  dragoons.  A 
second  coach  followed,  containing  the 
infant  Princess  Louisa,  with  her  nurse, 
and  a  maid  of  honour.  All  possible 
haste  was  made  to  reach  the  castle  of 
Cronberg.  The  queen  sat  silent,  and 
lost  in  thought,  near  her  inhuman 
companions.  But  when  she  espied  the 
fortress,  she  was  roused  to  a  sense  of 
her  dreadful  situation.  "  0,  God !  I  am 
undone !"  she  exclaimed.  She  fainted 
away  several  times,  and  was  carried  up 
into  an  apartment,  where  she  was  pla- 
ced in  an  arm-chair.  The  nurse  car- 
ried her  daughter,  the  Princess  Louisa, 
to  the  queen,  when  the  cries  of  the 
child  pierced  her  maternal  heart.  Ma- 
tilda experienced  the  comfort  of  the 
unfortunate — she  shed  tears.  She  press- 
ed the  innocent  babe  to  her  heart,  she 
overloaded  it  with  kisses,  and  drowned 
it  in  tears.  The  holy  feelings  of  ma- 
ternal affection  outweighed  the  sense 
of  her  fate. 

Nine  commissioners  were  appointed 
to  examine  and  try  the  prisoners  in  the 
city.  This  was,  however,  merely  done 
for  form's  sake ;  they  had  long  ago  been 
condemned.  Considerable  time  elap- 
sed in  the  making  out  of  the  indict- 
ment, the  counts  of  which  were  mul- 
tiplied as  much  as  possible,  one  being 
more  absurd  than  another.  The  two 
partners  in  misfortune,  Struensee  and 
Brandt,  were  at  last  broughtforth  from 
their  horrible  dungeons,  t  in  which  they 
had  languished  for  many  weeks.  Load- 
ed with  fetters,  they  appeared  before 
the  tribunal  of  their  enemies.  Misfor- 
tune had  cowed  the  heart  ef  Struen- 


*  Colonel  Koller  had  told  the  officers  of  his  regiment,  that  he  had  written  orders  from 
the  king.  This  assurance  induced  them  to  embark  in  the  enterprize. 

•f  Count  Struensee  having  been  confined  above  three  months,  when  he  first  came  out, 
though  in  view  of  a  terrible  death,  exclaimed,  "  O  what  a  blessing  is  fresh  air."— 
Howard's  State  of  Prisons,  Vol.  1,  p.  77- 


Caroline  Matilda,  Queen  of  Denmark. 


146 

see ;  he  appeared  to  be  bowed  down, 
sinking  under  the  pressure  of  his  fate. 
What  a  triumph  to  his  enemies !  Sure- 
ly he  might  have  calculated,  that  he 
had  no  chance  of  being  spared,  and 
that  his  death  had  been  irrevocably 
determined  upon.  Yet  he  (my  heart 
revolts  at  what  I  am  going  to  write 
down)  suffered  himself  to  be  terrified 
by  threats,  and  to  be  inveigled  by  pro- 
mises, into  a  scandalous  confession,  re- 
specting his  intercourse  with  the  queen. 
Let  those  who  can,  pardon  him.  But 
every  manly  heart  must  despise  him. 
With  a  composure  of  deportment 
befitting  a  queen,  Matilda  received  the 
commissioners,  who  arrived  at  Cron- 
berg  on  the  9th  of  March,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  examining  her  majesty.  She 
replied  with  brevity,  precision,  and  dig- 
nity, to  all  the  questions  put  to  her, 
however  cunningly  they  were  turned, 
in  order  to  ensnare  her.  The  commis- 
sioners at  last  came  to  that  point  in 
the  accusation,  on  which  the  confes- 
sion of  the  cowardly  Struensee  had 
been  extorted.  Baron  Schack  Rathlon, 
the  spokesman,  read  Struensee's  decla- 
ration to  the  queen.  She  expressed 
her  doubts  of  the  authenticity  of  the 
document,  conceiving  it  impossible, 
that  Struensee  should  have  behaved 
with  such  meanness ;  she  denied  every 
thing.  "  Then  is  Struensee  a  most  abo- 
minable calumniator,"  replied  Schack  ; 
"  he  deserves  the  severest  punishment 
for  having  thus  offended  majesty ;  an 
ignominious  death  must  expiate  his 
crime."  These  words  overwhelmed 
the  unfortunate  queen ;  she  shuddered 
at  the  thought  of  the  execution  of  her 
friend.  Honour,  pride,  and  regard  con- 
tended for  mastery  in  her  noble  heart ; 
and  they  triumphed.  She  asked,  "Will 
the  unfortunate  Struensee  obtain  for- 
giveness, if  I  admit  the  truth  of  his 
declaration."  Schack,  with  a  friend- 
ly mien,  gave  her  to  understand,  that 
he  would  probably  be  pardoned ;  she 
then  sacrificed  to  the  object  of  her 
regard,  who  had  acted  so  unworthily, 
her  honour,  her  good  name,  all,  all, 
only  that  she  might  save  his  precious 
life.  She  signed  her  name.  But  she 
had  not  finished  the  word  Caroline, 
when  she  looked  up  and  beheld  the 
unmasked  monsters  sitting  before  her, 
with  greedy,  scornful,  and  mischie- 
vous looks,  tracing  the  lines  of  her  pen. 
"  You  deceive  me  infamously,"  she 
exclaimed,  suppressing  her  breath  and 
attempting  to  get  up  ;  but,  unable 
to  stand,  she  fell  motionless  back. 


CMay, 


Schack  then  seizing  her  cold  and  trem- 
bling hand,  guided  it,  and  thus  at  last 
the  name  of  Caroline  Matilda  appear- 
ed under  the  declaration,  which  her 
enemies  had  dictated.  The  commis- 
sioners left  the  castle,  certain  of  being 
rewarded  for  their  villainy  at  Copen- 
.  When  the  queen  recovered, 
.-  -  was  thrown  into  a  state  which 
might  have  excited  apprehensions  for 
her  life,  if  any  person  had  still  felt  any 
concern  for  the  life  of  the  unfortunate 
sufferer. 

Mr  Uldahl,  king's  counsel,  was 
charged  with  the  defence  of  the  queen. 
This  was,  however,  an  empty  form. 
Mr  Uldahl  made,  indeed,  a  most  mas- 
terly defence.  He  proved,  to  a  demon- 
stration, how  little  regard  could  be 
paid  to  the  declarations  extorted,  and 
surreptitiously  obtained,  from  Struen- 
see and  the  queen.  He  pointed  out 
with  energy,  how  injurious  the  pro- 
cess was  to  the  king's  honour,  and 
made  the  most  powerful  appeals  to  the 
feelings  of  the  judges ;  but  he  failed 
in  making  any  impression  on  these 
heartless,  inexorable  beings.  On  the 
6th  of  April,  the  sentence  of  divorce 
was  pronounced,  and  on  the  9th  made 
known  to  the  queen.  She  was  alto- 
gether exhausted  by  grief  and  suffer- 
ings, and  heard  it  with  calm  resigna- 
tion. 

The  25th  of  April,  1772,  is  a  day 
inscribed  in  the  annals  of  Denmark 
with  the  blood  of  two  innocent  men. 
Sentence  of  death  was  then  passed  on 
the  two  Counts,  Struensee  and  Brandt, 
and  put  in  execution  on  the  following 
day.  With  heroic  courage,  and  a  lofty 
consciousness  of  his  innocence,  Brandt 
mounted  the  scaffold.  He  displayed 
the  greatest  composure,  while  he  suf- 
fered his  right  hand  to  be  cut  off;  and, 
without  heaving  a  sigh,  he  laid  his 
head  on  the  block.  Struensee  was  ex- 
ceedingly pusillanimous ;  it  was  found 
necessary  to  hold  him  by  the  hair,  in 
order  to  inflict  the  mortal  stroke. 

Since  the  publication  of  her  sen- 
tence, Matilda  had  been  treated  more 
leniently.  The  triumph  of  her  ene- 
mies was  complete ; — what  more  could 
they  wish  for?  The  English  mini- 
ster, Keith,  who  had,  with  praisewor- 
thy zeal,  interested  himself  in  behalf 
of  the  unfortunate  sister  of  his  sove- 
reign, was  accordingly  permitted  to 
visit  the  queen,  that  he  might  Consult 
with  her  majesty  upon  her  future 
place  of  residence. 

On  the  27th  of  May,  two  English 


1821/]  Caroline  Matilda,  Queen  of  Denmark.  14T 

frigates  and  a  sloop  of  war  arrived  off  her,  within  the  walls  of  which  her  de- 
Elsinore.  On  the  30th,  the  queen  left  serted  child  wept,  seeking  its  mother, 
the  castle  of  Cronberg.  The  last  mo-  On  the  following  day,  however,  a  fair 
ments  proved  the  most  painful  to  her.  breeze  enabled  the  English  vessels  to 
She  was  now  to  part  with  the  only  com-  set  sail.  Matilda  stood  on  the  quar- 
fort  in  her  misfortune,  the  dearest  ob-  ter-deck,  and  beheld,  slowly  receding 
ject  of  her  affections, — her  beloved  from  her  view,  the  land  which  she  had 
daughter.  And  she  had  to  leave  her  once  entered  as  a  queen,  and  now  left, 
Louisa,  alas  !  in  the  midst  of  her  ene-  depressed  by  the  most  heart-rending 
nries, — in  the  midst  of  those  very  per-  anxieties,  and  overwhelmed  with  un- 
sons  who  had  so  dreadfully  illtreated  merited  sufferings.  The  English  ships 
the  mother.  Matilda  was  going  away,  sailed  for  Stade,  whence  Matilda  pro- 
when  the  child  cried. — She  flew  back,  ceeded  to  Zell.  She  resided  there  for 
pressed  the  little  darling  to  her  ago-  the  space  of  three  years,  in  the  most  se- 
nized  bosom; — but  she  had  to  tear  her-  eluded  retirement,  only  occupied  with 
self  loose  again — yet  could  not !  Li-  the  recollections  of  her  tenderly  beloved 
berty  beckoned  her  onwards, — mater-  children,  whose  portraits  she  had  recei- 
nal  affection  called  her  back :  her  heart  vedfrom  Copenhagen.  She  wasattacked 
bled, — her  tears  gushed  in  copious  with  a  violent  complaint,  which  a  con- 
streams  !  At  length  she  was  led  away  stitution,  impaired  by  intense  suffer- 
almost  by  force.  ings  in  mind  and  body,  could  not  re- 
Every  thing  seemed  to  conspire  to  sist,  and  she  died  in  the  twenty-third 
aggravate  the  agonies  endured  by  the  year  of  her  age,  lamented  by  all  Eu- 
unhappy  Matilda  on  leaving  Denmark,  rope.  The  account  of  her  death  reach- 
A  contrary  wind  prevented  the  Eng-  ed  Copenhagen  on  the  day  when  a  ball 
lish  vessels  from  sailing, in  consequence  at  court  had  been  fixed  for  the  even- 
of  which  the  wretched  princess  had  in  ing.  But  it  was  not  deferred  ;  nor  did 
view,  for  a  whole  day,  the  country  in  any  person  deplore  her  death.  The 
which  she  had  been  subjected  to  mi-  Crown-Prince  only  was  put  into  slight 
series  beyond  the  power  of  language  mourning, 
to  describe  :  The  fortress  lay  before  F. 

TWILIGHT    MUSINGS. 

How  beauteous  is  this  summer  eve ! 

Remote,  upon  the  western  sky, 
The  sun  declines  ;  and  round  him  weave 

The  clouds,  a  gorgeous  canopy. 

From  fragrant  fields,  and  pastures  nigh, 
With  gentle  murmur  comes  the  breeze, 

Just  kissing,  as  it  passes  by, 
The  shutting  flowers,  and  leafy  trees ; 

A  twilight  gloom  pervades  the  woods, 

Through  all  their  blue-grey  solitudes. 
And  all  is  still — except  the  lay 

Of  Blackbird,  from  the  neighbouring  grove, 
Clear  hymning  forth  the  dirge  of  day, 

In  tones  of  warm,  spontaneous  love. 

And  'tween  its  margents,  flower-inwove, 
The  stream  that  gently  murmurs  on ; 

Or  rustle  of  the  grass,  above 
The  crimson-tinged  sepulchral  stone ; 

The  shadows  of  the  church  profound, 

O'erspread  the  eastward  burial  ground. 
How  beauteous ! — but,  more  beautiful, 

The  days  of  vanish'd  years  awake, 
In  burning  tints,  that  render  dull 

'  The  charms  of  sky,  and  wood,  and  lake. 

Though  far  remote,  yet  I  can  slake 
At  memory's  fount  my  burning  thirst, 

And  feel,  no  spells  on  earth  can  break 
The  idol  form  I  worshipp'd  first ; 

No  second  ties  of  love  impart 
Such  rapture  to  the  vacant  heart ! 


1*8  Twilight  Muting*.  O*«y, 

The  moon  is  up — a  lovely  night ! 

A  lovely  night  of  former  years ; 
So  fair  the  landscape,  that  its  sight 

Makes  gentle  eyes  o'erflow  with  tears  ; 

The  form,  that  by  my  side  appears, 
Is  all  my  own  ;  a  happier  lot 

Ne'er  came  to  quench  a  lover's  fears, 
Or  render  blest  a  poet's  thought ; 

The  sum  of  earthly  witcheries 

Beside  me,  and  before  mine  eyes ! 

Then  would  we  roam,  and  listen  there, 

Afar  the  watch-dog's  sullen  bay, 
And  sounds  that,  floating  on  the  air, 

Told  peace  was  near,  and  man  away  ; — 

The  small  bird  startled  from  the  spray, 
Half  slumbering  ;  the  resounding  woods ; 

The  ocean  murmur  from  the  bay  ; 
And  inland  hum  of  tumbling  floods ! 

The  Star  of  Love,  with  quiet  eye, 

Smiled  down  upon  us  from  the  sky  ! 

The  moon  shone  o'er  us,  as  we  stray'd, 

And  I  have  gazed  upon  the  face, 
Where,  gently  lined,  its  beams  betray 'd 

A  wilaer,  and  more  winning  grace. 

I  turn'd  from  life, — that  idle  chace 
For  fleeting  joys,  and  empty  good, 

And  felt  that  all,  in  Hope's  embrace, 
Was  at  my  side  in  solitude  ; 

Dove  of  my  Ark  !  that  still  would'st  fiee, 

To  bring  joy's  olive  bough  to  me  ! 

Years  came,  and  went,  and  saw  us  such, 

And  day  succeeded  day  in  bliss  ; 
Until  our  cup  o'erflow'd  too  much 

With  good,  for  such  a  world  as  this  ; 

Were  ours  the  pure,  the  guiltless  kiss, 
The  ardent  grasp  of  thrilling  hand, 

And  all  the  thousand  witcheries 
That  none,  save  lovers,  understand — 

And  which,  like  shot-stars  in  the  main, 

Once  quench'd  are  ne'er  beheld  again  ! 

Where  are  ye  now,  departed  scenes  ? — 

A  pictured  leaf  in  memory's  page  ! 
No  more  your  brightness  intervenes, 

Life's  dreary  dulness  to  assuage  ! 

'Tis  wonderful  the  heart  can  wage 
With  peace  and  joy  eternal  strife ; 

Yet,  like  the  captive  bird  in  cage, 
Live  onward  to  the  dregs  of  life — 

Through  years  of  being,  wild  and  waste, 

Like  Dead  Sea  apples  to  the  taste  ! 

Yet,  thus  it  is — and  'mid  the  bowers 

Where  I,  so  blest,  have  roam'd  before — 
Though  all,  except  the  summer  flowers, 

Are  changed  from  what  they  were  of  yore, — 

I  stray,  and  silently  deplore, 
That  youth  is  like  a  running  stream — 

Love  but  a  shade  that  stalks  before — 
And  life  itself  a  waking  dream  ! 

We  call  on  Pleasure — and  around  . 

A  mocking  world  repeats  the  sound  !  A 

8 


1821-3  Biblical  Sketches.  149 

BIBLICAL  SKETCHES. 
No.  IV. 

THE  DEATH  OF   ABSALOM. 

THE  battle's  voice  waned  fainter  ;  but  the  heath 
Re-echo'd  dismal  to  the  groans  of  death  ; 
More  wide  the  thinn'd  and  scatter 'd  legions  roam, 
More  frequent  gallops  past  the  steed  of  foam  ; 
The  fiery  war-horse,  labouring,  and  out-done, 
His  rider's  faulchion  glittering  in  the  sun  ; 
The  rebel  host  is  broken ;  and  again 
Proud  Israel  triumphs  on  the  battle-plain  ! 

The  heart  of  Joab  swell'd,  elate  to  see 
His  plans  successful,  and  the  rebel  flee  ! 
He  gazed  around  him  from  a  central  spot, 
For  Absalom  he  search'd,  but  saw  him  not  ; 
And,  though  the  king  had  mandate  given  to  spare, 
His  spirit  yearn'd  to  find,  and  sky  him  there. 

Fair  was  the  son  of  David  ;  from  his  face 
Beam'd  princely  majesty,  and  faultless  grace  ; 
The  paragon  of  men,  erect  and  tall, 
In  lineament  and  form  transcending  all ; — 
Rapidly  through  the  thick  and  shadowy  wood, 
Meanwhile,  the  prince,  without  a  path  pursued ; 
Deep  grief  was  in  his  eye ;  upon  the  wind 
He  heard  the  shout  of  foes  that  spurr'd  behind ; 
Just  was  his  overthrow,  severe,  but  just, 
The  doom  that  laid  his  impious  schemes  in  dust ; 

And,  as  compunctious  gnawings  woke  within, 
He  grieved  o  er  all  his  foolishness  and  sin  ! 
More  near  the  sounds  approach'd ;  and  faster  sped 
His  jaded  mule,  where'er  an  opening  led  ; 
His  helmet  in  the  fray  was  lost,  and  now 
His  yellow  tresses  flutter 'd  o'er  his  brow, 
And  stream'd  adown  his  back,  now  flow'd  behind, 
Now  wanton'd  forward  in  the  casual  wind  ; 
And  now  they  twin'd  around  an  oaken  bough 
Firmly — and  gallop'd  on  the  mule  below  ; 
Suspended  there  hung  Absalom, — and  near 
Were  none  to  rescue  him — were  none  to  hear  ! 

Insulting  triumph  swells  upon  the  gale, 
And  sternly  now,  encased  in  glittering  mail, 
Came  bounding  to  the  spot,  in  full  career, 
The  victor  Joab  on,  with  forward  spear ; 
"  Behold  the  rebel  son,"  elate  he  cried, 
Then  pierced  his  side,  and  smote  him  till  he  died  ! 

Then  Joab  blew  the  trumpet— and  around 
Quick  throng 'd  the  warriors,  summon'd  by  the  sound  ; 
Into  a  pit.  the  noble  form  was  thrown, 
And  ready  hands  piled  o'er  the  frequent  stone  ; 
But  terror  smote  them,  when  the  deed  was  done— 
They  thought  upon  the  sire — upon  the  son  ; — 
Compunction,  like  a  spell,  each  bosom  rent,  * 

And,  awe-struck,  every  warrior  sought  his  tent.  ** 

No.  V. 

THE  OLIVE  BOUGH. 

THE  dove  flew  east — the  dove  flew  west — 
Found  not  a  spot  whereon  to  rest ; 


150  Biblical  Sketches. 

Beheld  the  waters  far  and  wide 
Outstretching,  and  on  either  side ; 
Then  backward  to  its  prison  fled, 
With  wearied  wing,  and  drooping  head. 

And  all  was  sad — o'er  Noah's  soul 
Dejection's  tide  began  to  roll ; 
He  gazed — and  nought  was  seen  around 
But  waters,  and  the  skies  that  bound ; 
No  island  courted  human  foot, 
And  all  was  wild — and  waste — and  mute  ! 

From  Ararat's  stupendous  peak 
Again  the  dove  flew  forth,  to  seek 
A  spot,  a  resting  place  of  green— 
At  eve,  returning  she  was  seen 
In  joy — the  olive  bough  did  fill, 
With  glossy  leaves,  her  little  bill ! 

A  ray  of  sunshine  bursting  bright, 
When  clouds  are  dark,  with  rosy  light ; 
A  flower  of  beauty,  blooming  forth 
Amid  the  cold  and  snowy  North  ; 
Of  Hope  a  beaming,  to  beguile 
Despair's  worn  features  to  a  smile. 

And  Noah's  heart,  dilating,  felt 
Where  sorrow  reign'd,  that  pleasure  dwelt ; 
And  brooding  visions  died  away, 
And  Darkness  gave  the  reins  to  Day  ; 
And  Hope  did  triumph,  and  Despair 
No  longer  found  a  mansion  there  ! 

No.  VI. 

HAGAR   IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 

THE  sun  was  now  declining  on  the  sky, 

The  breeze  was  silent,  and  the  sward  was  dry, 

As  Hagar,  wearied  out  with  travel,  sate 

Beneath  an  aloes,  pondering  on  her  fate ; — 

A  bow-shot  distant,  'mid  the  shrubby  wild, 

Young  Ishmael  lay,  a  solitary  child ; — 

For,  when  her  bread  was  spent,  her  cruise  was  dry, 

The  mother  could  not  bear  to  see  him  die  ; 

And,  'mid  Beersheba's  woods,  that  silent  slept, 

She  lifted  up  her  voice,  and  loudly  wept ! 

Why  doth  she  cease  her  wail, — why  start  appall'd  ? 

Again ! — it  was  a  voice  from  Heaven  that  call'd ; — 
1  Hagar,  arise  !"  the  viewless  Spirit  said, 
'  Forget  your  griefs,  exalt  your  drooping  head, 
'  And  quench  in  joyfulness  your  low  despair; 
'  For  God  hath  seen  your  griefs,  and  heard  your  prayer ; 
'  The  boy  shall  yet  survive  ; — a  mighty  race, 
'  Elate,  from  him,  their  origin  shall  trace ; 
'  And  wide-spread  nations,  touch'd  with  patriot  fire, 
'  Look  back  to  him,  and  own  him  for  their  Sire !" 

Joyful  she  rose ;  and,  on  her  h'stening  ear, 
Broke  the  sweet  sound  of  water  murmuring  near ; 
She  fill'd  her  thirsty  cruise,  and  to  the  boy 
Brought  the  cool  beverage,  with  a  mother's  joy. 
Awhile  she  watch'd,  and  wept,  at  length  the  streak 
Of  crimson  play'd  upon  his  lily  cheek, 
And  life  and  sense  returning  to  the  child, 
His  bright  bkck  eyes  he  lifted  up,  and  smiled  ! 


1-821.]  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character.     No.  VI.  131 

SKETCHES  OP  SCOTTISH  CHARACTER. 

No.  VI. 
"  PARSON  WILLY." 

'  WHAT  '  Gentleman'  retired  from  city  noise 

'  Has  made  this  neat  snug  country  Sox  his  choice?" 

f  A  gentleman  indeed  !"  with  knowing  leer, 

(  Responds  the  Boy — '  no  gentleman  lives  here. 

'  This  is  *  the  Manse,'  and  slavering  o'er  the  dyke, 

'  There  comes  '  the  Minister,'  a  surly  tyke." 
Thus  far  the  urchin — from  our  presence  flew  ; — 
What  follows  next,  we  from  his  '  Mother'  drew. 

This  Parson,  in  his  years  of  student  glee, 
Whilst  yet  a  Burgess'  son  of  low  degree, 
Had  pledged  in  mutual  love,  his  hand  and  heart, 
And  played,  through  many  a  walk,  the  lover  part, 
From  blooming  hawthorn  pluck'd  the  flower  with  Care, 
And  fix'd  the  chaplet  in  his  "  Jeanie's"  hair — 
Borne  her  on  beating  breast  o'er  ditch  and  style, 
Still  answering  squeeze  with  squeeze,  and  smile  with  smile. 
Indited  verses,  full  of  groves  and  streams — 
Banks,  linnets,  stock  doves,  twilight,  and  moon-beams — 
Lips,  smiles,  and  blushes,  dimples,  cheeks,  and  eyes — 
Hopes,  fears,  and  wishes,  palpitations,  sighs — 
Thisbes — Lavinias — Ariadnes  fair, 
With  a  whole  host  of  Ss  an  as — were  there. 
The  Magazine  of  words,  wherewith  'tis  common 
To  conquer  into  love — Man-trusting  Woman. 

"  A  Tutor"  now,  he  seeks  the  western  shore, 
In  Chieftain  Hall,  his  fortunes  to  explore, 
With  Macs  and  Mothers  holds  incessant  wier, 
And  leads  a  "  Tutor  life"  from  year  to  year ; 
Yet  still  the  frequent  letter,  sent  with  care, 
Bespeaks  him  to  his  "  Jeanie,"  constant,  there. 

Meantime,  o'er  Jeanie's  face  the  summer  throws 
The  mingling  colours  of  the  blushing  rose, 
She  ripens  into  woman-hood,  and  sees 
An  host  of  lovers,  prostrate  at  her  knees — 
Hears  all  the  slang  a  Lawyer  could  advance, 
But  checks  his  "  too  familiar"  with  a  glance. 
The  Writer,  favoured  in  his  own  belief. 
She  stops  amidst  his  tale,  and  says,  "  be  brief;" 
Th'  Apothecary's  Prentice  pleads  in  vain, 
She  bids  him  take  "  a  doze" — to  cure  his  pain, 
And  Lairds  put  on  their  boots,  and  mount  their  horses — 
And  sport  their  spurs,  and  shake  their  heavy  purses  ; 
Whilst  English  Riders  turn  aside  to  view  her, 
And  try  in  vain,  "  by  coaxing,"  to  undo  her : 
Her  heart  is  with  her  Willy — she  can  know 
No  greater  bliss  than  Willy's  love,  below ! 

Her  father  is  a  Deacon,  votes  are  sought — 
A  Kirk  is  vacant — Kirks  are  sometimes  got 
By  Deacon  votes — and  learn'd  Professors  too, 
Have  proved,  at  times,  a  Deacon's  promise  true. 
Her  Willy — Jeanie's  Willy  ! — comes  at  last, 
And  Jeanie's  every  care  is  overpast : 
VOL.  IX.  T 


152  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character,     No.  VI. 

The  Kirk  her  love  secured  him — it  is  clear 
How  Willy  now  his  aftercourse  will  steer. 
But  Jeanie's  face  is  alter'd,  and  her  dress 
Might  suit  a  landry  maid  of  "  guid  Queen  Bess." 
Her  father  is  a  weaver,  could  there  be 
A  Brute  more  vulgar,  more  uncouth  than  he ; 
And  she  a  weaver's  daughter — 'Twill  not  pass, 
A  Minister  to  wed  a  Webster  Lass  ! 

There  needs  no  further  telling,  all  may  view 
Sweet  Jeanie's  grave  beneath  that  weeping  yew  ! 
There  needs  no  doleful  weeping,  all  may  see 
A  portion'd  dame,  where  Jeanie  hoped  to  be  ; 
There  needs  no  sudden  bolt  tliat  breast  to  sever, 
For  there  the  vulture  conscience  tugs  forever. 

Go  speed  thee  to  the  mountain,  "  Parson  Willy," 
And  court  the  solitude  of  glen  and  valley, 
Adown  the  winding  stream  pursue  thy  way, 
Where  noon-day  beams,  midst  dancing  waters'  play, 
Profane  the  haunts  of  nature  with  thy  tred, 
At  thy  approach  the  mountain  flocks  have  fled — 
The  Raven  curses  from  his  stunted  tree — 
The  Wagtail,  from  his  stone,  denounces  thee — 
The  Grass-hopper  is  mute  at  thy  advance, 
And  Sunflies  close  their  wings,  and  cease  to  dance  ; 
Whilst  sight-revolting  Ask,  and  crawling  Toad, 
All  prematurely  wake,  and  leave  their  sod ! 

Go  with  the  trading  mob  commix,  and  try 
To  prig  and  cheapen,  calculate  and  buy  ; 
Buy  luck,  and  prosper — else  thy  traffic  cease  ; 
God  says,  "  diminish" — who  shall  say  "  encrease  r" 
Or  should  it  suit  thy  whim,  let  garden  care 
Thy  thoughts,  thy  labour,  and  thy  leisure  share  ; 
Dig  with  the  mole,  or  rake  the  crumbled  earth, 
Give  all  thou  canst — to  Cabbages  give  birth  ; 
Or  pausing  o'er  thy  spade,  thy  Hives  survey, 
That  pour  their  busy  thousands  on  the  day, 
Peep  through  their  windowed  workshop,  like  a  thief, 
Descrying  secrets,  that  exceed  belief. 
Thy  plants  shall  wither,  and  the  "  Grub"  shall  feed 
On  every  garden  leaf  that  springs  of  seed. 
Thy  bees  in  mortal  combat  shall  contend, 
And  in  moth-eaten  wax — thy  hopes  shall  end. 

The  festive  board  with  viands  fit  is  crown'd, 
And  company  to  suit  thy  taste  is  found ; 
A  laughing,  punning,  beef-devouring  squad, 
With  no  great  previous  trouble  may  be  had. 
And  Porter  too  has  passed — the  wine  has  fled, 
For  all  the  loyal  toasts  "  are  gone  to  bed." 
Amidst  the  tumult  of  succeeding  mirth, 
To  which  a  bowl  of  whisky  punch  gives  birth, 
A  thunder-peal  of  happiness  ;  'tis  thine 
To  own  at  every  burst  the  curse  divine ; 
To  shrink  into  reflection's  glazy  stare, 
And  only  seem,  by  starts,  the  glee  to  share. 

Ascend  the  Pulpit  steps,  suspend  thy  hat, 
Thy  coat  skirts  see  thou  cress  not,  look  to  that. 


•1881.]  Parson  Willy.  153 

Turn  up  the  Psalm-book  knowingly,  and  then 
Give  us  with  emphasis  King  David  s  strain  ; 
Psalm  eighty-eight,  or  ninety-four  will  do, 
Secure  to  find  in  each,  a  curse  or  two. 
Then  follow  up  with  prayer,  in  composition, 
All  dove-tailed  in,  from  praises  to  petition, 
Neat  scripture  phrases,  polish'd  up  so  nice  ! 
Nor  word  nor  sentiment  repeated  twice. 
Breathe  Moderate  doctrine  next — all  stilly,  sweet, 
To  lull  the  conscience  into  rest  were  meet ! 
But  Conscience  will  not  rest — 'tis  God's  decree, 
Like  strong  man  from  his  cups,  he'll  dart  on  thee ; 
Within  his  giant  clutch  thy  throat  shall  rattle, 
What  day  he  sallies  forth  and  comes  to  battle. 

Retired  within  thy  study,  take  a  chair, 
Clear  out  the  ribs,  and  sweep  the  hearth  with  care ; 
Then  from  thy  shelves  withdraw  a  volume  fit, 
With  reason  seasoned,  or  replete  with  wit , 
Where'er  thy  humour  haply  chance  to  drift, 
Or  Watts,  or  Rogers,  Rochester,  or  Swift ; 
The  death  click  stuns  thy  ear,  the  flame  burns  pale, 
And  full  upon  thee  curves  the  candle  spale. 
The  Fiend  of  recollection  makes  thee  shiver, 
The  curse  is  on  thee — "  Thou  art  blasted  ever !" 

Domestic  happiness,  the  balm  of  life, 
And  chief  of  all  domestic  joys — "  a  Wife," 
Combined  with  little  Imps  that  love  to  chat 
Of  all  they  wish  to  know,  or  wonder  at — 
That  speak  their  ignorance  in  sounds  so  pleasing, 
That  not  their  ceaseless  questioning  is  teazing, 
"  Papa"  us  when  we  come  from  kirk  or  fair — 
Prepared  a  kiss,  or  market  store  to  share  ; 
Such  happiness  belongs  to  men  of  truth, 
Who  kept  the  plighted  promise  of  their  youth ; — 
Thine  is  the  withered  hope — the  blasted  tree — 
The  blossom,  where  no  fruit  can  ever  be, 
Domestic  solitude,  all  drear,  and  lonely ; 
For  ever  thou  art  seared — "  The  curse  is  on  thee.' 

Ye  Students,  Tutors,  lately  fledged  Divines, 
Whose  learning  with  your  college  "  suit"  combines, 
To  fix  the  heart  of  woman — pause  a  while, 
Nor  yield  you  captive  to  each  winning  smile. 
Time  plays  sad  tricks — a  Patron  may  be  lost, 
By  foul  caprice  or  death's  dread  message  cross'd, 
A  kirk  may  cheat  your  grasp  from  year  to  year, 
Yet  nearer  still  with  every  "  Shift"  appear, 
Your  taste  may  alter — rural  Beauties  may 
Into  mere  country  Bumpkins  sink  away. 
But  pledged  and  plighted  once — Oh  !  let  my  tale 
Your  conduct  guide — your  future  peace  avail, 
Admonished  thus,  by  "  Parson  Willy's"  fate, 
Avoid  the  error,  ere  it  prove  too  late. 


154-  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character.     No.  VI. 

"  WILLY  HBRDMAN." 
The  Old  Soldier. 

POOR  Willy  Herdman,  o'er  thy  Chilly  Bier 
Be  mine,  with  bursting  heart  to  drop  a  tear, 
To  sketch  the  features  of  thy  harmless  life, 
Unstain'd  by  slander — undisturb'd  by  strife,* 
Thy  very  faults,  not  charity,  would  hide  ; 
"  And  all  thy  failings  lean'd  to  virtue's  side." 

Whent  Calpe  stood  a  tower  of  frowning  rock, 
And  of  united  squadrons  braved  the  shock — 
'Twas  thine,  poor  Soldier,  of  unnoticed  name, 
To  speed  the  fiery  bolts  of  Britain's  fame, 
By  pity  led,  through  hissing  waves  to  go, 
And  from  surrounding  ruin  wrest  a  foe  ; 
In  his  own  spite  the  thankless  wretch  to  save, 
And  bear  him,  murm'ring  curses,  from  the  wave. 

"  It  has  been  remarked,  that  Anglers  are,  in  general,  good-natured  and  cheerful,  and 
we  believe  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  the  observation  ;  but  it  remains  for  us  to  add, 
that  they  are  likewise  not  a  little  given  to  "  Amplification."  An  inexperienced  hand, 
indeed,  is  less  addicted  to  the  influence  of  this  figure  of  speech,  as  his  want  of  address  in 
the  sport  being  known,  few  will  credit  his  stretches :  and  a  very  skilful  fisher,  such  as 
Willy,  has  no  reason  for  attempting  the  production  of  astonishment  by  any  accounts 
wide  of,  or  beyond  the  truth.  But  there  lies  betwixt  these  two  extreme  boundaries,  an 
extensive  common,  occupied  by  a  vast  variety  of  every-day,  or  common-rate  Anglers, 
who,  because  they  are  just  within  the  precincts  of  the  credit,  draw  pretty  largely  upon 
the  credulity  of  others.  Such  fishers  are  always  sure  to  hook  Trouts  of  a  most  interest- 
ing and  uncommon  size,  which,  as  usual,  after  a  certain  amount  of  capers  and  bounds, 
effect  their  escape.  These  feats,  too,  are  related  with  all  the  circumstantiality  of  truth. 
"  It  was  on  such  a  day  of  a  certain  month,  and  under  a  peculiar  aspect  of  sky  and 
cloud,  that  the  miraculous  event  took  place.  The  line  had  been  so  many  times  laid 
across  the  stream,  or  pool,  without  effect, — when,  on  the  last  throw  which  was  meant  to 
be  made,  the  hook  is  suddenly  nailed  to  the  bottom — a  pull  is  made,  and,  to  all  appear- 
ance, you  are  immoveably  fastened  upon  a  rock,  or  sod.  But  all  at  once,  and  with  an 
astonishing  power,  the  monster  takes  the  flood — makes  directly  for  the  deep  water,  and 
drags  you,  without  the  means  of  safe  and  successful  opposition,  along  with  him.  The 
pool  is  so  immensely  deep,  that  the  top  of  your  rod  is  brought  into  contact  with  the  wa- 
ter. He  travels  you  along,  in  sublime  smoothness,  from  one  dark  and  retired  recess  to 
another — your  line  cutting  the  water  like  a  razor — at  times,  however,  he  moves  his  head 
till  your  rod  trembles  in  your  hand  ;  tired  at  length,  however,  out  of  all  his  depths,  he 
dashes  furiously  out  to  the  lower  extremity  of  the  pool,  shews  fin  and  spot,  shoulder 
and  tail,  at  the  water  top,  takes  two  or  three  most  astonishing  springs,  snaps  your  line 
in  two,  and  tumbles  side  foremost  down,  with  a  plunge  into  the  next  gullet !"  "  Obstiu 
pin  steteruntquc,"  &c.  &c. 

•f  Gibraltar — at  the  siege  of  which  Willy  lost  a  finger.  He  used  to  entertain  me,  on 
our  way  to  and  from  "  the  fishing,"  with  anecdotes  concerning  this  memorable  defence. 
e.  g.  "  The  dreadful  red-hot  ball  firing  from  the  Castle  had  just  commenced ;  Elliot 
was  employed  in  viewing  through  a  telescope  the  effects  which  his  '  pills,'  as  he  term- 
ed them,  had  upon  the  stomach  of  the  enemy,  whilst  a  soldier  stood  near  him,  in  the  at- 
titude of  Atlas,  with  his  face  turned  upwards,  emptying,  through  the  bung-hole  into  his 
stomach,  the  remains  of  a  keg,  or  cask  of  rum,  almost  the  sole  subsistence  of  the  garri- 
son at  the  time.  In  the  same  instant,  the  General's  telescope,  and  the  soldier's  cask  were 
carried  off  by  a  ball,  or  splinter,  but  without  injury  to  either  individuals.  They  stood 
for  a  moment  eying  each  other  with  something  of  that  expression  which  a  Priest  of  the 
Greek  church  exhibits,  when  '  the  Lord  has  taken'  one  of  the  children  he  is  baptizing 
under  the  ice  of  the  Neva  '  to  himself.'  '  Blast  my  eyes,  an't  please  your  honour  !' 
exclaimed  the  enraged  soldier  at  last,  '  but  these  fellows  have  more  impudence  than  good 
manners,  fry  half;'  and  away  he  swung  in  full  drive  to  his  gun,  '  to  be  revenged,'  as  he 
expressed  it,  '  upon  the  mannerless  Rascals,  who  could  interrupt  gentlemen  at  their 
studies!'" 


18210  Willy  Herdman.  155 

But  Peace  returning,  with  her  smiling  train 
Of  joys  domestic,  sent  thee  home  again  ; 
Gave  thee  thy  hours  in  peaceful  arts  to  pass, 
Nor  grudged  to  soldier  old  the  soldier's  glass. 

What  pleasure  mine,  with  truant  step  to  stray 
At  rising  morn,  by  streamlet  far  away, 
With  thee  at  noon,  our  finny  dead  to  tell, 
Amidst  the  solitude  of  mountain  dell ! 
What  transport  mine,  by  cooling  fount  to  lie 
Beneath  the  balmy  breath  of  summer  sky, 
From  pocket  stored  the  oaten  feast  to  bring, 
And  quaff  the  nectar  of  the  neighbouring  spring. 

Hail  blessed  days  !  and  still  more  blessed  joy, 
That  sooths  the  cares  of  manhood,  leads  the  boy, 
With  beating,  glowing,  panting,  heart  to  view 
The  mountain  spret,  empearled  o'er  with  dew  ; 
That  to  the  banks  of  some  far  winding  stream, 
Where  live  the  dancing  waters  in  the  beam 
Of  summer  sunshine ; — draws  his  steps  away 
From  school-boy  revelment,  and  harsher  play, 
To  solitude  and  God,  attunes  the  heart, 
And  nerves  the  boy  to  act  the  manly  part ! 

Hail  blessed  source  of  innocence  and  health  ! 
Though  oft  the  fishing  hour  was  gain'd  by  stealth, 
Though  Horace  sung,  and  Livy  pled  in  vain, 
In  storied  page,  and  heart-assailing  strain, 
Though  many  a  blow  incurr'd,  compelled  a  tear  ; 
Yet  still  thou  wert,  and  ever  shall  be,  dear. 
And  He  shall  live  within  my  heart  for  aye, 
Who  stole  of  yore  my  truant  steps  away, 
Taught  me  to  know  the  seasons  and  the  place, 
To  wile  with  practised  skill  the  finny  race, 
What  flies  to  choose,  and  how  the  bait  prepare—- 
Where fish  with  hurried  step,  and  when  with  care—- 
What tempting  pools  to  pass,  and  where  to  try 
The  rushing  gullet,  with  discerning  eye — 
Who  taught  me  all  the  secrets  of  his  art 
Shall  live  for  ever  in  my  grateful  heart. 

The  wager  laid,  "  a  friend"  his  word  had  given, 
Though  o'er  the  "  pools"  the  heaping  drift  was  driven, 
That  "  Trouts"  should  grace  his  board  "  on  New-year's-day," 
And  Willy  sped  to  gain  the  bet — away 
To  dark  recess,  and  many  a  boiling  wiel, 
And  brought  "  a  dinner  dozen"  in  his  creel. 

But  oh  the  night  was  foul !  in  wintry  air 
Sat  high  enthroned  the  Demon  of  despair. 
Ill-fated  Willy  left  a.  friendless  door, 
"  Full  half-seas  over,"  to  return  no  more ! 
From  social  board  he  sought  his  homeward  way, 
Choaked  by  the  drift,  a  bleaching  corpse  he  lay  ! 

His  be  the  curse  of  blood-avenging  heaven, 
Destruction's  plough-share  o'er  his  roof  be  driven, 
His  "  Bacon"  soul  by  every  hook  be  rent, 
And  all  his  menial  crew  to  h — 11  be  sent; 
On  passing  winds  the  dying  cries  who  knew, 
Nor  through  the  drifting  death  with  timely  succour  flew. 


156  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character.     No.  VI.  [>Iay, 

"  PREACHER  OEOUDT." 

POOR  forty  years  "  a  preacher  child  of  want," 

Fit  emblem  of  the  church  itinerant ; 

Where  may'st  thou  lodge,  this  night  of  cold  and  sleet  f 

Within  what  Parsonage  hast  thou  a  seat  ? 

In  all  thy  yearly  Circuit,  where  thy  home, 

For  many  preaching  Sabbaths  yet  to  come  ( — 

Dost  thou  with  fiddle*  on  thy  back,  essay 
Through  MofFat-dale,  thy  ministerial  way  ? 
Or  by  the  banks  of  Nith's  transparent  tide, 
'Midst  noisy  Parson  progeny,  abide  ? 
Essay  thy  fiddle,  jealous  of  thy  skill, 
Eye  all  me  circle  round,  and  blunder  still  ? 

By  Gallovidian  coast — dost  thou  display 
Thy  musket  shoulder'd  in  a  martial  way, — 
To  quell  the  Radicals  thou  dared  before, 
When  faction  braved  the  throne  in  ninety-four  ? — 
Or  haply,  hast  thou  found  a  friend  and  chair, 
Fast  by  the  wooded  banks  of  "  bonny  Ayr  ?" 

I  hear  thee,  Geordy — yet,  in  mem'ry's  ear, 

Thy  loyal  Sabbath  rhapsodies  I  hear ; 

Even  in  thy  prayers,  the  kindling  accents  fall 

In  curses  on  the  factions,  one  and  all. 

"  They're  not  contented,  Lord,  to  vend  their  ware 

"  Through  all  the  tainted  towns  of  Lancashire, 

"  But  down  to  Scotland  they  in  troops  repair, 

"  And  spread  along  our  peaceful  loyal  coasts, 

"  Defiling  caterpillars — vile  locusts. 

"  I'm  even  told  they've  sped  their  doctrines  hither— 

"  Good  Lord,  in  wrath,  confound  them  altogether  !" 

Oh,  Loyalty,  no  virtue  is  more  fair, 
No  flaw  deformity,  when  thou  art  there ; — 
Thou  givest  more  than  Horace  ever  said, 
Her  all-supplying  queenship,  money  did  ! 
But  then  thou  hast  an  eye — and  thou  canst  know 
Where  to  withhold,  and  where  thy  gifts  bestow. 
To  aid  poor  Geordy,  who  has  need  of  aid — 
To  clothe  the  naked,  who  in  rags  are  clad — 
To  pension  off  the  fatherless  and  poor, 
Were  waste  of  favour — "  Impotence"  is  sure ! — 

Yet  once  I  knew  a  loyalist  so  poor, 
His  utmost  efforts  could  not  bread  secure ; — 

*  Geordy,  if  the  following  anecdote  is  to  be  credited,  is  not  the  only  brother  of  the  cloth 

addicted  to  the  bow  and  the  string.    "  A Clergyman  was  returning  home  early  upon 

the  Sabbath  morning,  from  .   .  ,  where  he  had  supped,  and  amused  the  party,  du- 

ring the  evening,  with  a  tune  on  his  own  fiddle.    The  profane  instrument  had  been  packed 

up  beneath  his  coat  as  decently  as  possible ;  and  he  was  on  his  way  down Walk, 

some  time  about  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  he  encountered  a  party  of  jolly  tars, 
quite  in  the  humour  for  frolic  and  mischief.  Having,  in  the  course  of  a  few  friendly  sa- 
lutes upon  the  back  and  shoulders,  come  into  close  quarters  with  the  lurking  instru- 
ment, one  of  them  instantly  gave  the  signal  of  information  ;  a  search  ensued,  the  fiddle 
was  detected  and  produced,  and,  in  spite  of  all  remonstrance,  played  upon  too,  to  the 
tune  of  '  Jacky  Tar,'  till  the  party  were  tired  dancing.  The  frolic  being  accomplished, 
the  performer  was  dismissed  with  many  benedictions,  and  a  handsome  remuneration  in 
mmicy,  to  boot.  This  money,  the  highly-respectable  clergyman  (still  alive,)  very  natu- 
rally slipt  into  the  plate  in  passing,  in  the  very  same  day,  to  the  pulpit,  and  made  his  fa. 
mily  merry  at  the  recital  of  the  anecdote  in  the  evening." 


1821-3  Preacher  Geordy.  157 

He  tried,  "  the  Member"  tried  each  neighbouring  laird, 

To  write  the  Minister, — but  no  regard 

His  long  memorials  and  his  prayers  procured  ; 

Yet  still  he  wrote,  and  still  his  wants  endured — 

At  length  resolved,  with  one  bold  bound,  to  go 

Straight  to  the  throne,  and  all  the  utmost  know, 

He  penn'd  a  letter,  spelt  and  pointed  tight, 

Directed  "  To  the  King,"  to  read  at  sight, 

"  Expressly  private,"  travell'd  the  address, 

And  who  might  dare  to  open  an  express  ? 

And  now,  within  the  Kirkgate  of  Dumfries, 

He  lives  on  "  ten  good  yearly  pounds  !"  in  peace. 

Then,  Geordy,  take  the  hint — thy  claims  evince, 

And  lay  thy  grievances  before  thy  Prince ; 

Within  his  breast  a  sire's  heart  abides, 

No  poorer  can'st  thou  be,  whate'er  betides. 

"  JUVENALIS  JUNIOR." 

"  ADDITIONAL  NOTICES  OF  GEORDY." 


It  is  scarcely  possible  to  strike  out  a 
full-length  likeness  of  Geordy  in  rhyme ; 
we  shall  therefore  throw  in  to  more  ac- 
commodating prose,  and  into  the  past 
tense,  what  we  ourselves  know,  and 
what  amongst  the  clergy  of  the  south 
of  Scotland  is  pretty  generally  known, 
of  this  odd,  but  very  inoffensive  cha- 
racter. 

Geordy  moved  like  the  great  plane- 
tary bodies,  to  which,  in  some  other 
parts  of  his  accessories,  and  in  particu- 
lar, in  respect  of  "  Inhabitants,"  he 
bore  a  striking  analogy,  in  an  orbit, 
or  epilepse,  of  which  the  central  point 
lay  somewhere  betwixt  Leadhills  and 
Wanlockhead.  Starting  at  Edinburgh, 
he  took  his  way  southward  as  far  as 
Peebles,  and  then  crossing  over  by 
Moffat,  Dumfries,  Castle  Douglas,  and 
Kirkcudbright,  he  was  in  full  southern 
Apogee,  when  lodged  with  his  wor- 
thy and  venerable  namesake,  the  late 
Dr  Coulter,  minister  of  Stranraer. — 
Here,  as  might  naturally  be  anticipa- 
ted, the  rapidity  of  his  motion  was  con- 
siderably decreased,  and  he  generally 
sojourned  not  less  than  a  month  or  six 
weeks  in  Stranraer  and  at  Old  Luce. 
Through  Ballantrae,  where 
"  Stinchar  flows  'mang  muirs  and  mosses 

mony  O ;" 

by  Girvan  and  Maybole,  he  arrived  at 
Ayr,  where  his  residence,  being  now  in 
his  "  Perigee,"  was  short,  and,  as  he 
himself  used  sometimes  to  express  it, 
unsatisfactory.  From  Ayr,  he  travel- 
led by  Irvine,  Largs,  Glasgow,  La- 
nark, to  Mrs  Wilson's,  in  the  Grass- 
market,  Edinburgh,  where  he  gene- 
rally remained  dormant  "  for  a  sea- 
son." The  period  of  his  annual  re- 
turn,— for,  like  the  earth,  he  comple- 


ted his  revolution  in  twelve  months— 
was  a  subject  of  science,  rather  than 
of  philosophical  conjecture,  through  all 
the  parts  and  portions  of  his  circuit. 
Each  clergyman  he  honoured  with  a 
visit,  could  sit  down  quietly  by  the 
side  of  his  parlour  fire,  and,  from  the 
day  of  the  month,  calculate  at  least 
within  a  Sabbath,  Geordy's  approach. 
This  habit  of  regularity  contributed 
greatly  to  render  him  so  generally  ac- 
ceptable, for,  when  Geordy  was  expect- 
ed on  Saturday,  Matthew  Henry,  and 
Dr  MacKnight,  were  permitted  to  re- 
pose, for  that  week,  at  least.  At  times, 
however,  from  some  cross  and  counter- 
acting attractions,  which  did  not  en- 
ter into  the  general  average  of  allow- 
ances, Geordy  was  a  week  too  late  in 
making  his  appearance — and  once  out, 
always  out — so  that,  through  the  whole 
remaining  portion  of  his  orbit,  sad  de- 
rangement took  place.  "  Cauld  kail 
were  het  o'er  again,"  which  did  not  ex- 
actly agree  with  the  stomach  of  hear- 
ers ;  severe  colds  were  perceived,  from 
frequent  coughingin  the  pulpit,  and  sud- 
den indisposition  was  experienced  out 
of  it.  There  was  nothing  but  riding 
and  running  from  one  parish  to  another, 
in  quest  of  "  exchanges,"  even  so  late 
as  ten  o'clock  on  the  Sabbath  morn- 
ing. One  clergyman  lost  his  character 
entirely  with  his  parishioners,  from 
being  compelled  to  "  read  ;"  and  an- 
other, who  had  formerly  been  unpo- 
pular from  that  habit,  was  raised,  by 
means  of  an  extempore  address,  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  popularity.  Lectures 
were  delivered  from  six-and-forty  ver- 
ses,— and  sermons  shot  out  into  seven 
heads  and  ten  horns.  One  clergyman, 
in  particular,  contrived  to  extend  his 


Sketches  of  Scottish  Character.    No.  VI. 


158 

lucubrations  to  the  ominous  length  of 
"  tvrenty-ttvoly,"  and  yet  he  had  only 
exhausted  twenty-one  minutes  three 
quarters.  Another,  after  reading  out 
the  first  verse  of  his  lecture, — "  from 
the  Second  Epistle  of  Paul  the  Apostle 
of  Jesus  Christ,  addressed  to  the  in- 
hahitants  of  Corinth,  commonly,  and 
in  Scripture  language,  called  the  Co- 
rin-thi-ans,"  twice,  yea  thrice,  very 
leisurely  over,  was  compelled  to  put 
his  handkerchief  to  his  mouth,  and 
to  proceed  thus : — "  The  Apostle,  my 
friends, — my  friends,  the  Apostle, — 
the  Apostle,  my  friends,  means, — he 
means  in  the  verse  which  has  just 
been  read  in  your  hearing, — the  A- 
postle  means  to  explain — indeed  does 
he ;  and  now  let  us  pass  on  to  the 
next  verse."  A  third  clergyman,  who 
had  been  recently  married,  felt  the 
awkwardness — we  suppose  of  his  si- 
tuation in  the  pulpit,  so  much,  that  he 
absolutely  fainted  outright,  and  lifted 
up  his  eyes  from  the  surface  of  a  grave- 
stone, upon  the  well  known  phisiogno- 
mies  of  his  own  elders,  his  Wife  ha- 
ving been  previously  borne  off  in  hyst- 
erics. It  is  scarcely  possible  for  any 
one  who  is  uninitiated  into  the  mys- 
teries of  "  Preaching,"  to  conceive  the 
quantity  and  extent  of  derangement 
which  such  a  rare,  and  therefore  un- 
foreseen occurrence  produced.  But 
though  inconveniences,such  as  we  have 
stated,  —  resulted  unavoidably  from 
an  occasional  deviation,  these  were  un- 
questionably more  than  counterbalan- 
ced by  the  benefit  derived  from  the  ge- 
neral law  of  revolution.  In  those  dis- 
tricts through  which  the  line  of  his 
movement  lay,  the  inhabitants  were 
enabled  to  make  arrangements  accord- 
ingly. The  Ancients  looked  at  the 
bearing  of  particular  stars,  or  constel- 
lations, for  direction  in  sowing  and 
planting.  Some  families  in  Scotland 
nave  been  known  to  hang  on  their  din- 
ner potatoes  to  boil,  by  the  passing  of  a 
Divinity  student  on  his  regular  and 
daily  visit  to  his  mistress.  Accord- 


CMay, 

ingly,  when  Geordy  took  the  road  from 
Edinburgh,  the  gude  folks  were  admo- 
nished of  the  departure  of  winter,  and 
the  approach  of  spring.  It  was  like 
the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  around  the 
coasts  of  Greenland, — it  was  as  if  the 
snow-drop  had  pushed  up  its  virgin 
innocence  and  purity  through  the  hoar 
frost.  As  he  passed  Peebles,  the  shep- 
herds made  arrangements  for  lamb- 
time,  and  the  magistrates  began  to 
sow  peas.  Moflfat  Well  was  regularly 
fitted  out  and  cleared  for  summer  use, 
and  the  road  to  it  new  sanded  and 
edged  with  turf  from  Etrickstane,  on 
his  arrival  at  the  Manse. 

At  Bruce's  own  "  guid  Town,"  the 
ancient  Burgh  of  "  Lochmaben,"  the 
Magistrates  were  chosen,  and  "  God's 
Vengeance"  *  proclaimed  free  to  all  on 
his  entry.  The  Farmers  in  the  imme- 
diate neighbourhood  of  Dumfries  set 
up  scare-crows  amidst  their  new-sown 
grain,  and  shot  hedge-sparrows,  as  an 
antidote  against  their  breeding  on  his 
approach.  The  servant  girls  around 
Castle  Douglas  were  seen  by  the  way- 
side as  Geordy  moved  on,  extracting 
with  great  labour,  and  little  success, 
thistle  from  their  thumb-halls.  At  Kir- 
cudbright  turnips  were  sown,  and  po- 
tatoes planted,  and  at  Stranraer  again, 
the  same  crops  were  drill-harrowed,  and 
howed  under  his  auspices — "  Auspice 
Geordy," — at  Ballantrae,  the  grain, 
such  as  it  was,"^  began  to  whiten,  and 
Girvan,  Maybole,  and  Ayr,  saw  the 
reapingfairly  begun — All  was  not  right 
at  Glasgow,  if  the  harvest  were  not  fi- 
nished, and  the  West  India  fleet  arri- 
ved, ere  Geordy  left  them.  The  falls  at 
Lanark  echoed  his  approach  in  the  Mar- 
tinmas flood,  and  the  Grass-market 
again  felt  his  arrival  in  a  cold  east  wind, 
with  occasional  snow.  It  is  not,  how- 
ever, merely  because  he  travelled  and 
preached,  that  we  have  thus  ventured 
to  introduce  him  to  the  notice  of  our 
readers,  numerous,  intelligent,  and  not 
a  little  fastidious  as  they  are.  Geor- 
dy had  not  only  locomotive  and  orato- 


*  This  is  an  allusion  to  Geordy's  far-famed  Prayer  for  the  Magistracy  of  Lochmaben. 
— "  Lord,"  said  he,  "  remember  the  Magistrates  of  Lochmaben,  such  as  they  are." 

•f  Vendace  and  Dlcu. —  Vcndacc,  pronounced  "  God's  vengeance."  A  species  offish 
so  called,  found  in  one  of  the  numerous  Lochs  which  surround  the  burgh  ;  and  if  we 
may  credit  the  report  of  the  Town  Council,  with  the  exception  of  some  lake  "  far 
abroad,"  and  one  in  the  Highlands, — found  no  where  else.  It  is  reported  of  this  delicate 
and  singular  fish,  that  when  conveyed  to  any  other  of  the  lochs,  or  even  when  removed 
to  another  quarter  of  the  same  loch,  it  either  can  not,  or  will  not,  survive  the  expatria- 
tion. The  same  story  is  told  about  the  removal  of  serpents,  and  other  venomous  animals, 
to  Ireland.  'Twere  well  for  Scotland,  and  some  other  quarters  of  the  world  which  shall 
be  nameless,  were  the  compliment  reciprocal. 

5 


1821.^ 


rial  powers,  but  was,  in  the  fullest  and 
in  the  best  acceptation  of  the  words, 
"  an  odd  character."  His  professional 
ardour  was  of  a  peculiar  description ; 
whilst  he  was  decidedly  enthusiastic 
in  inculcating  what  he  tenned  moral 
doctrine,\\G  held  "allhypocritical  cant- 
ing idiots,"  as  he  was  pleased  to  desig- 
nate gospel  and  doctrinal  preachers, 
in  complete  contempt.  He  was  a  Mo- 
derate man — that,  indeed,  is  nothing 
uncommon.  But  then,  what  is  not  ge- 
nerally found  under  this  variety  of  cle- 
rical character,  he  was  altogether  an 
enthusiast,  and  entered  with  the  same 
ardour  and  animation  into  the  relative 
duties  of  social  and  civil  life,  with 
which  others  generally  discuss  the 
higher  and  more  interesting  doctrines 
of  the  Cross.  His  preaching  was  a  sys- 
tem of  scolding  rather  than  of  admo- 
nition ;  yet  there  was  so  much  truth 
and  verisimilitude  in  what  he  said, 
that,  whilst  it  sometimes  excited  a 
smile,  it  seldom  failed  to  carry  con- 
viction, if  not  correction,  along  with 
it.  If  any  of  his  hearers  slept,  or  were 
apparently  inattentive,  he  would  not 
scruple  to  address  them — and  snuff- 
mills  he  held  in  utter  abhorrence.  No 
sooner  did  one  of  these  make  its  ap- 
pearance, in  the  shape«of  a  ram's  horn, 
or  tin-made  pen-case,  than  he  denoun- 
ced it  with  his  finger — "  Put  up  your 
mill,  honest  man — e'en  put  it  up ;  if 
ye  war  only  as  attentive  to  your  souls 
as  to  your  noses,  there  wad  be  less 
snuff-boxing  amang  ye."  On  a  frosty 
Sabbath  too,  he  compared  his  hearers 
to  a  "  byng"  of  frosted  potatoes ;  as 
the  spoiled,  he  very  properly  observed, 
were  almost  sure  to  vitiate  the  sound. 
This  was  his  ordinary  style  of  preach- 
ing, which,  without  any  considerable 
aid  from  composition  or  taste,  still  made 
a  wonderful  impression. 

Another  of  his  peculiarities  consist- 
ed in  the  determined  and  almost  out- 
rageous cast  of  his  loyalty.  Had  he 
been  requested  by  the  king,  or  by  his 
ministry,  to  lay  his  head  upon  a  block, 
or  to  thrust  his  neck  into  the  hang- 
man's gravat,  without  hesitation  Geor- 
dy  would  have  complied.  During  the 
hazardous  and  turbulent  period  of  the 
Revolution  in  France,  this  spirit  was 
powerfully  evinced.  Having  through 
the  friendly  aid  of  some  more  wealthy 
brother  possessed  himself  of  an  uni- 
form, he  was  enrolled  into  a  Volun- 
teer corps,  and  was  seen,  even  in  the 
pulpit,  in  this  church  militant  garb. 

VOL.  IX. 


Preacher  Oeordy.  159 

A  pious  old  woman,  who  was  sorely 
scandalized  at  this  unclerical  display 
of  military  devotedness,  took  to  her 
staff,  and,  with  her  plaid  drawn  down 
over  her  forehead,  that  her  eyes  might 
no  longer  be  contaminated  with  "  see- 
ing," was  in  the  act  of  hitching  slowly, 
but  quite  resolutely,  out  at  the  church- 
door,  when  she  was  suddenly  arrested 
by  a  f<  Gae  wa',  woman — mak  haste, 
and  gae  wa' — an'  the  country,  as  weel 
as  the  kirk,  war  rid  o'  you,  and  the 
like  o'  you,  there  wad  be  mair  peace  in 
the  land. — Gae  hame  an'birselaManks 
herring  to  your  dinner,  and  that's  the 
best  '  Frien'  o'  the  people'  I  ken  o'." 

Another  of  Geordy  s  peculiarities 
consisted  in  his  taste  for  music ;  or, 
more  properly,  in  his  attachment  to  a 
most  unseemly  combination  of  wood 
and  thairm,  which  he  called  a  fiddle. 
With  this  companion,  during  the  win- 
ter evenings,  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
attempting  to  hold  sweet  converse ;  but 
it  must  be  confessed  by  all  who  knew 
the  parties,  there  was  nothing  recipro- 
cal in  the  intercourse ;  for  the  more 
blandishment  that  Geordy  called  up 
into  his  somewhat  austere  features,  and 
the  more  determined  effort  that  he  ex- 
hibited from  the  shoulders  downwards 
even  to  the  extremities  of  his  fingers, 
the  louder,  and  the  harsher,  and  the 
more  lengthened,  were  the  tones  of 
oppression  and  murder,  which  were  re- 
turned to  him.  "  The  dying  notes  of 
a  Sow  under  the  hands  of  a  Butcher," 
or  the  risping  of  a  saw  upon  a  rusty 
nail,  were  really  music  in  comparison. 
It  was  no  small  treat,  and  no  uncom- 
mon occurrence,  to  see  Geordy  with  his. 
fiddle  under,  and  his  musket  slung  over, 
his  military  coat,  travelling  along  to- 
wards his  Sabbath  destination,  at  once 
the  Musician,  the  Soldier,  and  the  Di- 
vine. From  a  consideration  of  this  ra- 
ther incongruous  combination  of  quali- 
ties in  his  character,  several  Clergy  men, 
who  had  at  one  time  countenanced  him, 
began  latterly  to  scruple  respecting  the 
propriety  of  giving  him  on  Sabbath  the 
use  of  their  pulpits.  But  Geordy  was 
too  high-spirited  to  remain  a  depen- 
dant visitor  where  his  Sabbath  servi- 
ces were  not  acceptable.  The  know- 
ledge of  this  fact  led  many  good-heart- 
ed Clergymen  to  permit  him  to  preach 
to  their  congregations  long  after  they 
were  fully  convinced  of  the  improprie- 
ty of  so  doing.  On  one  occasion  he 
ascended  the  pulpit  with  the  fiddle  un- 
der his  arm,  and  very  devoutly  set  about 
U 


160 


Sketches  of  Scottish  Character.     No.  VI. 


Olay, 


aiding  the  Precentor,  by  means  of  the 
stringed  instrument,  in  raising  the 
tune.  Observing  some  little  tittering  in 
the  congregation,  (for  the  vigilance  of 
his  suspicion  was  unremitting,)  he  took 
occasion  in  his  prayer,  where,  as  he  of- 
ten said,  he  found  himself  least  strait- 
ened— had  most  utterance — to  express 
himself  in  these  or  the  like  terms — 
"  Good  Lord,  thy  people— thine  own 
peculiar  chosen  people  of  old,  were  wont 
to  praise  thee  with  tabor,  and  with  harp, 
and  with  sackbut,  and  with  psaltery  ; 
and  thy  douce  and  loyal  servants  war 
seen  dancing,  and  skipping,  and  snap- 
ping their  fingers  to  thy  praise,  and 
wecl  they  war  rewarded  for't — But 
now-a-days,  nothing  will  serve  us  but 
sighing,  and  graining,  and  squeaking, 
and  howling  out  dismal  psalm-tunes, 
wi'  feet  nailed  to  the  yird,  and  faces  an 
ell  lang,  and  muckle  disloyalty  in  our 
hearts  after  a' — Gif '  thy  blessing  reach 
us,  it  maun  be  mair  by  thy  favour,  than 
our  ain  guid  guiding,  I  trow." 

"  The  friends  of  the  people,''  being 
then  in  the  very  zenith  of  their  con- 
ventional and  pike-making  specula- 
tions, were  the  means  of  leading  Geor- 
dy  many  a  "  Will  wi'  the  Wisp '  chace. 
Being  armed  by  the  authority  of  the 
government,  and  furnished  with  wea- 
pons not  only  of  defence  but  of  attack, 
he  was  ever  amongst  the  very  foremost 
in  crediting  and  in  circulating  alarms ; 
or  in  marching,  on  the  shortest  notice, 
to  quell  mobs,  or  secure  conspirators. 
The  fact  is,  that  had  not  the  Lord 
Lieutenants,  (or  their  clerks,)  of  the 
different  counties  through  which  he 
marched,  favoured  him  in  more  instan- 
ces than  one,  his  zeal  would  undoubt- 
edly have  brought  him  to  much  trou- 
ble. He  once  seized  upon  a  lad,  who 
was  occupied  by  night,  all  unwotting 
of  treason,  by  the  side  of  a  hedge,  in 
courtship,  and  dragged  him,  under 
fear  of  bodily  injury,  before  the  She- 
riff,— when  it  came  out,  upon  inves- 
tigation, what  the  fires  and  the  flames 
which  had  excited  suspicion,  and  call- 
ed forth  this  prompt  display  of  loy- 
alty, actually  were  !  On  another  occa- 
sion his  zeal  brought  him  souce  like  a 
kite  down  upon  a  poor  Egyptian,  who 
was  sitting  by  the  way-side,  fabrica- 
ting not  pikes,  as  Geordy  very  natural- 
ly supposed,  but  ram-horn  spoons.  In 
this  instance,  however,  the  matter  was 
settled  without  any  legal  interference, 
as  the  tinker  thought  proper,  or  found 
it  convenient,  to  take  the  cause  under 
his  own  adjustment,  and  gave  poor 


Geordy  several  rather  convincing  proofs 
of  his  innocence. — Geordy  could  never 
hear  even  an  allusion  to  this  affair,  with 
any  degree  of  temper,  afterwards. 

But  perhaps  the  most  notorious,  as 
well  as  the  most  truly  ridiculous  of  all 
his  military  achievements,  took  place  in 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  a  lit- 
tle romantic  village  in  Galloway.  Geor- 
dy had  marched  all  day  over  that  bleak 
and  dreary  length  of  barrennesswhich 
separates  Newton-Stewart  from  Glen- 
luce,  under  the  conviction  that  some- 
where in  the  glen,  near  by  the  vil- 
lage, there  was  to  be  a  vast  turn-out 
of  disloyalfy  that  very  evening,  for  the 
purpose  of  military  discipline.  Night 
had  overtaken  Geordy  by  the  way,  and 
as  he  advanced  upon  the  suspected 
ground,  his  vigilance  and  alarm  in- 
creased. The  springing  of  a  black- 
cock, or  the  sudden  wheel  and  scream 
of  a  mire-snipe,  were  sufficient  to 
bring  his  musket  to  his  shoulder.  In 
this  state  of  feeling,  and  on  approach- 
ing, with  all  possible  precaution,  the 
very  spot  where  the  treasonable  trans- 
actions were  supposed  to  be  going  for- 
ward, a  sudden  and  earth-born  noise, 
resembling  the  hollow  and  silent  tred 
of  a  company  of  men  marching  in  close 
order,  attracted  his  ear.  It  was  but 
too  evident,  from  the  silence,  as  well 
as  from  the  tred,  that  his  information 
had  been  well-founded.  So,  placing 
his  musket  leisurely  over  a  stone-built 
inclosure,  and  pointing  it  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  noise,  he  proceeded,  in  the 
most  firm  and  audible  voice,  —  for 
Geordy's  courage  was  at  least  equal  to 
his  loyalty — to  inculcate  an  immediate 
dispersion, — assuring  them ,  at  the  same 
time,  that  if  they  hesitated  to  obey,  he 
would  incontinently  bring  upon  them, 
at  a  signal,  a  whole  troop  of  dragoons 
which  he  had  in  waiting  hard  by.  No 
voice  nor  sound,  save  the  thunder  of 
many  feet,  being  returned,  he  proceed- 
ed to  discharge  his  musket,  and  unfor- 
tunately with  effect ;  but  whilst  em- 
ployed in  reloading,  and  ere  he  could 
calculate  the  nature  of  the  danger,  he 
was  suddenly  overpowered  by  a  couple 
of  Irish  horse-dealers,  who  had  him 
next  day  before  a  Justice  of  the  peace, 
for  wounding  and  maiming  a  fine 
young  horse  which  they  were  forward- 
ing, along  with  many  others,  to  the 
Dumfries  midsummer  market.  The 
matter  was  adjusted,  but  the  disgrace 
attendant  upon  it  drove  Geordy  ten 
miles  in  advance  on  his  circuit ! 


18210  The  Steam-Boat.    No.  III.  161 

THE  STEAM-BOAT;  OB,  THE  VOYAGES  AND  THAVELS  OF  THOMAS  DUFM.V, 
CLOTH-MERCHANT  IN  THE  SALT-MARKET  OF  GLASGOW. 

No.  III. 

Voyage  First  concluded. 

WHEN  I  had  ate  my  dinner  and  drank  my  toddy  at  the  pleasant  Hotel  of  He- 
lensburgh,  in  which  there  are  both  hot  and  cold  baths  for  invalid  persons,  and 
others  afflicted  with  the  rheumatics,  and  such  like  incomes,  I  went  out  again  to 
take  another  walk,  for  I  had  plenty  of  time  on  my  hands,  as  the  steam-boat 
was  not  to  sail  for  Glasgow  till  six  o'clock.  At  first,  it  was  my  intent  to  take 
a  survey  of  the  country  and  agriculture,  and  to  see  what  promise  there  was  on 
the  ground  of  a  harvest ;  but  in  sauntering  along  the  road  towards  the  Hill  of 
Ardneve,  I  foregathered  with  Mr  and  Mrs  M'Waft,  and  four  of  their  childer. 
They  had  been  for  some  time  at  Helensburgh,  for  the  salt  water,  the  gudeman 
having  been  troubled  with  some  inward  complaint  that  sat  upon  his  spirits,  and 
turned  all  to  sour  that  he  ate  or  drank. 

Nobody  could  be  more  glad  to  see  an  old  acquaintance  than  they  were  to  see 
me,  and  Mrs  M'Waft  was  just  in  a  perplexity  to  think  that  I  could  ever  have 
ventured  to  leave  my  shop  so  long,  and  come  such  a  voyage  by  myself;  but  I 
told  her  that  I  had  been  constrained  by  the  want  of  health,  and  that  may  be 
before  the  summer  was  done  she  might  see  me  again,  for  that  I  had  got  a  vast 
of  entertainment,  and  was,  moreover,  appetised  to  such  a  degree,  that  I  had 
made  a  better  dinner  that  day,  and  with  a  relish,  than  I  had  done  for  years 
past,  which  she  was  very  happy  to  hear,  hoping  the  like  in  time  would  be  the 
lot  of  her  gudeman,  who  was  still  in  a  declining  way,  though  he  took  the  salt 
water  inwardly  every  morning,  and  the  warm  bath  outwardly  every  other  day. 
Thus  as  we  were  standing  in  the  road,  holding  a  free-and-easy,  talking  about 
our  ails  and  concerns,  and  the  childer  were  diverting  themselves  pu'ing  the 
gowans  and  chasing  the  bees  and  butterflies,  Mr  M'Waft  said  that  I  could  do 
no  less  than  go  back  with  them  and  take  a  glass  of  wine,  and  insisting  kindly 
thereon,  I  found  myself  obligated  to  do  so  ;  accordingly,  I  turned  with  them, 
and  went  into  the  house  where  they  had  their  salt-water  quarters. 

It  was  one  of  the  thackit  houses  near  the  burn,  a  very  sweet  place,  to  be 
sure,  of  its  kind ;  but  I  could  not  help  wondering  to  hear  Mr  M'Waft  ever 
expected  to  grow  better  in  it,  which,  compared  with  his  own  bein  house  on  the 
second  flat  of  Paterson's  Ian',  was  both  damp  and  vastly  inconvenient.  The 
floor  of  the  best  room  was  clay,  and  to  cover  the  naked  walls  they  had  brought 
carpets  from  home,  which  they  hung  round  them  like  curtains,  behind  which 
carpets,  all  sorts  of  foul  clothes,  shoes,  and  things  to  be  kept  out  of  sight,  I 
could  observe  were  huddled. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs  M'Waft  had  got  out  the  wine  and  the  glasses,  and  a  loaf 
of  bread,  that  was  blue  moulded,  from  the  damp  of  the  house ;  and  I  said  to 
her,  ' '  that  surely  the  cause  which  had  such  an  effect  on  the  bread,  must  be  of 
some  consequence  to  the  body."  "  But  the  sea  and  country  air,"  replied  Mr 
M'Waft,  "  makes  up  for  more  than  all  such  sort  of  inconveniences."  So  we 
drank  our  wuie  and  conversed  on  divers  subjects,  rehearsing,  in  the  way  of  a 
sketch,  the  stories  related  in  my  foregoing  pages,  which  both  the  mistress  and 
gudeman  declared  were  as  full  of  the  extraordinaries  as  any  thing  they  had  ever 
heard  of. 

Mr  M'Waft,  when  in  his  good  health,  as  all  his  acquaintance  well  know, 
has  a  wonderful  facetious  talent  at  a  story,  and  he  was  so  much  lightened  with 


102  The  Steam-Boat.     No.  III. 

my  narrations,  that  after  taking  two  glasses  of  the  red  port,  he  began  to  tell  an 
adventure  he  once  met  with  in  going  to  London,  on  some  matter  of  his  muslin 
business,  when  one  of  the  great  cotton  speculators,  in  the  1809,  fell  to  the  pigs 
and  whistles. 


TALE    IV. 


The  Wearyful  Woman. 


"  IT  happened,"  said  he,  "  that  there 
were  in  the  smack  many  passengers, 
and  among  others  a  talkative  gentle- 
woman of  no  great  capacity,  sadly 
troubled  with  a  weakness  of  parts  about 
her  intellectuals.  She  was  indeed  a 
real  weak  woman  ;  I  think  I  never  met 
with  her  like  for  weakness,  just  as  weak 
as  water.  Oh  but  she  was  a  weak  crea- 
ture as  ever  the  hand  of  the  Lord  put 
the  breath  of  life  in,  and  from  morn- 
ing to  night,  even  between  the  bock- 
ings  of  the  sea-sickness,  she  was  aye 
speaking;  na,  for  that  matter,  it's  a 
God's  truth,  that  at  the  dead  hour  of 
midnight,  when  I  happened  to  be  wa- 
kened by  a  noise  on  the  decks,  I  heard 
her  speaking  to  herself  for  want  of 
other  companions ;  and  yet  for  all  that, 
she  was  vastly  entertaining,  and  in  her 
day  had  seen  many  a  thing  that  was 
curious,  so  that  it  was  no  wonder  she 
spoke  a  great  deal,  having  seen  so 
much;  but  she  had  no  command  of 
her  judgment,  so  that  her  mind  was 
always  going  round  and  round  and 
pointing  to  nothing,  like  a  weather- 
tcock  in  a  squally  day. 

"  Mrs  M'Adam,"  quoth  I  to  her 
one  day,  '  I  am  greatly  surprised  at 
your  ability  in  the  way  of  speaking.' 
But  I  was  well  afflicted  for  the  hypo- 
critical compliment,  for  she  then  fast- 
ened upon  me,  and  whether  it  was  at 
meal-time  or  on  the  deck,  she  would 
come  and  sit  beside  me,  and  talk  as  if 
she  was  trying  how  many  words  her 
tongue  could  utter  without  a  single 
grain  of  sense.  I  was  for  a  time  as  ci- 
vil to  her  as  I  could  be,  but  the  more 
civility  I  shewed,  the  more  she  talked, 
and  the  weather  being  calm,  the  ves- 
sel made  but  little  way.  Such  a  pro- 
spect in  a  long  voyage  as  I  had  before 
me  f 

"  Seeing  that  my  civility  had  pro- 
duced such  a  vexatious  effect,  I  endea- 
voured to  shun  the  woman,  but  she 
singled  me  out,  and  even  when  I  pre- 
tended to  be  overwhelmed  with  the 
sickness,  she  would  sit  beside  me,  and 
never  cease  from  talking.  If  I  went 


below  to  my  bed,  she  would  come  down 
and  sit  in  the  cabin,  and  tell  a  thou- 
sand stories  about  remedies  for  the  sea- 
sickness, for  her  husband  had  been  a 
doctor,  and  had  a  great  reputation  for 
skill.  '  He  was  a  worthy  man,'  quoth 
she,  '  and  had  a  world  of  practice,  so 
that  he  was  seldom  at  home,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  sit  by  myself  for  hours  in 
the  day,  without  a  living  creature  to 
speak  to,  and  obliged  to  make  the  iron 
tongs  my  companions,  by  which  si- 
lence and  solitude  I  fell  into  low  spi- 
rits ;  in  the  end,  however,  I  broke  out 
of  them,  and  from  that  day  to  this,  I 
have  enjoyed  what  the  doctor  called  a 
cheerful  fecundity  of  words ;  but  when 
he,  in  the  winter  following,  was  laid 
up  with  the  gout,  he  fashed  at  my  spi- 
rits, and  worked  himself  into  such  a 
state  of  irritation  against  my  endea- 
vours to  entertain  him,  that  the  gout 
took  his  head,  and  he  went  out  of  the 
world  like  a  plufFof  powther,  leaving 
me  a  very  disconsolate  widow;  in  which 
condition,  it  is  not  every  woman  who 
can  demean  herself  with  the  discretion 
that  I  have  done.  Thanks  be,  and 
praise  however,  I  have  not  been  tempt- 
ed beyond  my  strength ;  for  when  Mr 
Pawkie,  the  seceder  minister,  came 
shortly  after  the  interment  to  catch  me 
with  the  tear  in  my  e'e,  I  saw  through 
his  exhortations,  and  I  told  him  upon 
the  spot  that  he  might  refrain,  for  it 
was  my  intent  to  spend  the  remainder 
of  my  days  in  sorrow  and  lamentation 
for  my  dear  deceased  husband.  Don't 
you  think,  sir,  it  was  a  very  proper  re- 
buke to  the  first  putting  forth  of  his 
cloven  foot  ?  But  I  had  soon  occasion 
to  fear  that  I  might  stand  in  need  of  a 
male  protector ;  for  what  could  I,  a 
simple  woman,  do  with  the  doctor's 
bottles  and  pots,  pills  and  other  dozes, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  brazen  pestle  and 
mortar,  which  of  itself  was  a  thing  of 
value,  and  might  be  coined,  as  I  was 
told,  into  a  firlot  of  farthings;  not 
however  that  farthings  are  now  much 
in  circulation,  the  pennies  and  new 
baubies  have  quite  supplanted  them, 


1821.;] 


The  Wearyfiil  Woman. 


greatly,  QB  I  think,  to  the  advantage 
of  the  poor  folk,  who  now  get  the  one 
or  the  other,  where,  in  former  days, 
they  would  have  been  thankful  for  a 
farthing;  and  yet,  for  all  that,  there  isa 
visible  increase  in  the  number  of  beg- 
gars, a  thing  which  I  cannot  under- 
stand, and  far  less  thankfulness  on 
their  part  than  of  old,  when  alms  were 
given  with  a  scantier  hand ;  but  this 
no  doubt  comes  of  the  spreading  wick- 
edness of  the  times.  Don't  you  think 
so,  sir  ?  It's  a  mystery  that  I  cannot 
fathom,  for  there  was  never  a  more 
evident  passion  for  church-building 
than  at  present ;  but  I  doubt  there  is 
great  truth  in  the  old  saying,  '  The 
nearer  the  kirk,  the  farther  from  grace,' 
which  was  well  exemplified  in  the  case 
of  Provost  Pedigree  of  our  town,  a  de- 
cent man  in  his  externals,  and  he  keep- 
it  a  hardware  shop ;  he  was  indeed 
a  merchant  of  '  a'  things,'  from  a 
needle  and  a  thimble  down  to  a  rattle 
and  a  spade.  Poor  man  !  he  ran  at  last 
a  ram-race,  and  was  taken  before  the 
Session  ;  but  I  had  always  a  jealousy 
of  him,  for  he  used  to  say  very  comi- 
cal things  to  me  in  the  doctor's  life- 
time, not  that  I  gave  him  any  encou- 
ragement farther  than  in  the  way  of 
an  innocent  joke,  for  he  was  a  jocose 
and  jocular  man,  but  he  never  got  the 
better  of  that  exploit  with  the  Session, 
and  dwining  away,  died  the  year  fol- 
lowing of  a  decay,  a  disease  for  which 
my  dear  deceased  husband  used  to  say 
no  satisfactory  remedy  exists  in  na- 
ture, except  gentle  laxatives,  before  it 
has  taken  root ;  but  although  I  have 
been  the  wife  of  a  doctor,  and  spent 
the  best  part  of  my  life  in  the  smell  of 
drugs,  I  cannot  say  that  I  approve  of 
them,  except  in  a  case  of  necessity, 
where,  to  be  sure,  they  must  be  taken, 
if  we  intend  the  doctor's  skill  to  take 
effect  upon  us ;  but  many  a  word  me 
and  my  dear  deceased  husband  had 
about  my  taking  of  his  pills,  after  my 
long  affliction  with  the  hypochondfia- 
cal  affection,  for  I  could  never  swallow 
them,  but  always  gave  them  a  check 
between  the  teeth,  and  their  taste  was 
so  odious,  that  I  could  not  help  spit- 
ting them  out.  It  is  indeed  a  great 
pity,  that  the  Faculty  cannot  make 
their  nostrums  more  palatable,  and  I 
used  to  tell  the  doctor,  when  he  was 
making  up  dozes  for  his  patients,  that 
I  wondered  how  he  could  expect  sick 
folk,  unable  to  swallow  savoury  food, 


163 

would  ever  take  his  nauseous  medi- 
cines, which  he  never  could  abide  to 
hear,  for  he  had  great  confidence  in 
many  of  his  prescriptions,  especially  a 
bolus  of  flour  of  brimstone  and  treacle 
for  the  cold,  one  of  the  few  of  his 
compounds  I  could  ever  take  with  any 
pleasure.' 

"  In  this  way,"  said  Mr  M^Waft, 
"  did  that  endless  woman  rain  her 
words  into  my  ear,  till  I  began  to  fear 
that  something  like  a  gout  would  also 
take  my  head  ;  at  last  I  fell  on  a  de- 
vice, and,  lying  in  bed,  began  to  snore 
with  great  vehemence,  as  if  I  had  been 
sound  asleep,  by  which,  for  a  time,  I 
got  rid  of  her ;  but  being  afraid  to  go 
on  deck  lest  she  should  attack  me 
again,  I  continued  in  bed,  and  soon 
after  fell  asleep  in  earnest.  How  long 
I  had  slept  I  know  not,  but  when  I 
awoke,  there  was  she  chattering  to  the 
steward,  whom  she  instantly  left  the 
moment  she  saw  my  eye  open,  and  was 
at  me  again.  Never  was  there  such  a 
plague  invented  as  that  woman ;  she 
absolutely  worked  me  into  a  state  of 
despair,  and  I  fled  from  her  presence 
as  from  a  serpent ;  but  she  would  pur- 
sue me  up  and  down,  back  and  fore, 
till  every  body  aboard  was  like  to  die 
with  laughing  at  us,  and  all  the  time 
she  was  as  serious  and  polite  as  any 
gentlewoman  could  well  be. 

"  When  we  got  to  London,  I  was 
terrified  she  would  fasten  herself  on  me 
there,  and  therefore,  the  moment  we 
reached  the  wharf,  I  leapt  on  shore, 
and  ran  as  fast  as  I  could  for  shelter 
to  a  public  house,  till  the  steward  had 
dispatched  her  in  a  hackney.  Then  I 
breathed  at  liberty — never  was  I  so- 
sensible  of  the  blessing  before,  and  I 
made  all  my  acquaintance  laugh  very 
heartily  at  the  story,  but  my  trouble 
was  not  ended.  Two  nights  after,  I 
went  to  see  a  tragedy,  and  was  seated 
in  an  excellent  place,  when  I  heard  her 
tongue  going  among  a  number  of  la- 
dies and  gentlemen  that  were  coming 
hi.  I  was  seized  with  a  horror,  and 
would  have  fled,  but  a  friend  that  was 
with  me  held  me  fast ;  in  that  same 
moment  she  recognised  me,  and  before 
I  could  draw  my  breath,  she  was  at  my 
side,  and  her  tongue  rattling  in  my 
lug.  This  was  more  than  I  could  with- 
stand, so  I  got  up  and  left  the  play- 
house. Shortly  after,  I  was  invited  to 
dinner,  and  among  other  guests,  in 
came  that  afflicting  woman,  for  she 


The  Steam- Koat.     No.  III. 


was  a  friend  of  the  family.  Oh  Lord  ! 
such  an  afternoon  I  suffered — but  the 
worst  was  yet  to  happen. 

"  I  went  to  St  James's  to  see  the 
drawing-room  on  the  birth-day,  and 
among  the  crowd  I  fell  in  with  her 
again,  when,  to  make  the  matter  com- 
plete, I  found  she  had  been  separated 
from  her  friends.  I  am  sure  they  had 
left  her  to  shift  for  herself;  she  took 
hold  of  my  arm  as  an  old  acquaintance, 
and  humanity  would  not  allow  me  to 
cast  her  oft';  but  although  I  staid  till 
the  end  of  the  ceremonies,  I  saw  no- 
thing ;  I  only  heard  the  continual  mur- 
mur of  her  words  like  the  sound  of  a 
running  river. 

"  When  I  got  home  to  my  lodging, 
I  was  just  like  a  demented  man  ;  my 
head  was  bizzing  like  a  beescap,  and  I 
could  hear  of  nothing  but  the  bir  of 
that  wearyful  woman's  tongue.  It  was 
terrible;  and  I  took  so  ill  that  night, 
and  felt  such  a  loss  o'  appetite  and  lack 
of  spirit  the  next  day,  that  I  was  ad- 
vised by  a  friend  to  take  advice ;  and 
accordingly,  in  the  London  fashion,  I 
went  to  a  doctor's  door  to  do  so,  but 
just  as  I  put  up  my  hand  to  the  knock- 
er, there  within  was  the  wearyful  wo- 
man in  the  passage,  talking  away  to  the 
servant-man.  The  moment  I  saw  her 
I  was  seized  with  a  terror,  and  ran  off 
like  one  that  has  been  bitten  by  a  wud 
dog,  at  the  sight  and  the  sound  of  run- 
ning water.  It  is  indeed  no  to  be  des- 
cribed what  I  suffered  from  that  wo- 
man ;  and  I  met  her  so  often,  that  I 
l>egan  to  think  she  had  been  ordained 
to  torment  me ;  and  the  dread  of  her 
in  consequence  so  worked  upon  me, 
that  I  grew  frightened  to  leave  my 
lodgings,  and  I  walked  the  streets  only 
from  necessity,  and  then  I  was  as  a 
man  hunted  by  an  evil  spirit. 

"  But  the  worst  of  all  was  to  come. 
I  went  out  to  dine  with  a  friend  that 
lives  at  a  town  they  call  Richmond, 
some  six  or  eight  miles  from  London, 
and  there  being  a  pleasant  company, 
and  me  no  in  any  terror  of  the  weary- 
ful woman,  I  sat  wi'  them  as  easy  as 
you  please,  till  the  stage  coach  was 
ready  to  take  me  back  to  London. 
When  the  stage  coach  came  to  the  door, 
it  was  empty,  and  I  got  in ;  it  was  a 
wet  night,  and  the  wind  blew  strong, 
but  tozy  wi'  what  I  had  gotten,  I  laid 
mysel  up  in  a  corner,  and  soon  fell  fast 
asleep.  I  know  not  how  long  I  had 
slumbered,  but  I  was  awakened  by  the 
coach  stopping,  and  presently  I  heard 


QMay, 

the  din  of  a  tongue  coming  towards  the 
coach.  It  was  the  wearyful  woman  ; 
and  before  I  had  time  to  come  to  my- 
sel, the  door  was  opened,  and  she  was 
in,  chatting  away  at  my  side,  the  coach 
driving  off. 

"  As  it  was  dark,  I  resolved  to  say 
nothing,  but  to  sleep  on,  and  never 
heed  her.  But  we  hadna  travelled 
half  a  mile,  when  a  gentleman's  car- 
riage going  by  with  lamps,  one  of  them 
gleamed  on  my  face,  and  the  wearyful 
woman,  with  a  great  shout  of  gladness, 
discovered  her  victim. 

"  For  a  time,  I  verily  thought  that 
my  soul  would  have  leapt  out  at  the 
croun  of  my  head  like  a  vapour ;  and 
when  we  got  to  a  turn  of  the  road, 
where  was  a  public  house,  I  cried  to 
the  coachman  for  Heaven's  sake  to  let 
me  out,  and  out  I  jumped.  But  O  waes 
me !  That  deevil  thought  I  was  taken 
ill,  and  as  I  was  a  stranger,  the  mo- 
ment I  was  out  and  in  the  house,  out 
came  she  likewise,  and  came  talking 
into  the  kitchen,  into  which  I  had  ran, 
perspiring  with  vexation. 

"  At  the  sight,  I  ran  back  to  the 
door,  determined  to  prefer  the  wet  and 
wind  on  the  outside  of  the  coach  to 
the  clattej  within.  But  the  coach  was 
off,  and  far  beyond  call.  I  could  have 
had  the  heart,  I  verily  believe,  to  have 
quenched  the  breath  of  life  in  that 
wearyful  woman  :  for  when  she  found 
the  coach  was  off  without  us,  her  alarm 
was  a  perfect  frenzy,  and  she  fastened 
on  me  worse  than  ever — I  thought  my 
heart  would  have  broken. 

"  By  and  by  came  another  coach, 
and  we  got  into  it.  Fortunately  twa 
young  London  lads,  clerks  or  sik  like, 
were  within.  They  endured  her  tongue 
for  a  time,  but  at  last  they  whispered 
each  other,  and  one  of  them  giving  me 
a  nodge  or  sign,  taught  me  to  expect 
they  would  try  to  silence  her.  Ac- 
cordingly the  other  broke  suddenly  out 
into  an  immoderate  doff-like  laugh  that 
was  really  awful.  The  mistress  paused 
for  a  minute,  wondering  what  it  could 
be  at ;  anon,  however,  her  tongue  got 
under  way,  and  off  she  went ;  present- 
ly again  the  younker  gave  another  gaffa, 
still  more  dreadful  than  the  first.  His 
companion  seeing  the  effect  it  produced 
on  Madam,  said,  *  don't  be  apprehen- 
sive, he  has  only  been  for  some  time 
in  a  sort  of  deranged  state,  he  is  quite 
harmless,  I  can  assure  you.'  This  had 
the  desired  effect,  and  from  that  mo- 
ment till  I  got  her  safe  off  in  a  hack- 


1821.]]  The  Steam-Boat.     No.  III.  165 

ney  coach  from  where  the  stage  stop-  trick  o'  the  Londoners.  In  short," 
pit,  there  was  nae  word  out  of  her  head,  said  Mr  M'Waft,  "though  my  ad- 
she  was  as  quiet  as  pussy,  and  cowered  ventures  with  the  wearyful  woman  is 
in  to  me  in  terrification  o'  the  madman  a  story  now  to  laugh  at,  it  was  in  its 
breaking  out.  I  thought  it  a  soople  time  nothing  short  of  a  calamity." 

BY  the  telling  of  his  adventure,  which  he  acted  to  the  life,  Mrs  M'Waft 
said,  she  had  seen  a  better  symptom  in  his  health  than  had  before  kithed ;  we 
therefore  all  agreed,  that  there  was  a  wholesome  jocundity  of  spirit  to  be  aim- 
ed by  seeing  the  warld,  although  at  the  same  time  there  might  be  both  peril 
and  hardship  endured. 

Having  been  thus  solaced  by  the  wine  and  adventures  of  Mr  M'Waft,  I  rose 
to  take  my  leave,  the  steam-boat,  with  her  pinnet  of  smoke,  being  in  sight. 
The  mistress  would  have  me  to  stay  and  take  an  early  cup  of  tea,  but  I  was 
afraid  that  I  might  lose  my  passage ;  so  I  bad  them  farewell, — and  going 
down  to  the  shore,  reached  the  pier  in  time  to  get  into  the  jolly-boat  with  the 
first  cargo  of  passengers. 

The  voyage  from  Helensburgh  to  Greenock  afforded  us  no  sort  of  adventures; 
the  passengers  were  Glasgow  folk,  on  the  retour,  and  of  course,  their  talk  was 
all  anent  themselves  and  their  neighbours,  and  no  the  best  entertainment  to  a 
stranger, — which  I  think  must  be  owing  to  their  great  neglect  of  edifying  com- 
munion : — But  this  is  an  observe  that  I  have  made  on  the  intellectual  state  of 
my  fellow-citizens  since  I  began,  in  my  voyages  and  travels,  to  mess  and  mell 
more  with  the  generality  of  mankind. 

Our  passage  to  the  custom-house  quay  of  Greenock  consumed  about  twenty 
minutes, — a  space  of  time  that  in  no  reason  eould  be  expected  to  bring  forth 
any  thing  by  the  common,  unless  the  vessel  had  sprung  a  leak,  or  the  boiler 
been  blown  into  the  air ;  or  any  other  peril  of  navigation  had  befallen  us, — 
from  all  of  which  we  were  happily  spared. 

At  Greenock  we  taiglet  a  lucky  hour,  in  which  I  tyn't  my  patience,  for  the 
man  in  the  ship  was  aye  saying  they  would  be  aff  in  a  minute ;  but  minute 
after  minute  trintled  by,  till  the  whole  hour  had  rolled  entirely  away.  Had  I 
known  or  foreseen  that  this  was  to  chance,  I  would  have  employed  myself  in 
visiting  some  of  the  curiosities  of  the  town.  It  was,  however,  a  new  thing  to 
be  in  the  number  of  "  honest  travellers  by  sea  and  land,"  and  that,  I  suppose, 
was  the  cause  which  made  me,  while  we  lay  at  the  custom-house  quay  of  Green- 
ock, not  altogether  so  well  satisfied  as  I  might  otherwise  have  been. 

At  long  and  length,  the  man  having  trumpetted  his  last  call,  the  vessel  be- 
gan to  bestir  herself,  and  paddled  away  towards  Port-Glasgow,  a  town  that 
has  acquired  some  repute,  as  I  have  already  intimated,  on  account  of  an  im- 
puted thraw  in  its  only  steeple.  In  this  passage,  which  took  up  a  full  quarter 
of  an  hour,  we  encountered  nothing  particular ;  but  we  had  received  an  aug- 
mentation of  passengers,  some  of  whom  were  folk  belonging  to  "  the  Port," 
seemingly  creditable,  well-doing  bodies,  but  of  an  auld-fashioned  cut ;  and  I 
jealouse,  no  excessive  customers  to  the  cloth -merchant.  I  say  not  this,  however, 
out  of  ony  hankering  of  mind  because  I  happen  to  be  in  that  line  myself,  but 
altogether  as  a  natural  observe  for  a  traveller  to  make  upon  them. 

Having  landed  the  Port-Glasgow  bodies,  I  inspected  my  fellow-passengers 
with  an  inquisitive  eye,  in  order  to  discover  who  among  them  was  likely  to 
prove  the  most  instructive  companion ;  and  after  a  careful  perusal  of  their  ex- 
ternals, I  made  choice  of  a  young  man,  with  a  fair  complexion,  coarse  hempen 
hair,  a  round  face,  and  eyes  of  a  light  blue  colour ;  and  I  soon  learnt  by  his 
tongue,  which  was  a  broken  English,  that  he  was  of  a  foreign  stock ;  but  not 


166 


Tl\e  Steam-Boat.    No.  III. 


to  summer  and  winter  on  this  fact,  I  may  just  at  once  say  that  he  was  a  Nors- 
man  from  Norway,  who  had  been  at  Greenock,  to  open  a  correspondence  about 
deals,  and  hemp,  and  iron,  and  the  other  commodities  that  abound,  as  he  in- 
formed me,  in  all  the  countries  circumjacent  to  the  Baltic  sea,  from  the  Neva  of 
Petersburgh  and  Riga,  where  the  balsam  comes  from,  so  good  for  cutted  fingers 
and  inward  bruises. 

At  first  we  held  a  loose  kind  of  preliminary  interlocutory  concerning  the 
views  on  the  Clyde  around  us,  the  which  he  declared  were  of  a  surpassing 
beauty  ;  and  really  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  nature  to  do  more  for  any  lands- 
cape than  she  did  on  that  pleasant  evening.  The  heavens  were  hung,  as  it 
were,  with  curtains  of  visible  glory  ;  the  hills  were  glowing  like  opal  and  ame- 
thyst, and  the  sea,  that  we  were  sailing,  was  as  a  lake  of  molten  gold,  shewing 
within  its  bosom  another  heaven  and  another  earth  ;  between  and  which,  the 
steam-boat  was  bearing  us  along  like  a  mighty  bird,  through  the  tranquillity 
ofthe  mid-air.  "  I  have  seen  nothing  like  this,"  said  the  Norsinan,  "  since  I  was 
at  Spitzbergen  ;"  and  then  he  proceeded  to  relate  to  me  the  following  story  of 
his  adventures,  in  that  desart  island,  —  all  which  I  have  set  down,  word  for 
word,  as  he  spoke  the  same  to  me  :  — 


TALE   V. 


Spitsbergen. 


"  Two  year  gone  past  I  had  much 
time  and  nothing  to  do,  and  having  an 
affection  for  the  strange  things  of  na- 
ture, I  volunteered  in  my  own  mind, 
to  go  for  pleasures  of  the  chase  to 
Spitzbergen.  For  this  purpose  I  did 
hire  a  small  ship,  vit  two  mast,  at  Got- 
tenburgh,  and  sailed  vit  her  round  to 
the  North  Cape.  It  was  the  first  week 
in  June  then,  and  we  had  such  fine 
weather,  that  the  sea  was  all  as  one 
great  field  of  smooth  oil. — It  was  as 
calm  as  ice. 

"  At  the  North  Cape  I  went  on  shore 
to  the  land,  where  there  is  plenty  of 
birds  to  shoot,  and  when  I  was  gone 
up  the  hill  vit  my  gon,  the  tide  went 
away  and  left  my  ship  on  a  great  stone, 
by  which  her  bottom  was  much  wound- 
ed, and  the  water  came  in.  The  sail- 
ors, however,  when  I  had  come  back, 
did  not  tell  me  of  this  adversity,  but 
permitted  me  to  sail  for  Spitzbergen 
vit  a  hole  in  the  bottom,  which  was 
very  bad  of  tern  ;  for  if  they  had  not 
done  so,  I  would  have  gone  to  the 
Pole.  By  the  living  heavens,  sir,  I 
would  have  gone  to  the  Pole — there 
was  nothing  to  stop  me ;  for  I  saw  from 
an  high  hill  in  Spitzbergen,  when  we 
were  arrived  there,  all  the  sea  clear  to 
the  Nort.  O,  so  beautiful  it  was — 
there  vas  no  more  to  stop  me  from  go- 
ing to  the  Pole,  than  there  is  now,  if  I 
had  the  wings,  from  flying  up  to  yon- 


der cloud,  which  is  like  one  balcony 
for  the  little  angels  to  look  down  upon 
us  in  the  steam-boat  moving  on  the 
glass  of  this  silent  water. 

"  Very  well,  we  went  away  vit  the 
tide,  and  we  came  to  one  part  of  Spitz- 
bergen, where  we  saw  the  great  rocks 
of  the  coal.  There  is  the  coal  for  all 
the  world,  when  you  can  find  no  more 
in  this  country ;  and  there  is  likewise 
the  trunks  of  trees  which  come  in  the 
corrents  of  the  ocean,  and  are  piled  up 
in  the  bays  by  the  paterage,  that  is  by 
what  you  call  the  lifting  up  of  the 
waves. — My  Got,  what  values  of  woods 
be  there,  all  broken  in  these  bays  of 
Spitzbergen. 

"  Very  well,  we  sailed  alongside  the 
coast,  and  there  we  came  to  one  estu- 
ary, opening  into  the  bowels  of  the 
land,  and  I  made  the  sailors  to  navi- 
gate into  the  same,  and  went  in  and  in, 
more  than  seventy-five  mile,  and  were 
not  arrived  at  the  sack-end.  It  may 
cut  the  country  to  the  other  side,  for  I 
do  not  know  that  it  does  not — there  is 
no  corrent  when  you  have  passed  by 
one  little  strait — the  purse-mouth  of 
the  place ;  and  therefore  I  do  think 
myself  it  docs  not  cut  the  country  to 
the  other  side,  but  is  one  firth  like  this 
wherein  we  are  now  taking  our  plea- 
sures. 

"  Very  well,  we  came  back  to  anchor 
in  that  estuary,  under  a  rock,  all  co- 
7 


1821.3 

verecl  vit  the  lichen  plant ;  it  was  as 
if  the  stones  vere  beginning  to  grow 
into  the  civilization  of  a  soil,  and  to 
yield  the  food  for  the  sheep  and  the 
cows  that  go  about  the  farms,  making 
the  fields  so  riant  and  merry  vit  life. 
But  no  sheep  nor  cows  ruminate  in 
Spitzbergen,  only  grand  troops  of  rein- 
deer, and  such  thousands  of  the  eider 
ducks,  no  man  can  reckon  what  thou- 
sands be  there  of  eider  ducks;  and  then 
upon  the  shore  in  the  bays,  there  be 
likewise  such  number  of  the  morse,  vit 
their  red  eyes,  tarn  brutes,  how  they 
did  roll  their  red  eyes  at  me,  when  I 
one  day  came  into  a  creek  where  they 
were  on  the  shore,  hundreds  of  them 
'all  together.  I  fired  my  gun,  and  they 
rowed  into  the  deep  water — my  Got, 
how  the  tarn  brutes,  vit  their  red  eyes, 
did  splash  in  the  water.  They  were 
like  three  thousand  paddles  of  the 
steam-boat,  all  going  at  one  time  from 
the  same  momentum.  It  would  be  one 
rich  thing  to  go  to  these  bays  in  Spitz- 
bergen, where  the  morse  sleeps,  tarn 
brutes,  and  close  them  in  on  all  sides 
softly,  vitout  disturbing  them  in  their 
composure.  I  have  formed  the  fine 
speculation  for  going  there  some  one 
day,  vit  a  contrivance  that  I  have  made 
the  idea  of  in  my  brain,  by  which  I 
vill  kill,  in  one  season,  tree  thousand 
morse,  ay  more  than  tree  thousand 
morse,  tarn  brutes — how  I  would  have 
the  satisfaction  in  killing  tern  all. 

"  But  though  there  be  much  game 
for  the  pleasures  at  Spitzbergen,  it  is 
one  serious,  one  grave  place.  1  do  not 
mean  a  churchyard ;  but,  as  you  would 
say,  a  country  so  empty  of  living  noi- 
ses, that  it  is  only  fit  for  death,  and 
not  for  life  to  be.  There  was  no  night 
while  I  was  there ;  but  the  time  to  be 
awake,  and  the  time  to  be  asleep,  was 
marked  out  by  nature  in  one  dreadful 
manner  ;  more  thrice  dreadful  it  did 
seem  to  me  than  is  the  dark  night,  vit 
the  thunder  in  the  clouds,  and  the  fire 
spouting  from  a  black  sky.  The  sun 
went  round  about  the  hills,  as  if  in 
quest  of  a  place  to  set,  and  found  none 
— then  he  did  rise  up  again,  when  he 
was  low  down,  almost  at  the  bottom 
of  the  hill.  That  was  the  point  of  con- 
cordance vid  midnight,  when  the  so- 
lemnity of  the  air  was  palpable  to  mine 
ear.  One  time  when  I  had  fallen  asleep 
on  the  rocks,  I  happened  to  awake  at 
that  time — I  was  then  alone — solitary 
— all  by  myself— in  a  dumb  valley, 

VOL.  IX. 


Spitzbergen.  Ifi? 

where  there  was  no  stream  for  the  eidei 
duck,  nor  any  little  thing  that  makes 
the  sound  on  the  earth.  It  was  a 
strange  silence  to  feel  in  the  sunshine 
— O,  it  was  a  cold  silence,  and  it  made 
me  to  cower  into  myself,  as  if  one  dead 
man  had  come  out  of  his  niche  in  the 
clay,  and  put  his  hand  of  earth  upon 
my  bosom.  But  when  it  is  the  time 
to  be  awake,  then  there  is  a  noise  and 
charm  in  the  air — birds  fly — the  ei- 
der ducks  come  in  clouds — the  rein- 
deer jump  vit  the  gladness  of  renewed 
strength,  and  the  morse  on  the  shore 
— tarn  brutes — open  their  red  eyes. 

"  Very  well,  1  must  now  tell  you 
of  mine  adventure,  and  what  made 
me  to  say  that  this  beautiful  evening 
on  the  Clyde  is  like  the  lovely  stillness 
that  I  saw  in  Spitzbergen. 

<e  I  went  vit  my  gun  to  shoot  the 
rein-deer  and  the  eider  duck,  and  I 
was  alone,  and  nobody  vit  me  upon 
the  silent  hills ;  and  I  went  up  to  the 
top,  the  crown  of  the  head  of  one  high 
mountain,  which  rose  like  a  pyramid 
over  many  other  steeple  hills ;  and 
from  that  place  I  saw  the  ocean  all 
clear — not  an  iceberg  in  the  horizon — 
all  was  open  towards  the  pole.  By  the 
living  heavens,  had  the  pole  been  one 
mast,  I  could  have  seen  it  myself  that 
day ;  the  air  was  so  like  nothing  be- 
tween me  and  where  it  is. 

"  Very  well :  while  I  was  sitting 
there  by  myself,  like  the  last  man  of 
the  world,  all  other  men  being  dead, 
and  no  motion  stirring,  and  sound  be- 
came dumb  as  death,  I  turned  mine 
eyes  to  one  little  creek  below,  and  there 
I  discovered  a  ship  at  anchor.  I  had 
the  rejoicing  palpitations  in  mine  heart 
when  I  saw  that  vessel ;  and,  leaving 
my  meditations  on  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain, I  went  down  towards  her  ;  but, 
as  I  came  nearer  and  nearer,  a  strange 
fear  came  upon  me,  and  I  could  not 
think  what  the  ship  could  be  doing 
there.  She  had  a  wild  appearance — 
few  of  her  ropes  were  fastened — they 
hung  dangling  like  men  that  are  put 
into  chains  for  justice  ;  and  her  sails 
were  loose  and  full  of  holes,  like  the 
old  scutcheons  in  the  tombs  of  the 
Dukes  of  Housenstadt  in  Hungaria. 

"But  I  made  my  heart  big,  and 
went  on  till  I  could  see  that  the  ship 
had  been  anchored  there  a  long  time. 
— many  years — all  was  so  weather- 
worn about  her.  Her  seams  gaped  like 
hunger,  and  her  cordage  was  like  the 
X 


168  The  Steam  Boat.    No.  III.  £May, 

old  trees  that  are  furred  with  the  lichen  forcing  open  the  door,  entered  it.     It 

plant.  As  I  was  standing  there,  look-  was  more  dreadful  than  a  sepulchre  ; 

ing  at  her,  and  thinking  where  all  her  for  there  lay  the  bones  of  a  dead  man. 

seamen  had  gone,  I  saw  eleven  little  His  head  had  been  pulled  oft'  by  the 

mounds  on  the  shore,  and  at  the  head  tarn  foxes,  and  lay  some  distance  from 

of  each  there  was  a  cross,  set  up  for  a  what  had  been  his  body.     There  was 

sign  to  shew  they  were  the  tomb-beds  at  his  side  four,  five,  seven  muskets 

of  Christian  peoples.  I  was  made  cold  loaded  ;  a  pitcher  vit  rye  meal  in  it, 

by  seeing  this,  and,  looking  round,  I  and  another  pitcher  vit  some  water, 

discovered  in  the  lea  of  a  hollow  rock  While  I  was  looking  at  this  spectrum, 

one  small  hut,  almost  in  ruin.     The  there  came  some  one  behind  me,  and 

foxes  of  the  mountain  had  made  a  hole  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder." 

through  the  roof.     I  went  to  it,  and, 

Here  the  Norseman's  tale  was  broken  by  the  engine  stopping.  We  had  reach- 
ed, while  he  was  thus  conversing,  Bowling  Bay,  where  it  behoved  him,  on  affairs 
of  business,  to  leave  the  steam-boat,  he  having  an  expectation  of  a  vessel  coming 
through  the  canal  from  Grangemouth,  with  iron  and  deals  from  the  Baltic.  Fain 
would  I  have  heard  the  rest  of  his  story,  but  no  persuasion  of  mine  could  make 
him  come  on  to  Glasgow,  so  I  was  obligated  to  submit  to  the  disappointment 
with  as  resigned  a  temper  as  I  could  exercise  ;  and  I  could  not  but  on  this  oc- 
casion liken  travelling  in  a  steam-boat  to  the  life  of  temporal  man,  where  our 
joys  are  cut  off*  in  the  fruition,  and  adversity  comes  upon  us  like  a  cloud,  or  a 
frost  that  nips  the  bud  in  the  blowing.  So  I  sat  in  this  frame  of  mind,  pon- 
dering on  the  uncertain  pleasures  of  this  life,  and  looking  with  an  eye  of  com- 
passion on  the  stately  houses  and  plantations  that  our  principal  merchants  and 
manufacturers  have  built  on  high  and  pleasant  places,  thicker  and  thicker,  till 
they  are  lost  in  the  smoke  and  confusion  of  our  Tarshish ;  for  verily,  from  all 
that  I  can  read,  hear,  and  understand,  the  city  of  Glasgow  is  waxen  like  Tyre 
of  old,  where  traders  are  like  princes. 

Between  nine  and  ten  o'clock,  I  found  myself  safe  and  sound  once  more  in 
the  comfortable  house  of  Mrs  MacLecket,in  the  Salt-market,  having  been  absent 
near  to  fifteen  hours,  in  the  compass  of  which  I  had  travelled  by  sea  full  two- 
and-forty  miles  ;  and  so  well  pleased  was  I  with  what  I  had  seen  and  learnt, 
that  I  told  the  mistress  it  was  my  design  to  make  another  voyage,  the  which  she 
highly  approved,  and  said  there  was  a  visible  sun-burnt  alteration  in  my  look} 
that  shewed  how  well  travelling  agreed  with  my  constitution.  We  had  then  a 
bit  of  supper  in  our  wonted  familiarity  together,  and  in  due  season  retired  to 
our  respective  rests. — So  ends  the  account  and  journal  of  my  first  voyage. 


HENRY  SCHULTZE,  AND   OTHER  POEMS.* 

CERTAIN  innovations  made  by  that  of  painting,  in  which  national  charac- 

class  of  modern  poets  who  write  nar-  teristics  are  studiously  brought  out ; 

ratives,  seem  to  have  been  productive  both  of  which  peculiarities  the  verse- 

of  happy  effects  ;  we  more  especially  men  of  the  last  age  thought  too  undig- 

allude  to  that  fresher  sense  of  verisi-  nified  for  poesy.     Open  to  ridicule  as 

militude  which  they  cast  around  their  the  practice  may  be  of  bestowing  upon 

handy  works,  by  inventing  and  employ-  the  personages  who  figure  in  rhyme,  a 

ing  probable   names   of  persons  and  sort  of  real-life  patronymic,  and  even 

places,  and  by  giving  in  their  descrip-  baptismal  appellative — and  the  wags 

tions  certain  touches  of  a  still-life  sort  have  not  been  slow  to  seize  upon  the 

*  Henry  Schultze,  a  Tale ;  The  Savoyard,  a  French  Republican's  Story  ;  with  other 
Poems,  12mo.  C.  and  J.  Oilier,  London,  1821. 


18210 


Henry  Schultze,  and  other  Poems. 


opportunity— yet  we  truly  believe  that 
the  Leonard  Ewbanks  and  Barbara 
Lewthwaites,  the  Matthews  and  Ruths, 
of  Wordsworth,  and  those  of  later  crea- 
tion, the  Phoebe  Dawsons  and  Isaac 
Ashford*  of  Crabbe,  have  been  of  use ; 
these  names  have  not  been  without 
their  share  in  making  these  poets'  pic- 
tures of  manners  more  impressive— 
they  have  helped  to  print  the  indivi- 
duality of  the  characters  with  ten  times 
more  power  upon  the  memory,  than 
would  take  place  if  we  listened  to  the 
samead  ventures,  if  related  of  a  "hoary- 
headed  Alcander,"  or  a  "  tearful  La- 
vinia."  If  we  have  to  detail  the  lowly 
lot  and  hapless  loves  of  a  Celadon  and 
Amelia,  the  scenery  about  them  will 
perforce  assume  the  air  of  a  book- pas- 
toral, for  we  can  scarcely  have  the 
hardihood  to  give  a  nymph  and  swain 
so  denominated,  a  genuine  English 
cottage,  with  plates  on  the  shelf  and 
ballads  on  the  wall.  The  very  first 
glimpse  of  the  names  of  Damon  and 
Phyllis,  are  terribly  provocative  of  as- 
sociations with  kids  and  baa-lambs, 
crooks  and  garlands,  scrips  and  oaten 
pipes,  with  an  assortment,  moreover, 
of  love-knots  and  posies,  carved  on  the 
rind  of  a  tree ;  nor  is  a  certain  dog, 
with  a  ribband  round  his  neck  and  an- 
swering to  the  name  of  Tray,  altoge- 
ther forgotten.  Now  most  of  these 
things  have  very  few  types  amidst  the 
pastoral  population  of  Great  Britain, 
among  which  (unless  unnaturalness  be 
a  presumption  against  it)  the  said  Da- 
mon and  Phyllis  were,  in  verses  of  a 
date  a  little  gone  by,  implied  to  have 
a  parochial  settlement.  For  our  parts 
we  like  the  ground- work  of  poetic  story- 
telling to  be  somewhat  natural,  unless 
indeed  the  poet  balloons  us  up  into  the 
giddy  regions  of  pure  imagination—- 
otherwise, heap  about  the  tale  as  many 
poetic  accompaniments  as  you  please, 
but  let  the  basis  of  some  of  its  interest 
arise  from  its  reflection  of  truth,  or  of 
something  truth-like.  The  effect  of 
Falconer's  Shipwreck,  in  which  the 
actors  are  avowedly  British  mariners, 
is  in  some  respects  diminished,  by  his 
having  given  them  such  unreal  names 
as  Palemon  and  Albert.  The  main  in- 
cident (whether  truly  or  not)  is  said 
to  have  been  suggested  by  something 
similar  which  happened  to  himself: 
now  had  he  given  his  own  name  also, 
or  one  as  good,  to  his  hero,  (for  Wil- 
liam Falconer  would  notnow  be  thought 
either  too  familiar  or  too  umnelodious 


169 

a  name  for  verse,)  the  poem  might 
have  gained  something  by  it.  Of  course, 
what  we  have  said  must  not  be  taken 
too  strictly,  for  we  do  not  go  all  the 
lengths  of  Tristram  Shandy's  father 
about  names ;  we  have  been  speaking 
of  an  inferior  constituent  in  fictitious 
history,  but  still  we  advance  the  asser- 
tion that  the  use  of  actual  names  has 
helped  to  improve  costume  in  poems. 
Many  a  versifier  would  attribute  good, 
honest,English  accessories,  to  the  abode 
of  a  Michael  or  a  Margaret,  though 
with  such  ordinary  matter  he  would 
scruple  to  pollute  his  diction,  if  the 
dwelling  were  that  of  a  Menalcas  or  a 
Mysis.  Names  of  a  natural  semblance 
set  our  recollections  stirring — we  can 
besides  more  easily  recur  to  them,  and 
still  find  ourselves  among  fellow-coun- 
trymen. We  love  toknow  the  real  names 
of  those  in  whom  we  are  interested, 
for  they  are  as  much  part  and  parcel 
of  the  idea  of  them  as  their  counte- 
nances, their  voices,  or  their  attire.  We 
could,  therefore,  be  well  content  to 
learn  what  was  the  name  of  Shenstone's 
Schoolmistress,  knowing  so  perfectly,  as 
we  do,  her  looks,  her  dress,  her  chair, 
spinning  wheel  and  Bible,  her  garden, 
and  the  green  plot  before  her  door,  not 
forgetting  the  quivering  birch- tree 
which  grew  upon  it ;  nor,  indeed, 
would  we  turn  a  deaf  ear,  if  the  sur- 
name of  Beattie's  Edwin  were  pro- 
nounced within  our  reach  of  hearing. 
The  other  improvement  we  adverted 
to,  (not  a  new  one  indeed,  but  it  is  now 
perhaps  more  universally  followed,)  is 
that  of  accommodating  their  descrip- 
tions to  the  accurate  features  of  some 
known  country.  Bards  do  not  now,  as 
many  did  no  long  time  since,  settle 
the  men  and  women  creatures  of  their 
imagination,  in  a  land  of  most  hetero- 
geneous materials,  where  the  concomi- 
tants of  the  torrid  and  temperate  zones 
are  rife  throughout  all  seasons.  By  a 
little  more  circumspection  in  poetical 
geography,  England  is  not  now  so  of- 
ten made  a  mere  land  of  bowers  and 
flowers,  and  purling  streams,  where 
the  meadows  allow  of  rural  dances  on 
their  sod  all  the  live-long  year.  Our 
native  land  is  confessed  to  have  much 
cold  weather,  much  wet  and  mist,  so 
as  not  to  be  altogether  in  an  out-o'- 
door  climate  ;  it  is  not  concealed  that 
its  pastoral  districts  are  comparatively 
barren,  and  that  where  the  soil  teems 
with  fatness,  our  swains  have  made  it 
rather  unromantically  arable.  Southey 


170 

is  perhaps  pre-eminently  happy  in  sei- 
zing upon  objects  of  nationality  in  his 
landscapes — look  at  Llaian's  dwelling 
in  Madoc — forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  no 
one  would  h,a.ve  dared  in  an  heroic 
poem  to  mention  "crooked  apple  trees, 
rough  with  their  fleecy  moss  and  mis- 
seltoe,"  growing  in  an  orchard,  on  a  grey 
mountain-slope,  fenced  by  low  stone- 
lines  of  wall,  and  neighboured  by  a 
little  field  of  "  stubble  flax."  Yet  who 
does  not  accept  it  as  a  vivid  and  natu- 
ral picture  of  a  secluded  spot  in  Wales  ? 
Wordsworth  may  again  be  cited,  for 
he  fearlessly  (and,  as  we  think,  often 
felicitously)  introduces  not  only  closely 
copied  views  of  his  native  lake-scenery 
into  his  poems,  but  their  very  names 
are  also  given  us  in  them ;  and  certain- 
ly what  he  so  presents  to  us  is  there- 
by more  clearly  apprehended.  Al- 
though "  The  Evening  Star,"  the  cot- 
tage of  old  Michael,  be  rased,  yet  the 
scite  may  be  traced  out  in  Grasmere 
Vale,  (at  least  our  conception  is  so 
like  reality,  that  we  can  seem  to  do 
it,)  for  it  was  on  a  plot  of  rising  ground 
where  it 
"  Stood  single,  with  large  prospect,  north 

and  south, 
High  into  Easedale  up  to  Dunmail-Raise." 

Now  also,  when  our  metrical  wri- 
ters lay  their  scenes  abroad,  they  are 
not  quite  so  chary  of  "  a  local  habita- 
tion and  a  name ; '  but  if  their  business 
lies  in  France,  they  prepare  for  us  de- 
nominations of  people  and  places,  in 
sounds  appropriately  clattering  or  na- 
sal,— if  in  Germany, appropriately  gut- 
tural and  lumbering,  as  if  the  sylla- 
bles were  "  a  neat  post-waggon  trot- 
ting in." 

It  is  time,  however,  to  put  a  stop  to 
our  remarks,  which  are  meant  to  usher 
in  our  account  of  the  first  tale,  in  a 
neat  anonymous  volume  of  poems  late- 
ly published  by  Messrs  Olliers.  It  pos- 
sesses not  only  the  subordinate  merits 
upon  which  we  have  been  dilating, 
but  also  the  more  important  ones  of 
spirit,  taste,  and  feeling.  A  slight 
preface  informs  us,  that  it  was  found- 
ed on  the  fact  recorded  in  a  German 
journal,  of  a  man  broken  down  by  dis- 
tresses, who  carried  into  effect  his  re- 
solution of  starving  himself  in  a  soli- 
tary place :  the  stranger  part  of  the 
incident  is,  that  he  was  found  to  have 
daily  recorded,  in  notes  pencilled  in  a 
memorandum  book,  the  bodily  sensa- 
tions which  he  experienced,  till  within 
a  very  short  time  previous  to  his  decease. 


Henry  Schultze,  and  other  Poems. 


In  the  work  under  notice,  a  well  contri- 
ved story  is  feigned  to  account  for  his 
cruel  determination  of  being  so  deli- 
berate a  suicide  ;  and  the  poem  itself 
is  supposed  to  consist  of  extracts  from 
the  journal  of  the  hapless  man.  This 
fragmentary  mode  gets  rid  of  some  of 
the  difficulties  of  maintaining  unabated 
interest  in  the  connecting  parts  of  a 
story, — but  we  must  object  that  it  is 
not  regular  professional  practice — it  is 
an  escape  per  saltum — the  Gordian- 
knot  is  severed  for  the  nonce,  not  dis- 
entangled. Not  that  we  greatly  care 
how  a  poet  pleases  us,  if  he  does  but 
succeed  in  doing  so.  The  tale  opens 
with  Henry  Schultze's  relation  of  his 
courtship  of  Constance. 
"  We  often  rambled  by  the  sea-beach  side 
At  eve,  when  the  wind  breathed  not,  and 

the  tide, 

Outstretched  at  giant-length,  in  deep  re- 
pose, 

Lay  heaving  onward,  onward,  till  it  rose 
Into  the  distant  blue,  and  bore  on  high 
Sail,  mast,  and  banner  with  it  to  the  sky. 
The  frequent  seal  shot  up  from  out  the 

deep 

His  smooth  black  head,  and  from  the  neigh- 
bouring steep 
The  sea-mew  leap'd  to  skim  before  our 

path,  , 

Or  scream  above  us  her  unheeded  wrath. 
Here  arm-in-arm,  we  roam'd  all  free  and 

lone; 
Climb'd  many  a  path  and  sat  on  many  a 

stone, 

Spoke  the  full  heart  unnoted,  unrepress'd, 
And  told  the  love  that  swell'd  in  either 

breast : 

Here  would  we  linger,  till  the  star  of  even 
Look'd  out  upon  us  like  an  eye  in  heaven ; 
And  saw  us  still  upon  the  yellow  sands, 
Breathing  soft  vows,  and  pledging  trem- 
bling hands ; 
And  warn'd  my  village  maid  at  last  to 

flee 
Home  through  the  falling  dews  from  night 

and  me." — Pp.  1,  2. 
This  is  a  beautiful  appeal  to  our  sym- 
pathy for  the  young  pair,  and  it  is 
wrought  up  with  no  mean  skill  in  ver- 
sification. After  talking,  however,  in 
our  prefatory  remarks,  so  much  about 
local  propriety,  perhaps  we  ought  to 
object  a  little,  that  this  sea-side  stroll 
has  more  of  an  English  than  German 
complexion  about  it,  for  Germany  is 
hardly  at  all  a  maritime  country.  Let 
it  pass — the  author  may  perhaps  de- 
fend himself  by  saying,  that  the  scene 
of  action  is  laid  upon  the  sea-coast  of 
Shakespeare's  Bohemia,  where  Perdita 
was  exposed  !  High  authority  this,  to 


1821-3  Henry  Schullxe,  and  other  Puems. 

gainsay  a  critic,  and  make  him  roll  up 
his  map  !  Ere  the  first  extract  con- 
cludes, we  hear  of  their  marriage, — 
their  setting  up  in  trade, — their  quiet 
domestic  occupations,  and  their  enjoy- 
ment of  the  rest  weekly  brought  round 
by  the  Sabbath, 

"  With  all  its  sweets, 

Of  pleasant  bells,  closed  shops,  and  quiet 

streets : 

And  we  put  on  our  best,  and  slowly  trod 
Amid  our  neighbours  to  the  house  of  God. 
There  I  and  Constance  breathed  our  happy 

prayers, 

And  sent  our  praises  up  along  with  theirs ; 
And  there,  I  fear,  my  pride  oft  rose  to  see 
None  so  devout  and  beautiful  as  she. 
Then  would  we  walk  forth  arm-in-arm  to 

share 

The  breezy  freshness  of  the  country  air, 
And  tread  the  clover  down,  and  by  the 

brook 
Seek  flowers  and  hawthorn  for  our  chimney 

nook ; 

Or  seated  on  some  sloping  bank  survey 
The  beasts  enjoying  round  their  Sabbath 

play ; 

Or  the  tall  windmill,  or  the  distant  hill, 
Paying  its  lofty  homage,  mute  and  still. 
Swift  Hed  the  hours." P.  ?• 

In  the  second  fasciculus,  we  find 
they  have  three  children  ;  in  the  third, 
an  agreeable  lodger  ;  in  the  next,  Con- 
stance is  depicted  as  half  seduced  by 
him, 

"  Only  happy  when  away  from  me, 
And  most  so  in  Von  Khulmann's  com- 
pany." 

The  succeeding  portion  shews  her 
as  a  guilty  thing,  conscious  of  her 
crime,  and  confessing  all  to  her  hus- 
band,— penitent,  but  not  desirous  of 
Eardon  or  favour.      Schultze  cannot 
ate  her,  though  he  determines  to  part 
from  her ;  and  plans  a  scheme  of  ven- 
geance upon  the  seducer. 
"  I  track' d  him  well.     He  slept  at  Kreitz 

that  night ; 

And  if  a  guide  was  found,  at  morning  light 
Design'd  to  cross  the  mountains,  and  would 

then 

Be  safe,  he  deem'd,  from  every  hostile  ken. 
Disguised,  I  offer'd  to  direct  his  way, 
And  was  received." P.  15. 

The  place  chosen  for  retribution  is 
well  imagined. 

"  Up  the  long   steep  in  silent  speed  we 

.pass'd, 
And  now  we  reach' d  the  mountain's  brow 

at  last — 

A  lonely  table-land  on  every  side, 
Thence  spread  its  level  sameness,  dull  and 

wide. 


171 


Tall  blocks  of  granite  here  and  there  were 

placed, 

Like  giant  sentinels,  along  the  waste. 
But  living  sound   and  object  there  was 

none, 
Save  where  afar  from  some  huge  mass  of 

stone 
The  frighted  eagle  scream'd,  or  round  its 

base 
Skulk'd  the  grey  wolf  to  gain  her  hiding 

place. 
Still  we  moved  on  in  silence.    '  Well,  my 

friend, 
We've  made  some  progress  to  our  journey's 

end.' 
A  nod  was  all  my  answer.    '  What,'  he 

cried, 
'  Have  you  no  tongue  to  speak,  my  honest 

guide  ? 

Are  you  in  grief,  or  yet  in  love,  and  loth 
To  have  your  thoughts  disturb'd  ?' — '  Per- 
haps in  both.' 
'  In  both  ?  O  then  your  case  is  bad  !  but 

how? 
Some  scornful  shepherdess  rejects   your 

vow  ?' 
*  I  did  not  say  so.' — '  What !    she  kind, 

and  you 
Still  sad  ?' — '  Nay,  we  are  married.' — 

'  Married  too  ! 
And  have  you  children  ?' — '  Three.' — 

'  You  make  me  stare  ! 
Your  wife  and  you  are  on  good  terms  ?'— 

'  We  were.' — 
'  How   then,   has  she  turn'd  shrew,  or 

what  ?' — '  Nay,  more ; 
A  villain  came  and  changed  her  to  a  whore." 
Pp.  16,  17- 

Schultze  continues  in  a  disguised 
voice  to  describe  the  perfidy  of  the 
wretch  he  is  addressing,  and  his  disco- 
very of  it. 
"  He  fled.     I  followed  him.  Revenge  has 

wings, 
And,   like  the  lightning,   on  her  victim 

springs, 
From  whence  he  knows  not.    At  a  lucky 

hour, 
When  dreaded  least,  I  had  him  in  my 

power, 
Found   time  and   place,   the  wretch   his 

crimes  to  tell, 
And  might  have  sent,  at  once,  his  soul  to 

hell  ! 
But  the  thought  cross'd  me  ;  such  an  act 

would  be 

Unmanly,  and  more  fit  for  him  than  me. 
Draw  then,  damn'd  villain,  draw !'  I  said, 

and  threw 

My  beaver  up,  and  gave  my  face  to  view. 
He  stood  aghast. 

— '  See,  yon  eagle  clamorous  for  his 

fare, 

And  fiends  are  huddling  round  us  fast  to 
bear 


172 

Thy  perjured  soul  away.'     His  sword  he 

drew  ; 

And  on  him,  like  a  hurricane,  I  flew  ; 
Dash'd  from  his  hand  the  feeble  steel,  and 

clasp'd, 
And  bore  him  headlong  to  the  ground,  and 

grasp'd 

My  dagger  next  to  stab  him  as  he  lay 

But  ere  I  raised  it,  he  was  swoon'd  away. 
Already  had  my  sabre  left  its  trace, 
Deep  in  the  wretch's  pale  and  mangled 

face. 
An  eye  was  wrench'd  from  'neath  his  fore- 

head  grim, 

And  maim'd,  I  deem  for  life,  one  quiver- 
ing limb. 

Base  as  he  was,  I  could  not  seal  his  fate, 
Nor  stoop  to  butcher  him  in  such  a  state. 
I  rose,  and  turn'd  away,  and  homeward 

trod, 
And  left  him  there  to  conscience,  and  to 

God."  P.  21. 

Henry's  wife  dies — so  do  his  chil- 
dren— he  falls  into  utter  penury,  and 
fails  to  obtain  employment  or  commi- 
seration, and  the  story  is  wound  up  by 
the  information  of  those  who  found 
him  expiring  in  the  forest.  The  quo- 
tations we  have  made  will  enable  our 
readers  to  see  that  the  author,  whoever 
he  be,  is  possessed  of  true  poetic  powers, 
and  has  much  command  of  language ; 
some  of  his  epithets  are  new,  and  pe- 
culiarly happy. 

"  The  Savoyard,"  though  a  longer 
poem,  is  inferior  to  "  Henry  Schultze," 
and  it  appears  to  us  to  have  been  writ- 
ten before  it.  It  wants  distinctness  and 
force ;  vagueness  is  its  chief  fault ;  the 
sketch  of  the  French  Revolution  in  it 
passes  before  us  like  some  vast  smother- 
ing cloud,  which  bears  neither  shape  nor 
feature  for  the  memory  to  lay  hold  up- 
on, and  until  we  come  to  the  dream  in 
prison,  we  take  little  personal  interest  in 
the  adventures  of  the  Savoyard  himself. 
His  consolation  too,  at  last,  although 
he  looks  to  the  right  source,  is  too  fa- 
natical. The  reader  will  not  readily  ac- 
commodate himself  to  the  sudden  re- 
ligious tranquillity  of  one  whom  he 
has  just  seen  embruing  his  hands  in 
blood  ;  one,  in  whom  no  active  love  to 
man  seems  to  take  place  of  his  former 


Henry  Schultze,  and  other  Poems. 


CMay, 


savageness ;  no  heart-wringing  repent- 
ance drives  him  tooft'er  an  all-inadequate 
recompence  for  the  miseries  he  has 
caused  ;  but  all  is  indolent  self-satis- 
faction, and  confident  assurance.  It  is 
not  more  improbable,  than  discordant 
to  right  feeling,  to  make  the  employ- 
ment of  a  heretofore  blood -boultered 
revolutionist,  a  cool  projector  of  noyadei 
and.  fusillades,  that  of  sitting  in  a  little 
lonely  Eden,  and  declaring  that  here 

"  Amidst  my  crops  of  flowers 

I  muse  away  my  vacant  hours  ; 

And  kneel  beneath  the  open  sky, 

And  serve  my  God  at  liberty." — P.  118. 

The  author  seems  to  have  suspected 
something  of  this,  for  he  makes  an  ex- 
cuse in  his  preface,  where  he  says  that 
he  "  by  no  means  pledges  himself  for 
the  absolute  correctness  of  the  religi- 
ous emotions  there  exhibited." 

Still  there  is  a  good  deal  of  striking 
poetry  in  different  places  in  the  Savoy- 
ard, and  the  relation  of  his  returning 
recollections  of  the  pious  lessons  incul- 
cated by  his  mother  in  childhood  is 
well  made,  and  the  incident  is  natural. 

"  In  confirmation,  word  on  word, 

Rose  sweetly  too  from  memory's  store, 
Truths,  which  in  other  days  I  heard, 

But  never  knew  their  worth  before. 
Lodged  by  a  mother's  pious  care 

In  the  young  folds  of  thought  and  sense, 
Like  fire  in  flint,  they  slumber'd  there, 

Till  anguish  struck   them  bright  from 

thence. 
The  beacon  lights  of  holy  writ, 

They  one  by  one  upon  me  stole  ; 
Through  winds  and  waves  my  pathway  lit, 

And  chased  the  darkness  from  my  soul." 
P.  108. 

If  our  guess  be  right  that  Henry 
Schultze  is  the  latest  written  produc- 
tion of  this  author,  his  progress  is  great, 
and  the  heroic  measure  appears  to  af- 
ford the  best  display  for  his  talents. 
We  shall  hope  to  meet  with  him  again ; 
and,  as  we  have  avowed  a  love  for 
names,  we  shall  have  no  disinclination 
to  learn  that,  by  which  we  are  to  de- 
sign ate  him  among  the  successful  poets 
of  the  present  day. 


18210 


On  Vulgar  Prejudices  against  Literature. 


173 


ON  VULGAR  PREJUDICES  AGAINST  LITERATURE. 

Yes,  every  poet  is  a  fool ; 

By  demonstration,  Ned  can  show  it : 
Happy,  could  Ned's  inverted  rule 

Prove  every  fool  to  be  a  poet. 

PRIOB. 


THERE  is  nothing  more  to  be  lament- 
ed, and  yet  nothing  more  true,  than 
that  the  " prqfamim  vulgus,"  the  com- 
mon mass  of  mankind,  look  on  mental 
superiority  with  a  jealous  and  jaun- 
diced eye ;  and,  as  if  chagrined  at  their 
own  inferiority,  or  determined  to  make 
up  for  it  by  petulance,  seem  to  feel, 
and  to  act  from  the  conviction,  that 
the  superior  gifts  of  the  Creator  ought 
to  subject  the  possessor  to  the  derision 
of  society,  or  to  the  insolent  sneers  of 
invidious  malignity.  Indeed,  we  can 
discern  no  situation  in  human  society 
more  to  be  pitied  than  that  of  the 
youth  who  is  prematurely  and  fatally 
conscious  of  the  possession  of  superior 
talents,  and  who  fondly,  but  too  falla- 
ciously anticipates  the  distinction  that 
is  to  accrue  to  him  from  their  deve- 
lopement ;  whose  heart  refuses  to  fol- 
low the  tide  of  the  world,  and  whose 
thoughts,  truants  to  the  passing  scene, 
are  ever  wandering  amid  the  anticipa- 
ted brilliancies  of  his  future  career. 
Hebeholds  his  less-gifted  brethren  pur- 
suing their  various  occupations  with  a 
zeal,  an  industry  and  success,  that 
seems  to  reflect  discredit  on  the  back- 
wardness of  his  own  fate,  and  puts  his 
tardiness  to  the  blush.  Immersed  in 
the  common-place  routine  of  business, 
or  in  the  pursuit  of  some  fashionable 
trifle,  and  splendid  folly,  the  world 
disdains  to  sympathize  with  one  who 
is  an  alien  to  all  that  they  think,  and 
to  all  that  they  do,  while  the  paltry 
sycophant,  whose  thoughts  never  soar- 
ed above  the  consideration  of  his  own 
selfish  interests,  his  hopes  of  prefer- 
ment, or  the  unholy  thirst  for  gold, 
can  point  the  finger  of  scorn  as  he 
passes  by,  and  with  a  look  that  betrays 
the  venom  of  his  heart,  seem  to  mur- 
mur,— "  behold  the  idler." 

How  proudly  indignant,  yet  how 
feelingly,  does  Southey  inform  us  of 
the  difficulties  he  had  to  encounter, 
and  the  prejudices  he  had  to  overcome, 
even  among  those  who  once  professed 
friendship  for  him,  but  who  now,  ob- 
serving his  mistaken  conceptions  and 
conduct,  were  anxious  to  shake  him  off 


from  their  acquaintance ;  of  those  who 

seeing  him  on  the  street, 

"  Estranged  in  heart,  with  quick  averted 

glance 
Pass'd  on  the  other  side  ! 

It  is  natural  for  parents  and  friends  to 
rejoice  at  the  expanding  blossoms  of  a 
fine  intellect,  and  observing  the  ho- 
nours of  school  carried  off  by  one  in 
whom  they  have  so  powerfully  an  in- 
terest, they  expect  nothing  else  than 
that,  by  their  developement,  a  portion 
of  their  splendour  will  be  reflected  on 
them.  And,  doubtless, — if  they  could 
be  content  to  wait  for  it.  They  expect 
him  to  enter,  body  and  soul,  into  the 
bustle  and  contention  of  the  world, 
and  there  follow  up  the  superiority  of 
his  early  days — but  alas !  his  apparent 
listlessness  surprises  them.  They  ex- 
pect him  to  exhibit  all  the  fervour  of 
commercial  enterprize  and  specula- 
tion— and  lo !  he  neither  makes  his 
idol  of  precious  stones  nor  of  fine  gold. 
They  expect  him  to  tread  "  Prefer- 
ment's pleasant  paths,"  whereas  he 
turns  into  one  beset  with  rocks  and 
difficulties,  with  the  briers  and  the 
thorns  of  disappointment. 

— — "  should  they  not  have  known, 
If  the  rich  rainbow  on  the  morning  cloud 
Reflects  its  radiant  dyes,  the  husbandman 
Beholds  the  ominous  glory,  and  foresees 
Impending  storms  ! — They  augured  hap- 
pily 
That  thou  didst  love  each  wild  and  won- 

d'rous  tale 

Of  faery  fiction,  and  thine  infant  tongue 
Lisp'd  with  delight  the  godlike  deeds  of 

Greece 
And  rising  Rome ;  therefore  they  deem'd, 

forsooth, 
That   thou   should'st  tread   Preferment's 

pleasant  path. 

Ill-judging  ones  !  they  let  thy  little  feet 
Stray  in  the  pleasant  paths  of  Poesy ; 
And  when  thou  should'st  have  prest  amid 

the  crowd, 

There  did'st  thou  love  to  linger  out  the  day, 
Loitering  beneath  the  laurel's  barren  shade. 
Spirit  of  Spenser !  was  the  wanderer 

wrong  ?" 

All  this  has  been  suffered  a  thou- 
sand times,  and  must  be  borne ;  but 


174-  On  Vulgar  Prejudices 

let  the  unfortunate  devotee  remem- 
ber, that  the  world  has  never,  in  a 
single  instance,  refused  to  congratu- 
late success,  nor  the  nobler  part  of  our 
nature  to  pay  the  homage  due  to  de- 
sert— their  tribute  to  Caesar.  Envy  is 
an  ingredient  in  selfish  and  grovel- 
ling, in  paltry  minds  alone ;  but  the 
truly  great  and  honourable,  when  a 
glorious  emulation  fails,  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  make  a  generous  confession, 
and,  forgetting  all  the  petty  trammels 
of  hostility  and  party  spirit,  come  for- 
ward and  add  their  unreluctant  ap- 
plause to  the  general  acclamations  of 
mankind.  Let  it  be  remembered,  that 
the  overcoming  of  difficulties  is  one  of 
the  purest  and  principal  sources  of  gra- 
tification ;  that  the  tranquillity  which 
succeeds  to  a  tempest  is  doubly  de- 
lightful, from  the  contrast  of  the  mut- 
tering thunder,  and  gloomy  cloud,  to 
the  whispers  of  the  gentle  breeze,  and 
the  azure  of  an  untroubled  sky ;  and 
that  the  glory  of  achievement  is  exact- 
ly commensurate  to  the  hazard  of  the 
enterprize.  Leonidas,  with  his  hand- 
ful of  patriots  in  the  Straits  of  Ther- 
mopylae, proved  himself  superior  to 
Xerxes  wfth  his  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  invaders ;  and  the  retreat  of 
General  Moore,  is  a  higher  specimen 
of  military  mastership  than  the  pur- 
suit of  Bonaparte.  A  general  who, 
with  a  thousand  men,  would  attack 
his  adversary  at  the  head  of  five  times 
that  number,  and  be  defeated,  would 
enjoy  the  reputation  of  being  a  very 
great  fool ;  but,  if  he  happened  to  be 
the  conqueror,  no  one  would  dispute 
his  claim  to  the  honours  of  a  triumph. 
It  would  appear  that  one  of  the  vul- 
gar prejudices  against  literary  men  ori- 
ginates in  the  notion  that  they  regard 
every  thing  around  them  with  a  su- 
percilious disdain,  as  being  of  small 
regard,  in  comparison  with  the  more 
lofty  projects,  and  the  more  splendid 
designs  which  occupy  their  attention ; 
and  that  being  in  quest  of  a  nobler  des- 
tiny than  their  neighbours,  they  are 
unwilling  to  allow  them  to  possess  that 
degree  of  appreciation  to  which  their 
more  limited  abilities,  nevertheless, 
unquestionably  entitle  them.  Now 
this,  we  do  not  hesitate  to  say,  is  an 
erroneous  idea,  wholly  incorrect,  and 
destitute  of  all  foundation ;  for  Shake- 
speare and  Scott,  two  of  the  mightiest 
geniuses  that  the  world  has  ever  seen, 
do  not  pourtray  the  character  of  a  king, 
or  a  courtier,  with  greater  zest,  and 


against  Literature. 

more  accurate  fidelity  to  nature,  than 
they  do  the  labourer  at  his  task,  or  the 
clown  in  his  hours  of  relaxation — the 
country  girl  at  her  wheel,  or  the  hoary 
mendicant  begging  alms  by  the  road 
side ;  a  thing  which  could  not  be  ac- 
complished without  a  complete  drama- 
tic metamorphosis,  for  the  time,  of  the 
author  into  the  subject  of  his  delinea- 
tion, and  the  total  resignation  of  all 
selfish  thoughts,  and  all  selfish  feel- 
ings, and  the  abandonment  of  every 
thought  and  assumption  of  superiority 
into  the  hands  of  our  common  nature. 

It  is  justly  remarked  by  Southey,  in 
his  feeling  and  pathetic  Life  of  Kirk 
White,  that  he  never  knew  any  one, 
distinguished  for  genius  and  superior 
mental  acquirements,  who  was  not  re- 
markable for  bashfulness  and  want  of 
confidence  in  his  earlier  years.  Cicero 
has  also  told  us,  that  when  he  saw  a 
young  orator  embarrassed  in  the  com- 
mencement of  his  speech,  he  was  sure 
something  good  was  to  follow  from 
him.  When  hundreds  of  less-cultiva- 
ted and  accomplished  minds,  scattered 
around  their  rhetorical  common-pla- 
ces with  fortitude  and  assurance,  the 
gentle,  the  dignified,  the  classical  Ad- 
dison,  with  difficulty  could  overcome 
his  modest  reluctance,  though  truth 
pointed  his  remarks,  and  eloquence 
dwelt  upon  his  tongue,  and  was  often 
so  much  overcome  by  the  delicacy  of 
his  feelings,  as  to  be  almost  incapable 
of  proceeding. 

But  the  multitude  have  very  diffe- 
rent ideas  on  the  subject.  The  silence 
of  a  literary  man  is  construed  into 
contempt,  and  his  temperance  into  a 
gloomy  and  methodistical  unsociality. 
If  he  speaks  much,  it  is  from  the  pride, 
of  shewing  his  abilities ;  if  he  dresses 
well,  he  is  a  conceited  coxcomb  ;  if  he 
habits  himself  plainly,  he  is  a  careless 
sloven.  Every  thing  doubtful  in  his 
conduct  is  looked  on  in  the  darkest  of 
its  bearings.  Every  gossip  is  glad  to 
hear  and  to  promulgate  an  evil  report 
against  the  aspirant  after  distinction  ; 
the  report  of  his  foibles,  like  a  ball 
rolled  along  a  snowy  surface,  grows 
larger  as  it  proceeds  ;  and.,  in  its  pass- 
age from  mouth  to  mouth,  is  magni- 
fied like  my  landlady's  account  of  the 
mad  dog,  or  the  story  of  the  Three 
Black  Crows  of  Cheapside.  All  are  re- 
joiced to  discover  him  tripping,  to 
prove  that  he  is  not  "  the  faultless 
monster  that  the  world  ne'er  saw ;" 
and  the  owls  and  the  bats  of  the  world, 
1 


On  Vulgar  Prejudices  against  Literature. 


in  solemn  conclave,  determine  with  ac- 
clamation that  the  eagle  is  blind. 

There  is  no  doubt — and  it  is  not  to 
be  denied — that  another  of  the  princi- 
pal prejudices  against  learning  origi- 
nates in  a  much  more  reasonable  way, 
and  from  a  far  juster  cause, — the  er- 
rors that  too  frequently  spring  up  in 
the  constitution  of  genius.  It  is  cu- 
rious, that  the  soil  most  remarkable  for 
fertility,  is  denoted  by  nothing  more 
correctly  than  by  the  luxuriancy  of  its 
weeds.  Xo  doubt,  the  alienation  of 
the  world  already  mentioned,  and  the 
appetency  for  pure  delight,  so  fre- 
quently disappointed,  and  the  superior 
temptations  afforded  to  a  literary  man, 
may  be  brought  in  as  a  kind  of  apolo- 
gy, and,  if  not  as  a  proper  excuse  for 
the  error,  at  least  in  mitigation  of  its 
heinousness.  But  to  this  we  by  no 
means  consent.  That  man  that  walks 
astray  through  ignorance  and  dark- 
ness, and  frailty  of  intellect,  may  be 
tolerated  and  forgiven  "  seventy-and- 
seven  times,"  but  he  who  walks  astray 
in  the  clear  sunshine,  and  against  the 
remonstrances  of  the  monitor  within, 
richly  deserves,  and  ought  to  suffer  all 
the  odiuvn  of  his  guilt  and  folly. 
"  Neither  florid  prose,  nor  honied  lies  of 

rhime, 

flan   blazon  evil  deeds,  or   consecrate  a 
crime." 

But  the  truth  is,  that  justice  is  not 
often  dealt ;  this  prejudice  of  the  world 
comes  between,  and  hood-winks  truth. 
The  exonerating  part  of  the  plea  is 
purposely  and  maliciously  left  out,  and 
the  culpable  shades  wrapt  in  tenfold 
darkness.  Often  has  the  very  accusa- 
tion of  guilt  led  to  the  consequences  it 
deprecated  ;  nor  is  there  a  surer  me- 
thod of  rendering  crimes  general,  than 
by  giving  them  publicity,  and  suppo- 
sing them  to  be  common;  for  whatever 
is  very  common,  it  is  supposed  cannot 
be  very  wrong.  No  woman  ever  found, 
or  fancied  herself  a  witch,  till  she  was 
suspected  of  being  so.  What  can  be 
more  unwarrantable  than  our  method 
of  determining  the  character  of  the  un- 
fortunate ?  The  extent  of  the  tempt- 
ation is  wholly  put  out  of  view,  and 
the  degree  of  the  evil  incurred  is  sup- 
posed to  be  greater  or  less,  according 
as  it  falls  from  him  from  whom  better 
things  might  have  been  expected.  It 
is  seldom  or  never  a  matter  of  reflec- 
tion how  the  sufferers  are  formed  to 

VOL.  IX. 


175 

bear ;  what  is  reckoned  a  trifle  by  one, 
may  occasion  the  most  heart-rending 
anguish  in  another.  When  Socrates 
heard  the  sentence  of  his  banishment, 
he  said  that  the  whole  world  was  his 
country,  but  Ovid  sighed  in  his  exile 
for  the  scenes  of  his  nativity  ;  and 
while  Cardinal  de  Retz  amused  him- 
self with  writing  the  life  of  his  gaoler, 
Tasso  fretted  himself  to  madness  in 
the  solitude  of  his  dungeon. 

When  we  reflect  that  education  soft- 
ens the  manners  and  refines  the  feel- 
ings, 

"  Emollit  mores,  nee  sinit  esse  feros ;" 
so  that  one  of  the  most  prevailing  cha- 
racteristics of  men  of  genius  is  the 
great  extent  in  the  range  of  their  plea- 
surable and  painful  associations,  their 
increased  sensibility  to  impulses  from 
without,  and  to  impulses  from  with- 
in, we  will  be  more  inclined  to  sympa- 
thise with  those  whom  neglect  has 
driven  to  despair,  or  disappointment 
enticed  into  the  unhallowed  and  hate- 
ful regions  of  error.  Finding  but  sel- 
dom that  harmony  and  felicity  in  mix- 
ed society  which  they  are  prone  to  seek 
after,  it  is  not  at  all  marvellous  that 
they  should  sometimes  seek  after  it  in 
an  erroneous  path  ;  but  these  frailties 
are,  in  by  far  the  greater  number  of 
instances,  the  offspring  neither  of  cold- 
ness of  heart,  nor  corruption  of  cha- 
racter :  They  are  the  delusive  and  tem- 
porary schemes  to  baffle  affliction,  and 
by  far  more  prejudicial  to  themselves 
than  others,  resorted  to  in  the  hour  of 
suffering,  but  hated  and  loathed  and 
despised  in  the  calm  of  mental  con- 
templation and  serenity. 

We  wish  to  make  some  distinction 
between  errors  of  feeling  and  errors  of 
principle — between  the  backslidings  of 
an  unguarded  moment  and  the  invete- 
rate perversion  of  moral  sensibility,  as 
the  stream  may  be  either  polluted  in 
its  course,  or  spring  sullied  and  mud- 
dy from  its  fountain-head.  We  can 
sympathise  with  the  unfulfilled  pro- 
mises of  pleasure,  with  the  rainbow 
hopes  that  beckoned,  and  eluded  such 
gifted,  and  noble,  and  lofty-spirited 
beings  as  Burns  and  Byron.  We  can 
allow  ourselves  to  participate  in  their 
sufferings,  though  self-inflicted,  and 
to  offer  something  in  extenuation  of 
their  follies,  for  they  were  not  destined 
for  the  dull  routine  of  society,  for 
"  they  have  not  loved  the  world,  nor 
Y 


On  Vulgar'  Prejudices  against  Literature. 


176 

the  world  them  ;"  and  with  all  the 
capabilities  of  the  most  exalted,  puri- 
fied, and  refined  pleasurable  emotions, 
found  too  often  all  their  magic  visions 
but  a  dream,  and  all  their  expectations 
of  rapture  subsiding  to  the  dull  sun- 
less gloom  of  misery  ;  but  for  the  er- 
rors of  a  perverted  intellect,  and  an 
unfeeling  heart,  we  have  nothing  to  be- 
stow but  contempt  and  execration. 

It  is  fortunate  that  the  facul  ics 
which,  whether  from  natural  consti- 
tution or  education,  predominate  in  a 
man's  mind,  are  not  easily  turned 
aside  from  theirpeculiar  bent.  Had  it 
been  otherwise,  we  might  at  this  day 
have  had  no  groundless  cause  of  com- 
plaint. The  father  of  Pascal  shut  up 
Euclid  from  him,  and  would,  on  no 
account,  allow  him  to  apply  himself  to 
the  study  of  the  mathematics  ;  and  the 
father  of  Petrarch,  observing  the  turn  of 
his  son's  mind  towards  elegant  litera- 
ture, endeavoured  to  give  a  finishing 
blow  to  the  propensity,  by  burning  his 
library.  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  obliged 
to  betake  himself  to  a  hay-loft,  that  he 
might  pursue  his  studies  without  mo- 
lestation ;  and  Benjamin  Haydon,  the 
greatest  painter  at  present  in  Europe, 
was  thwarted  again  and  again,  but  to 
no  purpose,  in  his  devotions  to  his  fa- 
vourite science.  In  the  estimation  of 
some  people,  a  man  may  give  up  his 
leisure  hours  to  any  fashionable  amuse- 
ment, he  may  be  addicted  to  wine,  he 
may  squander  his  money  at  play,  he 
may  be  guilty,  in  short,  of  almost  any 
vice  that  can  degrade  the  dignity,  or 
sully  the  purity  of  our  nature,  and  yet 
be  less  obnoxious  than  he  who  devotes 
his  leisure  to  the  cultivation  of  his 
mental  faculties.  What  a  crime  it  was 
in  Addison  to  laugh  at  ignorance,  to 
ridicule  impoliteness,  and  endeavour 
to  make  learning  fashionable !  Does 
or  does  not  his  memory  deserve  the 
execration  of  posterity  ? 

If  the  scandal  of  literature  is  at- 
tached to  any  one's  name,  it  is  down- 
right murder  committed  on  his  repu- 
tation and  interest ;  and  if  his  tempo- 
ral advancement  and  worldly  success 
depend  on  his  professional  efforts,  the 
veriest  dunce,  and  the  most  igno- 
rant pretender,  have  a  greater  chance 
of  success.  The  immortal  Locke,  from 
looking  on  our  internal  conformation 
with  too  philosophical  an  eye,  was  ac- 
counted too  great  a  blockhead  to  be  a 
physician.  Akenside  attracted  neither 
jespect  nor  admiration  in  his  native 


town,  while  his  reputation  as  a  poet 
was  a  barrier,  which  all  the  strenuous 
efforts  he  made  in  his  professional  ca- 
reer, were  insufficient  to  overcome. 
Armstrong  shared  the  same  fate. — 
Blackstone,  when  he  betook  himself 
to  the  study  of  law,  was  obliged  to  bid 
a  farewell  to  the  muse  ;  so  fared  it 
with  Lord  Mansfield,  of  whom  Pope 
says, 

"I  low  sweet  an  Ovid  was  in  Murray  lost !" 
Darwin,  with  more  unpoetical  pru- 
dence, concealed  his  studies  till  his 
medical  reputation  was  established  ; 
and  Home  was  deprived  of  the  pasto- 
ral care  of  his  parish,  i'or  daring  to 
compose  one  of  the  noblest  and  most 
beautiful  tragedies  iu  the  English  lan- 
guage. 

Strange,  that  what  forms  the  glory 
of  our  nature,  and  assimilates  us  to 
superior  orders  of  intelligence,  should 
be  the  object  against  which  vulgar  pre- 
judice discharges  its  shafts  !  Strange, 
that  the  essence  and  fountain  of  all 
moral  rectitude,  and  political  improve- 
ment, should  be  polluted  with  the  ve- 
nom of  envy  !  Strange,  that  the  hand 
that  offers  happiness  to  virtue,  and 
points  the  path  of  honourable  distinc- 
tion, should  be  thrust  back,  as  it  were, 
filled  with  serpents,  or  directed  the 
way  to  everlasting  infamy.  Socrates, 
Sir  Walter  Maleigh,  and  Sir  Thomas 
More,  were  persecuted  to  the  death 
for  defending  the  cause  of  truth,  and 
endeavouring  to  enlighten  their  fellow- 
creatures  ;  but  though  they  feel  it  not, 
it  is  soothing  to  think  that  posterity 
has  been  as  generous  as  their  contem- 
poraries were  unjust,  and  that  the  re- 
verence which  was  denied  to  their  per- 
sons, is  paid  to  their  memories. 

Like  the  fly  criticising  the  cupola  of 
St  Paul's,  it  is  impossible  for  a  con- 
tracted mind  to  comprehend,  far  less 
appreciate,  the  value  of  an  exalted  cha- 
racter. If  you  allude  to  his  powerful 
generalization  of  thought, — to  hismas- 
terly  command  over  the  feelings, — to 
his  unbounded  range  of  imagination, 
you  will  be  answered  with  a  "  Pooh  ! 
what  good  are  these  to  do  to  the  world 
or  himself?  are  you  in  reality  speak- 
ing about  the  man  whom  I  have  seen 
walking  about  the  streets  at  least  a 
hundred  times,  the  person  with  the 
blue  ccat  and  the  shuffling  gait?" 
"  Yes,"  if  you  answer,  "  that  is  the 
very  person  to  whom  I  allude.  And 
what  is  there  in  these  to  prevent  his 
possessing  these  attributes  ?  Julius  Cue- 


1821.^ 


On  Vulgar  Prejudices  against  Literature. 


sar  had  a  bald  head ;  Alexander  the 
Great  was  a  little  man,  and  Bona- 
parte could  not  have  passed  muster  for 
a  corporal  of  grenadiers."  Then  it  will 
be  responded,  "  All  that  may  be  very 
true,  but  these  men  lived  in  other 
countries,  and  every  body  says  they  are 
great  men," 

Talk  to  a  money-changer  of  the  phi- 
lanthropy of  Howard — of  the  perils  he 
encountered,  and  of  the  difficulties  he 
overcame— of  the  countries  he  traver- 
sed from  the  pure  and  unmingled  Jove 
he  bore  to  his  fellow-creatures,  with- 
out the  regards  arising  from  the  par- 
tialities of  country  and  kindred,  nay, 
frequently  in  opposition  to  them — Of 
the  unremitting  labours  of  his  life,  and 
of  his  death,  worthy  of  such  a  life,  and 
you  shall  have  a  significant  shake  of 
the  head,  in  response  from  the  oracle  ; 
as  much  as  to  say  "  All  very  well,  but 
I  can  be  better  engaged.".  Speak  to 
such  a  one  of  the  eloquence  of  Chalm- 
ers— of  his  pure  devotional  lessons — of 
his  fervent  expostulations — of  his  con- 
vincing and  overwhelming  arguments 
— of  his  "  turn  ye,  turn  ye,  why  will 
ye  die  ?"  and  you  shall  have  for  answer, 
that  he  is  a  high-flier,  a  bigot,  and  an 
enthusiast.  Speak  of  Othello — of  the 
Paradise  Lost — or  of  the  Excursion  ; 
and  you  shall  be  told  that  Shakespeare 
was  a  stage- player,  and  a  deer-stealer : 
that  Milton  was  blind,  and  a  republi- 
can ;  and  that  Wordsworth  is  a  white- 
livered  water-drinker,  and  a  hypocon- 
driacal  recluse. 

Pure  fap"0,  and  unmingled  respect, 
are  glories,  that,  in  a  vast  m;ijority  of 
instances,  only  overhang  the  grave. 
Paltry  opposition  is  then  ashamed  of 
its  resistance  ;  and  confounded  preju- 
dice often  comes  forward  to  express 
contrition  and  repentance.  When  the 
struggle  of  life  is  over,  and  when,  af- 
ter "  the  fever  of  life,"  the  slumbers 
of  death  hang  heavy  around ;  then, 
and  frequently  not  till  then,  the  nrists 
of  error  begin  to  be  dispelled,  and  the 
structures  of  genius  appear  in  all  their 
native  majesty  and  beauty;  like  the 
shadows  that  brood  over  a  summer 
landscape,  and  wrap  hill  and  valley, 
and  forest  and  stream,  in  wild  confu- 
sion and  disorder,  till  the  golden  sun- 
rise dispels  the  illusion,  and  the  hazi- 
ness, "  like  an  angel's  veil,  slow  fold- 
ed up  to  heaven,"  leaves  every  thing 
in  the  truth  of  native  loveliness.  The 
neglect  bestowed  on  the  living,  is  en- 
deavoured to  be  counterbalanced  by  the 


177 

honours  lavished  on  the  dead ;  and  the 
man  who  was  allowed  to  roam  the  bar- 
ren heath  of  penury, 

"  Scorn'd  by  the  world,  and  left  without  a 
home," 

and  to  encounter  the  biting  blasts  of 
disappointment,  has,  when  of  no  avail, 
a  splendid  mausoleum  erected  over  his 
ashes.  To  use  the  witty  words  of  the 
satirical  Matthew  Prior, 
"  He  asked  for  bread,  and  they  have  given 
a  stone." 

But  why  all  this  lamentation  and 
bitter  regret  ?  as  if  the  possession  of 
genius  were  not  of  itself  its  own  re- 
ward ;  as  if  the  wealth  of  Potosi  could, 
fora  moment,  be  put  in  competition 
with  it.  What  forms  the  dignity  of 
man  ?  AVhat  constitutes  his  excellen- 
cy among  the  orders  of  being  ?  Is  it 
not  the  comprehensive  soul,  that  em- 
braces in  its  grasp  the  beautiful  and 
the  sublime  ?  the  soul,  that  kindles 
with  the  divine  glow  of  enthusiasm, 
that  turns  indignantly  from  the  per- 
versions of  error,  and  exults,  with  a 
gtnerous  pride,  in  the  hopes  of  religion, 
and  in  the  purity  of  virtue  ?  What  is 
the  we.'lth  of  a  Croesus  to  a  heritage 
like  this  ?  What  are  the  dominions  of 
Cuisar,  to  the  independence  and  the 
power  concentrated  in  a  single  bosom  ? 
Well  may  we  agree  with  Lord  Bacon, 
that  "  knowledge  is  power." 

"  Then  what  are  ye  !  the  mighty  and  the 

proud ! 

Ye  rule  but  for  an  hour — but  for  an  hour  ; 
Your  memories  wither likethe  yellow  leaves, 
The  traces  of  your  being  fade  away, 
And  weeds  o'ertop  your  epitaphs  unread  :— 
What  are  ye,  when  a  century  hath  pass'd  ?" 

The  haunts  of  genius  remain  for 
ever  sacred — ahalo  surrounds  them  in- 
effaceable by  time.  The  trees  under 
which  the  poet  has  strayed  shed  a  con- 
secrated gloom  ;  and  the  walls  of  the 
home,  where  he  erst  made  his  abode, 
are  clothed  with  a  borrowed  majesty 
and  grace.  The  tomb  of  Patroclus  is 
yet  a  hallowed  object,  from  its  mention 
by  "  the  blind  old  man  of  Scio's  rocky 
isle" — Homer.  The  site  of  Troy  is 
sought  after  with  a  zeal  and  industry, 
as  if  it  could  be  restored  to  its  original 
splendour  ;  or  as  if  some  great  nation- 
al blessings  were  to  result  from  the 
discovery ;  or  as  if  it  reflected  discredit 
on  the  human  race  to  remain  ignorant 
of  its  boundaries,  or  to  give  so  celebra- 
ted a  name  "  a  local  habitation."  The 
traveller  in  Italy  finds  not  an  object, 


178 


On  Vulgar  Prejudices  against  Lilcralurc. 


which,  from  the  influence  of  a  thou- 
sand endearing  associations,  has  great- 
er attractions,  than  the  tomb  where  the 
ashes  of  Virgil  repose ;  or  the  ruins 
of  the  Forum,  where  the  rulers  of  the 
world  hung  entranced  over  the  magic 
eloquence  that  flowed  from  the  lips  of 
Cicero,  pure 

"  as  from  Arabian  trees 
Their  medicinal  gums." 

Or,  let  us  ask,  has  Britain  a  greater 
claim  to  distinction  among  the  nations 
of  the  world,  from  any  one  circum- 
stance, however  celebrated  it  be  in  arts 
and  arms,  than  from  its  being  the 
birth-place  of  Shakespeare  ?  And  if  the 
celebration  of  the  anniversary  of  Wa- 
terloo be  held  in  the  farthest  settle- 
ments of  India,  so  is  the  anniversary 
of  the  birth  of  Robert  Burns,  the  pas- 
toral poet  of  Scotland. 
"  Encamped  by  Indian  rivers  wild, 
The  soldier,  resting  on  his  arms, 
In  Burns's  carrol  sweet  recalls 
The  scenes  that  blest  him  when  a  child, 
And  glows  and  gladdens  at  the  charms 
Of  Scotia's  woods  and  waterfalls." 

When  kingdoms,  and  states,  and  ci- 
ties pass  away,  what  then  proves  to  be 
the  most  imperishable  of  their  records, 
the  most  durable  of  their  glories  ?  Is 
it  not  the  lay  of  the  poet  ?  the  elo- 
quence of  the  patriot  ?  the  page  of  the 
historian  ?  Is  it  not  the  genius  of  the 
nation,  imprinted  on  these,  the  most 
splendid  of  its  annals,  and  transmitted 
as  a  legacy,  and  a  token  of  its  vanished 
glory,  to  the  after  ages  of  mankind  ? 
And  now,  when  the  glories  of  Greece 
and  Rome  are  but  shadows,  does  not 
our  blood  stir  within  us  at  the  recital 
of  their  mighty  achievements,  and  of 
their  majestic  thoughts  ?  Which,  but 
for  the  page  of  the  chronicler,  would 
have  been  long  ere  now  a  blank  and 
a  vacancy  ;  glory  departed  without  a 
trace,  or  figures  traced  upon  the  sand, 
and  washed  away  by  the  returns  of  the 
tide. 

"  Oh  !  who  shall  lightly  say  that  fame 
Is  nothing  but  an  empty  name  ? 
When,  but  for  those,  our  mighty  dead 

All  ages  past  a  blank  would  be, 
Sunk  in  oblivion's  murky  bed, 

A  desert  bare,  a  shipless  sea. 
They  are  the  distant  objects  seen  ; 
The  lofty  marks  of  what  hath  been. 
Oh  !  who  shall  lightly  say  that  fame 
Is  nothing  but  an  empty  name  ? 
Where  memory  of  the  mighty  dead 

To  earth-worn  pilgrims'  wistful  eye 
The  brightest  rays  of  cheering  shed, 

That  point  to  immortality." 


Thanks  to  the  diffusion  of  liberal 
and  enlightened  principles,  and  to  the 
generosity  of  the  present  times,  the 
case  is  now  somewhat  altered,  and  the 
evil  alleviated.  Wealth  no  longer 
shrinks  from  paying  deference  to  wis- 
dom, and  the  first  walks  in  the  learn- 
ed professions  are  filled  by  men,  emi- 
nent for  their  literature.  Yet,  with  re- 
gret, it  must  be  owned,  that  in  every 
department  of  civil  society,  there  are 
still  too  many,  whose  views  are  as  nar- 
row, whose  ideas  are  as  contracted,  and 
whose  prejudices  are  as  rooted  as  ever, 
who  seem,  indeed,  to  glory  in  being 
acquainted  only  with  the  one  tiling 
needful.  They  are  like  the  guides  who 
undertake  to  conduct  strangers  over 
certain  districts  of  the  Alps,  and  can 
describe  every  thing  with  the  utmost 
precision  within  a  limited  range  ;  but 
who  are  as  ignorant  as  the  man  in  the 
moon,  (though,  by  the  by,  he  is  be- 
ginning to  take  cognizance  of  the  af- 
fairs of  this  world,)  of  every  thing  be- 
yond it.  They  are  like  horses  yoked  in 
a  mill,  that  plod  round,  and  round, 
and  round,  until  they  are  tired  ;  and, 
"  as  the  morning  saw,  the  evening 
sees."  A  lawyer  of  this  class  can  talk 
well  enough  of  special  jurisdictions, 
and  homings,  and  captions,  and  ar- 
restments,  and  infeftments,anda  thou- 
sand other  tortuosities,  which  combine 
to  veil  the  countenance  of  justice,  and 
to  make  law  a  trade.  A  clergyman  of 
this  class  will  confound  your  under- 
standing with  a  "  shadowy  crowd"  of 
pedantic  opinions  about  purgatory, 
gleaned  from  the  dusty  volumes  of  the 
schoolmen — by  a  multitude  of  mysti- 
cal notions  concerning  morality,  and 
the  tendency  of  sects ;  and  by  his  abuse 
of  "  the  scarlet  woman  who  sitteth 
upon  seven  hills." — And  a  physician  of 
the  same  stamp  will  endeavour  to  ex- 
cite your  astonishment  by  the  recital 
of  some  particular  cures  effected  by  a 
stomachic  powder  of  his  own,  in  severe 
cases  of  the  borborygmi  in  the  intes- 
tinal canal ;  of  another  example  of  the 
talicotian  operation,  whereby  a  nose, 
almost  as  good  as  the  old  one,  lost  in 
battles  at  home  or  abroad,  was  form- 
ed, from  the  skin  of  the  forehead  care- 
fully peeled  down,  and  pinned  to  the 
side  of  the  denuded  cavities  of  the  nos- 
tril ;  or  by  some  would-be  philosophi- 
cal defence  of  German  ci  aniology.  Con- 
tinue on  topics  like  these,  and  their 
screech-owl  eloquence  will  flow 
"  As  boundless  as  the  waters  of  the  deep." 


On  Vulgtir  Prejudices  against 


179 


but  touch  on  any  other  subject ;  let  it 
be  on  philosophy,  or  history,  or  general 
literature,  or  even  politics,  and  they 
will  "  sit  with  sad  civility,"  as  stupid 
KS  bats,  and  as  silent  as  Pygmalion's 
wife. 

The  remark  of  Goldsmith  is  exceed- 
ingly just,  that  the  useful  part  of  any 
profession,  whatever  the  professors  may 
say  to  the  contrary,  is  easily  acquired  ; 
and  we  shall  venture  to  add,  as  easily 
retained.  There  is  no  excuse,  there- 
fore, for  our  stopping  here,  as  if  it  were 
the  ne  plus  ultra  of  acquirement,  cither 
on  the  score  of  sufficiency,  or  of  neces- 
sity ;  because  it  is  an  incontrovertible 
fact,  that  the  sphere  of  a  man's  use- 
fulness is  proportionate,  in  a  direct  ra- 
tio, to  the  extent  of  his  information, 
in  any  particular  branch  of  science  and 
art.  Improvers  have  seldom  been  so, 
to  the  advancement  of  their  own  for- 
tunes ;  but  is  it  not  a  noble  consolation 
to  think,  that  when  we  are  no  more, 
our  memories  will  be  regarded  with 
respect  and  veneration  ;  that  we  will 
be  classed  among  the  benefactors  of 
our  species ;  and  that,  when  our  grave- 
stones are  mossed  over,  and  sprinkled 
with  the  weather-stains  of  ages,  we 
may  receive  the  blessings  of  those  who 
are  reaping  the  benefits  of  our  indus- 
try. Innovators,  more  especially  if  their 
lessons  run  counter  to  the  approved 
and  general  practices  of  society,  have 
uniformly  met  with  resistance ;  and 
this  resistance,  in  many  instances,  seems 
to  have  been  strong  or  weak,  in  the 
direct  proportion  of  the  good  which 
has  been  developed.  Nuina  Pompi- 
lius,  whose  mild  philosophical  temper 
was  insufficient,  by  natural  means,  to 
restrain  the  impetuous  temper  of  rising 
Rome,  was  obliged  to  feign  nocturnal 
intercourse  with  the  goddess  Egeria, 
and  succeeded  in  his  designs,  by  thus 
throwing  over  them  the  factitious  lus- 
tre of  a  heavenly  adviser.  Roger  Ba- 
con, who  was  born  a  century  too  soon, 
suffered  for  his  premature  devclope- 
ment  of  science,  in  being  suspected  of 
an  illicit  intercourse  with  the  Evil  One, 
and  condemned  for  this  most  true  and 
proven  crime,  to  the  misery  and  the 
darkness  of  a  cell.  And 
"  The  starry  Galileo  with  his  woes," 
is  an  awful  lesson  to  us  of  the  igno- 
rance and  perversion  of  human  nature, 
operating,  struggling  against,  and  en- 
deavouring to  annul  the  discoveries  of 
the  philosopher. 


It  is  "  more  in  pity  than  iu  anger," 
therefore,  that  we  lament  over  the  pre- 
judices that  the  vulgar  retain  against 
science  and  literature  ;  though,  too  of- 
ten, the  professors  of  both  are  totally 
dependent  for  all  the  comforts  of  life 
on  the  dictum  of  the  public.  What  a 
"  rueful  martyrology,"  indeed,  do  the 
lives  of  philosophers  and  literary  men 
present !  yet  what  a  glorious  host,  what 
a  splendid  assemblage  of  all  that  is 
lofty,  and  magnificent,  and  sublime, 
in  human  nature,  do  they  constitute  ! 
What  generous  heart  does  not  echo 
back  the  fine  ejaculation  of  Words- 
worth, 

"  Oh  !  that  my  name  were  mingled  among 

theirs, 
How  gladly  wouldl  quit  this  mortal  sphere!" 

Blot  them  out  from  the  history  of  the 
world,  and  what  would  be  the  result  ? 
what  would  remain  behind  but  "  the 
iron  memories  of  kings  and  conque- 
rors ?"  What  have  civilization,  and  all 
the  elegancies  of  domestic  life,  de- 
pended on,  but  their  agenciis  ?  And 
though  many  of  them  closed  their  eyes 
in  death, 

"  With  a  sigh  to  find 
The  unwilling  gratitude  of  base  mankind ;" 

yet  time,  who  is  the  best  chronicler  of 
all  that  is  either  worthless  or  praise- 
worthy, has  dispelled  the  shadows 
which  hovered  around  them,  and  fix- 
ed them  in  beauty  on  that  rock,  which 
is  seen  of  all,  and  in  that  rank  of  es- 
timation, which  their  merits  deserve. 

Had  Columbus  contented  himself 
with  being  a  weaver,  or  Shakespeare 
with  being  a  wool-stapler,  or  Captain 
Cook  with  being  a  cabin-boy,  or  John 
Locke  with  being  a  surgeon,  or  Sir 
Richard  Arkwright  with  being  a  hair- 
dresser, or  Benjamin  Franklin  with 
being  a  printer,  or  James  Ferguson 
with  being  a  shepherd,  we  do  not  think 
that  cither  science  or  society  would 
have  had  much  reason  to  rejoice. 

Genius  will  assert  its  native  supre- 
macy ;  and  let  not  the  ignorant  or  the 
vulgar  suppose,  that  any  effort  of  theirs 
will  lower  its  triumph  in  the  opinion 
of  the  wise  and  good.  It  is  like  a  light 
set  on  a  high  hill,  which  cannot  be 
hid.  The  lightnings  of  envy,  and  the 
thunders  of  malice,  flash  and  rumble 
far  below,  leaving  it  in  the  pure  ether 
of  heaven,  encompassed  with  the  splen- 
dours of  beauty  and  majesty. 


180  CajnjtaigrM  <>f the  British  Aninj  at  Wathington,  §c,  [[May, 

CAMPAIGNS  OF   THE   BRITISH   AllMY   AT   WASHINGTON,  &C.* 

We  arc  caught  napping  in  the  moment 
of  victory,  and  found  perfectly  stupihVd 
by  defeat.  Thedemon  of  dulness  which 
haunts  their  works  exercises  perfect 
dominion  over  us  ;  and  at  such  times 
we  have  even  detected  ourselves  cur- 
sing the  Scots  Greys,  and  wishing  the 
gallant  Forty  Second  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea.  Certain  we  are,  that  all  the 
best  accounts  of  the  continental  wars, 
have  been  written  by  civilians,  not  by 
military  men.  The  latter  have  been 
beaten  hollow  on  their  own  ground, 
and  now  have  not  an  inch  to  stand 
upon  ;  for  even  in  novel  writing  the 
women  far  excel  them,  and  in  Baccha- 
nalian songs  we  will  match  Willison 
Glass,  or  the  cobbler  of  Falkirk,  against 
the  best  of  them,  and  bet  Pompey's 
pillar  t  to  a  stick  of  sealing  wax  on  the 
issue.  One  of  the  most  noted  military 
works  of  the  present  age,  for  instance, 
is  the  account  of  the  Egyptian  cam- 
paign by  Sir  Robert  Wilson.  In  a  li- 
terary point  of  view,  a  more  contempt- 
ible work  never  issued  from  the  press. 
We  are  convinced  there  were  many 
non-commissioned  officers  in  Sir  Ralph 
Abercroraby's  army,  who  could  have 
written  quite  as  good  a  narrative  of  the 
movements  of  the  troops,  and  have  ex- 
pressed themselves  in  much  better  lan- 
guage ;  and  the  difficulty  only  is  to 
conceive  how  any  man  could  so  com- 
pletely succeed  as  he  has  done,  in  com- 
posing a  work  of  which  Egypt  was  the 
subject,  containing  no  one  syllable  of 
information  in  the  least  interesting  to 
the  soldier,  the  scholar,  the  man  of 
science,  or  the  philosopher.  Not  one 
of  his  predecessors  or  successors,  little 
qualified  as  some  of  them  have  been, 
but  have  added  at  least  a  trifle  to  the 
stock  of  our  knowledge ;  and  the  work 
of  Sir  Robert  Wilson  stands  singly  in 
the  naked  ignorance  of  its  author  a  mo- 
nument, though  an  unnecessary  one, 
of  that  littleness  of  understanding  and 
blindness  of  intellect  by  which  his 
whole  after  life  has  been  distinguished. 
These  observations,  however,  are  by  no 
means  applicable  to  the  officers  of  the 
French  army,  and  in  a  smaller  degree 


THAT  any  works  which  narrate  events 
of  such  interest  and  importance  as  those 
of  the  late  war  should  in  general  be  so 
intolerably  dull,  may  appear  at  first 
sight  extraordinary.  The  cause,  how- 
ever, we  take  to  be  simply  this,  that 
the  writers  are  men  of  no  talents,chiefly 
belonging  to  the  military  profession, 
and  of  course  just  as  well  qualified  to 
dissert  on  such  subjects,  as  a  chainnan 
to  explain  the  wonders  of  the  polar  re- 
gions, or  a  Scotch  cadie  to  expound 
Turkish  law.  Such  a  writer  is  for  ever 
heralding  the  exploits  of  his  own  little 
squad  or  battalion,  recounting  his 
achievements  on  out-piquet,  and  dis- 
gusting us,  who  care  nothing  about 
him,  with  some  story  of  a  rifleman 
sending  a  bullet  through  his  thick  legs, 
or  a  lancer  breaking  his  sabre  on  his 
still  thicker  scull.  His  narrative,  Joo, 
is  generally  interlarded,  by  way  of  epi- 
sode, with  the  hair-breadth  escapes  and 
moving  calamities  of  sundry  youths 
unknown  to  fame,  the  companions  of 
his  toils  and  dangers.  We  are  quite 
ready  to  believe  that  Major  Dobson 
behaved  well,  and  Colonel  Jackson 
fought  like  a  lion ;  but  we  really 
grumble  at  finding  a  dozen  pages  con- 
sumed in  explaining  to  us  how  the 
former  had  the  misfortune  to  receive 
a  bullet  in  his  breech,  and  the  latter 
to  lose  his  right  whisker  and  three  of 
his  grinders.  We  believe  it  requires 
quite  as  much  talent  to  describe  a 
battle  well  as  to  paint  it  on  canvass, 
and  that  the  same  keeping  is  necessary 
in  both  ;  but  who,  for  instance,  could 
for  a  moment  tolerate  a  picture  of  Wa- 
terloo, in  which  the  chief  figure  was 
Lieutenant  Mcl)itosh  of  the  79th,  or 
Captain  Augustus  Polidore  Bumme  of 
the  Royal  Scotch  Fusileers?  But  over- 
looking these  absurdities,  it  is  indeed 
quite  wonderful  how  greatly  the  dul- 
ness of  the  narrator  can  deprive  of  all 
extrinsic  interest  thegreatevents  which 
he  records.  Who  is  there  that,  in  the 
hands  of  these  writers,  has  not  yawn- 
ed at  the  briskest  charge  of  cavalry,  or 
been  lulled  into  a  profound  slumber  by 
the  mostdreadful  discharge  of  artillery? 


*  A  Narrative  of  the  Campaigns  of  the  British  Army  at  Washington  and  New  Or- 
leans, under  General  Iloss,  Pakenham,  and  Lambert, in  the  Years  1,'il  4  and  181") ;  with 
some  Account  of  (lie  Countries  visited.  By  an  OfHccr,  who  served  in  the  Expedition. 
London,  John  Murray,  1(121. 

-f-  An  admirable  comparison,  adopted  from  a  prime  article  of  (lie  C'ourant,  on  the  light 
betwixt  Black  Sam  and  Chicken,  lately  fought  at  Ravclrig  Toll. 


Campaigns  of  tltu  British  Army  at  Washington, 


at  least  to  those  of  other  foreign  nations 
than  to  our  own.    To  French  officers, 
science  has,  in  many  cases,  been  deep- 
ly indebted  ;  nor  has  the  army  of  that 
nation  ever  penetrated  into  anycountry 
interesting  to  Europeans,  without  re- 
turning with  a  rich  store  of  valuable 
information ;  ami  thus  compensating, 
in  some  degree  at  least,  for  the  evils  of 
unprincipled  ambition,  by  contributing 
to  the  knowledge,  while  they  encroach- 
ed on  the  happiness  of  mankind.  The 
pencil  of  man,  perhaps,  never  drew  a 
more  vivid  and  affecting  picture  of  mi- 
sery than  may  be  found  in  La  Baume's 
account  of  the  first  Russian  campaign. 
We  read  it  with  all  the  avidity  with 
which  we  peruse  a  romance,  and  with 
a  deeper  interest,  arising  from  a  know- 
ledge of  its  truth,  than  ever  a  romance 
excited.    This,  however,  is  but  one  of 
many,  and  the  eagerness  with  which 
these  works  are  translated  and  read  in 
our  language,  is  convincing  and  mor- 
tifying evidence  of  the  utter  incapaci- 
ty of  our  military  authors,  since  we 
are  obliged  to  be  indebted  for  the  on- 
ly tolerable  records  of  our  victories  to 
the  pens  of  our  enemies.     It  is  a  mere 
vulgar  error  to  suppose,  that  military 
men,  from  bein^  present  on  the  spot, 
are  therefore  better  qualified  to  give  an 
accurate  account  of  the  manoeuvres  of 
an  engagement,  or  to  comprehend  the 
great  motives  of  policy  by  which  the 
several  events  of  a  campaign  may  have 
been  dictated.     On  service,  an  officer 
in  the  inferior  ranks  of  his  profession 
knows  nothing,  and  is  allowed  to  know 
nothing,  beyond  the  motions  of  his  own 
regiment  or  brigade.  He  is  a  mere  ma- 
chine ;  and  beyond  the  confined  or- 
bit of  his  own  vision  every  thing  to 
him  is  in  utter  darkness. — During  the 
peninsular  war,  the  officers  generally 
acquired  their  first  knowledge  of  the 
movements  of  the  different  divisions  of 
thearmyfrom  the  English  newspapers; 
and  in  the  confusion  of  an  engagement 
enveloped  in  smoke,  and  with  their  at- 
tention fully  occupied  by  the  occurren- 
ces in  their  immediate  neighbourhood, 
they  are  in  a  state  of  perfect  ignorance 
of  what  is  passing  in  other  parts  of  the 
field.    It  is  not  to  the  horse  who  drives 
the  mill  that  we  must  look  for  an  ex- 
planation of  the  mechanism  of  the  ma- 
chinery.   Nor  is  it  from  these  humble 
though  useful  instruments  of  war,  that 
we  are  to  expect  a  thorough  compre- 
hension of  the  great  principles  of  po- 
licy, by  which  the  military  conduct  of 


181 

the  first  generals  of  the  age  has  been 
directed.  But  somewhat  too  much  of 
this. 

We  have  indeed  some  apology  to 
offer  for  these  hasty  observations,  in- 
applicable as  they  certainly  are  to  the 
work,  to  which  we  are  now  about  to 
call  the  attention  of  our  readers.  This, 
too,  is  the  production  of  a  military  au- 
thor, but  of  one  whose  talents  and  ac- 
complishments, we  take  it,  would  en- 
title him  to  appear  before  the  public 
in  a  much  higher  character  than  he  has 
chosen  to  assume  as  the  narrator  of  the 
campaigns  of  theBritish  armyat  Wash- 
ington and  New  Orleans.  A  more 
entertaining  volume  we  have  seldom 
met  with  ;  and  it  is  written  through- 
out with  the  same  spirit,  elegance,  and 
vivacity,  which  contributes  to  give  so 
strong  an  interest  to  Lord  Burghersh's 
account  of  the  peninsular  campaigns. 
The  work  commences  with  the  conclu- 
sion'of  the  campaigns  of  the  British, 
army  in  France,  in  the  spring  of  1814. 
The  regiment  of  our  author  was  then 
ordered  to  embark  with  several  others 
for  America,  in  order  to  constitute  a 
force  to  carry  hostilities  into  the  inte- 
rior of  the  United  States.  They  had 
a  pleasant  voyage  across  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Bermuda  Islands,  which,  how- 
ever, is  detailed  to  us  with  somewhat 
too  much  prolixity, — and  they  after- 
wards, being  joined  by  a  naval  force 
under  Admiral  Malcolm,  sailed  on  the 
expedition  which  formed  the  chief  ob- 
ject of  the  armament.  The  Ameri- 
cans opposed  no  resistance  to  their 
sailing  up  the  Chesapeake,  which  they 
entered  on  the  15th  of  August;  and 
on  the  morning  of  the  19th,  the  army 
was  landed,  under  protection  of  the 
guns  of  the  ships,  without  experien- 
cing any  opposition.  The  primary  ob- 
ject which  General  Ross  appears  to 
have  had  in  view,  was  the  capture  of 
a  flotilla  of  gun-boats,  which  was  sta- 
tioned at  Nottingham,  and  which  was 
afterwards  blown  up  by  the  enemy. 
Disappointed  in  some  measure  in  this, 
he  next  determined  to  penetrate  to 
Washington,  which  he  effected  with 
little  loss,  after  routing  a  considerable 
body  of  the  enemy  at  Bladensburgh. 
The  following  account  of  the  entry  of 
the  British  army  into  Washington,  will 
shew  the  treacherous  character  of  the 
enemy  with  whom  we  had  to  deal : — 

"  Such  being  the  intention  of  freneral 
Ross,  he  did  not  march  the  troops  imme- 
diately into  the  city,  but  halted  them  upon 


182  Cantpiiifft.i  of  the  Itritliifi 

a  plain  in  its  immediate  vicinity,  whilst  a 
flag  of  truce  was  sent  in  with  terms.  But 
whatever  his  proposal  might  have  been,  it 
w.is  not  so  much  as  heard  ;  for  scarcely  had 
the  party  bearing  the  flag  entered  the  street, 
than  they  were  fired  upon  from  the  windows 
of  one  of  the  houses,  and  the  horse  of  the 
General  himself,  who  accompanied  them, 
was  killed.  You  will  easily  believe,  that 
conduct  so  unjustifiable,  so  direct  a  breach 
of  the  law  of  nations,  roused  the  indigna- 
tion of  every  individual,  from  the  General 
himself  down  to  the  private  soldier.  All 
thoughts  of  accommodation  were  instantly 
laid  aside  ;  the  troops  advanced  forthwith 
into  the  town,  and,  having  first  put  to  the 
sword  all  who  were  found  in  the  house  from 
which  the  shots  were  fired,  and  reduced  it 
to  ashes, 'they  proceeded,  without  a  mo- 
ment's delay,  to  burn  and  destroy  every 
tiling  in  the  most  distant  degree  connected 
with  government.  In  this  general  devasta- 
tion were  included  the  Senate-house,  the 
President's  palace,  an  extensive  dock-yard 
and  arsenal,  barracks  for  two  or  three 
thousand  men,  several  large  store-houses 
filled  with  naval  and  military  stores,  some 
hundreds  of  cannon  of  different  descriptions, 
and  nearly  twenty  thousand  stand  of  small 
arms.  There  were  also  two  or  three  pub- 
lic rope  works  which  shared  the  same  fate, 
a  fine  frigate  pierced  for  sixty  guns,  and 
just  ready  to  be  launched,  several  gun- 
brigs  and  armed  schooners,  with  a  variety 
of  gun-boats  and  small  craft.  The  powder 
magazines  were  of  course  set  on  fire,  and 
exploded  with  a  tremendous  crash,  throw- 
ing down  many  houses  in  their  vicinity, 
partly  by  pieces  of  the  walls  striking  them, 
and  partly  by  the  concussion  of  the  air ; 
whilst  quantities  of  shot,  shell,  and  hand- 
grenades,  which  could  not  otherwise  be 
rendered  useless,  were  thrown  into  the  ri- 
ver. In  destroying  the  cannon,  a  method 
was  adopted,  which  I  had  never  before 
witnessed,  and  which,  as  it  was  both  effec- 
tual and  expeditious,  I  cannot  avoid  rela- 
ting. One  gun,  of  rather  a  small  calibre, 
was  pitched  upon  as  the  executioner  of  the 
rrst,  and  being  loaded  with  ball,  and  turn- 
ed to  the  muzzles  of  the  others,  it  was  fired, 
and  thus  beat  out  their  brecchings.  Many, 
however,  not  being  mounted,  could  not  be 
thus  dealt  with  ;  these  were  spiked,  and 
having  their  trunnions  knocked  off,  were  af- 
terwards cast  into  the  bed  of  the  river. 

"  All  this  was  as  it  should  be,  and  had 
the  arm  of  vengeance  been  extended  no 
farther,  there  would  not  have  been  room 
given  for  so  much  as  a  whisper  of  disappro- 
bation. But,  unfortunately,  it  did  not  stop 
here  ;  a  noble  library,  several  printing-of- 
fices, and  all  the  national  archives  were 
likewise  committed  to  the  flames,  which, 
though  no  doubt  the  property  of  govern- 
ment, might  better  have  been  spared.  It  is 
not,  however,  my  intention  to  join  the  out- 
cry, which  will  probably  be  raised,  against 


Army  at  Washington,  $c.  CMay, 

what  t'ley  will  term  a  line  of  conduct  at 
once  barbarous  and  unprofitable.  Far  from 
it ;  on  the  contrary,  I  cannot  help  admiring 
the  forbearance  and  humanity  of  the  Bri- 
tish troops,  since,  irritated  as  they  had  eve- 
ry right  to  be,  they  spared  as  far  as  was  pos- 
sible, all  private  property,  not  a  single  house 
in  the  place  being  plundered  or  destroyed, 
except  that  from  which  the  general's  horse 
had  been  killed,  and  those  which  were  ac- 
cidentally thrown  down  by  the  explosion  of 
the  magazines. 

"  While  the  third  brigade  was  thus  em- 
ployed, the  rest  of  the  army,  having  recal- 
led its  stragglers,  and  removed  the  wounded 
into  Bladensburg,  began  its  march  tc wards 
Washington.  Though  the  battle  was  end- 
ed by  four  o'clock,  the  sun  had  set  be- 
fore the  different  regiments  were  in  a  con- 
dition to  move,  consequently  this  short 
journey  was  performed  in  the  dark.  The 
work  of  destruction  had  also  begun  in  the 
city,  before  they  quitted  their  ground  ;  and 
the  blazing  of  houses,  ships,  and  stores, 
the  report  of  exploding  magazines,  and  the 
crash  of  falling  roofs,  informed  them  as 
they  proceeded,  of  what  was  going  forward. 
You  can  conceive  nothing  finer  than  the 
sight  which  met  them  as  they  drew  near  to 
the  town.  The  sky  was  brilliantly  illumin- 
ed by  the  different  conflagrations ;  and  a 
dark  red  light  was  thrown  upon  the  road, 
sufficient  to  permit  each  man  to  view  dis- 
tinctly his  comrade's  face.  Except  the 
burning  of  St  Sebastian's,  I  no  not  recol- 
lect to  have  witnessed,  at  any  period  of  my 
life,  a  scene  more  striking  or  more  su- 
blime. 

u  Having  advanced  as  far  as  the  plain, 
where  the  reserve  had  previously  paused, 
the  first  and  second  brigades  halted ;  and, 
forming  into  close  column,  passed  the 
night  in  bivouack.  At  first,  this  was  agree- 
able enough,  because  the  air  was  mild,  and 
weariness  made  up  for  what  was  wanting 
in  comfort.  But,  towards  morning,  a  vio- 
lent storm  of  rain,  accompanied  with  thun- 
der and  lightning,  came  on,  which  disturb- 
ed the  rest  of  all  those  who  were  exposed 
to  it.  Yet,  in  spite  of  the  disagreeableness 
of  getting  wet,  I  cannot  say  that  I  felt  dis- 
posed to  grumble  at  the  interruption,  for  it 
appeared  that  what  I  had  before  consider- 
ed as  superlatively  sublime,  still  wanted 
this  to  render  it  complete.  The  flashes  of 
lightning  seemed  to  vie  in  brilliancy  with 
the  flames  which  burst  from  the  roofs  of 
burning  houses,  while  the  thunder  drown- 
ed the  noise  of  crumbling  walls,  and  was 
only  interrupted  by  the  occasional  roar  of 
cannon,  and  of  large  depots  of  gunpowder, 
as  they  one  by  one  exploded. 

"  I  need  scarcely  observe,  that  the  con- 
sternation of  the  inhabitants  was  complete, 
and  that  to  them  this  was  a  night  of  terror. 
So  confident  had  they  been  of  the  success 
of  their  troops,  that  few  of  them  had 
dreamt  of  quitting  their  houses,  or  ahan- 
19 


I821.J 


Campaigns  of  the  British  Army  at  Washington, 


doning  the  city  ;  nor  was  it  till  the  fugi- 
tives from  the  battle  began  to  rush  in,  fill- 
ing every  place  as  they  came  with  dismay, 
that  the  President  himself  thought  of  pro- 
viding for  his  safety.     That  gentleman,  as 
I  was  credibly  informed,  had  gone  forth  in 
the  morning  with  the  army,  and  had  conti- 
nued among  his  troops  till  the  British  for- 
ces began  to  make  their  appearance.  Whe- 
ther the  sight  of  his  enemies  cooled  his  cou- 
rage or  not,  I  cannot  say,  but,  according 
to  my  informer,  no  sooner  was  the  glittering 
of  our  amis  discernible,  than  he  began  to 
discover  that  his  presence  was  more  wanted 
in  the  senate  than  with  the  army ;  and  ha- 
ving ridden  through  the  ranks,  and  exhort- 
ed every  man  to  do  his  duty,  hehurried  back 
to  his  own  house,  that  he  might  prepare  a 
feast  for  the  entertainment  of  his  officers, 
when  they  should  return  victorious.     For 
the  truth  of  these  details  I  will  not  be  an- 
swerable ;  but  this  much  I  know,  that  the 
feast  was  actually  prepared,  though,  instead 
of  being  devoured  by  American  officers,  it 
went  to  satisfy  the  less  delicate  appetites  of  a 
party  of  English  soldiers.     When  the  de- 
tachment, sent  out  to  destroy  Mr  Maddi- 
son's   house,   entered  his  dining-parlour, 
they  found  a  dinner-table  spread,  and  co- 
vers laid  for  forty  guests.    Several  kinds  of 
wine,    in    handsome    cut-glass    decanters, 
were  cooling  on  the  side-board ;  plate-hold- 
ers stood  by  the  fire-place,  filled  with  dishes 
and  plates  ;  knives,  forks,  and  spoons,  were 
arranged  for  immediate  use  ;  in  short,  eve- 
ry thing  was  ready  for  the  entertainment  of 
a  ceremonious  party.     Such  were  the  ar- 
rangements in  the  dining-room,  whilst  in 
the  kitchen  were  others  answerable  to  them 
in  every  respect.    Spits,  loaded  with  joints 
of  various  sorts,  turned  before  the  fire ;  pots, 
saucepans,    and   other    culinary   utensils, 
stood  upon  the  grate  ;    and  all  the  other 
requisites  for  an  elegant  and  substantial  re- 
past, were  exactly  in  a  state  which  indica- 
ted that  they  had  been  lately  and  precipi- 
tately abandoned. 

"  You  will  readily  imagine,  that  these 
preparations  were  beheld  by  a  party  of  hun- 
gry soldiers,  with  no  indifferent  eye.  An 
elegant  dinner,  even  though  considerably 
over-dressed,  was  a  luxury  to  which  few  of 
them,  at  least  for  some  time  back,  had  been 
accustomed  ;  and  which,  after  the  dangers 
and  fatigues  of  the  day,  appeared  peculiar- 
ly inviting.  They  sat  down  to  it,  therefore, 
not  indeed  in  the  most  orderly  manner,  but 
with  countenances  which  would  not  have 
disgraced  a  party  of  aldermen  at  a  civic 
feast ;  and,  having  satisfied  their  appetites 
with  fewer  complaints  than  would  have  pro- 
bably escaped  their  rival  gourmands,  and 
partaken  pretty  freely  of  the  wines,  they 
finished  by  setting  fire  to  the  house  which 
had  so  liberally  entertained  them. 

"  But,  as  I  have  just  observed,  this  was 
a  night  of  dismay  to  the  inhabitants  of 
VOL,  IX. 


183 

Washington.  They  were  taken  complete- 
ly by  surprise  ;  nor  could  the  arrival  of  the 
flood  be  more  unexpected  to  the  natives  of 
the  antediluvian  world,  than  the  arrival  of 
the  British  army  to  them.  The  first  im- 
pulse, of  course,  tempted  them  to  fly,  and 
the  streets  were,  in  consequence,  crowded 
with  soldiers  and  senators,  men,  women, 
and  children,  horses,  carriages,  and  carts 
loaded  with  household  furniture,  all  hasten, 
ing  towards  a  wooden  bridge  which  crosses 
the  Potomack.  The  confusion  thus  occa- 
sioned was  terrible,  and  the  crowd  upon  the 
bridge  was  such  as  to  endanger  its  giving 
way.  But  Mr  Maddison,  having  escaped 
among  the  first,  was  no  sooner  safe  on  the 
opposite  bank  of  the  river,  than  he  gave  or- 
ders that  the  bridge  should  be  broken  down, 
which  being  obeyed,  the  rest  were  obliged 
to  return,  and  to  trust  to  the  clemency  of 
the  victors. 

"  In  this  manner  was  the  night  passed 
by  both  parties ;  and  at  day-break,  next 
morning,  the  light  brigade  moved  into  the 
city,  while  the  reserve  fell  back  to  a  height, 
about  half  a  mile  in  the  rear.  Little,  how- 
ever, now  remained  to  be  done,  because 
every  thing  marked  out  for  destruction  was 
already  consumed.  Of  the  Senate-house, 
the  President's  palace,  the  barracks,  the 
dock-yard  &c.  nothing  could  be  seen  except 
heaps  of  smoaking  ruins  ;  and  even  the 
bridge,  a  noble  structure,  upwards  of  a 
mile  in  length,  was  almost  wholly  demo- 
lished. There  was,  therefore,  no  further 
occasion  to  scatter  the  troops,  and  they  were 
accordingly  kept  together  as  much  as  pos- 
sible on  the  Capitol  hill." 

Having  destroyed  the  public  build- 
ings and  stores  in  Washington,  the 
army  then  proceeded  to  Baltimore, 
where  their  operations  were  not  quite 
so  successful.  General  Ross  was  kill- 
ed by  a  shot  from  a  rifleman  in  a  tri- 
fling skirmish,  and  having  defeated  the 
American  army  after  a  pretty  smart 
engagement,  our  force  was  obliged  to 
retire,  in  consequence  of  an  intimation 
from  the  admiral,  that  the  river  was 
too  shallow  to  admit  of  the  co-opera- 
tion of  the  fleet.  The  following  is  the 
account  of  the  melancholy  fate  of  Ge- 
neral Ross,  an  officer  as  much  respect- 
ed, and  of  as  great  promise,  as  any  in 
the  British  army. 

"  Having  rested  for  the  space  of  an  hour, 
we  again  moved  forward,  but  had  not  pro- 
ceeded above  a  mile,  when  a  sharp  fire  of 
musketry  was  heard  in  front,  and  shortly 
afterwards  a  mounted  officer  came  galloping 
to  the  rear,  who  desired  us  to  quicken  our 
pace,  for  that  the  advanced  guard  was  en- 
gaged. At  this  intelligence  the  ranks  were 
closed,  and  the  troops  advanced  at  a  brisk 
rate,  and  in  profound  silence.  The  firing 


184 


Campaigns  of  the  British  Army  at  Washington, 


still  continued,  though,  from  its  running 
and  irregular  sound,  it  promised  little  else 
than  a  skirmish  ;  but  whether  it  was  kept 
up  by  detached  parties  alone,  or  by  the 
out-posts  of  a  regular  army,  we  could  not 
tell ;  because,  from  the  quantity  of  wood 
with  which  the  country  abounds,  and  the 
total  absence  of  all  hills  and  eminences,  it 
was  impossible  to  discern  what  was  going 
on  at  the  distance  of  half  a  mile  from  where 
we  stood. 

"  We  were  now  drawing  near  the  scene 
of  action,  when  another  officer  came  at  full 
speed  towards  us,  with  horror  and  dismay 
in  his  countenance,  and  called  aloud  for  a 
surgeon.  Every  man  felt  within  himself 
that  all  was  not  right,  though  none  was 
willing  to  believe  the  whispers  of  his  own 
terror.  But  what  at  first  we  could  not 
guess  at,  because  we  dreaded  it  so  much, 
was  soon  realized,  for  the  aide-de-camp  had 
scarcely  passed,  when  the  general's  horse, 
without  its  rider,  and  with  the  saddle  and 
housings  stained  with  blood,  came  plun- 
ging onwards.  Nor  was  much  time  given 
for  fearful  surmise,  as  to  the  extent  of  our 
misfortune.  In  a  few  moments  we  reached 
the  ground  where  the  skirmishing  had  ta  • 
ken  place,  and  beheld  poor  Ross  laid,  by 
the  side  of  the  road,  under  a  canopy  of 
blankets,  and  apparently  in  the  agonies  of 
death.  As  soon  as  the  firing  began,  he  had 
ridden  to  the  front,  that  he  might  ascertain 
from  whence  it  originated,  and,  mingling 
with  the  skirmishers,  was  shot  in  the  side 
by  a  rifleman.  The  wound  was  mortal ;  he 
fell  in  the  arms  of  his  aide-de-camp,  and 
lived  only  long  enough  to  name  his  wife, 
and  to  commend  his  family  to  the  protec- 
tion of  his  country.  He  was  removed  to- 
wards the  fleet,  but  expired  before  his 
bearers  could  reach  the  boats." 

Our  forces  once  more  reimbarked, 
and  repaired  to  Jamaica,  which  was 
appointed  as  a  general  rendezvous  for 
a  much  larger  army,  intended  for  the 
attack  of  New  Orleans.  But  before  ac- 
companying them  to  their  destination, 
we  must  lay  before  our  readers  an  ac- 
count of  the  imminent  danger  to  which 
our  author  was  exposed,  and  from 
which  he  appears  to  have  extricated 
himself  with  singular  presence  of  mind. 

"  Tempted  by  this  show  of  quietness,  I 
one  day  continued  my  walk  to  a  greater 
distance  from  the  fleet  than  I  had  yet  ven- 
tured to  do.  My  servant  was  with  me,  but 
had  no  arms,  and  I  was  armed  only  with  a 
double-barrelled  fowling-piece.  Having 
wearied  myself  with  looking  for  game,  and 
penetrated  beyond  my  former  land-mark,  I 
came  suddenly  upon  a  small  hamlet,  occu- 
pying a  piece  of  cleared  ground  in  the  very 
heart  of  a  thick  wood.  \Vith  this,  to  con- 
fess the  truth,  I  was  by  no  means  delight- 
ed, more  especially  as  I  perceived  two  stout- 
looking  men  sitting  at  the  door  of  one  of  the 


cottages.  To  retire,  unobserved,  was,  how- 
ever, impossible,  because  the  rustling  which 
I  hadmadeamong  the  trees  drew  their  atten- 
tion, and  they  saw  me,  probably,  before  I 
had  seen  them.  Perceiving  that  their  eyes 
were  fixed  on  me,  I  determined  to  put  a 
bold  face  on  the  matter,  and  calling  aloud, 
as  if  for  a  party  to  halt,  I  advanced,  with 
my  servant,  towards  them.  They  were 
dressed  in  sailors'  jackets  and  trousers,  and 
rose  on  my  approach,  taking  off  their  hats 
with  much  civility.  On  joining  them,  I 
demanded  whether  they  were  not  English- 
men, and  deserters  from  the  fleet,  stating 
that  I  was  in  search  of  two  persons  very 
much  answering  their  description.  They 
assured  me  that  they  were  Americans,  and 
no  deserters,  begging  that  I  would  not  take 
them  away  ;  a  request  to  which,  after  some 
time,  I  assented.  They  then  conducted  me 
into  the  house,  where  I  found  an  old  man 
and  three  women,  who  entertained  me  with 
bread,  cheese,  and  new  milk.  While  I 
was  sitting  there,  a  third  youth,  in  the 
dress  of  a  labourer,  entered,  and  whispered 
to  one  of  the  sailors,  who  immediately  rose 
to  go  out,  but  I  commanded  him  to  sit 
still,  declaring  that  I  was  not  satisfied,  and 
should  certainly  arrest  him  if  he  attempted 
to  escape.  The  man  sat  down  sulkily,  and 
the  young  labourer  coming  forward,  begged 
permission  to  examine  my  gun.  This  was 
a  request  which  I  did  not  much  relish,  and 
with  which  I,  of  course,  refused  to  comply, 
telling  the  fellow  that  it  was  loaded,  and 
that  I  was  unwilling  to  trust  it  out  of  my 
own  hand,  on  account  of  a  weakness  in  one 
of  the  locks. 

"  I  had  now  kept  up  appearances  as  long 
as  they  could  be  kept  up,  and,  therefore, 
rose  to  withdraw ;  a  measure  to  which  I 
was  additionally  induced  by  the  appearance 
of  two  other  countrymen  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  hamlet.  I 'therefore  told  the  sail- 
ors that  if  they  would  pledge  themselves  to 
remain  quietly  at  home,  without  joining 
the  American  army,  I  would  not  molest 
them  ;  warning  them,  at  the  same  time, 
not  to  venture  beyond  the  village,  lest  they 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  other  parties, 
who  were  also  in  search  of  deserters.  The 
promise  they  gave,  but  not  with  much  ala- 
crity, when  I  rose,  and  keeping  my  eye 
fixed  upon  them,  and  my  gun  ready  cock- 
ed in  my  hand,  walked  out,  followed  by 
my  servant.  They  conducted  us  to  the 
door,  and  stood  staring  after  us  till  we  got 
to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  when  I  observed 
them  moving  towards  their  countrymen, 
who  also  gazed  upon  us  without  either  ad- 
vancing or  flying.  You  will  readily  be- 
lieve, that  as  soon  as  we  found  ourselves 
concealed  by  the  trees,  we  lost  no  time  in 
endeavouring  to  discover  the  direct  way  to- 
wards the  shipping,  but,  plunging  into  the 
thickets,  ran  with  all  speed,  without  think- 
ing of  aught  except  an  immediate  escape 
from  pursuit.  Whether  the  Americans  did 


1821.3 


Campaigns  of  the  British  Army  at  Washington, 


attempt  to  follow,  or  not,  I  cannot  tell.  If 
they  did,  they  took  a  wrong  direction,  for,  in 
something  more  than  an  hour  I  found  my- 
self at  the  edge  of  the  river,  a  little  way 
above  the  shipping,  and  returned  safely  on 
board,  fully  resolved  not  again  to  expose 
myself  to  such  risks,  without  necessity." 

The  command  of  the  army  was  now 
assumed  by  General  Keane,  a  very  ac- 
tive and  spirited  officer,  who  was  after- 
wards superseded  by  the  arrival  of  Sir 
Edward  Packenham.  Of  the  melan- 
choly fate  of  this  officer  it  is  impossible 
to  speak  without  sorrow.  He  was.,  per- 
haps, the  man  of  all  others  to  whom 
the  army  looked  up  with  confidence 
and  hope.  Adorned  with  every  quality 
to  excite  esteem  and  admiration,  in  the 
prime  of  manhood,  and  with  a  long 
career  of  glory  apparently  open  before 
him, he  was  snatched  in  a  moment  from 
our  wishes  and  our  hopes,  in  an  un- 
dertaking to  the  accomplishment  of 
which  his  means  were  decidedly  ina- 
dequate. Had  General  Packenham, 
however,  met  with  that  honourable 
support  which  he  was  entitled  to  ex- 
pect from  every  portion  of  his  army, 
much  might  have  been  done  from  his 
pre-eminent  military  skill,  and  fertili- 
ty of  resource.  But  we  regret  to  state 
that  the  following  extract  proves  that 
he  did  not  in  all  his  officers  discover 
that  courage  and  promptitude  by  which 
British  soldiers  are  in  general  distin- 
guished. 

"  The  canal,  as  I  have  stated,  being  fi- 
nished on  the  (Jth,  it  was  resolved  to  lose  no 
time  in  making  use  of  it.  Boats  were  ac- 
cordingly ordered  up  for  the  transportation 
of  1400  men  ;  and  Colonel  Thornton  with 
the  8;">th  regiment,  the  marines,  and  a  party 
of  sailors,  were  appointed  to  cross  the  river. 
But  a  number  of  untoward  accidents  oc- 
curred, to  spoil  a  plan  of  operations  as  ac- 
curately laid  down  as  any  in  the  course  of 
the  war.  The  soil  through  which  the  canal 
was  dug,  being  soft,  parts  of  the  bank  gave 
•way,  and,  choking  up  the  channel,  pre- 
vented the  heaviest  of  the  boats  from  get- 
ting forward.  These  again  blocked  up  the 
passage,  so  that  none  of  those  which  were 
behind  could  proceed,  and  thus,  instead  of 
a  flotilla  for  the  accommodation  of  1400 
men,  only  a  number  of  boats  sufficient  to 
contain  350  was  enabled  to  reach  their  des- 
tination. Even  these  did  not  arrive  at  the 
time  appointed.  According  to  the  precon- 
certed plan,  Colonel  Thornton's  detachment 
was  to  cross  the  river  immediately  after  it 
was  dark.  They  were  to  push  forward,  so 
as  to  carry  all  the  batteries,  and  point  the 
guns  before  daylight,  when,  on  the  throwing 
up  of  a  rocket,  they  were  to  commence  fi- 
ring upon  the  enemy's,  lin?,  which,  at  the 


185 

same  moment  was  to  be  attacked  by  the 
main  of  our  army. 

"  In  this  manner  was  one  part  of  the 
force  to  act,  while  the  rest  were  thus  ap- 
pointed. Dividing  his  troops  into  three  co- 
lumns, Sir  Edward  directed  that  General 
Keane,  at  the  head  of  the  95th,  the  light 
companies  of  the  21st,  4th,  and  44th,  toge- 
ther with  the  two  black  corps,  should  make 
a  demonstration,  or  sham  attack,  upon  the 
right ;  that  General  Gibbs,  with  the  4th, 
21st,  44th,  and  i)3d,  should  force  the  ene- 
my's left,  while  General  Lambert,  with  the 
7th,  and  43d,  remained  in  reserve,  ready 
to  act  as  circumstances  might  require.  But 
in  storming  an  entrenched  position,  some- 
thing more  than  bare  courage  is  required. 
Scaling-ladders  and  fascines  had,  therefore, 
been  prepared,  with  which  to  fill  up  the 
ditch  and  mount  the  wall ;  and,  since  to 
carry  these  was  a  service  of  danger,  requi- 
ring a  corps  well  worthy  of  dependence,  the 
44th  was  for  that  purpose  selected,  as  a  re- 
giment of  sufficient  numerical  strength, 
and  already  accustomed  to  American  war- 
fare. Thus  were  all  things  arranged  on 
the  night  of  the  7th,  for  the  15th  was  fixed 
upon  as  the  day  decisive  of  the  fate  of  New 
Orleans. 

"  While  the  rest  of  the  army,  therefore, 
lay  down  to  sleep  till  they  should  be  roused 
upto  fight,  Colonel  Thorn  ton,  with  the  J55th, 
and  a  corps  of  marines  and  seamen,  amount- 
ing in  all  to  1400  men,  moved  down  to  the 
brink  of  the  river.  As  yet,  however,  no 
boats  had  arrived  ;  hour  after  hour  elapsed 
before  they  came :  and  when  they  did  come, 
the  misfortunes  which  I  have  stated  above 
were  discovered,  for  out  of  all  that  had  been 
ordered  up,  only  a  few  made  their  appear- 
ance. Still  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that 
this  part  of  the  plan  should  be  carried  into 
execution.  Dismissing,  therefore,  the  rest 
of  his  followers,  the  Colonel  put  himself  at 
the  head  of  his  own  regiment,  about  fifty 
seamen,  and  as  many  marines,  and  with 
this  small  force,  consisting  of  no  more  than 
340  men,  pushed  off.  But,  unfortunately, 
the  loss  of  time  nothing  could  repair.  In- 
stead of  reaching  the  opposite  bank,  at 
latest  by  midnight,  dawn  was  beginning  to 
appear  before  the  boats  quitted  the  canal. 
It  was  in  vain  that  they  rowed  on  in  per- 
fect silence,  and  with  oars  muffled,  gaining 
the  point  of  debarkation  without  being  per- 
ceived. It  was  in  vain  that  they  made  good 
their  landing,  and  formed  upon  the  beach, 
without  opposition  or  alarm  ;  day  had  al- 
ready broke,  and  the  signal  rocket  was  seen 
in  the  air,  while  they  were  yet  four  miles 
from  the  batteries,  which  ought  hours  ago 
to  have  been  taken. 

"  In  the  mean  time  the  main  body 
armed,  and  moved  forward  some  way  in 
front  of  the  piquets.  There  they  stood 
waiting  for  day-light,  and  listening  witli 
the  greatest  anxiety  for  the  liiir.g  which 
ought  now  to  be  heard  on  the  opposite 


Campaigns  of  the  British  Army  at  Washington,  6$c.  £May, 


186 

bank.  But  this  attention  was  exerted  in 
vain,  and  day  dawned  upon  them  long  be- 
fore they  desired  its  appearance.  Nor  was 
Sir  Edward  Packenham  disappointed  in 
this  part  of  his  plan  alone.  Instead  of 
perceiving  every  thing  in  readiness  for  the 
assault,  he  saw  his  troops  in  battle  array, 
indeed,  but  not  a  ladder  or  fascine  upon  the 
field.  The  44th,  which  was  appointed  to 
carry  them,  had  either  misunderstood  or 
neglected  their  orders  ;  and  now  headed 
the  column  of  attack,  without  any  means 
being  provided  for  crossing  the  enemy's 
ditch,  or  scaling  his  rampart. 

"  The  indignation  of  poor  Packenham 
on  this  occasion  may  be  imagined,  but  can- 
not be  described.  Galloping  towards  Co- 
lonel Mullens,  who  led  the  44th,  he  com- 
manded him  instantly  to  return  with  his 
regiment  for  the  ladders ;  but  the  opportu- 
nity of  planting  them  was  lost,  and  though 
they  were  brought  up,  it  was  only  to  be 
scattered  over  the  field  by  the  frightened 
bearers.  For  our  troops  were  by  this  time 
visible  to  the  enemy.  A  dreadful  fire  was 
accordingly  opened  upon  them,  and  they 
were  mowed  down  by  hundreds  while  they 
stood  waiting  for  orders. 

"  Seing  that  all  his  well-laid  plans  were 
frustrated,  Packenham  gave  the  word  to  ad- 
vance, and  the  other  regiments,  leaving  the 
44th,  with  the  ladders  and  fascines  behind 
them,  rushed  on  to  the  assault.  On  the 
left,  a  detachment  of  the  96th,  21st,  and 
4th,  stormed  a  three-gun  battery  and  took 
it.  Here  they  remained  for  some  time  in 
the  expectation  of  support ;  but  none  arri- 
ving, and  a  strong  column  of  the  enemy 
forming  for  its  recovery,  they  determined 
to  anticipate  the  attack,  and  pushed  on. 
The  battery  which  they  had  taken  was  in 
advance  of  the  body  of  the  works,  being 
cut  off"  from  it  by  a  ditch,  across  which  on- 
ly  a  single  plank  was  thrown.  Along  this 
plank  did  these  brave  men  attempt  to  pass, 
but  being  opposed  by  overpowering  num- 
bers, they  were  repulsed,  and  the  Ameri- 
cans, in  turn,  forcing  their  way  into  the  bat- 
tery, at  length  succeeded  in  recapturing  it, 
with  immense  slaughter.  On  the  right, 
again,  the  21st  and  4th  being  almost  cut  to 
pieces,  and  thrown  into  some  confusion  by 
the  enemy's  fire,  the  93d  pushed  on  and 
took  the  lead.  Hastening  forward,  our 
troops  soon  reached  the  ditch ;  but  to  scale 
the  parapet  without  ladders  was  impossi- 
ble. Some  few,  indeed,  by  mounting  upon 
one  another's  shoulders,  succeeded  in  enter- 
Ing  the  works,  but  these  were  instantly 
overpowered,  most  of  them  killed,  and  the 
Test  taken  ;  while  as  many  as  stood  without 
were  exposed  to  a  sweeping  fire,  which  cut 
them  down  by  whole  companies.  It  was  in 
vain  that  the  most  obstinate  courage  was 
displayed.  They  fell  by  the  hands  of  men 
whom  they  absolutely  did  not  see ;  for  the 
Americans,  without  so  much  as  lifting  their 
f»ces  above  the  rampart,  swung  their  fire- 


locks  by  one  arm  over  the  wall,  and  dis- 
charged them  directly  upon  their  heads. 
The  whole  of  the  guns,  likewise,  from  the 
opposite  bank,  kept  up  a  well  directed  and 
deadly  cannonade  upon  their  flank,  and 
thus  were  they  destroyed  without  an  oppor- 
tunity being  given  of  displaying  their  va- 
lour, or  obtaining  so  much  as  revenge. 

"  Poor  Packenham  saw  how  things  were 
going,  and  did  all  that  a  general  could  do 
to  rally  his  broken  troops.  Riding  towards 
the  44th  which  had  returned  to  the  ground, 
hut  in  great  disorder,  he  called  out  for  Co- 
lonel Mullens  to  advance  ;  but  that  officer 
had  disappeared,  and  was  not  to  be  found. 
He,  therefore,  prepared  to  lead  them  on 
himself,  and  had  put  himself  at  their  head 
for  that  purpose,  when  he  received  a  slight 
wound  in  the  knee  from  a  musket  ball, 
which  killed  his  horse.  Mounting  another, 
he  again  headed  the  44th,  when  a  second 
ball  took  effect  more  fatally,  and  he  drop- 
ted  lifeless  into  the  arms  of  his  aide-de- 
camp. 

"Nor  were  Generals  Gibbs  and  Keane 
inactive.  Riding  through  the  ranks,  they 
strove  by  all  means  to  encourage  the  assail- 
ants and  recal  the  fugitives,  till,  at  length, 
both  were  wounded,  and  borne  off  the 
field.  All  was  now  confusion  and  dismay. 
Without  leaders,  and  ignorant  of  what  was 
to  be  done,  the  troops  first  halted,  and  then 
began  to  retire  ;  till  finally  the  retreat  was 
changed  into  a  flight,  and  they  quitted  the 
ground  in  the  utmost  disorder.  But  the 
retreat  was  covered  in  gallant  style  by  the 
reserve.  3Iaking  a  forward  motion,  the  7th 
and  43d  presented  the  appearance  of  a  re- 
newed attack,  by  which  the  enemy  were  so 
much  awed,  that  they  did  not  venture  be- 
yond their  lines  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives. 

"  While  affairs  were  thus  disastrously 
conducted  in  this  quarter,  the  party  under 
Colonel  Thornton  had  gained  the  landing- 
place.  On  stepping  ashore,  the  first  thing 
they  beheld  was  a  rocket  thrown  up  as  a 
signal  that  the  battle  was  begun.  This  un- 
welcome sight  added  wings  to  their  speed. 
Forming  in  one  little  column,  and  pushing 
forward  a  single  company  as  an  advance 
guard,  they  hastened  on,  and  in  half  an  hour 
reached  a  canal,  along  the  opposite  brink 
of  which  a  detachment  of  Americans  was 
drawn  up.  To  dislodge  them  was  the 
work  of  a  moment  ;  a  boat  with  a  carron- 
ade  in  her  bow,  got  upon  their  flank,  gave 
them  a  single  discharge  of  grape,  while  the 
advance  guard  extended  its  ranks,  and  ap- 
proached at  double  quick  time.  But  they 
scarcely  waited  till  the  latter  were  within 
range,  when,  firing  a  volley,  they  fled  in 
confusion.  This,  however,  was  only  an 
outpost.  The  main  body  was  some  way  in 
the  rear,  and  amounted  to  no  fewer  than 
1500  men. 

"  It  was  not  long,  however,  before  they 
likewise  presented  themselves.  Like  their 
countrymen  on  the  other  side,  they  were 


1821-3             Campaigns  of  the  British  Army  at  Washington,  fyc.                 187 

strongly  entrenched,  a  thick  parapet,  with  the  85th  dashing  forward  to  their  aid,  they 
a  ditch,  covering  their  front,  while  a  battery  received  a  heavy  fire  of  musketry,  and  en- 
upon  their  left  swept  the  whole  position,  deavoured  to  charge.  A  smart  firing  was 
and  two  field-pieces  commanded  the  road,  now  for  a  few  minutes  kept  up  on  both 
Of  artillery,  the  assailants  possessed  not  a  sides,  but  our  people  had  no  time  to  waste 
single  piece,  nor  any  means,  beyond  what  in  distant  fighting,  and,  accordingly,  hur- 
nature  gave,  of  scaling  the  rampart.  Yet,  ried  on  to  storm  the  works,  upon  which,  a 
nothing  daunted  by  the  obstacles  before  panic  seized  the  Americans,  they  lost  their 
them,  or  by  the  immense  odds  to  which  order,  and  fled,  leaving  us  in  possession  of 
they  were  opposed,  dispositions  for  an  im-  their  tents,  and  of  eighteen  pieces  of  can- 
mediate  attack  were  made.  The  85th,  ex-  non." 

tending  its  files,  stretched  across  the  entire  We  shall  now  conclude.  The  ex- 
line  of  the  enemy,  the  sailors,  in  column,  tracts  we  have  given  are  of  themselves 
prepared  to  storm  the  battery,  while  the  fae  jjest  recommendation  of  the  work  ; 
marines  remained  some  little  way  in  rear  an(j  tllough  we  frequently  cannot  co- 
of  the  centre  as  a  reserve.  •  rfd  in  the  inilitary  opinions  which 
"These  arrangements  being  completed,  h  fc  .  h  too  fond  of  pro- 
our  bugle  sounded,  and  our  troops  advan-  »««•»"  r- 
ced.  The  sailors,  raising  a  shout,  rushed  "negating,  yet  we  can  safely  say,  that 
forward,  but  were  met  by  so  heavy  a  dis-  «»  literary  talent  and  amusing  detail, 
charge  of  grape  and  cannister,  that  for  an  this  volume  appears  to  us  very  supc- 
instant  they  paused.  Recovering  them-  rior  to  any  thing  of  the  kind  that  has 
selves,  however,  they  again  pushed  on,  and  lately  issued  from  the  press. 


THE    LEAFLESS    TREE. 

THE  silver  moon  careers  a  sky, 
Whose  breast  is  bright  as  beauty's  eye  ; 
Though  somewhat  of  a  paler  hue ; 
Though  somewhat  of  a  milder  blue ; 
While  sweeps  around  me,  far  and  fast, 
With  icy  breath,  the  brumal  blast ; 
And  lands  and  lakes  are  whitely  lost 
In  glistening  snow,  and  sparkling  frost. 

When  last  thy  trunk  by  me  was  seen, 
The  bloom  was  white,  the  leaf  was  green ; 
The  air  was  stirless,  and  the  sun 
His  summer  circuit  had  begun ; 
While  throng'd  about  the  flowers,  and  thee, 
The  singing  bird,  and  humming  bee ; 
And  'neath  thy  boughs  the  cattle  stray 'd, 
For  sunshine  could  not  pierce  thy  shade. 
The  playful  foals  were  gather 'd  there, 
And  breath'd  in  haste  the  shaded  air ; 
Startled  at  every  murmur  bye, 
With  rising  ears,  and  kindling  eye, 
Paw'd  wantonly  their  clayey  shed, 
And  toss'd  the  forelock  o  er  the  head. — 
Now,  birds,  and'bees,  and  cattle,  gone, 
Upon  the  waste  thou  stand'st  alone, 
Beside  thee,  and  beneath  thee — none  ! 
The  fruitage  and  the  foliage  fled, 
Thy  naked  and  unshelter'd  head 
Uprears  its  straggling  boughs  on  high, 
To  greet  the  moonshine  and  the  sky. 

How  doth  thy  silence  speak,  and  show 
The  changeful  state  of  things  below ! — 
No  difference  may  the  eye  survey 
On  prospects,  ushered  day  by  day ; 


88  The  Leafless  Tree.  CMay» 

Yet,  when  long  years  have  pass'd  between, 
And  these  through  them  remain'd  unseen, 
Then — then,  the  pausing  mind,  awake, 
Beholds  the  change  that  seasons  make ; 
And  scans,  on  earth's  diurnal  sphere, 
The  wrecks  of  each  revolving  year ! 
Time  circuits  on  unjarring  wheels  ; 
Below  his  viewless  pencil  steals, 
And  traces  o'er  all  being  fall, 
Perceived  by  none,  and  felt  by  all. 

With  barren,  leafless  boughs,  lone  tree, 
Such  change  presentest  thou  to  me ; 
Thy  fading  leaf,  and  fleeting  span, 
Remind  me  of  the  fate  of  man  ! 
Speechless,  to  me  thou  seem'st  to  say, — 
"  All  mortal  things  like  me  decay, 
"  Partaking,  in  a  round  like  mine, 
(<  Their  spring,  their  summer,  and  decline  !" 

Where  Salem  in  her  glory  stood,  ^ 

The  seat  of  wisdom,  and  the  good, 

A  chaos  worse  than  solitude  ) 

Frowns  dark,  and  petty  Agas  sway 

The  realms  that  made  the  East  obey ! —  (1) 

Her  rose  is  wither 'd, — nought  is  hers 

But  flat  and  terraced  sepulchres,  (2) 

In  joyless  languor,  where  reside 

The  children  of  degraded  pride. 

Now  lawless  plunderers  overwhelm 

Assyria's  solitary  realm,  (3) 

And  issue  from  the  sheltering  rocks, 

To  reave  the  shepherd  of  his  flocks : — 

Yes !  where  Sennacherib  of  yore  (4.) 

The  potent  sceptre  sway'd,  and  bore 

His  multitudes  to  overthrow, 

And  lay  revolting  Judah  low ; 

Then  turn'd  his  eye,  and  stretch'd  his  hand, 

Towards  Ethiopia's  tawny  land, 

And  loosed  his  lions  from  the  yoke, 

While  Egypt  shudder 'd  at  the  shock  ; 

Now  power  hath  fled,  and  nought  remains 

But  yielding  slaves,  and  desert  plains  ! 

How  high  to  soar,  how  low  to  fall, 
Were  thine,  Chaldea's  capital ! 
Thy  flowery  gardens  hung  on  high —  (A) 
Thy  palaces,  that  charm'd  the  eye, 
With  frost-work  of  refulgent  gold  ; 
Thy  girding  walls  of  giant  mould 
Have  pass'd  away,  as  doth  the  wind, 
To  leave  not  even  a  trace  behind ; 
And  snakes — a  venom'd  brood — are  grown 
The  sovereigns  of  Babylon  ! 

Alone  the  camel'd  Arab  hastes 
Through  Tadmor's  proud,  and  pillar'd  wastes, 
'Tween  bowers  and  temples  overthrown, 
And  palaces  with  moss  o'ergrown  ; — 
He  gallops  through  the  echoing  streets, 
Where  nought  he  hears,  ar,d  none  he  meets  ; 


1821.3  The  Leafless  Tree.  189 

As  smiles  the  setting  sun  on  plains 
Where  not  a  worshipper  remains  !  (6) 

Once  Carthage  o'er  the  ocean  sway'd, 
But  Dido's  city  hath  decay'd  !  (?) 
Greece,  learning's  seat,  the  patriot's  home — (8) 
The  might  of  Egypt — Persia — Rome, — 
The  ancient  empires  of  the  earth,  (9) 
That  gave  the  wise  and  warlike  birth, 
Like  them  who  reur'd,  have  pass'd  away 
By  dint  of  arms,  or  slow  decay : — 
The  ancient  sages,  where  are  they  ? 
The  tenets  they  profess'd,  and  told 
The  world,  have  like  them  grown  old ; 
For  others,  which  like  them  shall  fade, 
Rising,  have  thrown  them  into  shade : 
'Twould  almost  seem,  so  strange  the  view, 
That  truth  itself  can  vary  too ; 
For  things  that  have  been  clearly  proved, 
By  time  are  alter'd,  changed,  and  moved  ; 
And  maxims,  which  the  sage  hath  sought 
To  suffer  for,  are  come  to  nought ; 
Yet  one  remains,  the  favourite  one 
Of  fallen  A  theme's  sapient  son, 
The  truest  e'er  pronounced  below, 
That  mortal  man  can  nothing  know !  (10) 

Though  Wisdom  bids  me  not  repine, 
How  like  thy  luckless  lot  is  mine ! 
Spring  strew'd  thy  widening  boughs  with  bloom, 
Which  Summer  ripen'd  to  perfume, 
Which  Autumn  mellow'd  to  decay, 
And  Winter  sered,  and  swept  away : 
Thus  Time  presented  pleasures  new, 
As  if  to  snatch  them  from  my  view  ; 
And  shew,  by  contrast,  what  distress, 
What  blind  and  blacken'd  dreariness 
Frowns  o'er  the  wide  and  waste  abyss 
Of  baffled  hopes,  and  ruin'd  bliss  ! — 
So  mortal  joy  and  beauty  flee, 
But  happier  planets  smile  on  thee ; 
For  spring,  with  favouring  hand,  will  shed 
Reviving  verdure  round  thy  head ; 
The  flowers  again  will  bloom  around, 
And  bees  to  sip  thy  sweets  be  found, 
And  birds  that  sport  on  wanton  wing, 
Amid  thy  sheltering  boughs  to  sing.— 
But  ah  !  the  bosom's  wintry  state, 
No  second  spring  can  renovate ; 
No  second  summer  can  restore 
The  happy  years  that  now  are  o'er ; 
Childhood,  with  all  its  flowery  maze 
Of  artless  thoughts,  and  sinless  plays ; 
Boyhood,  devoid  of  cares  and  tears, 
Of  sordid  acts,  and  selfish  fears, 
And  raising  o'er  the  bonds  of  art, 
Ardour  of  thought,  and  warmth  of  heart ; 
Or  Youth,  when  brightly  over  all 
Love  spread  her  rich  and  purple  pall ; 
When  lake  and  mount,  and  sea  and  shore, 
A  borrow'd  pride  and  beauty  wore, 


190  The  Leafless  Tree.  £Msy, 

And  visions  pass'd  before  the  eyes, 

Bright  with  the  hues  of  paradise  .'— 

A  glory  from  the  summer  day 

Hath  slowly  sunk,  and  waned  away;  (11) 

A  splendour  from  the  starry  night 

Hath  pass'd  to  nought,  and  mock'd  the  sight; 

For  clouds  have  gloom 'd,  and  sail'd  between, 

To  darken,  and  bedim  the  scene, 

And  o'er  th'  unshelter'd  head  hath  past, 

With  wailing  sound,  Misfortune's  blast. 

The  fond,  the  fairy  dreams  of  Youth 

Have  vanish'd  at  the  touch  of  Truth  ; 

And  o'er  the  heart,  all  seared  and  riven, 

The  ploughshare  of  the  World  hath  driven  ! 

The  play-mates  of  our  infant  years, 
Our  boyish  friends,  and  young  compeers, 
Are  some  estranged  in  heart  and  thought, 
By  fortune  dark,  or  happy  lot, 
Depress'd  too  low,  or  raised  too  high, 
By  anguish  or  prosperity  ; 
Are  some,  by  many  a  weary  mile, 
Though  bent  on  home,  removed  the  while ; 
Are  some,  who,  changed  by  wizard  Time, 
Even  in  a  far  and  foreign  clime, 
Love  best  the  pleasures  usher 'd  last, 
And,  in  the  present,  lose  the  past  ; 
Some  on  the  wild,  and  tossing  wave, 
But  many — most  within  the  grave  J 
Man  has  in  heart,  in  hope,  in  all, 
Like  Lucifer,  a  fate  and  fall  1  (12) 


NOTES. 

(1.)  — — Petty  Agas  sway 

The  realms  that  made  the  East  obey. 

Jerusalem  is  at  the  mercy  of  an  almost  independent  governor  :  he  may  do  with  im- 
punity all  the  mischief  he  pleases,  if  he  be  not  afterwards  called  to  account  for  it  by  the 
Pacha.  It  is  well  known,  that  in  Turkey  every  superior  has  a  right  to  delegate  his  au- 
thority to  an  inferior  ;  and  this  authority  extends  both  to  property  and  life.  For  a  few 
purses,  a  Janissary  may  become  a  petty  Aga,  and  this  Aga  may,  at  his  good  pleasure, 
either  take  away  your  life,  or  permit  you  to  redeem  it.  Thus  executioners  are  multi- 
plied in  every  town  of  Judea.  The  only  thing  ever  heard  in  this  country, — the  only 
justice  ever  thought  of,  is :  Let  him  pay  ten,  twenty,  thirty  purses.  {Jive  him  five 
hundred  strokes  of  the  bastinado.  Cut  off  his  head. 

CHATEAUBRIAND'S  Travels,  vol.  II.  p.  171. 

How  pathetically  does  the  Prophet  Jeremiah  give  vent  to  his  dreary  forebodings  of 
Jerusalem's  destiny. 

"  How  doth  the  city  sit  solitary  that  was  full  of  people  !  how  is  she  become  as  a  widow  ! 
she  that  was  great  among  the  nations,  and  princess  among  the  provinces,  how  is  she  be- 
come tributary !" — Lamentations. 

(2.)  Flat  and  terraced  sepulchres. 

The  houses  of  Jerusalem  are  heavy  square  masses,  very  low,  without  chimnies  or 
windows :  they  have  flat  terraces  or  domes  on  the  top,  and  look  like  prisons  or  sepulchres. 
On  beholding  these  stone  buildings,  encompassed  by  a  stony  country,  you  are  ready  to 
inquire  if  they  are  not  the  confused  monuments  of  a  cemetery  in  the  midst  of  a  desart. 

CHATEAUBRIAND,  vol.  2d. 

(3.)  Assyria's  solitary  realm. 

For  an  account  of  ancient  Assyria,  vide  the  first  and  second  books  of  Herodotus ;  and 
for  the  modern,  vide  miscellaneous  passage*  in  Kinneir'»  Geographical  Memoir  of  the 
Persian  Empire  ;  also  Niebuhr,  Travels,  vol.  II. 

9 


1821.3  Notes— The  Leafless  Tree.  191 

(i.)  Where  Sennacherib  of  yore, 
The  potent  sceptre  swayed. 

Sennacherib,  King  of  Assyiia,  came  up  against  all  the  fenced  cities  of  Judah,  and 
took  them,  &c. — Isaiah,  xxxvi.  and  Chronicles,  II.  Chap,  xxxii. 

(5.)  Thy  flowery  gardens  hung  on  high,  Qc. 

"  Babylon,  the  glory  of  kingdoms,"  saith  Isaiah,  "  the  beauty  of  the  Chaldees'  ex- 
cellency, shall  be  as  when  God  overthrew  Sodom  and  Gomorrah.  It  shall  never  be  in- 
habited ;  neither  shall  it  be  dwelt  in  from  generation  to  generation ;  neither  shall  the 
Arabian  pitch  his  tent  there,  neither  shall  the  shepherds  make  their  fold  there.  But 
wild  beasts  of  the  desart  shall  lie  there :  and  their  houses  shall  be  full  of  doleful  crea- 
tures, and  owls  shall  dwell  there,  and  satyrs  shall  dance  there.  And  the  wild  beasts  of 
the  islands  shall  cry  in  their  desolate  houses,  and  dragons  in  their  pleasant  places." — 

Chap.  xiii.  ver.  19,  &c For  a  striking  account  of  the  fulfilment  of  Scripture  prophecies 

relating  to  Babylon,  vide  Rollin,  Ancient  History,  vol.  II. 

(6.)  As  smiles  the  setting  sun  on  plains, 
Where  not  a  worshipper  remains. 

It  would  appear  that  these  magnificent  ruins  are  falling  rapidly  into  decay,  various 
pillars  having  been  removed  between  the  time  of  the  visits-of  Wood  and  Vobiey.  The 
reader  may  consult,  for  a  description  of  these  monuments  of  splendour,  Volney's  Tra- 
vels in  Egypt  and  Syria,  and  Pocock's  Travels,  vol.  II. 

(7-)  Dido's  city  had  decayed. 

Devictae  Carthagmis  arces 
Procubuere,  jacent  infausto  littore  turres 
Eversae.  Quantum  ilia  metus,  quantum  ilia  laborum 
Urbs  dedit  insultans  Latio  et  Laurentibus  arvis  ! 
Nunc  passim  vix  reliquias,  vix  nomina  servans, 
Obruitur  propriis  non  agnoscenda  minis. 

(8.)  Greece,  learning's  seat,  the  patriot's  home. 

We  can  all  feel,  or  imagine,  the  regret  with  which  the  ruins  of  cities,  once  the  capitals 
of  empires,  are  beheld ;  the  reflections  suggested  by  such  objects  are  too  trite  to  require 
recapitulation.  But  never  did  the  littleness  of  man,  and  the  vanity  of  his  very  best  vir- 
tues, of  patriotism  to  exalt,  and  of  valour  to  defend  his  country,  appear  more  conspicu- 
ous than  in  the  record  of  what  Athens  was,  and  the  certainty  of  what  she  now  is. 

LOUD  BYRON. 

(9.)  Egypt, — Persia,— Rome, — , 

The  ancient  empires  of  the  earth. 

For  an  interesting  account  of  Modern  Egypt,  vide  the  Travels  of  Denon,  Volney,  and 
Legh.  For  Persia,  vide  Kinneir,  and  Sir  John  Malcolm ;  as  to  Rome,  vide  Eustace 
Classical  Tour,  and  "  Rome  in  the  Nineteenth  Century."  How  striking  is  the  excla- 
mation of  Poggio,  when  looking  on  the  ruins  from  the  Capitoline  hill.  "  Ut  nunc 
omni  decore  nudata,  prostrata  jacet,  instar  gigantei  cadaveris  corrupti  atque  undique 
cxesL" 

(10.)  Mortal  man  can  nothing  knoie. 

Well  hast  thou  said,  Athena's  wisest  son  ! 

"  All  that  we  know  is,  nothing  can  be  known." 

CHILDE  HAROLD,  Canto  2.  St.  vii. 

(11.)  A  glory  from  the  xummer  day, 

Hath  slowly  sunk,  and  waned  away. 

"  There  hath  passed  away  a  glory  from  the  earth." 

WOUD.SWOHTH. 

(12.)  Man  has  in  heart,  in  hope,  in  all, 
Like  Lucifer,  a  fate  and  fall.— 

When  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  rise  again  ! 

SHAKESPEARE,  Henry  VIIL 
VOL.  IX.  2  A 


Translation* from  the  less  familiar  Latin  Classics. 

TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  LESS  FAMILIAR  LATIN  CLASSICS. 

No.  VI. 


FRUDENTIU8. 


CHRISTOPHER  NORTH,  ESQ. 
BEAR  SIR, 

AURELIUS  PRUDENTIUS  CLEMENS  is, 
I  believe,  chiefly  distinguished  as  be- 
ing the  first  Christian  poet,  that  is  to 
say,  the  first  Christian  who  applied 

Soetry  to  his  religion.  Ausonius,  no 
oubt,  professed  Christianity,  though 
he  never  attempted  to  recommend  it 
by  his  verses.  Had  Prudentius  never 
attempted  to  recommend  his  verses  by 
his  Christianity,  it  might  perhaps  have 
been  as  well,  as  far  as  his  poetry  is  con- 
cerned. The  best  description  of  this 
poet,  perhaps,  is  to  say,  in  short,  that 
he  is  the  Latin  Dr  Watts.  His  works, 
in  the  aggregate,  exhibit  that  species 
of  failure,  which  seems  to  be  the  lot 
of  every  poet  .who  attempts  a  religious 
theme,  Milton  and  one  or  two  others 
always  excepted.  They  are  apparent- 
ly the  productions  of  a  man  of  strong 
religious  feelings,  and  of  a  good  talent 
for  versification.  His  language,  how- 
ever deficient  in  Augustan  purity,  is 
always  flowing,  and,  whenever  his  sub- 
ject admits  of  it,  wonderfully  easy  and 
perspicuous ;  but  his  poetical  fancy  is 
poor  and  jejune.  He  is  smooth  and 
wordy,  not  imaginative  and  vigorous. 
With  language  at  command,  he  seems 
to  have  been  indifferent  as  to  the  fit- 
ness of  the  theme  upon  which  it  was 
to  be  employed;  and  either  to  have 
mistaken  writing  verses  for  writing 
poetry,  or  else  to  have  thought  that 
piety  of  intention  made  ample  amends 
for  dulness  of  execution.  Prudentius 
has  in  vain  endeavoured  to  extract 
poetry  out  of  polemical  divinity.  His 


"  Apotheosis"  is  a  metaphysical  trea- 
tise, in  verse,  on  the  essence  of  the 
Deity,  the  double  nature  of  Christ,  and 
the  division  of  persons  in  the  Trinity. 
"  Hamartigenia,"or  theorigin  of  evil,  is 
an  equally  hopeless  subject  for  a  poet. 
"  Psychomachia,"  or  conflicts  of  the 
soul,  is  a  succession  of  dull  and  heavy 
allegories,  or  rather  personifications. 
The  hymn  for  sunrise,  in  the  "  Kathe- 
merinon,"  contains  some  poetical  pass- 
ages, as  do  one  or  two  more  of  the 
hymns  under  that  title.  The  most 
readable  of  his  singular  productions, 
however,  appears  to  me  to  be  the  "  Pe- 
ristephanon."  It  is  a  poetical  Martyro- 
logy.  We  have  here  some  of  the  most 
noted  legends  of  the  saints  told  in  me- 
lodious verse ;  and  the  wonder  is  that 
some  Roman  Catholic,  with  zeal  and 
poetry,  has  not  given  us  a  translation 
ere  now.  In  the  hymn  on  the  mar- 
tyrdom of  St  Eulalia,  her  sufferings 
and  death  are  commemorated  with  a 
simple  but  intense  pathos,  of  which 
the  version,  given  below,  will,  I  fear, 
be  found  to  retain  but  little.  The  lines 
on  a  Baptismal  Font  are  in  a  style  to- 
tally different.  They  are  replete  with 
that  point  and  antithesis  in  which  the 
latter  ages  more  and  more  delighted, 
whether  in  poetry  or  prose.  In  the 
original  the  terms  are  so  laconically 
strong,  and  the  juxta  position  of  epi- 
thets so  artful,  as  to  make  it,  though 
styled  a  hymn,  li ttle  more  than  a  string 
of  serious  epigrams. 

I  am,  &c. 

T.  D. 


THE  MARTYRDOM  OF  ST  EULALIA. 


Hymn  IX. 


FIRMLY  she  spoke,  unshrinking  still, 
Nor  sigh  nor  tear  gave  sign  of  pain, 

While  from  each  wound  a  trickling  rill 
Soil'd  her  pure  limbs  with  crimson  stain. 

At  last  the  closing  torture  came ; — 
Un trembling  yet  from  many  a  wound, 

Strongly  she  met  the  cruel  flame, 

And  felt  it  wrap  her  round  and  round. 


Translations  from  the  leas  familiar  Latin  Classics.  1 03 

'Tis  sad  to  see  her  scented  hair, 

Its  last  dark  glossy  ringlets  show ; 
And  leave  that  ivory  shoulder  bare, 

And  o'er  her  modest  bosom  flow. 

The  flame  is  feeding  on  her  charms — 

See  o'er  her  head  the  waving  pyre  ; — 
Oh  !  see,  she  clasps  it  in  her  arms, 

And  drinks,  with  dying  lips,  the  fire. 

'Tis  past — she  sinks — she  moves  no  more—- 
Why sudden  turn  surrounding  eyes  ; 

Whence  came  that  dove  that  flutters  o'er, 
Then  seeks  on  milk-white  wing  the  skies  ? 

Eulalia — loved  one — they  who  watch'd, 

Thy  body  turn  to  dust  again, 
Beheld  thine  innocent  spirit  snatch'd 

To  realms  beyond  the  reach  of  pain. 

In  vain  the  flames'  red  spires  may  brighten, 

The  tyrant  may  his  rage  increase, 
Thine  ashes  round  the  stake  may  whiten, 

But  thou,  sweet  maiden,  art  at  peace. 

— The  Tyrant  heard  the  pinion's  beat, 

And  when  that  hovering  dove  he  saw, 
He  started  from  his  guilty  seat, 

And  shrunk  away  in  sudden  awe. 

— And  now  the  tearful  scene  is  over — 

Of  friend  or  funeral  bereft, 
The  pure  cold  snows  have  fall'n  to  cover 

All  that  is  of  Eulalia  left. 

Beneath  the  weeping  heavens  she  lies, 

Sepultured  in  a  whiter  shroud 
Than  falls  to  those,  whose  obsequies 

Are  follow'd  by  a  gorgeous  crowd. 


Years  have  gone  o'er — around  her  grave 
A  goodly  city  now  hath  grown  ; 

Behold  her  tomb,  where  Ana's  wave 
Still  strives  to  kiss  the  sacred  stone. 

There  is  the  virgin's  marble  bust, 

Encircled  oft  by  dewy  eyes  ; 
Snatch'd  from  that  spot,  the  holy  dust 

In  many  a  pilgrim  bosom  lies. 

There,  chased  in  gold  is  many  a  wreath, 
Engemm'd  is  many  a  flow 'ret  fair  ; 

They  sparkle  still,  and  incense  breath, 
As  summer  had  her  palace  there. — 

But  'twas  in  winter  when  she  died, 
And  winter  hath  his  flow'rets  too, — 

Oh  !  pluck  the  crocus  in  his  pride, 
And  on  her  tomb  the  vi'lets  strew 


194  Translations  from  the  less  familiar  Latin  Clastics.  £May, 

And  virgins  weave  the  bard  a  wreath 

Of  simple  flow'rs — for  such  are  meet — 
And  he  a  choral  strain  shall  breathe, 

Fearful,  and  soft,  and  low — yet  sweet. 

Then  thou,  Eulalia,  shall  look  down, 

Haply  from  yon  blue  heav'n  the  while, 
And  see  the  early  chaplets  strewn, 

And  smile  a  more  ansrelic  smile. 


ON    A    BAPTISMAL    FONT. 

Hymn  XIII. 

ON  this  sad  spot — here,  where  the  conscious  ground, 

Foul  with  the  blood  of  martyrs  oft  hath  been, 
A  never-failing  stream  shall  still  be  found, 

Whose  stainless  wave  can  cleanse  from  every  sin. 

Let  him,  whose  heavy  soul  yet  yearns  to  mount, 
Whose  hot  breast  burns  for  Heaven,  still  seek  this  spot, — 

Let  him  but  wash  in  this  eternal  font, 

His  hands  are  pure,  and  all  their  crimes  forgot. 

Here,  where  the  lighten'd  sinners'  thanks  are  breathed, 
Of  olden  time  were  fearless  martyrs  crown'd, — 

Yea,  where  the  holy  warrior's  head  was  wreathed 
By  trembling  hearts,  is  kindly  pardon  found. 

The  joyful  waters  sparkle  o'er  the  brim, 
Where  martyrs'  wounds  once  pour'd  a  crimson  flood, 

And  blest  are  both — and  sacred  still  to  Him, 
Who  shed  for  us  that  water  and  that  blood  ! 

Ye  who  have  had,  when  here,  asked  for  grace, 
And  found  this  hallow'd  spot  a  Heaven  afford, — 

What  boots  it  whether,  to  your  resting-place, 
The  way  was  oped  by  water  or  the  sword  ? 

i 

MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 

SIR,  to  have  wished  to  see  every  person 
IN  some  historical  researches,  in  around  her  cheerful  and  happy.  Vin- 
which  I  have  been  recently  engaged,  dictiveness  and  cruelty  were  perfectly 
my  attention  was  called  to  the  much  strangers  to  her  :  She  possessed  natu- 
agitated  question  of  the  participation  ral  good  sense,  and  firmness  of  soul ; 
of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  in  the  mur-  but  she  was  too  easily  a  prey  to  the 
der  of  the  Earl  of  Darnley,  her  hus-  artful ;  too  easily  confided  in  profes- 
band.  It  leads  to  a  multitude  of  cu-  sions  of  attachment ;  and  too  willingly 
rious  and  interesting  topics.  On  a  ge-  indulged  in  the  aspirations  of  love, 
neral  view  of  it,  some  circumstances,  She  was  surrounded  by  designing,  un- 
perhaps,  not  even  yet  sufficiently  con-  principled,  and  remorseless  adversa- 
sidered,  appeared  to  me  to  afford  strong  ries,  and  scarcely  had  a  friend, 
legitimate  prejudices  both  in  her  fa-  To  Elizabeth,  it  is  impossible  to 
vour  and  against  her.  deny  great  talents,  great  strength  of 
I.  In  her  favour,  it  may  be  said,  mind,  great  intrepidity,  and  inflexible 
That,  abstractedly  from  this  crime,  steadiness  of  purpose  ; — or  not  to  ad- 
and  the  circumstances  immediately  mit  that  she  was  selfish,  envious,  ma- 
connected  with  it,  the  character  of  licious,  and  vindictive ;  that  the  hap- 
Mary  is  uniformly  amiable,  and  gene-  piness  of  others,  except  so  far  as  she 
rally  respectable.  She  appears  in  his-  herself  was  interested  init,wasindiffe- 
tory  to  have  been  good-natured,  and  rent  to  her ;  and  that  her  jealousy  of 


18210  Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 

the  connubial  joys  of  others,  and  her        Two  other  circumstances  may  be 

thought  to  raise  a  reasonable  prejudice 


prevention  of  them,  when  this  was  in 
her  power,  were  singularly  hateful. 
Every  part  of  the  history  of  her  reign 
shews,  that  to  accomplish  any  object, 
particularly  the  ruin  of  a  powerful  ene- 
my, there  was  no  wickedness  to  which 
she  would  not  resort, — no  perfidy,  no 
duplicity  of  which  she  was  not  capa- 
ble ;  and  that,  both  in  England  and 
Scotland,  her  ministers  and  subordi- 
nate agents  co-operated,  without  any 
compunctious  feelings,  beyond  a  re- 
gard to  their  own  safety,  in  her  de- 
signs, and  became  active  instruments 
for  carrying  them  into  execution. 

It  must  be  added,  that  throughout 
the  conflict  between  Mary  and  Eliza- 
beth, and  during  more  than  a  century 
afterwards,  the  presses  both  of  Scot- 
land and  England  were  wholly  at  the 
command  of  Elizabeth  and  the  favour- 
ers of  her  cause. 

This  general  view  of  the  case  raises 
legitimate  prejudices  in  favour  of  Mary 
and  against  Elizabeth.  The  former  is 
increased  by  this  circumstance,  that 
though  the  whole  power  of  the  state 
was  in  the  possession  of  Mary's  ene- 
mies,— and  though  immediately  after 
the  murder  of  Darnley  they  became 
masters  of  several  persons  actively  en- 
gaged in  the  perpetration  of  that  crime, 
yet  none  of  them  criminated  Mary ; — 
nor  is  a  single  fact,  which  has  the  na- 
ture of  direct  evidence,  brought  against 
her. 

II.  On  the  other  hand — The  marriage 
of  Mary  with  Bothwell,  so  soon  after 
the  murder  of  Darnley, — particularly 
on  account  of  the  general  suspicion  ot 
his  having  contrived  and  participated 
in  it,  and  of  the  two  rapid  divorces 
•which  accomanied  it, — raises  a  strong 
legitimate  prejudice  against  her. 

But  we  must  make  great  allowance 
for  the  effect  which  the:  bond  of  the 
nobles,  recommending  the  marriage  to 
Mary,  (which  bond  Hume  justly  calls 
a  reproach  to  the  nation,)  must  have 
had  on  her  mind,  and  for  the  extreme 
need  in  which  she  stood  of  the  marital 
support  of  a  powerful,  active,  and  at- 
tached nobleman.  Such  she  though'  — 
and  certainly  had  some  reason  to  think 
— she  should  find  in  Bothwell  It  is 
also  observable,  that  only  a  few  months 
before  the  murder  of  Darnley,  she  had 
formally  given  her  royal  consent  to  the 
m  arriage  of  Both  well.  Her  subsequent 
union  with  him,  to  be  effected  by  the 
murder  of  Darnley,  couldnot  Men  have 
been  in  her  contemplation. 


against  her. 

1.  She  does  not  explicitly  deny  her 
guilt,  either  at  the  time  of  her  execu- 
tion,  or   in  her  letter  to  Elizabeth. 
Can  this  be  otherwise  accounted  for, 
than  by  her  unwillingness  to  plunge 
into  eternity  with  an  untruth  on  her 
lips?  She  appears  to  have  died  in  great 
sentiments  of  religion,  and  consequent- 
ly with  afear  of  the  eternal  fires  which, 
under  this  impression,  she  must  have 
believed  would  follow  such  a  solemn, 
deliberate,  and  persisted-in  untruth. 
What,  then,  but  a  consciousness  of 
guilt  would  have  withheld  her  from 
proclaiming  her  innocence  in  her  dying 
moments  ? 

2.  James  had  much  intercourse  with 
Denmark,  and  upon  his  marriage  with 
Ann,  its  princess-royal,  spent  a  whole 
winter  at  Copenhagen.    Now,  Both- 
well  lived  in  captivity  in  that  city  du- 
ring several  years,  but  no  authentic  in- 
formation favourable  to   Mary,   was 
ever  obtained  from  Denmark. 

In  answer  to  the  first  observation, 
it  has  been  said  that  it  was  beneath 
Mary  to  deny  such  a  crime ;  but  could 
the  denial  of  ithavebeen  really  beneath 
her,  under  any  circumstances  ?  Was 
it  so,  under  the  actual  circumstances 
of  her  case  ?  Some  of  these  were  cer- 
tainly of  a  nature  to  raise  reasonable 
suspicion  of  her  guilt,  and  therefore 
placed  her  on  the  defensive. 

In  answer  to  the  second  observation, 
it  has  been  said  that  James,  in  reality, 
never  did  interest  himself  in  the  cause 
of  Mary  ;  and  very  soon  after  the  tra- 
gical event  took  place,  made  his  terms 
with  Cecil,  and  her  other  adversaries. 
Of  this  indifference  of  James  to  his 
mother  and  to  her  good  name,  there 
certainly  is  some  evidence; — his  com- 
munications with  Cecil  admit  of  no 
doubt. 

III.  The  examinations  at  York  and 
Westminster,  and  the  famous  letters, 
are  subjects  which  few  have  time  to  in- 
vestigate. 

One  circumstance  is  considered  by 
Mr  Laing,  in  his  Historical  Discus- 
sion on  the  Murder  of  Darnley,  as 
highly  unfavourable  to  Mary.  In  the 
first  instance,  she  submitted  her  cause 
to  the  decision  of  Elizabeth ;  she  af- 
terwards, on  grounds  which  that  able 
writer  represents  as  mere  pretences, 
declined  her  umpirage. 

But,  even  if  this  was  the  case,  may 
it  not  be  excxised  ?  Nothing  c:m  be 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 


196 

more  kind,  respectful,  or  judicious, 
than  the  professions  of  Elizabeth  to 
her  captive  relative.  Mary  confided  in 
them ;  every  person  must  admit  this 
to  have  been  unwise.  Such  the  Bi- 
shop of  Ross,  and  such  Lord  Herries, 
her  two  only  real  friends,  thought  it. 
Such,  too,  after  the  conferences  began, 
Mary  herself  thought  it.  But  it  was 
then  too  late  to  retract  directly  the  pro- 
mise of  submission  ;  she  was  therefore 
driven  to  the  necessity  of  eluding  it  in 
the  best  manner  the  case  allowed. 

It  is,  however,  needless  to  plead  this 
excuse.  From  the  first  to  the  last, 
Mary  insisted  on  three  things, — that 
she  should  be  admitted  to  the  presence 


CMay, 


of  Elizabeth  ;  that  she  should  be  con- 
fronted with  her  accusers ;  and  that 
the  originals  of  the  letters  which  form- 
ed the  principal,  if  not  the  sole  proof 
of  her  guilt,  should  be  produced  to 
her. 

All  were  denied.  For  the  denial  of 
the  first,  Elizabeth  could  not  be  justly 
blamed,  if  she  had  not  admitted  the 
accusers  of  Mary  into  the  most  confi- 
dential communications  with  herself 
and  her  ministers  ;  but  no  apology  yet 
offered,  by  the  apologists  of  Elizabeth, 
for  her  refusals  to  allow  Mary  to  be 
confronted  with  her  accusers,  or  to 
have  her  original  letters  produced  to 
her,  is  satisfactory.  S. 


MANCHESTER  V6TSUS  "  MANCHESTER  POETRY." 
TO  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH,  ESQ. 


ABOUT  half-past  six  in  the  evening 
of  the  30th  ultimo,  I  was  indulging  in 
a  deep  cogitation  upon  the  chemical 
affinities  of  white  sugar  and  Bohea,  in 
a  snug  little  wainscoated  parlour  in  the 
vicinity  of  Charlton  Row.  The  day 
had  been  insufferably  hot :  my  land- 
lady's tea-pot  was  drained  to  the  dregs ; 
and  the  leaves  themselves  were  begin- 
ning to  deploy  from  its  capacious  spout. 
One  of  these  precious  relics  fell  upon 
the  disordered  tray,  and,  on  examining 
it,  I  was  convinced,  that  Jeffrey  and 
his  tribe  were  as  real  patriots,  as  that 
was  a  genuine  tea-leaf.  Accum,  tests, 
poison,  and  perdition,  at  once  rushed 
upon  the  imagination ;  and  I  imagined 
the  infernal  compound  had  already 
commenced  its  demoralizing  influence 
on  my  unfortunate  pancreas.  Hence- 
forward I  determined  to  order  my  tea 
from  the  "genuine  tea  company's  ware- 
house," and  altogether  to  discard  the 
copper  tea-kettle  which  was  nightly 
polished  to  perfection  by  my  indus- 
trious hostess. 

It  was  this  last  idea,  concerning  the 
fondness  that  mankind  evince  for  ar- 
ticles of  a  brazen  complexion  (the  as- 
sociation of  ideas  is  peculiar)  which 
engaged  jne,  when  a  gentle  tap  inter- 
rupted my  reveries,  and  ushered  thy 
delectable  publication  to  my  hands. 
Whilst  the  attentive  Mrs  Taperwaist 
was  removing  the  remnants  of  the  re- 
past, seasoning  her  labour  ever  and 
anon  with  some  dolefu'  exclamations 
on  the  awfu'  lightning  there  had  been 
that  afternoon,  which  had  spoiled  her 
a  13-gallon  cask  of  small  beer,  whilst 


she  sat  in  the  dark  on  the  cellar-head, 
and  heard  the  outrageous  liquor  fizzing 
and  fizzing  through  the  interstices  of 
the  bung,  afraid,  poor  soul,  to  venture 
down,  and  give  it  a  friendly  tap  with 
the  poker-head,  I  was  rapidly  running 
over  the  contents  of  the  aforesaid  publi- 
cation, from  the  musky- visag'd  portrait 
of  Georgie  Buchanan,  to  the  specific  im- 
primer  of  Jemmy  Ballantyne.  The  old 
lady  had  already  arrivedat  the  necessity 
of  bottling  her  incomparable  liquor  to 
prevent  it  turning  sour,  when  Man- 
chester Poetry,  plain  black  and  white, 
stared  me  in  the  face.  It  was  then  be- 
yond the  hour  for  visiting  "  one  of  the 
societies  on  the  plan  of  the  Edinburgh 
Speculative ;"  but  a  paramount  curio- 
sity to  examine  this  momentous  notice, 
overcame  every  terror  of  the  president's 
reprimand,  or  the  secretary's  forfeit- 
book.  Candles  were  ordered,  the  door 
bolted,  and  I  drew  my  legs  upon  the 
comfortable  sofa,  not  doubting  I  should 
still  arrive  at  the  aforesaid  meeting,  by 
the  time  one  half  its  members  were 
up  to  the  neck  in  the  metaphysical  bog 
of  causation. 

Unfortunately,  however,  this  was 
not  the  case,  and  about  half-past  nine 
I  was  sent  for  in  a  great  hurry  (the 
president  had  fallen  asleep)  to  appease 
a  violent  uproar,  occasioned  by  a  per- 
sonal altercation  between  two  sublime 
searchers  after  truth,  who,  from  being 
most  philosophically  engaged,  had  pro- 
ceeded most  scientifically  to  blows, 
palpably  demonstrating  the  existence 
of  cause  and  effect.  pVly  essay  on  the 
subject,  which  fills  four  reams  of  pa- 


Manchester  versus  "  Manchester  Poetry" 


per,  closely  written,  will  make  Thomas 
Brown  a  complete  fool.  It's  a  pity  he's 
not  alive  to  read  it.  At  the  last  meet- 
ing of  the  royal  society,  it  was  read, 
and  received  with  three  times  three. 
I'll  sell  the  copy-right  for  a  handsome 
sum. J    I  soon  quieted  them  by  men- 
tioning your  attack,  and  telling  them 
all  their  speeches  made  at  the  last  meet- 
ing, some  fifteen-fifteenths  of  which 
were  copied  from  Rees's  Cyclopaedia, 
were  published  in  Blackwood's  Maga- 
zine. The  scene  that  ensued  was  unique 
in  its  kind.  Rough  drafts,  outlines,  and 
heads  of  speeches ;  replies  Nos.  1,  2, 
3,  and  4,  as  might  be  required  ;  writ- 
ten on  old  bills  of  parcels,  the  backs  of 
letters,   and  ledger-leaves ;  of  every 
possible  shade  between  a  sullied  white 
and  a  confirmed  black,  were  tumbled 
from  every  pocket  in  the  room.     One 
begged  to  shew  the  meeting — what, 
how  much,  and  whence,  he  had  ex- 
tracted his  materials,  solely,  wholly, 
and  entirely,  to  direct,  refect,  or  select, 
his  own  opinions.  Another  was  exceed- 
ingly anxious — to— to — (thumping  the 
table) — to  shew  how — that  is,   there 
was — no  cause  for  the  effect  produced 
, — (loud laughter,  I  suppose,) — no  cause 
for — but  I  requested  to  be  put  in  pos- 
session of  those  documents,  to  illus- 
trate the  answer  I  was  then  preparing 
to    the  insolent  impugners   of  local 
talent,  and  of  their's  in  particular. 
"Whereupon  the  hearty  thanks  of  the 
meeting  were  voted  me  ;  and  the  trea- 
surer directed  to  purchase  a  half-crown 
copy  of  Jack  the  Giant-killer,  as  a  to- 
ken of  their  obligation.  £At  some  fu- 
ture time,  I'll  send  you  a  copy  of  these 
curious  documents  :  they  will  entirely 
supersede  Hazlitt's  parliamentary  elo- 
quence ;  and  may  be  of  infinite  use  to 
rising  rhetoricians.^] 

But  to  return  to  my  sofa — When  I 
arrived  at  that  part  of  thy  observations, 
which  declares  thy  patronage  of  es- 
pionage, "  /  mounted  up  with  the  bril- 
liancy and  rapidity  of  a  sky-rocket  ;" 
and  though  I  did  not  "  scatter  about 
me  sparks  and  scintillations  which  en- 
lightened the  whole  atmosphere  of  litera- 
ture,"* I  certainly  uttered  such  a  pro- 


197 

fane  oath,  as  caused  my  Dutch-built 
landlady  (Mrs  Taperwaist)  to  jump 
three  cubic  feet  from  the  chair  on  which 
she  was  sitting  in  the  next  apartment. 
And  notwithstanding  my  endeavours 
to  keep  down  my  choler,  during  the 
progress  of  reading, — "  this  volatility 
of  spirit,  this  forcible  and  indomitable 
action  of  mind,  this  never-tiring, (cxaseHi 
fatiguing  by  the  bye,)  and  never-weak- 
ening intellectual  energy,  this  bounding 
and  unceasing  mental  (bodily)  elastici- 
ty" very  nearly  resembling  battledoor 
and  shuttlecock,  so  wearied,  perplexed, 
and  irritated  me,  that  I  fairly  wished 
the  author,  essay,  magazine,  and  pub- 
lisher, "  instantaneously  concocted  into 
chyle  ;"  or  within  a  reasonable  distance 
of  the  "  boa  constrictor's  huge  gulph" 
"  Popular  hostility,  however,  as  well  as 
private  ought  to  give  place  to  candid 
criticism  and  allowance  ;  and  when  ex- 
ercised against  a  deserving  subject,  will 
only  in  the  end  rejlect  disgrace  upon  it- 
self, for  an  unworthy  exercise  of  power ." 
And  although  this  good  town  may,  in 
the  "  prurient"  imagination  of  a  few 
"  pullulating"  wits,  or  the  complacent 
"  excogitations"  of  a  second  Diogenes, 
be,   perhaps,  "  shorn  of  some  of  its 
beams,"  it  will  "  at  length  experience  a 
renewal  of  its  brightness,  and  receive  its 
merited  due  at  the  hands  of  posterity." 
In  the  first  place,  my  dear  Christo- 
pher, I  am  inclined  to  question  the 
verity  of  thy  emissaries,  notwithstand- 
ing thou  art  so  very  select  in  their  ap- 
pointment. The  fogs  and  mists  which 
so   closely  envelope    our  native   vou? 
may  have  exercised  their  subtle  in- 
fluence on  these  gentlemen's  vision, 
which  will  account  for  the  distorted 
portraits  transmitted  to  thee. 

I  believe  there  is  "no  writing  extant, 
in  which  the  respective  merits  of  the  li- 
terary characters"  of  Manchester  "are 
made  the  subject  of  comparative  criti- 
cism," and  I  think  it  would  be  no 
less  disagreeable  to  the  distinguished 
amongst  that  class,  than  painful  to 
those  of  less  conspicuous  talent,  were 
I  to  publish  an  invidious  criticism  upon 
their  individual  productions,  or  to 
throw  down  the  apple  of  discord,  that 


*  It  may  be  proper  to  mention,  that  much  of  the  language  of  this  reply  is  adopted 
from  an  elegant  Essay  on  the  respective  merits  of  Warburton  and  Johnson,  published  in 
the  December  number.  The  author  will  immediately  perceive  the  intention ;  and 
his  good-humour  will  induce  him  readily  to  forgive  so  innocent  a  larceny ;  since  it  will 
have  the  effect  of  introducing  that  Essay  to  more  general  and  particular  perusal.  Where 
such  liberties  have  been  taken,  the  passages  are  printed  in  Italics,  that  the  whole  extent 
of  the  obligation  may  be  appreciated. 


Manchester  versus  "  Manchester  Poetry." 


198 

some  Trojan  boy^  might  shew  his  skill 
in  the  adjudication  of  it.  Besides,  I 
know  as  much  about  chemistry,  mecha- 
nics, or  medicine,  as  a  mole  kn«ws  of 
gas-light,  and  therefore  am  not  quali- 
fied to  be  the  umpire  in  such  a  contest. 
Some  general  observations,  neverthe- 
less, upon  the  manifest  inapplicability 
of  such  a  sweeping  censure  as  thou  hast 
pronounced  upon  the  taste  of  the  town, 
"  may  not  be  without  their  particular 
benefit;"  because  they  will  compre- 
hend, not  only  the  worshipped  lumi- 
naries of  our  intellectual  sphere,  but 
also  those  "  who  oppose  themselves  to 
the  standard  corps  of  literature,  in  the 
confidence  of  individual  poiver,"  and 
through  the  telescopic  channel  of  a 
goose-quill,  discover  "  new  paths  in 
learning,"  and  "  new  vistas  in  know- 
ledge ;  they  will  be  of  use  in  display- 
ing— "  how  far  it  is  possible  for  abili- 
ties the  most  splendid,  to  seduce  their 
possessor  to  extravagance  in  the  search 
for  originality,  (that  is,  caricaturing  a 
whole  town,  a  very  original  idea,  by 
my  credit,)  and  how  transient  and  mo- 
mentary is  the  fame  of  paradoxical  in- 
genuity, (alluding  to  the  laugh  created 
by  the  former  article,  and  the  dismay 
produced  by  this  answer)  when  com- 
pared with  that  which  rests  on  the  im- 
mobility of  established  truth." — Yes,  the 
im-mo-bi-li-ty  of  established  truth  ! 

Certainly  our  Manchester  bucks 
were  never  much  celebrated  for  their 
metrical  propensities  ;  nor  perhaps 
would  it  be  advantageous  to  exchange 
pounds  sterling,  day-books,  and  bar- 
ter, for  trochees,  anapaests,  and  rhy- 
ming dictionaries ;  or  to  enliven  our 
mules  and  jennies  with  the  Isle  of 
Palms  instead  of  the  oil  of  whales.  But 
these  gentlemen  of  the  neck-cftth  can, 
with  few  exceptions,  say  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  and  decline  hie  haec  hoc,  ge- 
nitive hujus  ;  and  may  be  got  through 
some  dozen  sentimentalities  from  By- 
ron, or  Moore.  But  where's  the  use 
of  their  invoking  the  Muses,  when 
they  are  provoked  by  droppings  of  in- 
spiration from  a  stone,  in  which  the 
measure  and  the  meaning  are  most 
happily  profundified  ?  so  "  that  that, 
that  that  person  means,"  is  as  trans- 
parent as  a  balk  of  mahogany.  Passim, 
they  have  verses  made  in  a  passion  at 
a  rookery  in  Middleton,  a  little  insig- 
nificant town  in  the  neighbourhood ;  or 
a  few  original  stanzas,  prepared  by  a 
mercurial  process,  and  volunteered  for 
the  benefit  of  the  clubs  on  a  Saturday 
T 


[May, 


evening.  So  that  we  are  not  without 
inducement  to  lave  our  skulls  in  the 
waters  of  Helicon,  even  though  there 
were  none,of  thy  Magazines  to  pour 
the  oil  and  wine  of  wisdom  into  their 
recesses. — Indeed,  I  am  astonished 
thou  shouldst  risk  the  sale  of  764.  co- 
pies of  thy  work,  which  I  know  to  be 
disposed  of  here,  by  paying  such  a 
sorry  compliment  to  the  ninnies  that 
delight  in  it :  but 

Folly  loves  the  martyrdom  of  fame  ; 
And  thou  art  jealous  of  our  talents — that's 

plain. 

For  to  say  nothing  of  our  skill  in 
the  exalted  science  of  belfry  music — 
or  in  the  surprising  acumen  of  our 
pit  and  gallery  critics  in  theatrical  tac- 
tics— or  the  depth  of  our  knowing  ones 
at  the  Manchester  Turf  Meeting — or 
our  great  skill  in  prize-fighting,  and 
race-running — thou  canst  not  be  ig- 
norant of  our  unrivalled  celebrity  in 
thorough-bass-singing,  which  is  the 
distinguishing  feature  of  the  neigh^ 
bourhood.  Couldst  thou  once  hear  an 
an  them  at  Prestwich  church,  solo,  duo, 
trio,  and  all  o,  thou  would'st  utterly 
discard  the  nobility's  ancient  concerts, 
nor  refer  to  Lavater  for  the  physiog- 
nomy of  the  human  countenance.  Ne- 
ver were  such  pains  taken  to  debase 
man's  frontispiece,  or  to  rival  the  mul- 
tiplied distortions  of  lunacy.  Now  this 
aforementioned  celebrity  I  take  to  be 
wholly  attributable  to  the  beneficial  in- 
fluence of  our  cotton  factories,  which 
doubtless  act  as  a  tonic  to  the  lungs ; 
or  perhaps  to  some  "  lurking  particles 
of  the  cotton,  not  carried  off  by  expec- 
toration •"  which  impart  that  rough, 
raspy  depth  to  the  voice,  that  entire- 
ly supersedes  the  necessity  of  bassoons 
and  serpents  in  our  churches  and  cha- 
pels. So  that  some  benefits  do  accrue 
from  these  huge  lazarettos,  the  smoke 
and  fume  of  which  are  so  disconcerting 
to  thy  spies ;  for  if  they  prevent  a  clear 
perception  of  the  poetical  jingle,  they 
contribute  to  the  increase  of  harmony, 
and  music  and  poetry  are  said  to  be 
twin  sisters.  They  intercept,  to  be 
sure,  those  "  rain-bow  beaming  rays," 
which  flash  upon  the  aspirants  for 
worldly  immortality  ;  but  psalmody 
divine,  with  the  simple,  plain  truths 
of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  have  more 
charms  for  us  than 
Butler's  wit,  Pope's  numbers,  Prior's 

ease, 

With  all  that  fancy  can  invent  to  please. 
And  we  are   to  be   unmercifully 


_  Manchester  versus  *' 

belaboured,  too,  because  our  gentry 
are  partial  to  their  bowls  of  Falernian, 
and  do  not  make  long  speeches  in  the 
high  places.  Now,  although  I  have 
well-nigh  forgotten  my  classical  quo- 
tations, I  think  it  has  been  the  prac- 
tice of  every  moon-struck  votary  of 
the  Muses,  who  has  had  his  eye-lids 
touched  with  the  three  living  drops, 
from  Homer  and  Pindar,  down  to 
Dibdin,  and  your  Dolon  inclusive,  to 
laud  the  potent  effects  of  that  most 
Christian-like  beverage,  which  often 
makes  men  moralize,  when  sermons 
cannot.  Indeed,  the  whole  charge  is 
wrong ;  for  the  generality  of  our  po- 
pulation do  not  drink  port,  but  sacri- 
fice most  copiously  to  Johny  Barley- 
corn. As  to  the  "  damning  form,"  that 
may  be  correct  enough,  since  such 
vehement  asseverations  are  a  distin- 
guishing feature  in  their  character.  It 
will  be  well  if  thy  liberal  rewards,  un- 
der the  name  of  salaries,  do  not  lead 
the  zeal  of  thy  servants  to  outstrip  their 
discretion.  Whenever  a  man  from  a 
far  country  visiteth  me,  I  shall  mi- 
nutely examine  his  physiognomy,  and 
mark  his  propensities;  lest,  while  I 
be  killing  for  nim  the  fatted  calf,  and 
uncorking  for  him  my  double  brown 
stout,  he  be  merely  a  vagrant  emissary 
of  thine,  taking  note  whether  I  wipe 
my  mouth  before  I  drink,  or  eat  mock- 
turtle  from  a  fish-plate.  Most  fierce- 
ly do  our  leading  knights  of  the  car- 
ver threaten  thee,  should'st  thou  ever 
pitch  thy  tent  so  far  south,  for  limit- 
ing the  freedom  of  their  feasts  ;  since 
seven  courses  might  be  easily  partaken 
of  and  three  pint  bottles  per  man  most 
comfortably  deposited,  by  our  present 
laws,  without  one  interchange  of  con- 
versation, save — "  Take  a  little  more 
stuffing,  Jack." — "  Stuffing  enough, 
thank  thee !"  There  is,  however,  a 
plan,  by  which  the  glorious  delights 
of  the  banquet  might  still  be  enjoyed 
unbroken,  .and  yet  some  mental  ali- 
ment be  mingled  with  the  repast. 
Amongst  the  published  papers  of  that 
society,  which  thou  sayest  is  growing 
old,  and  which  is  a  bouncing  f-i-b,  since 
there  are  more  youths  in  it,  training 
up  in  the  way  they  should  go,  than  in 
the  parish  work-house — well,  I  say, 
amongst  those  papers,  is  one  on  the 
Signs  of  Ideas,  (as  a  pestle  and  a 
mortar  suggest  the  idea  of  an  apothe- 
cary) which  is  a  most  humorous  and 
ironical  satire  upon  the  folly  of  theo- 
rising too  deeply  on  subjects  that  are 
VOL.  IX. 


Manchester  Poetry"  199 

not  understood,  although  a  certain  doc- 
tor mistook  it  for  a  string  of  serious 
hypotheses.  Now  it  has  struck  me, 
that  this  might  cease  to  be  regarded 
merely  as  an  effort  of  wit,  and  be  ap- 
plied to  some  practical  advantages,  if 
the  author  would  render  his  theory  in- 
telligible to  common  sense,  and  fa- 
shion, in  the  alembic  of  his  ingenuity, 
a  set  of  ideas  which  would  correspond 
with  the  various  members  of  a  roasted 
goose,  (a  dish  highly  in  fashion  here) 
or  any  other  usual  appendage  of  a  feast. 
For  example,  if  I  wished  to  express 
an  opinion  of  an  anti-Malthusian, 
without  impediment  to  the  mastica- 
ting process,  I  should  clear  the  brains 
from  the  goose's  head,  hold  the  skull 
on  my  fork,  and  shake  it  at  my  neigh- 
bour :  if  he  thought  the  idea  good,  he 
would  partially  smile,  and  shake  the 
merry  thought  at  me.  We,  (that  is 
Manchester  by-payers,  for  what  with 
dinner-parties,  and  taxes,  I  have  run 
through  my  patrimony,  and  am  obli- 
ged to  live  in  lodgings  ;  No.  275  A, 
if  you  ever  call  upon  me)  are  open- 
hearted,  generous,  and  hospitable,  and 
discard  many  of  the  polite  innovations 
upon  English  comfort.  As  "  Saginam 
csedite,"  exercise  your  grinders,  was  the 
signal  in  former  times ;  "  now,  boys, 
lay  to,"  is  the  token  in  this.  But  what 
elegant  refinements  may  not  be  expect- 
ed, now  that  this  courtly  Maecenas  hath 
undertaken  our  polish,  and  seasoned 
the  mental  and  bodily  repasts  of  my 
townsmen  with  the  savour  of  his  Attic 
salt  ?  Thy  partiality  for  long  speeches, 
savours  strongly  of  whiggism.  Sure- 
ly, Christopher,  thou  art  not  an  advo- 
cate for  that  fawning,  flattering,  loqua- 
cious vanity,  which  is  most  at  ease 
when  its  left  foot  is  drawn  back  ;  its 
left  hand  in  the  bosom  ;  its  white  bea- 
ver in  the  right ;  and  itself  twisted 
and  twined  into  every  attitude  likely 
to  attract  the  attention  of  the  gaping 
Jebusites,  who  are  content  to  swallow 
a  little  unctious  mummery,  and  to  be 
bespattered,  for  hours  together,  with 
all  "  the  holiday  and  lady  terms"  that 
enrich  the  specious  vocabulary  of  mo- 
dern orators  ! 

And  dost  thou  really  believe,  Chris- 
topher, that  we  Manchester  folks,  pas- 
sionately attached  as  we  are  to  the 
drama,  could  swallow  Conscience  at  the 
suggestion  of  any  printer  or  printer's 
devil  ?  That  we  could  really  give  cre- 
dence to  "  a  lecture  utterly  disproving 
the  devil  and  all  his  works,"  whilst  the 


Manchester  versus  "  Manchester  Poetry." 


200 

existence  of  such  a  being  was  proved, 
by  the  known  residence  of  thy  emissary 
amongst  us?    That  we  needed  "  ser- 
mons," to  bring  us  the  refreshing  com- 
forts of  sleep,  when  we  take  Jeffrey's 
blue  pill  every  quarter-day  ?    Christo- 
pher North,  thou  hast  not  measured 
our  intellect  by  the  standard  gauge ; 
else  wouldst  thou  not  have  been  led  to 
such  inconsistencies ;  nor,  hadst  thou 
measured  our  intellect  by  the  standard 
gauge,  wouldst  thou  have  brought  the 
ghost  of  Paynter's  muse,  from  the  tomb 
in  which  we  saw  her  quietly  inurned, 
to  disturb  our  Easter  revelries. — "  A 
man  who  cannot  build  up  a  hovel," 
says  Samuel  Johnson, "  may  pull  down 
a  temple ;"  and  even  if  the  general  im- 
becility of  Mr  Paynter's  publication 
were  not  in  a  degree  palliated  by  the 
inartificial  talent  with  which  it  is  writ- 
ten, it  ought,  nevertheless,  to  be  ex- 
empted, in  respect  to  the  motive  which 
led  to  its  publication,  from  that  mer- 
ciless species  of  criticism  in  which  you, 
my  dear  fellow,   have  indulged.     A 
stranger  to  its  unfortunate  author,  and 
little  less  than  such  to  the  work  itself, 
I  yet  cannot  approve  that  "  uncorx/iter- 
able  propensity  for  adjusting-  and  fa- 
shioning every  thing  according  to  the 
decrees  of  some  standard  hypothesis  ; 
and  on  which,  like  the  bed  of  Procrustes, 
you  rack  and  torture  every  subject,  till 
you  have  reduced  it,  by  a  process  of  dis- 
location, into  some  conformity  with  ycitr 
theories."     Indeed,  if  one  may  judge 
by  the  specimens  given  to  the  public, 
by  your  spy  and  the  Muse  in  Idleness, 
"  in  poetical  genius  and  capability  it 
would  perhaps  be  unfair  to   compare 
them  ;"  for  the  productions  of  the  one, 
to  use  his  own  words,  "  are_  such  as 
many  a  school-boy  would  be  ashamed  to 
own;"  and  the  efforts  of  the  latter,  as 


is  impossible  to  conjecture.  This  emis- 
sary of  thine,  and  I,  Christopher,  (for 
we  are  marvellously  old  cronies,  he  sit- 
ting at  my  elbow  whilst  I  write  this, 
though  he  little  thinks  what  a  smo- 
king I  am  giving  him,)  have  had  ma- 
ny a  hard  tug  at  rough  draughts  of 
deeds,  and  smooth  draughts  of  porter  ; 
and  he  should  not  forget  "  The  many 
coloured  gems  of  genius"  that  shine  in 
the  ' '  Prologue  spoken  before  a  Private 
Theatrical  Performance  at  Manches- 
ter ;"  which  said  prologue  I  recited 
for  him,  in  a  manner  that  would  per- 
fectly have  astounded  Kean  or  Young. 
Besides  which,  not  many  months  ago, 
we  actually  visited  one  of  these  "  minor 
societies,"  convinced  (whether  "  the 
deceit  was  occasioned  l>y  the  reveries 
of  a  fervid  imagination,  or  the  insinua- 
ting dexterity  of  self-love,"     I   can't 
pretend  to  say,)  that  we  should  soon 
cut  a  conspicuous  figure.     Somehow 
or  other  we  did  not  succeed,  notwith- 
standing we  set  a  very  proper  example 
in  pertinaciously  adhering  to  Lindley 
Murray;  but 

Grammar  in  vain  die  sons  of  Priscian  teach ; 
Good  facts  are  better  than  eight  parts  of 
speed). 

In  short,  we  were  little  attended  to ; 
and  perceiving,  after  a  few  trials,  that 
Heaven  did  not  mean  us  for  orators, 
(although  I  practised  with  three  mar- 
bles in  my  mouth  every  night  for  a 
month,  under  the  new  bridge,)  we  sent 
in  a  resignation,  which  was  politely  ac- 
cepted, but  with  this  intimation,  that 
as  we  had  left  the  camp  as  deserters, 
"  it  was  hoped  we  should  never  return 
as  spies."  *  I  have,  since  then,  most 
scrupulously  stuck  to  the  parchment, 
and  never  ventured  within  two  streets 
of  this  controversial  tabernacle.  I  wish, 


yourself  have  declared,  are  calculated  most  sincerely,  my  brother  of  the  quill 
to  excite  "an  universal  spirit  of  emu-  had  attended  to  the  afore-mentioned 
lation  in  the  minds  of  all ;  from  the  nota  bene,  since  there  are  threats,  and 
lowest  factory-boy  to  the  highest  cot-  rumours  of  threats,  against  your  un- 
ton-spinner."  known  spy.  Indeed,  every  morning 

There  are  somepersons,  who, in  their  when  I  pass  the  muddy  reservoir,  in 
over-weening  anxiety  to  lubricate  and  which  our  poetical  printer  saw  thedcad 
swallow  the  whole  posse-comitatus  of  dogs  floating,  which  he  mistook  for 
satirical  subjects,  cannot  even  spare  swans,  I  turn  away  my  head,  lest  I 
their  nearest  affections,  nor  grant  a  should  find  my  dear  friend  Dick,  in  his 

black  Saxony  coat,  scudding  before  the 
wind,  with  that  cursed  Magazine  about 


plenary  indulgence  to  their  own  pec- 
cadilloes.   "Why  attornies'  clerks  are  to 


be  unmercifully  lashed  for  writing  pro- 
logues and  speculations  on  free-will,  it 


his  neck  for  a  main-sail.     Sorely  do  I 
fear  for  his  safety ;  and,  if  he  escape 


»  Sheridan  to  Burke. 


1821-3  MancJteslcr  versus  " 

with  life,  I  fear  they  will  make  him 
take  a  draught  of  their  Manchester 
sticks. 

Amongst  other  damning  sins,  we 
are  accused  of  ordering  our  books  of 
plates  and  books  of  patteni  cards,  by 
the  same  conveyance ;  and  of  being 
even  likely  to  vie  with  the  elegant, 
learned,  and  amiable  historian  of  Lo- 
renzo da  Medicis.  I  advise  my  fel- 
low townsmen  to  take  warning  by  my 
example,  and  still  to  continue  this  sa- 
vin;;; practice,  if  they  wish  to  maintain, 
in  opposition  to  their  more  dashing 
exemplars  in  a  neighbouring  sea-port, 
that  prudent  and  praiseworthy  thrifti- 
ncss,  which  will  enable  them  to  unite, 
in  their  true  and  enviable  colours,  the 
unostentatious  competency  of  British 
merchants,  with  the  munificent  patron- 
age of  the  British  arts ;  and  the  plain, 
unwarped  rhetoric  of  common  sense, 
with  the  pleasing  and  instructive  lan- 
guage of  scientific  research.  The  same 
glimmering  of  taste  which  induces  our 
thriving  manufacturer  to  load  his  Bible 
and  Psalter  with  a  profusion  of  Mo- 
rocco and  gold,  will,  by  the  prudence 
which  I  recommend,  enable  him,  in  his 
established  prosperity,  to  fill  the  shelves 
of  his  library  with  whatever  is  curious 
and  amusing ;  and  to  line  the  walls  of 
his  mansion  with  the  finest  produc- 
tions of  genius  and  art.  It  is,  indeed, 
the  far-spread  reputation  of  this  lite- 
rary and  scientific  town,  whether 
founded  in  error  or  truth  availeth 
not,  which  brings  every  library  of  con- 
sequence to  its  mart,  and  every  ob- 
scure individual  to  its  fostering  pro- 
tection. So  that  its  inhabitants,  not- 
withstanding "  the  unsparing  hand  of 
this  relentless  satirist,  wfio.ie  portraits 
are  often  less  of  true  resemblances  than 
real  caricatures,"  will  be  found,  "  in 
the  discharge  of  the  social  relations  of 
life,  to  be  equally  faultless  and  exem- 
plary" 

After  this  general  commendation,  it 
would  perhaps  not  be  well  to  particu- 
larize individual  talent,  either  in  the 
body  of  the  Manchester  people,  or  in 
the  Literary  and  Philosophical  Society 
of  which  you  have  spoken  so  slighting- 
ly. For  between  you  and  me,  though 
I  should  not  like  it  to  go  forth  to  the 
world,  the  Whigs  fancy  they  have  all 
the  talents ;  and  as  I  do  not  think  so, 
it  would  be  unwise  to  lose  the  chance 
which  I  have  of  becoming  the  Mem- 
ber for  this  town,  in  case  the  elective 
franchise  be  extended  to  it,  by  endea- 
vouring to  prove  the  contrary,  as  my 


Manchester  Poetry."  201 

success  will  mainly  depend  upon  the 
unanimity  of  both  parties.  And  with 
respect  to  the  Society,  I  think  1  shall 
be  elected  president  when  the  present 
gentleman  filling  that  situation,  and 
some  two  cr  three  of  the  vice-presi- 
dents are  dead,  and  therefore  it  would 
be  imprudent  in  every  respect.  I  may, 
nevertheless,  assert,  that  among  the 
recently-published  papers  of  that  So- 
ciety, and  also  amongst  those  which 
have  indeed  been  read,  but  which, 
from  the  native  modesty  of  genuine 
talent,  are  withheld  from  the  press, 
there  are  many  that  exhibit  the  most 
forcible  and  comprehensive  grasp  of 
understanding,  and  the  most  elegant, 
varied,  and  refined  endowments  of 
mind,  productions  which  will  alike  re- 
sist the  sophistries  of  genius  and  the 
ravages  of  time,  and  remain  admired 
and  tiorescent,  when  the  essays  of  thy 
most  witty  emissary  are  superseded  and 
forgotten — Mine,  too,  Christopher ;  I 
don't  exempt  my  own  productions. 
It  is  but  passing  a  merited  eulogium 
on  our  poorer  fellow-townsmen  to  as- 
sert, that,  for  the  confined  advantages 
which  have  fallen  to  their  lot,  they 
combine  most  unequivocal  shrewdness 
of  intellect  with  very  correct  judg- 
ment upon  general  topics ;  and  that, 
when  left  to  the  sober  current  of  their 
own  feelings,  and  unpolluted  by  the 
poisonous  doctrines  of  designing  men, 
they  constitute  a  population  at  once 
the  pride  and  ornament  of  their  coun- 
try, and  fit  and  deserving  subjects  to 
a  King  of  England.  And,  amongst 
the  more  generally-educated, — the 
proprietors  of  commercial  establish- 
ments,— the  members  of  the  learned 
professions,, — and  pjirticularly  the  re- 
verend brethren  of  the  established  and 
dissenting  communities,  the  same  na- 
tural advantages  are  eminently  pos- 
sessed. Indeed,  this  town,  like  any 
other,  no  doubt,  of  equal  extent,  can 
boast  every  degree  and  shade  of  talent 
in  the  pulpit,  from  the  pure,  pious, 
eloquent,  and  orthodox  dissertations 
of  our  modern  Tillotson,  to  the  linsey- 
woolsey  fabrics  of  the  rude,  though  sin- 
gularly-acute stocking- weaver,  that  left 
Looms  and  stockings  in  the  lurch, 
And  fell  to  mend  and  patch  the  church. 

There  is  one  other  topic  to  which  I 
would  allude,  ere  my  candle  is  com- 
pletely out,  and  my  noble  self  most  ir- 
recoverably drowsy,  that  is,  the  Man- 
chester business — Friend  Christopher, 
I  am  as  staunch  a  friend  to  my  King 
and  the  constitution  as  thou  can'st  pos- 


Manchester  versus  "  Manchester  Poetry." 


202 

sibly  be :  I  "  damn  form,"  and  drink 
healths  five  fathoms  deep,  upon  the 
natal  day  of  our  gallant,  and  buxom, 
and  beloved  monarch  :  his  health,  God 
bless  him  !  is  the  first  which  I  toast  at 
my  own  table,  and  a  song  to  his  pros- 
perity, is  the  last  which  enlivens  my 
humble  board.  I  do  not  mind  a  bro- 
ken head  in  defence  of  his  honour,  and 
my  purse  hath  ever  been  unstrung  to 
assert,  by  every  sacrifice  and  exertion, 
the  unsullied  dignity  of  his  throne. 
Hut,  whilst  I  most  conscientiously 
agree  in  the  necessity  of  the  inter- 
ference alluded  to,  and  most  firmly 
believe  that  the  salvation  of  the  dis- 
trict was  effected  by  it,  I  hold  that  man 
to  be  beneath  all  contempt  who  would 
perpetuate  its  unhappy  consequences, 
by  continued  ribaldry, and  eternize  the 
painful  recollections  with  which  it  is 
associated.  And  however  determined- 
ly the  leading  characters  of  this  our 
town  might  co-operate  in  that  inter- 
ference, and  however  undauntedly  they 
have  abided  by  the  consequences  of 
their  own  intrepid  execution  of  the 
laws,  I  know  there  is  not  one  of  them, 
independent,  honourable,  and  truly 
English  gentlemen  as  they  are,  whose 
eye  does  not  drop  a  tear  for  every  drop 
of  blood  which  was  shed  upon  that  oc- 
casion, and  who  would  not  rather  for- 
feit his  fortune  or  his  life,  than  wit- 
ness such  another  insurrection  in  the 
very  heart  of  this  favoured  country. — 
Nor  hath  language  force  enough  to  ex- 
press the  abhorrence  in  which  every 
humane  and  patriotic  bosom  will  hold 
those  anonymous  scribblers,  no  matter 
whether  Birchbottom  or  Squib,  whether 
dictated  by  professional  spleen  or  phi- 
losophical apathy,  who  have  continual- 
ly applied  the  caustic  of  licentious  wit 
to  tne  festering  sore  in  the  mind  of  an 
irritated  population,  and  who,  in  the 
out-pourings  of  their  sensibility,  know 
not  how 
"  Publica  privatis  secernere,  sacra  pro- 

fanis." 

It  may  be,  they  will  never  see  this  re- 
cord of  individual  opinion,  or,  if  they 
should,  that  it  will  but  serve  as  ali- 
ment to  feed  their  meretricious  popu- 
larity ;  but  fewer  years  of  experience 
than  have  yellowed  the  greenness  of 
my  days,  will  convey  the  admonition 
home,  and  convince  them,  though  late, 
that  "  they  have  their  reward." 

If,  however,  such  a  calamity  again 
be  forced  upon  us — if  the  amenities  of 
social  life  are  again  to  be  interrupted — 
the  reciprocal  offices  of  employer  and 


CMay, 


servant  again  to  be  suspended — the 
peaceful  security  of  our  hamlets,  and 
the  accumulated  wealth  of  our  towns 
again  to  be  endangered — the  majesty 
of  our  civil  tribunals,  and  the  sanctity 
of  our  venerable  establishments  again 
to  be  profaned — amid  the  horror,  and 
the  confusion,  and  the  destruction,  of 
such  a  struggle,  I  should  recommend, 
as  the  first  offering  to  the  sabres  of  our 
gallant  soldiers, — the  dove-tailed  sen- 
tences, and  the  flagitious  witticims  of 
these  most  fair,  most  impartial,  but, 
thank  Heaven,  most  impotent  and  self- 
blinded  demagogues. 

Whilst  penning  the  above  remarks, 
I  thought  that  the  best  disproof  I  could 
offer  of  our  mental  obtusencss  would 
be  a  specimen  of  my  own  verses,  being 
bred  and  brought  up  at  the  feet  of  Ga- 
maliel, who  is  our  parish  schoolmaster. 
I  had  accordingly  been  dotting  my 
finger  nails,  and  scratching  my  head, 
a  full  half  hour,  to  no  purpose,  when 
my  most  dear  friend,  Mr  Michael 
Napperskin  was  introduced.  Without 
uttering  a  syllable,  he  drew  thy  Maga- 
zine from  his  pocket,  opened  it  to  the 
leaf  folded  down  at  Manchester  Poetry, 
and,  biting  his  lip  most  methodically, 
asked,  "  Is  that  piece  of  impertinent 
flippancy  your  writing?" — "  No,  by  all 
the  Gods  in  the  Pantheon,"  responded 
I.  "  Then,  I  know  whose  it  is,  and 
111  answer  it,"  continued  he.  "  You 
may  save  yourself  the  trouble,"  quoth 
I,  "  it's  already  done;  there  it  is,  read." 
He  accordingly  perused  the  article, 
but  I  could  see  by  the  inflexions  of  his 
phiz  that  it  wasn't  the  thing.  "  Its 
as  libellous  as  the  other,"  said  he, 
•'  and  I  will  answer  it." — "  It  will  be 
all  to  no  purpose,  my  dear  Michael 
Napperskin,"  I  replied,  "  for  I  hold 
between  twenty  and  thirty  shares  in 
the  proprietorship  of  that  Magazine  ; 
and  I  have,  in  consequence,  '  a  voice 
potential  as  the  Duke's/  so  that  my 
article  is  sure  to  have  the  preference. ' 
This  rather  staggered  Michael ;  who 
was  obliged  to  content  himself  with 
suggestions,  several  of  which  I  have 
insensibly  adopted.  Notwithstanding 
this  scurvy  treatment,  I  bear  thee  no 
malice,  and  am, 

Dear  Christopher, 
Thine  assured  friend, 

HlLDEBRAND  SNAPDRAGON. 

N.  B.  Do  not  forget  to  remember  me 
to  all  my  friends  at  Edina.  If  I 
should  go  to  the  north,  be  assured 
they  will  find  me  a  prime  one. 


Annals  of  the  Paritk. 


203 


ANNAL8  OP  THE  PARISH;   Oft  THE  CHRONICLE  OP  DALMAILING.* 

£!N  general,  nothing  appears  more  absurd  than  the  insertion  in  a  periodical  work 
of  an  article  conferring  high  praise  on  a  known  contributor  to  that  work.  In 
justification  of  ourselves  on  the  present  occasion,  we  shall  only  say,  that  the 
following  review  of  the  "  Annals  of  the  Parish,"  has  been  sent  us  by  a  person 
second  to  none  in  the  modern  literature  of  this  country — a  person  whom  we 
have  not,  and  can  scarcely  hope  ever  to  have,  the  honour  of  numbering  among 
our  regular  contributors — and  who,  finally,  is  altogether  ignorant  even  of  the 
name  of  the  author  whose  work  he  criticizes. — C.  N/] 


IN  the  title-page,  this  volume  gives 
itself  out  to  be  arranged  and  edited  by 
the  Author  of  "  The  Ayrshire  Lega- 
tees" published  in  several  successive 
numbers  of  "  Blackwood's  Edinburgh 
Magazine ;"  and  we  think  it  will  not  at 
all  derogate  from,  but  rather  increase, 
the  reputation  which  they  acquired. 
There  is  the  same  nature  in  the  cha- 
racters,— the  same  idiomatic  plainness 
in  the  manners  and  the  language, — the 
same  pastoral  simplicity  in  the  good 
old-fashioned  clergyman,  who  is  the 
principal  person  of  the  drama.  It  de- 
scribes the  village  and  its  inhabitants 
with  the  same  particularity  as  Mrs 
Hamilton's  well  known  "  Cottagers  of 
Glenburnie ;"  and  though  it  does  not 
exhibit  them  in  quite  so  sordid  a  garb 
as  that  picture  does,  yet  it  dresses  them 
in  no  unnatural  or  affected  finery;  they 
have  their  every-day  clothes,  only 
cleaner  and  more  tidily  put  on  than 
Mrs  Hamilton's.  That  lady,  indeed, 
we  are  inclined  to  think,  went  back, 
for  her  rural  picture,  to  a  period  con- 
siderably distant,  when  she  left  Scot- 
land ;  and  so,  by  a  certain  anachronism 
in  manners,  represented  the  lower  ranks 
of  Scotsmen  and  Scotswomen,  of  Scots 
cottages  and  Scots  dairies,  rather  as 
they  were  40  or  50  years  ago,  than  as 
they  will  now  be  found.  Besides,  Mrs 
Hamilton,  writing  to  reform  abuses  and 
errors,  has  perhaps  caricatured  them 
in  a  certain  degree,  or  brought  them  at 
least  into  a  stronger  light  than  that  in 
which  they  are  usually  seen,  even  by 
the  most  impartial  eyes  ;  and  by  such 
means  has,  we  know,  given  some  of- 
fence to  Scots  people,  whose  patriotism, 
though  not  stronger  than  truth,  is  at 
least  not  weaker  than  their  delicacy. 
These  Annals  trace,  we  think  very 
fairly,  the  morals  and  manners  of  a 


Scots  inland  village,  from  its  compara- 
tively unimproved  state,  in  the  year 
1760,  down  to  the  modern  period,  the 
modern  manners,  the  modern  way  of 
living,  in  the  year  1809  ;  and,  amidst 
these,  the  reverend  writer  pour  trays, 
with  perfect  sincerity,  those  little 
changes  which  the  course  of  his  own 
years,  as  well  as  the  course  of  events, 
produced  in  himself.  He  never  forgets, 
however,  his  benevolence  or  his  virtue; 
and  his  charity  for  the  failingsof  others, 
and  for  those  relaxations  of  moral  dis- 
cipline, which  are  perhaps  inseparable 
from  a  progressive  state  of  society,  con- 
tinues unabated  by  the  prejudices  of 
ancient  recollection,  by  the  zeal  of  a 
warmly  religious  clergyman,  or  an  ad- 
herence to  the  rigid  principles  of  Cal- 
vinism. 

Like  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  Mr 
Micah  Balwhidder  is  the  historian  of 
his  own  fireside,  and  the  various  vicis- 
situdes of  their  fortune.  Of  these  there 
are  not,  like  those  of  Dr  Primrose,  in- 
cidents to  surprise  or  to  interest,  by 
their  uncommon  or  romantic  nature,  in 
which  respect  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield 
has  perhaps  gone  somewhat  beyond 
the  limits  of  the  probability  even  of 
fiction.  The  simple  and  almost  uni- 
form journal  of  Mr  Balwhidder  is  so 
little  extraordinary,  as  to  claim  from 
us  somewhat  of  a  belief  in  its  reality ; 
an  advantage  which  belongs  to  those 
narratives  that  give  the  portrait  of  ac- 
tual life,  (such  as  the  works  of  Rich- 
ardson), with  so  little  of  what  we  may 
call,  in  a  painter's  language,  relief  in 
the  picture,  as  to  appear  flat  to  some 
romantic  readers,  but  which  have  a 
powerful  charm  for  such  as  like  to  look 
on  nature  in  its  native  garb,  without 
the  ornaments  in  which  fancy  or  re- 
finement delights  to  dress  it ;  and  there 


*  Annals  of  the  Parish ;  or  the  Chronicle  of  Dalmailing  ;  During  the  Ministry  of  the 
Rev.  Micah  Balwhidder.  Written  by  himself.  Arranged  and  Edited  by  the  Author 
of  "  The  Ayrshire  Legatees."— Blackwood,  Edinburgh;  T.  Cadell,  London,  1821. 


904 


Annals  of  the  Parish. 


is,  as  in  the  works  of  that  great  paint- 
er of  ordinary  life,  an  individuality 
and  minuteness  in  the  description  of 
the  persons,  and  in  the  detail  of  the 
little  incidents,  which,  in  their  very 
tediousness,  have  the  strong  impres- 
sion of  truth  and  reality.  In  one  par- 
ticular our  worther  minister  is  much 
the  reverse  of  Dr  Primrose.  So  far 
from  being  a  monogamist,  he  marries 
successively  three  wives,  in  all  of  whom 
hemeetswith  those  valuable  household 
qualities  which  his  own  virtues  as  a 
husband  deserve. 

In  its  humorous  passages  this  work 
has  no  attempt  at  the  brilliancy  of  wit, 
or  the  strength  of  caricature.  The 
lines  of  its  grotesque  are  marked  with 
no  glaring  colour,  but  place  before  us 
the  figures  as  they  are  seen  in  every 
village  with  which  we  are  acquainted, 
and  in  the  inhabitants  of  those  vil- 
lages as  we  see  them  at  their  doors  or 
their  firesides.  They  look,  and  speak, 
and  act,  as  is  natural  to  their  situa- 
tion, and  are  not  forced  into  attitudes 
either  of  the  picturesque  that  may  at- 
tract admiration,  or  the  ludicrous  that 
may  excite  ridicule. 

In  the  distresses  which  these  An- 
nals occasionally  relate,  the  pathetic  is 
that  of  ordinary,  not  high-wrought 
feeling,  and  its  language  the  natural 
expression  of  affliction  without  the 
swell  of  tragedy,  or  the  whine  of  senti- 
ment. The  description  is  never  la- 
boured with  epithet,  nor  brought  for- 
ward by  artificial  lights  thrown  upon 
it  by  the  skill  of  the  describer  ;  it  is 
simply  of  what  he  sees,  and  what  we 
believe  he  could  not  but  see. 

Though  in  a  work  of  the  inartificial 
kind,  which  the  above  general  charac- 
ter announces,  it  is  not  easy  to  pick 
out  remarkable  or  striking  passages, 
the  purpurei  panni  which  some  popu- 
lar performances  afford,  we  will  sub- 
mit to  our  readers  a  few  extracts,  by 
which  they  may  judge  of  the  merits  of 
the  work,  and  of  the  justness  of  the 
character  we  have  given  of  it. 

The  account  of  the  writer's  settle- 
ment in  the  parish  of  DalmaiUng,  (si- 
tuated in  that  western  district  where, 
to  be  popular  a  minister  must  be  what, 
in  modern  language,  we  might  call  an 
ultra-gospel  minister),  is  given  with 
perfect  impartiality,  and  with  that 
meekness  of  temper  which  truly  be- 
longs to  the  gospel,  though  in  the 
abuse  of  that  word,  the  zeal  of  the 
congregation  frequently  forgets  it.  The 


door  of  the  church,  on  the  day  of  or* 
dination,  was  barred  up  by  the  mal- 
content parishioners,  so  that  the  mi- 
nister and  his  attendant  members  of 
the  presbytery  were  obliged  to  go  in 
at  a  window.  A  weaver  of  the  name 
of  Thorl,  took  occasion,  from  this  cir- 
cumstance, to  quote  Scripture  against 
the  admission  of  Mr  JBalwhidder : 
"  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  he  that  en- 
tereth  not  by  the  door  into  the  sheep- 
fold,  but  climbeth  up  some  other  way, 
the  same  is  a  thief  and  a  robber ;"  but 
the  sarcasm  had  no  effect  on  the  mild- 
ly-suffering temper  of  the  minister. 

"  Though  my  people  received  me  in  this 
unruly  manner,  1  was  resolved  to  cultivate 
civility  among  them  ;  and  therefore,  the 
very  next  morning  I  began  a  round  of  vi- 
sitations ;  but  oh,  it  was  a  steep  brae  that 
I  had  to  climb,  and  it  needed  a  stout  heart. 
For  I  found  the  doors  in  some  places  barred 
against  me ;  in  others,  the  bairns,  when 
they  saw  me  coming,  ran  crying  to  their  mo- 
thers, '  Here's  the  feckless  Mess-John  ;* 
and  then  when  I  went  in  into  the  houses, 
their  parents  would  no  ask  me  to  sit  down, 
but  witli  a  scornful  way,  said,  '  Honest 
man,  what's  your  pleasure  here  ?'  Never- 
theless, I  walked  about  from  door  to  door, 
like  a  dejected  beggar,  till  I  got  the  almous 
deed  of  a  civil  reception,  and  who  would 
have  thought  it,  from  no  less  a  person  than 
the  same  Thomas  Thorl  that  was  so  bitter 
against  me  in  the  kirk  on  the  foregoing 
day. 

"  Thomas  was  standing  at  the  door  with 
his  ^reen  duffle  apron,  and  his  red  Kiknar- 
nock  nightcap — I  mind  him  as  well  as  if  it 
was  but  yesterday — and  he  had  seen  me 
going  from  house  to  house,  and  in  what 
manner  I  was  rejected,  and  his  bowels  were 
moved,  and  he  said  to  me  in  a  kind  man- 
ner, '  Come  in,  sir,  and  ease  yoursel ;  this 
will  never  do,  the  clergy  are  God's  gorbies, 
and  for  their  Master's  sake  it  behoves  us  to 
respect  them.  There  was  no  ane  in  the 
whole  parish  mair  against  you  than  mysel, 
but  this  early  visitation  is  a  symptom  of 
grace  that  I  couldna  have  expectit  from  a 
bird  out  the  nest  of  patronage.'  I  thanked 
Thomas,  and  went  in  with  him,  and  we 
had  some  solid  conversation  together,  and 
I  told  him  that  it  was  not  so  much  the  pas- 
tor's duty  to  feed  the  flock,  as  to  herd  them 
well ;  and  that  although  there  might  be 
some  abler  with  the  head  than  me,  there 
was  na  a  he  within  the  bounds  of  Scotland 
more  willing  to  watch  the  fold  by  night  and 
by  day.  And  Thomas  said  he  had  not 
heard  a  mair  sound  observe  for  some  time, 
and  that  if  I  held  to  that  doctrine  in  the 
poopit,  it  would  na  be  lang  till  I  would 
work  a  change — '  I  was  mindit,'  quoth 
he,  '  never  to  set  my  foot  within  the  kirk- 
door  while  you  were  there  ;  but  to  testify, 


1821.3 


Annaks  of  the  Pariah. 


and  no  to  condemn  without  a  trial,  I'll  be 
there  next  Lord's  day,  and  egg  my  neigh- 
bours to  be  likewise,  so  ye'll  no  have  to 
preach  just  to  the  bare  walls  and  the  laird's 
family.'  " 

The  first  change  in  the  manners  or 
occupation  of  this  inland  parish,  is 
marked  in  the  following  natural  ac- 
count of  one  of  the  boys  going  to  sea. 
He  was  the  son  of  one  of  its  most  ami- 
able inhabitants,  a  Mrs  Malcolm,  who 
had  seen  better  days,  the  widow  of  a 
Clyde  shipmaster,  who  had  been  lost 
at  sea,  and  left  by  him  with  a  family 
of  children,  whose  only  support  was 
the  industry  of  their  mother. 

"  It  was  in  this  year  that  Charlie  Mal- 
colm, Mrs  Malcolm's  eldest  son,  was  sent 
to  be  a  cabin-boy  in  the  Tobacco  trader,  a 
three  masted  ship,  that  sailed  between  Port- 
fJlasgow  and  Virginia  in  America.  She 
was  commanded  by  Captain  Dickie,  an  Ir- 
ville  man  ;  for  at  that  time  the  Clyde  was 
supplied  with  the  best  sailors  from  our 
coast,  the  coal-trade  with  Ireland  being  a 
better  trade  for  bringing  up  good  mariners 
than  the  long  voyages  in  the  open  sea  ; 
which  was  the  reason,  as  I  often  heard  said, 
why  the  Clyde  shipping  got  so  many  of 
their  men  from  our  country-side.  The  go- 
ing to  sea  of  Charlie  Malcolm  was,  on  di- 
vers accounts,  a  very  remarkable  thing  to 
us  all,  for  he  was  the  first  that  ever  went 
from  our  parish,  in  the  memory  of  man,  to 
be  a  sailor,  and  every  body  was  concerned 
at  it,  and  some  thought  it  was  a  great  ven- 
ture of  his  mother  to  let  him,  his  father 
having  been  lost  at  sea.  But  what  could 
the  forlorn  widow  do  ?  She  had  five  weans 
and  little  to  give  them  ;  and,  as  she  herself 
said,  he  was  aye  in  the  hand  of  his  Maker, 
go  where  he  might,  and  the  will  of  God 
would  be  done  in  spite  of  all  earthly  wiles 
and  devices  to  the  contrary. 

"On  the  Monday  morning,  when  Charlie 
was  to  go  away  to  meet  the  Irville  carrier 
on  the  road,  we  were  all  up,  and  I  walked 
by  myself  from  the  Manse  into  the  clachan 
to  bid  him  farewell,  and  I  met  him  just 
coming  from  his  mother's  door,  as  blithe  as 
a  bee,  in  his  sailor's  dress,  with  a  stick,  and 
a  bundle  tied  in  a  Barcelona  silk  handker- 
chief hanging  o'er  his  shoulder,  and  his 
two  little  brothers  were  with  him,  and  his 
sisters,  Kate  and  Effie,  looking  out  from 
the  door  all  begreeten  ;  but  his  mother  was 
in  the  house,  praying  to  the  Lord  to  pro- 
tect her  orphan,  as  she  afterwards  told  me. 
All  the  weans  of  the  clachan  were  gathered 
at  the  kirk-yard  yett  to  see  him  pass,  and 
they  gave  him  three  great  shouts  as  he  was 
going  bye ;  and  every  body  was  at  their 
doors,  and  said  something  encouraging  to 
him  ;  but  there  was  a  great  laugh  when 
auld  Mizy  Spaewell  came  hirpling  with 
her  bachle  in  her  hand,  and  flung  it  after 
him  for  gude  luck.  Mizy  had  a  wonderful 


205 

faith  in  freats,  and  was  just  an  oracle  of 
sagacity  at  expounding  dreams,  and  bodes 
of  every  sort  and  description — besides,  she 
was  reckoned  one  of  the  best  howdies  in 
her  day  ;  but  by  this  time  she  was  grown 
frail  and  feckless,  and  she  died  the  same 
year  on  Hallowe'en,  which  made  every 
body  wonder,  that  it  should  have  so  fallen 
out  for  her  to  die  on  Hallowe'en." 

In  tracing  the  progressive  popula- 
tion, and  increasing  employment  and 
wealth  of  a  village,  the  Annals  mark 
one  of  those  reverses  of  which  we  have 
lately  seen  but  too  many  examples, 
from  too  extensive  or  ill-managed  con- 
cerns. A  great  cotton-mill,  from  which 
its  first  owner  had  derived  great  wealth, 
is  afterwards,  in  the  less  fortunate  or 
less  skilful  hands  of  his  successor,  so 
much  a  losing  adventure  as  to  occasion 
the  company's  stopping  payment.  The 
fatal  consequences  are  strongly  but 
simply  set  forth  in  the  annals  of  the 
year  when  this  happened.  The  melan- 
choly spectacle  of  a  thousand  poor 
people,  suddenly  thrown  out  of  em- 
ployment ai>d  deprived  of  subsistence, 
is  set  before  us  in  unexaggerated  but 
striking  description.  The  dreadful  ef- 
fects of  the  disorder  in  one  family,  are 
thus  described  in  a  passage  which  may 
be  given  as  a  fair  specimen  of  that  sim- 
ple pathetic  which  I  have  above  men- 
tioned, as  belonging  to  this  little  book. 
"  Among  the  overseers,  there  was  a  Mr 
Dwining,  an  Englishman  from  Manches- 
ter, where  he  had  seen  better  days,  having 
had  himself  there  of  his  own  property,  once 
as  large  a  mill,  according  to  report,  as  the 
Cayenneville  mill.  He  was  certainly  a  man 
above  the  common,  and  his  wife  was  a  lady 
in  every  point ;  but  they  held  themselves 
by  themselves,  and  shunned  all  manner  of 
civility,  giving  up  their  whole  attention  to 
their  two  little  boys,  who  were  really  like 
creatures  of  a  better  race  than  the  callans  of 
our  clachan. 

"  On  the  failure  of  the  company,  Mr 
Dwining  was  observed  by  those  who  were 
present,  to  be  particularly  distressed,  his 
salary  being  his  all ;  but  he  said  little,  and 
went  thoughtfully  home.  Some  days  after 
he  was  seen  walking  by  himself  with  a  pale 
face,  a  heavy  eye,  and  a  slow  pace — all  to- 
kens of  a  sorrowful  heart  Soon  after  he 
was  missed  altogether ;  nobody  saw  him. 
The  door  of  his  house  was  however  open, 
and  his  two  pretty  boys  were  as  lively  as 
usual,  on  the  green  before  the  door.  I  hap- 
pened to  pass  when  they  were  there,  and  I 
asked  them  how  their  father  and  mother 
were.  They  said  they  were  still  in  bed, 
and  would  not  waken,  and  the  innocent 
lambs  took  me  by  the  hand,  to  make  me 
waken  their  parents.  I  know  not  what  was 
in  it,  but  I  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and 


soa 

1  was  led  in  by  the  babies,  as  if  I  had  not 

fower  to  resist.    Never  shall  I  forget  what 
saw  in  that  bed  *  *  * 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  found  a  letter  on  the  table ;  and  I  came 
away,  locking  the  door  behind  me,  and  took 
the  lovely  prattling  orphans  home.  I  could 
but  shake  my  head  and  weep,  as  I  gave 
them  to  the  care  of  Mrs  Balwhidder,  and 
she  was  terrified,  but  said  nothing.  I  then 
read  the  letter.  It  was  to  send  the  bairns 
to  a  gentleman,  their  uncle,  in  London. 
Oh  it  is  a  terrible  tale,  but  the  winding- 
sheet  and  the  earth  is  over  it.  I  sent  for 
two  of  my  elders.  I  related  what  I  had 
seen.  Two  coffins  were  got,  and  the  bo- 
dies laid  in  them  ;  and  the  next  day,  with 
one  of  the  fatherless  bairns  in  each  hand,  I 
followed  them  to  the  grave,  which  was  dug 
in  that  part  of  the  kirk-yard  where  un- 
christened  babies  are  laid.  We  durst  not 
take  it  upon  us  to  do  more  ;  but  few  knew 
the  reason,  and  some  thought  it  was  be- 
cause the  deceased  were  strangers,  and  had 
no  regular  lair. 

"  I  dressed  the  two  bonny  orphans  in  the 
best  mourning  at  my  own  cost,  and  kept 
them  in  the  Manse  till  we  should  get  an 
answer  from  their  uncle,  to  whom  I  sent 
their  father's  letter.  It  stung  him  to  the 
quick,  and  he  came  down  all  the  way  from 
London,  and  took  the  children  away  him- 
self. O  he  was  a  vext  man,  when  the 
beautiful  bairns,  on  being  told  he  was  their 
uncle,  ran  into  his  arms,  and  complained 
that  their  papa  and  mamma  had  slept  so 
long,  that  they  would  never  waken." 

Another  example  of  the  pathetic,  of 
a  tenderer,  but  less  shocking  kind,  will 
be  found  in  the  twenty-third  chapter. 

"  Although  I  have  not  been  particular  in 
noticing  it,  from  time  to  time,  there  had 
been  an  occasional  going  off,  at  fairs  and 
on  market-days,  of  the  lads  of  the  parish 
as  soldiers,  and  when  Captain  Malcolm 
got  the  command  of  his  ship,  no  less  than 
four  young  men  sailed  with  him  from  the 
clachan  ;  so  that  we  were  deeper  and  deep- 
er interested  in  the  proceedings  of  the  dole- 
ful war,  that  was  raging  in  the  plantations. 
By  one  post  we  heard  of  no  less  than  three 
brave  fellows  belonging  to  us  being  slain 
in  one  battle,  for  which  there  was  a  loud 
and  general  lamentation. 

"  Shortly  after  this,  I  got  a  letter  from 
Charles  Malcolm,  a  very  pretty  letter  it  in- 
deed was  ;  he  had  heard  of  my  Lord  Egles- 
ham's  murder,  and  grieved  for  the  loss, 
both  because  his  lordship  was  a  good  man, 
and  because  he  had  been  such  a  friend  to 
him  and  his  family.  '  But,'  said  Charles, 
'  the  best  way  that  I  can  shew  my  grati- 
tude for  his  patronage,  is  to  prove  myself 
a  good  officer  to  my  King  and  country.' 
Which  I  thought  a  brave  sentiment,  and 
was  pleased  thereat ;  for  somehow  Charles, 
from  the  time  lie  brought  me  the  limes  to 
make  a  bowl  of  punch,  in  his  pocket  from 


Annals  of  the  Pariih. 


Jamaica,  had  built  a  nest  of  affection  in 
my  heart.  But,  oh  !  the  wicked  wastry  of 
life  in  war.  In  less  than  a  month  after,  the 
news  came  of  a  victory  over  the  French 
fleet,  and  by  the  same  post  I  got  a  letter 
from  Mr  Howard,  that  was  the  midship- 
man who  came  to  see  us  with  Charles,  tell- 
ing me  that  poor  Charles  had  been  mortal- 
ly wounded  in  the  action,  and  had  after- 
wards died  of  his  wounds.  '  He  was  a  hero 
in  the  engagement,'  said  Mr  Howard, '  and 
he  died  as  a  good  and  a  brave  man  should.' 
— These  tidings  gave  me  one  of  the  sorest 
hearts  I  ever  suffered,  and  it  was  long  be- 
fore I  could  gather  fortitude  to  disclose  the 
tidings  to  poor  Charles's  mother.  But  the 
callants  of  the  school  had  heard  of  the  vic- 
tory, and  were  going  shouting  about,  and 
had  set  the  steeple  bell  a-ringing,  by  which 
Mrs  Malcolm  heard  the  news  ;  and  know- 
ing that  Charles's  ship  was  with  the  fleet, 
she  came  over  to  the  Manse  in  great  anxie- 
ty, to  hear  the  particulars,  somebody  tell- 
ing her  that  there  had  been  a  foreign  letter 
to  me  by  the  post-man. 

"  When  I  saw  her  I  could  not  speak, 
but  looked  at  her  in  pity,  and  the  tear  flee- 
ing up  into  my  eyes,  she  guessed  what  had 
happened.  After  giving  a  deep  and  sore 
sigh,  she  inquired,  '  How  did  he  behave  ? 
I  hope  well,  for  he  was  aye  a  gallant  lad- 
die !' — and  then  she  wept  very  bitterly. 
However,  growing  calmer,  I  read  to  her 
the  letter,  and  when  I  had  done,  she  beg- 
ged me  to  give  it  to  her  to  keep,  saying, 
'  It's  all  that  I  have  now  left  of  my  pretty 
boy  ;  but  it's  mair  precious  to  me  than  the 
wealth  of  the  Indies  ;"  and  she  begged  me 
to  return  thanks  to  the  Lord,  for  all  the 
comforts  and  manifold  mercies  with  which 
her  lot  had  been  blessed,  since  the  hour  she 
put  her  trust  in  Hun  alone,  and  that  was 
when  she  was  left  a  pennyless  widow,  with 
her  five  fatherless  bairns. 

"  It  was  just  an  edification  of  the  spirit,  to 
see  the  Christian  resignation  of  this  worthy 
woman.  Mrs  Balwhidder  was  confounded, 
and  said,  there  was  more  sorrow  in  seeing 
the  deep  grief  of  her  fortitude,  than  tongue 
could  telL 

"  Having  taken  a  glass  of  wine  with  her, 
I  walked  out  to  conduct  her  to  her  own 
house,  but  in  the  way  we  met  with  a  se- 
vere trial.  All  the  weans  were  out  para- 
ding with  napkins  and  kail-blades  on  sticks, 
rejoicing  and  triumphing  in  the  glad  tidings 
of  victory.  But  when  they  saw  me  and  Mrs 
Malcolm  coming  slowly  along,  they  guess- 
ed what  had  happened,  and  threw  away  their 
banners  of  joy ;  and,  standing  all  up  in  a 
row,  with  silence  and  sadness,  along  the 
kirk-yard  wall  as  we  passed,  shewed  an  in- 
stinct of  compassion  that  penetrated  to  my 
very  soul.  The  poor  mother  burst  into 
fresh  affliction,  and  some  of  the  bairns  into 
an  audible  weeping ;  and,  taking  one  ano- 
ther by  the  hand,  they  followed  us  to  her 
door,  like  mourners  at  a  funeral.  Never 
3 


1821.  "2 


was  such  a  sight  seen  In  any  town  before. 
The  neighbours  came  to  look  at  it,  as  we 
walked  along,  and  the  men  turned  aside 
to  hide  their  faces,  while  the  mothers  press- 
ed their  babies,  fondlier  to  their  bosoms, 
and  watered  their  innocent  faces  with  their 
tears. 

"  I  prepared  a  suitable  sermon,  taking  as 
the  words  of  my  text,  '  Howl,  ye  ships  of 
Tarshish,  for  your  strength  is  laid  waste.' 
But  when  I  saw  around  me  so  many  of  my 
people,  clad  in  complimentary  mourning 
for  the  gallant  Charles  Malcolm,  and  that 
even  poor  daft  Jenny  Gaffaw,  and  her  daugh- 
ter, had  on  an  old  black  ribbon ;  and  when 
I  thought  of  him,  the  spirited  laddie,  co- 
ming home  from  Jamaica,  with  his  parrot 
on  his  shoulder,  and  his  limes  for  me,  my 
heart  filled  full,  and  I  was  obliged  to  sit 
down  in  the  pulpit,  and  drop  a  tear. 

"After  a  pause,  and  the  Lord  having 
vouchsafed  to  compose  me,  I  rose  up,  and 
gave  out  that  anthem  of  triumph,  the  124th 
Psalm  ;  the  singing  of  which  brought  the 
congregation  round  to  themselves  ;  but  still 
I  felt  that  I  could  not  preach  as  I  had  meant 
to  do,  therefore,  I  only  said  a  few  words  of 
prayer,  and  singing  another  psalm,  dismiss- 
ed the  congregation." 

The  good  pastor  laments  the  party 
spirit  which  the  political  madness  of 
the  years  immediately  following  the 
French  Revolution  produced  in  the 
parish. 

"  This  year  had  opened  into  all  the  leafi- 
ness  of  midsummer  before  any  thing  me- 
morable happened  in  the  parish,  farther 
than  that  the  sad  division  of  my  people 
into  government-men  and  jacobins  was  per- 
fected. This  calamity,  for  I  never  could 
consider  such  heart-burning  among  neigh- 
bours as  any  thing  less  than  a  very  heavy 
calamity,  was  assuredly  occasioned  by  faults 
on  both  sides,  but  it  must  be  confessed  that 
the  gentry  did  nothing  to  win  the  common- 
ality from  the  errors  of  their  way.  A  little 
more  condescension  on  their  part  would 
not  have  made  things  worse,  and  might 
have  made  them  better ;  but  pride  inter- 
posed, and  caused  them  to  think  that  any 
show  of  affability  from  them  would  be  con- 
strued by  the  democrats  into  a  terror  of 
their  power.  While  the  democrats  were 
no  less  to  blame ;  for  hearing  how  their 
compeers  were  thriving  in  France  and  de- 
molishing every  obstacle  to  their  ascend- 
ency, they  were  crouse,  and  really  insolent, 
evidencing  none  of  that  temperance  in  pros- 
perity that  proves  the  possessors  worthy 
of  their  good  fortune. 

"  As  for  me,  my  duty  in  these  circum- 
stances was  one  plain  and  simple.  The 
Christian  religion  was  attempted  to  be 
brought  into  disrepute ;  the  rising  genera- 
tion were  taught  to  jibe  at  its  holiest  ordi- 
nances ;  and  the  kirk  was  more  frequented 
as  a  place  to  while  away  the  time  on  a 
rainy  Sunday,  than  for  any  insight  of  the 

VOL.  I.X., 


Annals  of  the  Parish. 


207 

admonitions  and  revelations  in  the  Bacred 
book.  Knowing  this,  I  perceived  that  it 
would  be  of  no  effect  to  handle  much  the 
mysteries  of  the  faith  ;  but  as  there  was  at 
the  time  a  bruit  and  a  sound  about  univer- 
sal benevolence,  philanthropy,  utility,  and 
all  the  other  disguises  with  which  an  infi- 
del philosophy  appropriated  to  itself  the 
charity,  brotherly  love,  and  well-doing  in. 
culcated  by  our  holy  religion,  I  set  myself 
to  task  upon  these  heads,  and  thought  it 
no  robbery  to  use  a  little  of  the  stratagem 
employed  against  Christ's  Kingdom,  to 
promote  the  interests  thereof  in  the  hearts 
and  understandings  of  those  whose  ears 
would  have  been  sealed  against  me,  had  I 
attempted  to  expound  higher  things.  Ac- 
cordingly, on  one  day  it  was  my  practice 
to  shew  what  the  nature  of  Christian  cha- 
rity was,  comparing  it  to  the  light  and 
warmth  of  the  sun  that  shines  impartially 
on  the  just  and  the  unjust — shewing  that 
man,  without  the  sense  of  it  as  a  duty,  was 
as  the  beasts  that  perish,  and  that  every 
feeling  of  his  nature  was  intimately  selfish, 
but  that,  when  actuated  by  this  divine  im- 
pulse, he  rose  out  of  himself  and  became 
as  a  god,  zealous  to  abate  the  sufferings  of 
all  things  that  live — And,  on  the  next  day, 
I  demonstrated  that  the  new  benevolence 
which  had  come  so  much  into  vogue,  was 
but  another  version  of  this  Christian  virtue. 
—In  like  manner  I  dealt  with  brotherly 
love,  bringing  it  home  to  the  business  and 
bosoms  of  my  hearers,  that  the  Christianity 
of  it  was  neither  enlarged  nor  bettered  by 
being  baptized  with  the  Greek  name  of 
philanthropy.  With  well-doing,  however, 
I  went  more  roundly  to  work.  I  told  my 
people  that  I  thought  they  had  more  sense 
than  to  secede  from  Christianity  to  become 
Utilitarians,  for  that  it  would  be  a  confes- 
sion of  ignorance  of  the  faith  they  desert- 
ed, seeing  that  it  was  the  main  duty  incul- 
cated by  our  religion  to  do  all  in  morals 
and  manners,  to  which  the  new-fangled 
doctrine  of  utility  pretended." 

Mr  Balwhidder's  toleration  of  dif- 
ference in  religious  opinions  is  in  the 
same  spirit,  and  attended  with  the 
same  beneficial  effects,  as  his  patience 
with  political  dissenters.  After  men- 
tioning among  other  refinements  of 
modern  luxury,  the  receipt  of  a  turtle 
from  Glasgow,  by  the  proprietors  of 
the  cotton  mill,  a  description,  natu- 
ral enough,  of  his  surprise  at  the  ap- 
pearance of  this  new  kind  of  fish,  as 
lie  calls  it,  and  the  disagreement  of 
the  dishes  made  of  it  on  his  stomach, 
he  digresses  to  a  novelty  of  a  different 
kind,  a  mental  disorder  which  was  in- 
troduced into  the  parish  by  some  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  workmen  of  the 
cotton  mill. 

"  But  the  story  of  the  turtle  is  nothing 
to  that  of  the  Mass,  which,  with  all  its  muni- 
9C 


Annals  of  the  Parish. 


308 

mcrics  and  abominations,  was  brought  in- 
to Caycnncvillc  by  an  Irish  priest  of  the 
name  of  Father  O'Gratly,  who  was  confes- 
sor to  some  of  the  poor  deluded  Irish  la- 
bourers about  the  new  houses  and  the  cot- 
ton-mill. How  he  had  the  impudence  to 
set  up  that  memento  of  Satan,  the  crucifix, 
within  my  parish  and  jurisdiction,  was  what 
I  never  could  get  to  the  bottom  of;  but  the 
soul  was  shaken  within  me,  when,  on  the 
Monday  after,  one  of  the  elders  came  to  the 
Manse,  and  told  me,  that  the  old  dragon  of 
Popery,  with  its  seven  heads  and  ten  horns, 
had  been  triumphing  in  Cayenneville  on 
the  foregoing  Lord's  day  !  I  lost  no  time 
in  convening  the  Session  to  see  what  was  to 
be  done.  Much,  however,  to  my  surprise, 
the  elders  recommended  no  step  to  be  ta- 
ken, but  only  a  zealous  endeavour  to  great- 
er Christian  excellence  on  ourpart,  by  which 
we  should  put  the  beast  and  his  worship- 
pers to  shame  and  flight.  I  am  free  to  con- 
fess, that,  at  the  time,  I  did  not  think  this 
the  wisest  counsel  which  they  might  have 
given ;  for,  in  the  heat  of  my  alarm,  I  was 
for  attacking  the  enemy  in  his  camp.  i'ut 
they  prudently  observed,  that  the  days  of 
religious  persecution  were  past,  and  it  was 
a  comfort  to  see  mankind  cherishing  any 
sense  of  religion  at  all,  after  the  vehement 
inridclity  thai  had  been  sera  abroad  by  the 
French  Hep  ublicans;  and  to  this  opinion, 
now,  that  I  have  !, 

dom,  I  own  myself  a  convert  and  pru.iu- 
lyte." 

After  a  ministry  of  fifty  years,  this 
venerable  pastor  retires  from  the  ex- 
ercise of  his  sacred  functions  in  the 
year  1810.  In  the  concluding  chapter 
he  gives  an  account  of  this  event  with 
the  same  temperate  and  charitable  spi- 
rit which  distinguishes  the  whole  nar- 
rative of  his  blameless  and  virtuous 
life. 

"  My  tasks  are  all  near  a  close ;  and  in 
writing  this  final  record  of  my  ministry, 
the  very  sound  of  my  pen  admonishes  me 
that  my  life  is  a  burden  on  the  back  of  fly- 
ing time,  that  he  will  soon  be  obliged  to 
lay  down  in  his  great  store-house,  the  grave. 
Old  age  has,  indeed,  long  warned  me  to 
prepare  for  rest,  and  the  darkened  windows 
of  my  sight  shew  that  the  night  is  coming 
on,  while  deafness,  like  a  door  fast  barred, 
lias  shut  out  all  the  pleasant  sounds  of  this 
world,  and  inclosed  me,  as  it  were,  in  a  pri- 
son, even  from  the  voices  of  my  friends. 

"  1  have-lived  longer  than  the  common  lot 
of  man,  and  I  have  seen,  in  my  time,  many 
mutations  and  turnings,  and  ups  and  downs, 
notwithstanding  the  great  spread  that  has 
been  hi  our  national  prosperity.  I  have  be- 
held them  that  were  flourishing  like  the 
green  bay  trees,  r;;<ile  desolate,  and  their 
brandies  scattered.  But,  in  my  own  estate, 
I  have  had  a  large  and  liberal  experience 
of  goodness. 

**  At  the  beginning  of  niy  ministry  I  was 


CMay, 


reviled  and  rejected,  but  my  honest  endea- 
vours to  prove  a  faithful  shepherd,  were 
blessed  from  on  high,  and  rewarded  with 
the  affection  of  my  flock.  Perhaps,  in  die 
vanity  of  doting  old  age,  I  thought  in  this 
there  was  a  merit  due  to  myself,  which 
made  the  Lord  to  send  the  chastisement  of 
the  Canaille  schism  among  my  people,  for 
I  was  then  wroth  without  judgment,  and  by 
my  heat  hastened  into  an  open  division  the 
flaw  that  a  more  considerate  manner  might 
have  healed.  I?ut  I  confess  my  fault,  and 
submit  my  cheek  to  the  smitcr  ;  and  I  now 
see  that  the  finger  of  Wisdom  was  in  that 
probation,  and  it  was  far  better  that  the 
weavers  meddled  with  the  things  of  God, 
which  they  could  not  change,  than  with 
those  of  the  king,  which  they  could  only 
harm.  In  that  matter,  however,  I  was  like 
our  gracious  monarch  in  the  American 
war  ;  for  though  I  thereby  lost  the  pasto- 
ral allegiance  of  a  portion  of  my  people,  in 
like  manner  as  he  did  of  his  American  sub- 
jects ;  yet,  after  the  separation,  1  was  ena- 
bled so  to  deport  myself,  that  they  shewed 
me  many  voluntary  testimonies  of  affection- 
ate respect,  and  which  it  would  be  a  vain 
glory  in  me  to  rehearse  here.  One  thing  I 
must  record,  because  it  is  as  much  to  dieir 
honour  as  it  is  to  mine. 

"•  When  it  was  known  that  I  was  to 
preach  my  last  sermon,  every  one  of  those 
who  had  been  my  hearers,  and  who  had  se- 
ceded to  the  Canaille  meeting,  made  it  a 
point  that  day  to  be  in  the  parish  kirk,  and 
to  stand  in  the  crowd,  that  made  a  lane  of 
reverence  foi  me  to  pass  from  the  kirk  door 
to  the  back-yett  of  the  Manse.  And  short- 
ly aiter  a  deputation  of  all  their  brethren, 
with  their  minister  at  their  head,  came  to 
me  one  morning,  and  presented  to  me  a 
server  of  silver,  in  token,  as  they  were  plea- 
sed to  say,  of  their  esteem  for  my  blameless 
life,  and  the  charity  that  1  had  practised 
towards  die  poor  of  all  sects  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood ;  which  is  set  forth  in  a  well- 
penned  inscription,  written  by  a  weaver 
lad  that  works  for  his  daily  bread.  Such 
a  thing  would  have  been  a  prodigy  at  the 
beginning  of  my  ministry,  but  the  progress 
of  book  learning  and  education  has  been 
wonderful  since,  and  with  it  has  come  a 
spirit  of  greater  liberality  than  the  world 
knew  before,  bringing  men  of  adverse  prin- 
ciples and  doctrines,  into  a  more  humane 
communion  with  each  other,  shewing,  that 
it's  by  the  mollifying  influence  cf  know 
ledge,  the  time  will  conie  to  pass,  when  the 
tiger  of  papistry  shall  lie  down  with  the 
lamb  of  reformation,  and  the  vultures  of 
prelacy  be  as  harmless  as  the  presbyterian 
doves  ;  when  the  independent,  the  anabap- 
tist, and  every  other  order  and  denomin,-- 
tion  of  Christians,  not  forgetting  even  these 
poor  little  wrens  of  the  Lmd,  the  burghers 
and  anti-burghers,  will  pick  from  the  hand 
of  patronage,  and  dread  no  snare. 

"  ( )n  the  next  Sunday,  after  my  farc- 
;,  I  took  the  uriu  of  Mrs  Bui 


1821.3 


Annals  of  the  Parish. 


whidder,  and  with  my  cane  in  my  hand, 
walked  to  our  own  pew,  where  1  sat  some 
time,  but  owing  to  my  deafness,  not  being 
able  to  hear,  I  have  not  since  gone  back  to 
the  church.  But  my  people  are  fond  of 
having  their  weans  still  christened  by  me, 
and  the  young  folk,  such  as  are  of  a  seri- 
ous turn,  come  to  be  married  at  my  hands, 
believing,  as  they  say,  that  there  is  some- 
thing good  in  the  blessing  of  an  aged  gos- 
pel minister.  But  even  this  remnant  of 
my  gown  I  must  lay  aside,  for  Mrs  Bal- 
wliidder  is  now  and  then  obliged  to  stop 
me  in  my  prayers,  as  I  sometimes  wander 
— pronouncing  the  baptismal  Messing  up- 
on a  bride  and  bridegroom,  talking  as  if 
they  were  already  parents.  I  am  thankful, 
however,  that  I  have  been  spared  with  a 
sound  mind  to  write  this  book  to  the  end  ; 
but  it  is  my  last  task,  and,  indeed,  really 
I  have  no  more  to  say,  saving  only  to  wish 
a  blessing  on  all  people  from  on  High, 
where  I  soon  hope  to  be,  and  to  meet  there 
all  the  old  and  long-departed  sheep  of  my 
flock,  especially  the  first  and  second  Mrs 
Balwhidders." 

On  the  whole,  we  give  our  sincere 
and  cordial  approbation  to  these  An  nals, 
not  only  as  amusing,  highly  amusing 
to  such  readers  as  are  fond  of  nature 
and  simplicity,  hut  as  instructive.  As 
a  Remembrancer,  this  little  volume 
may  he  very  useful.  We  are  very  apt 
to  forget  the  origin  of  practices  which 
universal  custom  has  now  made  us 
consider  as  of  established  adoption, 
though  some  of  them  have  no  merit 
but  what  prescription  confers,  and 
others  are  subject  to  censure  which  ha- 
bit only  induces  us  to  withhold.  The 
worthy  clergyman  never  failed  to  no- 
tice the  introduction  into  his  parish 
of  such  novelties,  which  his  pulpit 
sometimes,  when  necessary  or  proper, 
recommended  to  the  approbation,  or 


200 


exposed  to  the  censure  of  his  parish- 
ioners, to  whose  temporal  and  eter- 
nal welfare  he  was  always  awake. — 
Among  other  practices  which  he  re- 
probates with  becoming  severity,  are 
smuggling,  the  immoderate  use  of  spi- 
rituous liquors,  the  neglect  of  sacred 
duties,  the  establishment  of  idle  or 
unprofitable  places  of  resort,  the  rash 
and  ignorant  discussion  of  politics,  the 
irreverent  contempt  of  legal  and  whole- 
some authority.  His  opinions  are  al- 
ways honest,  always  disinterested,  and 
generally  just.  He  censures  gently, 
but  fairly,  the  inattention  of  country- 
gentlemen  to  measures  of  general  or 
local  improvement,  when  public  not 
private  advantage  is  expected  to  be 
the  result ;  and  gives  its  due  import- 
ance to  a  friendly  and  cordial  commu- 
nication between  different  ranks  of  the 
community,  which  may  preserve  to 
rank  or  wealth  its  beneficial  influence, 
and  to  the  lower  orders  the  respect 
and  attention  which  are  due  to  supe- 
rior station,  when  its  power  and  in- 
fluence are  exerted  to  the  general  ad- 
vantage. 

On  all  these  accounts,  we  sincerely 
and  warmly  recommend  the  perusal 
of  these  Annals  to  the  members  of 
communities  in  situations  similar  to 
that  of  the  Parish  of  which  this  ex- 
cellent clergyman  had  the  charge ;  by 
such  perusal,  they  may  be  cautioned 
what  novelties  to  adopt  as  useful,  or 
discourage  as  pernicious ;  and  thus  reap 
the  ad  vantage  which  the  Roman  Classic 
imputes  to  the  recollection  of  past 
events,  by  making  the  present  time 
the  disciple  of  the  former ; 
"  Discipulus  prioris  eat  posterior  dies." 


£Sincc  this  article  was  put  to  press,  we  have  been  not  a  little  struck  by  a 
Critique  on  "  The  Annals,"  in  the  Inverness  Courier.  Our  good  friends  at 
Inverness  have  been  most  fortunate  in  obtaining  such  an  Editor ;  for  we  do 
not  know  any  Provincial  Journal  that  is  conducted  with  more  ability  than  the 
Inverness  Courier.  In  proof  of  this,  and  from  our  regard  to  honest  Micah,  we 
cannot  help  giving  the  following  extract,  which  we  hope  will  gratify  our  read- 
ers.—C.  N. 


"!F  there  be  one  heartless  and  brain- 
less mortal  in  the  circle  of  English  read- 
ers, who  does  not  remember  Parson 
Abraham  Adams,  and  Dr  Primrose, Vi- 
car of  Wakefield,  as  the  beloved  of  his 
youth,  let  him  not  take  up  the  Parish 
Annals — hecan  never  become  acquaint- 
ed with  the  ilev.  Micah  Bal  whidder, 
4  Doctor,  as  lie  was  sometimes  calltd, 


though  not  of  that  degree.'  These  three 
members  of  the  sacred  profession,  hold 
the  same  rank  among  the  clergy  that 
Sir  Roger  de  Covcrley,  Baron  Brad  war- 
dine,  and  Sir  Hugh  Tyrold  do  among 
laymen-  They  take  possession  of  the 
heart  of  the  reader  through  every  ave- 
nue, by  the  mere  force  of  their  guile- 
U'js  and  kindly  natures.  Wisdom  would 


210 


Annals  of  the  Parish. 


not  exclude  them,  and  affection  throws 
every  inlet  wide  open  to  admit  them 
into  the  sanctuary.  Micah  has  not,  to 
to  be  sure,  the  learning  or  mental  vi- 
gour of  Parson  Adams,  nor  the  tender- 
ness and  delicacy  of  "  the  husband  of 
one  wife,"  the  Vicar — still  he  is  wor- 
thy, in  virtue  of  their  common  good- 
heartedness  and  pastoral  affections,  to 
take  his  place  by  their  side ;  and  he  is 
the  first  presbyter  who  has  been  thus 
honoured.  We  have  long  borne  a  slight 
grudge  to  "  the  Great  Unknown,"  for 
those  prelatic  limn  ings,  asMicah  might 
say,  which  he  has  given  of  the  Scottish 
clergy.  Mr  Blattergowl  devouring  in 
secret  the  fragments  of  the  Antiquary's 
feast,  and  courting  Miss  Grizzel  "  for 
cake  and  pudding" — heavy  and  cau- 
tious Mr  Poundext's  "ale-inspired  stu- 
dies •"  or  Mr  Mucklewraith,  "  a  wee 
thing  crackit,  but  a  braw  preacher  for 
a'  that,"  areecclesiastical  sketches  which 
might  have  called  down  the  scourge  of 
Jeremy  Collier,  were  that  fiery  mem- 
ber of  the  church  militant  still  in  the 
body. 

"  The  author  of  Waverley  has  indeed 
presented  us  with  Mr  Morton,  but  he 
is  one  of  those  self-sufficing  charac- 
ters of  perfect  wisdom,  and  unmingled 
goodness,  which  are  within  the  com- 
pass of  any  ordinary  writer,  and  who, 
as  they  have  no  need  of  the  reader's 
indulgence,  obtain  but  a  slight  hold  on 
his  memory.  It  was  therefore  reser- 
ved for  the  present  writer  to  bring  us 
acquainted  with  a  character,  of  which 
the  prototype  is  to  be  found  in  the  me- 
mory or  imagination  of  every  native  of 


Scotland.  The  character  of  Micah 
with  the  three  Mrs  Balwhidders,  is, 
however,  but  a  subordinate  part  of  the 
design  of  this  volume,  which  is  to  pre- 
sent a  lively  record  of  that  change  in 
manners  and  national  character,  which 
has  within  the  last  sixty  years  wrought 
such  miracles  around  us.  This  task  is 
executed  with  the  minute  fidelity  and 
lively  colouring  of  Crabbe.  We  may 
be  better  understood  by  saying,  that 
Micah  Balwhidder  is  among  our  mo- 
dern historians  what  Wilkie  is  among 
the  Scottish  painters ;  and  we  think 
that  the  Statistical  Account  of  Scot- 
land will  never  be  complete,  till  the 
faithful  annals  of  this  homely  and  ve- 
racious Chronicler,  are  added  to  the 
appendix.  The  personal  character  of 
Micah,  with  his  patriarchal  groupe  of 
wives,  stands  out  in  fine  relief  from 
the  body  of  the  composition,  and  the 
pastoral  virtues  which  cluster  around 
him,  are  enhanced  and  adorned  by  the 
little  harmless  peculiarities  of  a  former 
te  student  of  the  orthodox  University 
of  Glasgow,"  now  become  the  grave 
pastor  of  a  quiet  country  parish.  Mi- 
cah has  no  claims  to  great  talent,  or 
what  he  calls  "  a  kirk-filling  elo- 
quence," but  with  a  heart  overflowing 
with  kindness  and  thankfulness,  he 
holds  on  the  even  tenor  of  his  way — 
enjoying  the  innocent  self-importance 
of  his  station,  relishing  a  quiet  joke, 
cherishing  goodness,  repressing  vice, 
and  doing  all  the  good  in  his  power  in 
his  own  little  circle." 
INVERNESS  COURIER,  ) 
May  10,  1821.  j 


NARRATIVE  OF  THE  CHINESE    EMBASSY  TO  THE  KHAN   OF   THE 
TOURGOUTH  TARTARS.* 


In  preceding  ages  there  appears  to 
have  existed  as  great  a  desire  to  elevate 
the  station  which  the  Chinese  ought  to 
hold,  in  the  scale  of  civilized  nations, 
as  there  has  been  in  later  times  to 
lower  their  pretensions  below  the  fair 
level  to  which  they  appear  entitled ; 
and  both  mistakes  seem  to  have  origi- 
nated from  the  same  source  whence 
every  prejudice  and  error  arises  —  a 
great  degree  of  ignorance  of  the  facts 
upon  which  alone  any  rational  opinion 
can  be  grounded.  In  earlier  times  the 
information  respectingthe  institutions, 
customs,  manners,  and  policy  of  this 
ancient  and  extraordinary  people,  were 


chiefly  derived  from  the  missionaries, 
who,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  their 
zealous,  intelligent,  and  intrepid  bre- 
thren, appear  to  have  committed  the 
usual  failing  (to  use  no  harsher  term) 
of  magnifying  the  power,  consequence, 
and  intellect  of  the  nations  they  were 
desirous  of  converting,  and  thereby  of 
securing  to  themselves  a  proportion  of 
applauseand  fame,  commensurate  with 
the  apparent  importance  of  the  people 
converted,  and  the  difficulties  with 
which  they  had  had  to  contend.  It  is 
to  this  disposition,  to  exaggerate  in  the 
early  histories,  that  must  be  mainly 
attributed  the  very  high  notions  for- 


*  Translated  from  the  Chinese,  by  Sir  G.  T.  Staunton,  Bart.  L.L.D.  and  F.R.S. 
Octavo.  Murray,  London,  1821. 


1821.]]  Narrative  of  the 

merly  entertained  of  the  Chinese  cha- 
racter and  policy,  which,  perhaps,  has 
induced  many  modern  travellers,  from 
the  falsehood  of  such  representations, 
to  fall  into  an  opposite  extreme,  and  to 
deal  out.  the  measure  of  their  censure 
with  the  same  want  of  discrimination, 
which  distinguishes  the  panegyrics  of 
preceding  writers ;  though  we  perfect- 
ly agree  with  Sir  George  Staunton,  in 
admitting,  "  That  the  observations  of 
the  latter,  as  far  as  their  opportunities 
extended,  are,  upon  the  whole,  best 
entitled  to  confidence."  It  must,  how- 
ever, be  allowed,  that  some  of  the  mo- 
dern writers  have  laboured  under  great 
disadvantages,  not  only  "  from  the 
comparatively  narrowed  limits  to  which 
their  inquiries  were  restricted,"  but 
also  from  some  of  them  having  drawn 
their  conclusions  from  the  meagre  in- 
formation obtained  through  a  slight 
acquaintance  with  somemari time  places 
of  the  empire,  where  the  simplicity 
and  character  of  the  natives  had  pro- 
bably been  greatly  corrupted  by  their 
intercourse  with  European  traders, 
from  whose  example  and  manners  they 
were  not  likely  to  be  greatly  confirmed 
in  habits  of  common  honesty  or  virtue. 
The  account  given  of  the  Chinese  at 
Canton  and  its  vicinity,  in  the  narra- 
tive of  Lord  Anson's  voyage,  represents 
them  as  the  most  dastardly,  insincere, 
and  dishonest  of  the  human  race ;  and 
possibly,  as  far  as  the  writer's  experi- 
ence extended,  he  was  fully  justified 
in  his  statements ;  but  as  Mr  Barrow 
justly  remarks,  in  his  excellent  Travels 
in  China,  "  to  decide  upon  the  general 
character  of  the  Chinese,  from  the  deal- 
ings Lord  Anson  had  with  them  in  the 
port  of  Canton,  would  be  as  unfair  as 
it  would  be  thought  presumptuous  in 
a  foreigner  to  draw  the  character  of 
our  nation  from  a  casual  visit  to  Fal- 
mouth,  Killybegs,  or  Aberdeen."  The 
same  remark,  he  says,  applies  to  other 
writers  on  the  subject,  who  never  were 
"  five  hundred  yards  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  European  factories  at  Canton." 
This  discrepancy  between  the  old  and 
the  late  accounts  of  the  Chinese,  if  it 
did  not  directly  extinguish  all  curiosi- 
ty with  respect  to  the  people  and  their 
institutions,  had  at  least  a  great  ten- 
dency to  promote  that  indifference  on 
the  subject  which  we  almost  remem- 
ber had  become  somewhat  general 
about  half  a  century  ago — nor  is  a 
charge  of  this  nature  so  surprising  as 


Chinese  Embassy.  21 1 

it  may  strike  us  at  first  sight.  Man- 
kind is  ever  prone  to  extremes ;  and 
no  sooner  do  we  behold  a  rent  in  the 
veil,  that  shrouds  the  object  of  our 
blind  admiration  from  accurate  obser- 
vation, than  we  fly  into  an  opposite 
direction,  and  as  inconsiderately  de- 
grade our  fallen  idol  to  the  lowest 
depths  of  indiffeience  and  contempt. 
A  new  era,  however,  with  respect  to 
the  Chinese,  seems,  during  the  last  age, 
to  be  dawning  on  our  view ;  when, 
from  an  increasing  connection  with 
this  singular  people,  a  more  intimate 
acquaintance  with  its  peculiarities  and 
customs,  and,  above  all,  from  the  la- 
bours and  researches  of  such  accom- 
plished writers  as  the  mild,  candid, 
and  enlightened  translator  of  the  work 
before  us,  we  may  be  enabled  to  ob- 
tain new  lights  upon  the  subject,  and 
to  form  juster  notions  than  havehither- 
to  been  entertained  of  a  nation  which 
appears  to  have  been  alike  misrepre- 
sented by  the  indiscretion,  prejudice, 
and  ignorance  of  friends  and  foes. 

As  far  as  we  can  judge  of  the  Chi- 
nese, from  the  unsatisfactory  informa- 
tion fonnerly  afforded,  it  seems  im- 
possible to  deny  that  they  must  have 
been  civilized  to  a  considerable  degree, 
when  every  state  in  Europe  was  sunk 
in  complete  barbarism.  Most  of  the 
arts  and  sciences  appear  to  have  been 
known  among  them  in  very  early  times; 
and  their  literature,  at  these  periods, 
was  probably  upon  a  level  with  that 
of  any  other  nation  in  the  world.  Their 
government  too,  laws  and  domestic 
policy,  though  possibly  not  entitling 
the  Chinese  to  hold  the  first  rank  in 
the  scale  of  civilized  society,  neverthe- 
less partake  largely  of  wisdom  and  mo- 
rality ;  and  it  will  probably  ever  re- 
main the  wonder  of  mankind,  that  a 
system  of  government,  so  extended 
and  so  perfect  in  its  kind,  could  have 
been  so  firmly  established,  in  the  com- 
parative infancy  of  the  world,  as  to 
have  resisted  through  succeeding  ages 
the  storms  and  revolutions  that  have 
destroyed  contemporary  nations,  and 
long  since  swept  them  from  the  face  of 
the  earth.  Of  the  policy  of  the  Chi- 
nese, with  respect  to  other  states,  it  is 
difficult  for  an  European  to  speak  with 
impartiality.  Our  views  and  practice 
are  so  diametrically  opposed  to  the  ex- 
clusive nature  of  their  system,  that  we 
must  unavoidably  regard  them  in  this 
respect  with  a  feeling  somewhat  bor- 


Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy. 


212 

tiering  on  contempt ;  but  it  ought  to  be 
remembered  that  it  has  been  by  a  strict 
adherence  to  this  policy,  that  they  more 
than  probably  owe  the  preservation  of 
their  government,  laws,  and  indepen- 
dence, and  even  their  existence  as  a  na- 
tion. Had  it  not  been  for  the  exclusive 
system  to  which  they  have  so  uniformly 
adhered,  China  would,  in  all  likelihood, 
have  been  long  before  this  period  in 
the  situation  of  India,  and  have  seen 
her  ancient  institutions,  and  govern- 
ment, sunk  in  the  splendour  of  foreign 
usurpation.  With  such  an  example 
before  her  eyes  and  immediately  on 
the  threshold  of  the  empire,  it  is  not 
very  sanguinely  to  be  expected,  that 
either  from  motives  of  inclination  or 
prudence,  she  will  relax  in  a  system 
that  has  for  ages  proved  the  grand 
means  by  which  her  integrity  has  been 
preserved.  She  has  long  existed,  and 
comparatively  happily  existed,  with 
scarcely  any  intercourse  with  foreign 
nations,  and  she  has  perhaps  no  other 
chance,  in  the  present  state  of  the 
world,  of  retaining  her  national  conse- 
quence, than  by  persisting  in  that  line 
of  policy,  which  has  hitherto  enabled 
her  to  resist  every  approach  of  exter- 
nal encroachment  and  innovation — by 
pursuing  such  a  course,  she  may,  in- 
deed, have  been  deprived  of  many  of 
the  advantages  and  blessings,  which 
have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  other  states, 
acting  on  more  liberal  and  enlarged 
views ;  but  it  must  not  be  forgotten, 
that  her  children  have  also  been  spa- 
red the  wars,  the  persecutions,  the  de- 
solation, and  the  bloodshed,  which,  in 
spite  of  the  cries  of  suffering  humani- 
ty, and  the  precepts  of  the  mildest  and 
most  moral  of  religions,  have  for  ages 
proved  the  disgrace  and  the  scourge 
of  almost  every  highly  civilized  por- 
tion of  the  world. 

But  it  is  now  time  to  consider  the 
work  before  us,  which,  as  it  may  be 
regarded  as  a  kind  of  unique  produc- 
tion, is  not  only  interesting  on  that 
account,  but  also  from  the  remarkable 
circumstances  in  which  the  embassy 
itself  originated,  and  the  singular  abi- 
lity and  secrecy  with  which  the  real 
object  of  the  mission  was  carried  into 
effect.  Some  years  previously  to  1712, 
it  seems  that  A-yu-ke,  the  Khan  oi' 
the  Tourgouths,  one  of  the  four  divi- 
sions of  the  Eleuth,  or  Calmuc  Tar- 
tars, conceiving  some  disgust  at  Tse- 
vang-rulxlan,  the  principal  chief  of 


CMay, 


these  tribes,  took  the  resolution  of  fly- 
ing from  his  oppression,  and  of  shel- 
tering himself  and  his  followers  un- 
der the  protection  of  the  Czar  of  Rus- 
sia. They  were  kindly  received  by 
that  monarch,  and  a  tract  of  country 
was  assigned  for  their  residence  be- 
tween the  river  Jaik,  and  the  Wolga, 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Caspian 
Sea.  Tse-vang-rabdan,  the  chief  of 
the  Eleuths,  being  with  all  his  pro- 
vinces tributary  to  China,  so  very  con- 
siderable a  defection  as  the  tribe  of 
the  Tourgouths,  appears  to  have  given 
some  uneasiness  to  Kang-Hee,  one  of 
the  wisest  and  most  powerful  of  the 
Chinese  Emperors  ;  who  accordingly, 
some  years  subsequent  to  the  settle- 
ment of  the  Tourgouths  under  their 
new  masters,  thought  it  adviseable  to 
send  an  embassy  to  A-yu-ke,  under 
the  pretence  of  arranging  the  safe  re- 
turn to  his  country  of  a  Tourgouth 
prince,  who. had  accidentally  been  ob- 
liged to  throw  himself  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  emperor.  The  real  mo- 
tive, however,  for  sending  the  mission, 
appears  to  have  had  two  other  very 
distinct  objects  in  view.  First,  to 
sound  A-yu-ke  on  the  subject  of  the 
Tourgouths  returning  to  their  old  al- 
legiance, and  secondly,  to  open  if  pos- 
ssible,  by  indirect  means,  some  com- 
munication with  the  Czar  of  Rus- 
sia. The  chief  conduct  of  the  embas- 
sy was  intrusted  to  a  Mandarin  of 
the  name  of  Tu-li-shin,  the  author  of 
the  narrative,  who  appears  to  have 
been  a  person  well  qualified  for  the 
situation.  He  commences  his  narra- 
tive, by  giving  a  modest  and  not  un- 
interesting account  of  his  family,  his 
own  rise  in  the  state,  his  disgrace,  and 
dismissal  from  public  service,  and  his 
subsequent  retirement  to  Linn-loo. 
Here  he  remained  for  seven  years,  em- 
ployed in  the  cultivation  of  his  farm, 
and  the  service  of  his  parents — till 
"  at  length,"  he  observes,  "  when  it 
was  determined,  in  the  year  Pro-tien, 
a  year  of  universal  tranquillity  and 
pacification,  to  send  a  special  mission 
to  the  kingdom  of  the  Tourgouths,  a 
region  remote,  and  beyond  the  seas  (or 
great  waters)  I  humbly  addressed  a 
petition  to  his  Majesty,  requesting  to 
be  employed  on  the  occasion,  that  I 
might  thus  have  an  opportunity  of 
evincing  the  grateful  sense  I  enter- 
tained of  the  many  favours  I  had  at 
former  periods  enjoyed  under  the  im- 


18210 


Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy. 


peria!  government.*  Being  admitted 
in  consequence  to  the  imperial  pre- 
sence,, I  had  again  the  happiness  of 
witnessing  the  benign  influence,  and 
excellent  effects  of  the  sacred  virtues 
of  his  Majesty.  By  his  Majesty's  gra- 
cious favour,  I  was  restored  to  my  for- 
mer rank  and  offices,  and  further  ho- 
noured, with  his  Majesty's  special 
commands  to  proceed  upon  the  service 
I  had  solicited." — On  the  27th  of  May, 
1712,  he  received  the  imperial  edict, 
addressed  to  him  and  his  colleagues, 
and  on  the  2.3d  of  June  following,  set 
out  from  Pekin  on  the  expedition  in 
the  51st  year  of  Kang-Hee.  The  edict 
itself  is,  for  the  purposes  it  had  in 
view,  one  of  the  best  and  most  artful 
pieces  of  diplomacy,  we  have  ever  seen; 
particularly  in  that  part  of  it  which 
relates  to  the  before  mentioned  Khan 
of  the  Eleuth  tribes,  whom  it  is  pret- 
ty evident,  from  the  document  itself, 
as  well  as  from  the  account  given  by 
Mr  Bell,  his  imperial  majesty  must 
have  considered  rather  a  troublesome 
neighbour.  The  instructions  relating 
to  any  interview  the  ambassadors  may 
have  with  the  Czar,  are  equally  judi- 
cious, and  the  following  directions  as 
to  conduct  and  general  behaviour, 
strike  us  as  peculiarly  characteristic  of 
the  Chinese,  though  of  a  nature  some- 
what superior  to  any  thing  that  could 
have  been  expected  from  a  govern- 
ment, which  we  should  previously 
have  supposed,  must  have  been  very 
defective  in  its  knowledge  of  the  cus- 
toms and  manners  of  foreign  nations. 
"As  the  Russians,"  continues  the  edict, 
"  are  of  a  vain  and  ostentatious  dis- 
position, they  will  doubtless  display 
before  you,  for  your  information,  the 
several  things  they  possess.  On  such 
occasions,  you  are  neither  to  express 
admiration,  nor  contempt ;  and  are 
merely  to  say,  '  Whether  our  country 
possesses,  or  not,  such  things  as  these, 
it  is  quite  out  of  our  province  to  de- 
termine. Some  things  indeed  there 
are  which  we  have  seen,  and  others 
have  not  seen  ;  but  there  are  other 
things  again  which  others  have  seen, 
though  we  have  not.  On  these  subjects 
therefore,  we  arc  by  no  means  suffi- 
ciently informed.'  In  your  proceedings 


213 

upon  the  service,  to  which  you  are  at 
present  appointed,  there  must  be  per- 
fect harmony  and  concord  amongst 
you ;  you  must  refrain  from  drinking 
wine  immoderately,  and  you  must 
strictly  prohibit  all  excesses  of  this 
kind  among  your  servants  and  atten- 
dants. In  the  course  of  your  journey, 
you  will  have  to  enter  certain  districts 
of  the  kingdom  of  Russia,  where  the 
manners  and  customs  are  extremely 
corrupt,  and  where  there  are  many 
immodest  women.  Your  servants  and 
attendants  must  not  be  suffered  on 
these  occasions  to  be  disorderly  and 
licentious  ;  and  at  all  times  you  must 
maintain  strong  discipline  and  control 
over  them.  If  while  you  are  within 
the  Russian  territories,  you  should 
yourselves  chance  to  see  any  of  the 
women  of  the  country,  or  to  witness 
any  occurrence  that  may  seem  absurd 
in  your  eyes,  you  are,  nevertheless, 
to  preserve  always  your  gravity  and 
composure,  and  by  no  means  to  be 
lightly  given  to  scoffing  or  ridicule. 

"  If  presents  are  offered  to  you,  you 
are  not  at  once  to  accept  of  them,  but 
to  excuse  yourselves  again  and  again, 
saying,  '  Wehave  hrovght'nothingrich 
or  valuable  with  us  to  ofter  to  the  Cha- 
han-khan ;  how  then  can  we  think  of 
accepting  such  presents  from  him  ?'  In 
the  event,  however,  of  their  being  very 
earnest  and  pressing,  you  may  accept 
of  one  or  two  things;  and  you  are,  in 
such  case,  to  produce  the  pieces  of  em- 
broidered silks  which  you  are  to  carry 
with  you,  and  to  present  them  to  the 
Cha-han-khan  in  return,  saying,  *  Be- 
cause of  the  great  length  of  the  jour- 
ney, we  have  brought  nothing  with  us 
that  is  very  excellent  or  valuable ; — 
these  things  we  only  offer  as  a  trifling 
mark  of  our  consideration  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  present  meeting.'  Should 
you  not  be  invited  to  an  interview,  and 
only  a  messenger  be  sent  to  you,  you 
will  still  take  occasion  to  present  the 
pieces  of  silk  which  you  will  have 
brought  with  you ;  and  you  will  say, 
'  Having  come  a  very  long  journey, 
we  have  nothing  in  our  possession  of 
value ;  but  we  offer  you  these  trifles, 
as  a  mark  of  our  consideration.' 

"  The  laws  and  regulations  of  the 


*  It  might  seem  extraordinary  that  a  degraded  officer  should  presume  to  solicit  an 
appointment  of  this  important  and  confidential  character  ;  but  a  distant  foreign  mission 
is  a  service  so  little  desirable  in  the  eyes  of  a  Chinese,  that  it  became  highly  meritorious 
in  any  officer  of  suitable  abilities,  to  volunteer  his  services  on  the  occasion,  and  it  ap- 
pears accordingly,  that  Tu-li-shim's  offer  was  not  only  immediately  accepted,  but  that 
he  was  himself  entirely  rcotured  to  favour  iu  consequence.—  V\ dc  Note  by  Translator. 


Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy. 


214 

Russians  are  very  severe  and  rigorous. 
In  the  event,  therefore,  of  any  of  your 
servants  or  attendants  committing  a 
trifling  fault,  you  must  not  at  once  de- 
nounce them  in  anger  to  the  magis- 
trate of  the  district.  In  all  your  pro- 
ceedings, you  must  shew  your  clemen- 
cy and  moderation,  as  well  as  your  gra- 
vity and  composure. 

"  If  you  are  questioned  respecting 
your  own  rank  and  offices,  you  are  to 
say,  '  We  are  only  officiating  magi- 
strates, belonging  to  the  outer  tribu- 
nals of  government,  and  by  no  means 
either  great  officers  of  state,  or  imme- 
diate attendants  on  the  person  of  his 
Majesty.' 

"  The  inhabitants  of  the  Russian 
territory,  its  natural  and  artificial  pro- 
ductions, its  geography  and  general 
appearance,  are  also  objects  to  which 
due  attention  is  to  be  given  by  you  in 
the  course  of  your  journey. — Respect 
the  above." 

These  clear  and  very  able  instruc- 
tions appear  to  have  been  understood, 
and  well  acted  upon,  by  the  ambassa- 
dors, at  least  so  far  as  regarded  the 
more  important  points  of  the  mission, 
as  it  not  only  succeeded  in  its  profess- 
ed object,  but  also  in  establishing  a  de- 
gree of  understanding  with  the  Tour- 
gouths,  which  appears  eventually  to 
have  paved  the  way  for  the  return  of 
that  tribe  to  its  ancient  country  and 
allegiance  in  the  year  1771.  With  re- 
spect to  the  minor  objects  of  the  em- 
bassy, we  do  not  quite  agree  in  opinion 
with  Sir  George  Staunton,  as  to  the 
"  meagre  and  unsatisfactory"  nature 
of  the  descriptions  of ' '  the  scenery  and 
remarkable  objects"  on  the  route.  We 
certainly  have  perused  them  with  con- 
siderable pleasure,  and  have  received 
as  much  instruction  on  these  topics  as 
\ve  could  have  expected  from  the  jour- 
nal of  travellers  passing  through  a 
country  so  unvaried  and  so  devoid  of 
objects  to  attract  attention.  With  re- 
spect to  the  inhabitants,  their  manners 
and  customs,  the  account  is  certainly 
flimsy  enough,  though  great  care  ap- 
pears to  have  been  taken  throughout 
the  narrative,  to  state  with  accuracy 
the  situation  of  the  different  towns 
and  stations,  their  respective  distan- 
ces, the  amount  of  the  inhabitants, 
the  various  strength  of  the  garrisons, 
the  number,  size,  and  direction,  of  the 
principal  rivers,  and  of  almost  every 
thing  that  could  tend  to  throw  light 
on  the  geographical  and  military  situ- 
5 


CMay, 


ation  of  the  various  districts  of  the 
Russian  empire  visited  by  the  embas- 
sy. The  original  Chinese  map  of  the 
countries  travelled  through,  Sir  George 
informs  us,  "  is  remarkable  only  for  its 
rudeness  and  inaccuracy."  This  was 
perhaps  to  be  expected,  when  the  very 
imperfect  state  of  geographical  know- 
ledge in  Europe  is  considered,  little 
more  than  half  a  century  previous  to 
the  period  of  the  embassy ;  and  we 
cannot  help  thinking  it  greatly  to  the 
credit  of  Tu-li-shin's  accuracy,  that 
the  route  he  describes  has  been  traced 
with  very  little  difficulty,  on  compa- 
ring it  with  the  best  maps  of  the  pre- 
sent day,  and  the  "  latest  discoveries 
and  authorities." — But  to  return  from 
this  digression.  We  left  our  travel- 
lers on  their  departure  from  Pekin. — 
On  the  sixth  day  of  the  journey,  they 
crossed  the  great  wall  at  the  pass  of 
Chang-kia-ken ;  and  pursuing  their 
route  over  the  range  of  mountains, 
called  King-gan-ting,  entered  the  dis- 
trict of  Tartars  of  the  plain  yellow  di- 
vision, and  were  entertained  by  the 
Mangou  Tartar  garrison  of  Cha-ha- 
eur,  which  supplied  them  with  every 
thing  requisite  for  their  journey,  and 
enabled  them  to  send  back  to  Pekin 
the  guards  and  government  horses 
which  had  hitherto  accompanied  them. 
Continuing  their  route,  they  reached, 
in  ten  days,  the  district  of  the  Kalkas, 
where  they  experienced  similar  civili- 
ties, and  shortly  after  arrived  at  the 
great  desert  of  sand ;  our  author's  ac- 
count of  which  differs,  in  a  very  re- 
markable manner,  from  the  one  given 
by  Mr  Bell,  who  traversed  the  same 
waste  only  a  few  years  subsequently. 
— The  embassy,  accoi  ding  to  the  for- 
mer, spent  no  more  than  two  days 
in  crossing  the  desert,  which  is  descri-. 
bed  as  generally  abounding  with  the 
shrub  Chake ;  and  in  one  spot,  as  be- 
ing remarkably  fertile,  and  well  wa- 
tered by  several  rivulets : — while  the 
latter  states,  that  he  and  his  party  were 
twenty-eight  days  in  traversing  it, 
without  halting;  during  which  pe-» 
riod,  they  had  neither  seen  "river, 
tree,  lush,  nor  mountain."  This  dif- 
ference in  the  two  accounts  is  the  more 
remarkable,  as  Sir  George  Staunton 
informs  us  in  his  preface,  the  general 
agreement  found  "  between  two  wri- 
ters, in  whose  views,  feelings,  habits, 
and  prejudices,  there  could  be  so  little 
in  common,  is  certainly  creditable  to 
both."  On  the  30th  of  August,  the 


1821-3 


Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy. 


embassy  reached  the  Tu-la,  or  Tola 
of  Bell,  (of  which,  and  the  rivers  in 
its  neighbourhood,  a  somewhat  elabo- 
rate account  is  given,)  and  proceeding 
on  its  route,  in  about  eleven  days  ar- 
rived at  See-pu-ke-htu,  *  the  pass  fix- 
ed for  the  boundary  of  the  Russian 
and  Chinese  empires  ;  and  shortly  af- 
terwards came  to  the  first  Russian  sta- 
tion, where  a  messenger  was  waiting 
its  arrival,  sent  by  the  governor  of 
Selinginsky,  to  learn  the  object  of  the 
mission.  Satisfactory  replies  having 
been  obtained,  a  guard  of  officers  and 
boats  was  sent  to  convey  the  "  Hea- 
venly messengers"  to  the  above  place, 
where  they  were  received  by  the  go- 
vernor with  every  mark  of  respect  and 
distinction.  Owing,  however,  to  his 
being  obliged  to  wait  till  a  reply  could 
be  obtained  to  the  dispatch  he  had  for- 
warded to  the  Czar,  acquainting  him 
with  the  arrival  of  the  Chinese,  and 
the  purport  of  their  journey,  the  em- 
bassy could  not  be  allowed  to  proceed 
on  its  destination ;  though,  from  Tu- 
li-Shin's  own  account,  no  unnecessa- 
ry delay  appears  imputable  to  the 
Russians,  who,  he  admits,  uniformly 
treated  him  and  his  party  with  the 
most  respectful  attention  during  a  five 
months  detention  at  Salinginsky, — a 
reception  the  more  remarkable,  when 
we  consider  "  the  somewhat  suspici- 
ous and  equivocal  nature  of  their  mis- 
sion." During  their  stay  at  this  place, 
the  ambassadors  were  visited  by  Ha- 
mi-sa-en,  (the  person  originally  en- 
trusted to  arrange  with  the  Russian 
government  the  safe  conduct  of  the 
mission,)  and  another  Russian  mer- 
chant, both  on  their  way  to  Pekin, 
who  presented  them  with  "  thirty  fox- 
skins,  besides  fruit  and  similar  arti- 
cles." The  ceremonies  that  took  place 
upon  this  occasion,  are  far  from  un- 
amusing ;  and,  as  they  contain  a  pret- 
ty accurate  representation  of  what  uni- 
formly occurs  throughout  the  narra- 
tive in  similar  circumstances,  we  shall 
extract  the  whole  passage,  for  the  edi- 
fication of  our  readers. 

"  Upon  this  we  said,  through  the 
favour  and  kindness  of  his  Imperial 
majesty,  every  thing  we  can  use  or 
require  upon  our  present  journey  is 
already  provided  for  us, — nothing  is 
deficient :  why  then  should  you,  who 
are  travellers  like  ourselves>  be  at  the 


215 

trouble  and  inconvenience  of  making 
us  these  presents  ?  We  beg,  therefore, 
with  many  thanks,  to  return  them  to 
you.'  Ha-mi-sa-eur,  however,  again 
sent  his  messengers  to  us  to  press  our 
acceptance  of  the  presents;  and  through 
these  messengers  they  further  obser- 
ved, '  We  are  in  the  habit  of  regu- 
larly visiting  the  Chinese  empire  to 
trade,  and  we  have  repeatedly  experi- 
enced, for  these  many  years  past,  the 
great  kindness  of  your  most  excellent 
emperor :  but  this  is  the  first  time 
that  any  heavenly  messengers  have 
visited  our  country.  Since  we  are  now 
so  fortunate  as  to  meet  with  you  at 
this  place,  there  is  hardly  any  thing 
we  can  do  which  is  sufficient  to  ex- 
press to  you  our  respect  and  regard. 
Again  and  again,  therefore,  we  most 
earnestly  request  that  you  will  accept 
what  we  have  offered.'  To  this  we 
replied,  '  Since  Ha-mi-sa-eur  has  thus 
spoken,  we  will  accept  of  the  eatables 
he  has  sent  us,  and  only  send  back  to 
him  the  fox-skins :  but  you  must  at 
the  same  time  inform  Ha-mi-sa-eur, 
that  our  Chinese  Imperial  govern- 
ment has  never  allowed  the  officers, 
or  any  other  persons,  who  may  at  any 
time  be  employed  in  executing  the 
emperor's  commands,  to  accept  of  pre- 
sents, even  of  the  smallest  value.  At 
a  future  day,  however,  we  shall  have 
many  opportunities  of  meeting  Ha-mi- 
sa-eur,  and  it  will  then  be  quite  time 
enough  for  us  to  testify  the  reciprocal 
sentiments  which  we  entertain  for  each 
other;  but  just  now  it  is  absolutely 
impossible  for  us  to  accept  of  any  pre- 
sents of  value,  and  we  must  therefore 
return  the  fox-skins ;  the  dishes  of 
fruit  we  have  agreed  to  retain,  in  or- 
der to  shew  our  sense  of  his  civilities/ 
At  length,  on  the  8th  of  February 
1713,  dispatches  were  received  from 
the  Czar,  authorizing  the  advance  of 
the  ambassadors,  who  were  immedi- 
ately furnished  with  70  wheel  car- 
riages, and  every  necessary  for  the  fu- 
ture accommodation  of  their  journey. 
A  military  escort  was  also  appointed  to 
attend  them,  and  the  whole  party  set 
out  on  the  10th  of  February  from 
Salinginsky,  amidst  the  highest  ho- 
nours that  could  be  conferred  on  them. 
A  description  follows,  of  the  district 
and  town  of  Salinginsky,  which  would 
be  scarcely  worth  noticing,  did  it  not 


*  Apparently  the  Tunninkaita  of  Case,  and  the  Saralgyn  of  Bell — Translator. 
VOL.  IX.  2  D 


Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy. 


916 

serve  to  confirm  the  author's  credibi- 
lity., from  its  singular  coincidence  in 
almost  every  particular  with  the  ac- 
count given  of  the  same  place  by  Mr 
Bell.  In  two  days  journey,  they  reach- 
ed the  town  of  Udinsky,  chiefly  re- 
markable from  a  stone,  (talc  probably) 
found  in  the  neighbourhood,  which  is 
used  instead  of  glass  or  crystal,  "  the 
casements  in  the  windows  of  all  the 
Russian  houses  being  fitted  with  this 
material ;"  here  they  were  attentively 
received  by  the  governor,  whose  wife 
and  children  farther  honoured  them 
by  dancing  before  them,  and  playing 
upon  the  musical  instruments  of 
the  country.  Continuing  their  route 
through  a  very  mountainous  and  wood- 
ed district,  our  travellers  reached  the 
south  bank  of  the  Baykal  Lake, — the 
following  description  of  which  is  dreary 

enough  : "  The  country  through 

which  we  passed,  still  continued  ex- 
tremely mountainous,  and  covered 
with  wood,  but  the  ground  immedi- 
ately on  the  road  side  was  cultivated. 
Here  are  two  small  villages,  called 
Tsi-yang-hag  and  O-la-ku-en.  The 
houses  are  not  closely  built,  and  are 
inhabited  entirely  by  Russians.  The 
Baykal  Lake  is  surrounded  by  moun- 
tains; its  banks  are  overgrown  with 
reeds;  and,  upon  its  surface,  thick 
fogs  and  noxious  vapours  collect  from 
the  vast  forests  and  deserts  in  the  vi- 
cinity. It  is  a  great  expanse  of  wa- 
ters, extending  farther  than  the  eye 
can  reach  ;  and  its  waves  are  like  those 
of  the  ocean."  Crossing  to  the  north 
bank  of  this  lake,  the  ambassadors 
came  on  the  19th  of  February  to  Ir- 
kutsky,  the  first  considerable  place  they 
had  yet  visited,  containing  about  800 
families,  with  a  garrison  of  500  men  : 
here  they  were  well  received  by  the 
governor ;  but  as  their  route  by  land 
was  rough  and  dangerous,  they  were 
obliged  to  await  the  breaking  up  of  the 
ice  on  the  River  Angara  for  nearly 
three  months  before  they  could  pro- 
ceed by  water.  Some  curious  conver- 
sations are  recorded  between  the  am- 
bassadors and  the  Russian  authorities, 
too  long  for  insertion  in  this  place, 
furnishing  a  good  specimen  of  Chinese 
diplomacy,  though,  as  the  translator 
justly  observes,  the  reader  may  natu- 
rally feel  some  impatience  at  the  "  vain 
boasting  and  courtly  style  which  the 


Chinese  historian  falls  into  on  every 
occasion  in  which  his  sovereign  or  his 
country  are  in  any  way  concerned." 
On  the  27th  of  May,  the  embassy 
quitted  Irkutsky,  and  embarked  on 
the  Angara,  the  navigation  of  which 
is  described  as  extremely  difficult  and 
perilous,  owing  to  the  force  of  the 
stream,  the  dangerous  nature  of  its 
banks,  and  the  rapids  and  cataracts 
with  which  it  abounds.  Nothing  can 
be  more  magnificent  and  sublime  than 
the  short  descriptions  given  of  this 
wild  and  romantic  river,  and  the  sur- 
rounding scenery.  Proceeding  on  their 
voyage,  the  ambassadors  arrived  in  19 
days  at  Yeneseik,  where  they  received 
from  the  governor  the  customary  civil- 
ities. It  is  distant  from  Irkutsky  above 
3000  lee  *,  and  is  a  considerable  place. 
It  is  very  remarkable,  that  in  describing 
the  animals  found  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, the  following  very  particular 
account  is  given  of  the  Siberian  Mam- 
moth : — "  In  the  very  coldest  parts  of 
this  northern  country,  a  speciesof  ani- 
mal is  found,  which  burrows  under  the 
earth,  and  which  dies  if  it  is  at  all  ex- 
posed at  any  time  to  the  sun  and  air  ; 
it  is  of  a  great  size,  and  weighs  ten 
thousand  kins,  t  Its  bones  are  very 
white  and  shining  like  ivory.  It  is  not 
by  nature  a  powerful  animal,  and  is 
therefore  not  very  dangerous  or  fero- 
cious. It  is  found  generally  in  the 
mud  upon  the  banks  of  rivers.  The 
Russians  collect  the  bones  of  this  ani- 
mal, in  order  to  make  cups,  saucers, 
combs,  and  other  small  articles.  The 
flesh  of  the  animal  is  of  a  very  refri- 
gerating quality,  and  is  eaten  as  a  re- 
medy in  levers.  The  foreign  name  of 
this  animal  is  ma-men-tom-va,  we  call 
it  kee-shoo." — This  account,  the  trans- 
lator informs  us,  nearly  corresponds 
with  the  one  given  by  Mr  Bell  of  the 
same  animal,  though  that  author 
qualifies  it  by  observing,  that  he  gives 
it  as  the  report  merely  of  the  super- 
stitious and  the  ignorant. — "  More 
recent  discoveries,  however,"  conti- 
nues Sir  George,  "  so  far  as  they 
have  gone,  have  tended  to  confirm  the 
truth  of  these  relations,  and  not  only 
bones,  but  the  flesh  of  this  extraordi- 
nary animal  has  lately  been  found  un- 
decayed  among  the  snows  in  these 
northern  regions," — Note  p.  71.  After 
waiting  two  days  at  Yeneseik,  the  am- 


*  A  tenth  of  a  league  of  three  geographical  miles. 
•J-  A  iin  is  one  third  more  than  an  English  pound. 


1821.;] 


Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy. 


bassadors  pursued  their  route  on  horse- 
back to  the  small  village  of  Mak-of- 
sk  y.  On  the  28th  of  June,  embarked 
on  the  river  Ket,  and  in  twelve  days 
reached  the  station  of  Narim,  near  the 
place  where  Ket  falls  into  the  river 
Oby,  a  distance  of  2500  lee.  Conti- 
nuing the  voyage  down  the  latter  river, 
they  reached  the 'station  of  Surgute, 
and  the  next  day  encountered  a  vio- 
lent gale,  which  greatly  endangered 
the  whole  party.  On  this  occasion, 
the  author  takes  the  opportunity  of 
remarking  that  the  Russians,  when 
compared  with  the  Chinese  boatmen, 
are  very  inferior  both  in  courage,  and 
expertness  in  the  management  of  their 
vessels.  "  The  moment  there  is  any 
danger,  he  says,  they  are  happy  to  get 
close  to  the  bank  of  the  river  ;  and  if 
they  can  retreat  out  of  the  stream  al- 
together into  some  small  creek,  then 
only  they  begin  to  be  at  ease."  From 
Surgute,  they  arrived  at  Samarofsky, 
and  proceeded  on  the  river  Irtish  ; 
here  their  course  "  being  against  the 
stream,  they  were  obliged  to  be  track- 
ed by  the  Tartar  boatmen,  the  whole 
way"  to  Demiansky,  a  distance  of  600 
lee,  whence  in  two  days  they  departed 
for  Tobolsky,  the  capital  of  Siberia, 
where  they  arrived  on  the  24th  of  Au- 
gust. The  preceding  towns,  with  the 
exception  of  Irkutsy  and  Yeneseik, 
appear  to  have  been  very  inconsider- 
able places ;  none  of  them  are  mention- 
ed by  our  author  as  fortified  when  he 
visited  them  in  the  year  1712-13,  an 
omission  which  is  a  little  remark- 
able, as  Mr  Bell,  who  passed  through 
the  same  places  only  a  few  years  af- 
terwards, particularly  observes  that 
several  of  them  were  somewhat  strong- 
ly defended  with  ditches,  pallisades, 
and  towers,  a  circumstance  which  could 
scarcely  have  escaped  the  notice  of  our 
author,  if  such  fortifications  had  ex- 
isted at  the  period  of  the  embassy ;  and, 
perhaps,  the  only  way  of  reconciling 
the  two  accounts,  is  upon  the  suppo- 
sition that  the  Russian  Government 
might  have  felt  some  little  disquietude 
with  respect  to  the  safety  of  these  dis- 
tant possessions,  from  the  doubtful 
nature  of  the  Chinese  Mission,  and 
have  been  thence  led  to  put  them  in  a 
more  respectable  state  of  defence  du- 
ring the  period  that  intervened  be- 
tween our  author's  and  Mr  Bell's  visit. 
At  Tobolsky,  the  embassy  was  re- 
ceived with  every  mark  of  distinction, 
by  Ko-ko-lin,  ( Prince  Gagarin  of 


217 

Bell)  the  governor  general  of  Siberia, 
who  seems,  throughout  the  whole  of 
its  residence  in  this  city,  to  have 
studiously  avoided  every  thing  that 
could  give  umbrage  to  the  Chinese ; 
by  humouring  them  in  all  their  pecu- 
liarities, and  extravagant  pretensions. 
The  communications  that  took  place, 
between  the  two  parties,  on  the  several 
occasions  of  their  meeting,  are  highly 
amusing,  and  give  a  clearer  insight 
into  the  cautious  character  and  policy 
of  the  Chinese,  than  any  other  account 
we  have  yet  met  with ;  though  we 
cannot  help  being  a  little  sceptical,  as 
to  the  veracity  of  the  author,  when  he 
describes  Prince  Gagarin  as  venturing 
to  condemn  his  master,  Peter  the  Great, 
and  to  draw  a  somewhat  invidious 
comparison  between  the  government, 
of  that  able  and  extraordinary  mo- 
narch, and  that  of  the  preceding  Czar. 
A  short  account  follows  of  the  city  of 
Tobolsky,  and  its  vicinity.  It  was 
without  walls,  or  fortifications,  but  ap- 
pears to  have  been  a  place  of  consider- 
able importance,  containing  altogether 
upwards  of  three  thousand  families, 
above  twenty  Christian  churches^  and 
a  garrison  of  2000  men.  On  the  fifth 
of  September,  the  ambassadors  left 
Tobolsky,  escorted  by  a  Russian  offi- 
cer, and  a  guard  of  sixty  soldiers  for 
their  protection,  and  quitting  the  river 
Irtish,  they  ascended  the  Tobol,  and 
proceeded,  during  the  space  of  nine 
days,  against  the  stream  to  Tumen, 
being  again  "  tracked  the  whole  of  the 
way  by  the  Tartars ;  but,"  continues 
the  author,  "  the  banks  of  the  river 
were  so  overgrown  with  wood,  that 
there  was  no  tracking  path  for  them, 
and  they  were  consequently  obliged  to 
wade  through  the  water  and  mud. 
They  were  cut  and  wounded  often  by 
the  stones,  and  the  blood  was  running 
from  their  legs  and  feet  under  the  wa- 
ter ;  but  the  Russian  soldiers  only 
flogged  and  urged  them  on  so  much 
the  more.  I  could  not  bear  the  sight, 
and  remonstrated  with  them,  upon 
which  they  desisted."  From  Tumen, 
they  proceeded  to  Epantshin,  higher 
up  the  river;  here  they  quitted  their 
boats  and  continued  their  route  on 
horseback  to  Verchaturia,  the  first 
station  in  Russia,  in  Europe,  on  which 
account  they  were  received  by  the  go- 
vernor with  "  more  than  ordinary  at- 
tentions." This  town  is  described  LS 
beautifully  and  romantically  situated, 
and  the  whole  place  as  wearing  a  live- 


Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy. 


[May, 


ly  and  pleasing  appearance,  that  some- 
what reconciled  our  travellers  to 
their  past  fatigues  and  hardships.  Af- 
ter remaining  two  days  at  this  place, 
they  proceeded  through  "  deep  and 
miry  roads,"  and  crossing  the  Oural 
Mountains,  reached  Solikamsky  on 
the  14th  of  October.  In  journey- 
ing hither  they  met  with  a  heavy  fall 
of  snow,  which  lasted  for  several 
days,  and  gave  the  whole  country  a 
most  magnifieentand  beautiful  appear- 
ance;— from  Solikamsky  their  direct 
route  was  by  water,  down  the  river 
Kama,  but  the  snow  still  continu- 
ing, and  the  roads  being  impassable, 
the  Russians  would  not  allow  them 
to  advance  till  the  14th  of  Novem- 
ber, when  the  ground  having  become 
completely  frozen,  they  were  suffer- 
ed to  proceed  in  four  sledges ;  and  suc- 
cessively passing  through  the  towns 
Kaygorod,  Stobodskoi,  Klinof,  Cazan, 
and  Simbirsk,  they  reached  Saratof,  on 
the  Volga,  "  the  established  place  of 
intercourse  between  the  Russian  and 
Tourgouth  nations,"  on  the  1st  of  Ja- 
nuary, 1714.  At  this  place,  the  am- 
bassadors, owing  to  the  great  rigour 
of  the  season,  which  rendered  it  im- 
possible for  a  large  party  to  proceed, 
were  detained  for  several  months,  du- 
ring which  period,  notwithstanding  the 
severity  of  the  weather,  they  were  suc- 
cessively entertained  by  the  Russians, 
with  feasts,  and  with  "  parties  of  plea- 
sure, either  for  shooting  with  bows 
and  arrows,  riding  or  Jinking  on  the 
banks  of  the  river."  A  messenger,  how- 
ever, was  despatched  without  delay  to 
A-yan-ke  Khan,  to  acquaint  him  with 
the  arrival  of  the  heavenly  messengers, 
at  Saratof,  <who  received  the  account 
with  great  satisfaction,  and  immedi- 
ately gave  directions  for  providing 
tents,  carpets,  clothing,  £c.  for  their 
accommodation,  to  be  kept  in  readiness 
to  join  the  ambassadors  at  Saratof, 
whenever  the  spring  was  sufficiently 
advanced  to  allow  of  their  proceeding. 
At  this  part  of  the  narrative  the  au- 
thor enters  more  fully  than  usual  into 
somewhat  of  a  general  description  of 
the  Russian  empire,  its  extent,  pro- 
ductions, climate,  and  origin,  together 
with  a  few  remarks  upon  the  national 
character  of  the  people,  their  laws,  ha- 
bits, and  customs,  which,  as  far  as 
they  go,  appear  tolerably  accurate, 
though  very  meagre  and  unsatisfactory. 
The  author  seems  to  have  been  well- 
informed  with  respect  to  the  war  be- 


tween Charles  the  Xllth.,  and  Peter 
the  Great,  from  its  commencement  to 
the  defeat  of  the  former  at  Pultowa, 
and  his  subsequent  escape  into  Tur- 
key, which  happened  about  eight  years 
prior  to  the  arrival  of  the  embassy. 
It  is  singular,  that  in  Tu-li-shin's  list 
of  the  different  European  nations  ly- 
ing west  of  the  Russian  Empire,  no 
mention  should  be  made  of  Great  Bri- 
tain ;  at  that  time,  from  the  recent 
successes  and  splendid  achievements  of 
King  William  and  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough,  one  of  the  first  nations  in 
Europe,  both  in  power  and  reputation, 
and  undoubtedly  well  known  to  the 
Russians,  from  whom  our  author  must, 
of  course,  have  derived  his  informa- 
tion. In  the  above  list,  however,  there 
appears  the  name  of  a  country  Sepense- 
key  ;  upon  the  signification  of  which, 
Sir  George  Staunton  says  he  can  offer 
no  conjecture,  except,  as  it  seems  to  us 
the  very  unlikely  one,  that  Spain  "has, 
by  mistake,  been  included  twice  in  the 
catalogue,"  that  country  having  been 
named  before  under  the  title  of  Yusi- 
pania. — It  does  not  appear  likely  that 
the  above  dissimilar  names  should  re- 
late to  the  same  nation ;  and,  with 
great  deference  to  Sir  George,  we 
would  venture  to  suggest  the  perhaps 
less  improbable  notion,  that  under  the 
name  of  Sepenseky,  the  author  may 
have  intended  to  designate  Great  Bri- 
tain, in  spite  of  the  absence  of  all 
"  plausible  analogy,"  upon  which  such 
a  conjecture  could  be  formed.  But  to 
return. — On  the  )  7th  of  June,  the  am- 
bassadors quitted  Saratof,  and  cross- 
ing the  Volga,  arrived  at  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Tourgouths,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Lake  Ma-nu-to,  on  the 
1st  of  July,  1714,  where  they  were  re- 
ceived with  every  mark  of  profound  re- 
spect and  veneration.  The  officers, 
priests,  and  chiefs,  of  the  different 
tribes,  subject  to  A-yu-ke,  together 
with  their  followers,  were  all  drawn  up 
in  lines  on  the  road  ;  while  the  com- 
mon class  of  people  came  out  to  meet 
the  Chinese  to  a  considerable  distance, 
prostrating  themselves  before  them, 
and  offering  them  every  mark  of  good 
will  and  kindness. 

On  the  following  day,  the  ambassa- 
dors had  their  first  audience  of  A-yu- 
ke,  who  is  said  to  have  received  the 
edict  of  the  emperor  kneeling,  and  to 
have  conducted  himself  otherwise  with 
marked  submission — circumstances  in 
which  we  do  not  agree  with  Sir  George 


18210 


Narrative  oj'llie  Chinese  Embassy. 


Staunton  in  thinking  so  improbable  as 
he  appears  to  apprehend. 

In  the  course  of  the  narrative, 
many  reasons  occur  to  induce  a  suspi- 
cion that  some  secret  understanding 
existed  between  the  Tourgouths  and 
the  Chinese,  previously  to  the  depar- 
ture of  the  embassy  from  Pekin  ;  for, 
on  any  other  supposition,  it  is  not  easy 
to  account  for  a  government  so  devoid 
of  enterprise  as  that  of  the  Chinese, 
engaging  in  an  extensive  and  hazar- 
dous undertaking,  merely  to  ascertain 
the  safest  mode  of  returning  a  fugitive 
prince  to  his  native  country.  Indeed, 
that  the  latter  did  not  form  the  real 
object  of  the  mission,  is  pretty  evident 
from  the  various  conferences  that  took 
place  between  A-yu-ke  and  the  ambas- 
sadors, all  of  which  are  characterized 
by  a  singular  inquisitiveness  on  the  part 
of  the  former,with  respect  to  many  mi- 
nute particulars  relating  to  the  actual 
state  of  the  Chinese  Empire  at  that  pe- 
riod, for  which  it  would  be  difficult  to 
assign  any  adequate  motive,  except  to 
an  intention  of  again  placing  himself 
and  his  followers,  under  the  protection 
of  their  ancient  sovereign.  On  this  sup- 
position, the  reception  experienced  by 
the  ambassadors  at  their  first  interview 
with  the  Khan,  is  precisely  the  one 
that  might  have  been  anticipated ;  and 
we  cannot  therefore  help  thinking,  that 
Sir  George,  on  this  occasion,  bears  un- 
necessarily hard  upon  the  veracity  of 
his  author,  when  he  charges  him  with 
giving  the  "  supposed,"  rather  than  the 
real  manner  in  which  the  edict  was  re- 
ceived. 

After  remaining  about  a  fortnight 
with  the  Tourgouths,  during  the  whole 
of  which  period  they  appear  to  have 
been  treated  in  the  most  amicable  and 
confidential  manner,  the  ambassadors 
took  their  final  leave  of  the  Khan,  on 
the  24th  of  July,  and  set  out  on  their 
return,  having  previously,  in  the  course 
of  several  highly  amusing  and  interest- 
ing conferences,  on  which  our  limits 
will  not  allow  us  to  dwell,  settled,  ap- 
parently to  the  satisfaction  of  all  par- 
ties, the  objects  of  the  mission.  On 
the  7th  of  September,  the  ambassa- 
dors reached  Cazan,  and  on  the  llth  of 
December,  arrived  at  Tobolski,  where 
they  remained  somewhat  more  than  a 
month,  waiting  the  return  of  Prince 
Gagarin,  then  absent  on  a  visit  to  Mos- 
cow. On  his  arrival,  several  conferen- 
ces again  took  place  between  him  and 
the  envoys ;  in  all  of  which  he  is  re- 


presented  as  shewing  the  utmost  anxi- 
ety to  conciliate  the  Chinese,  by  at- 
tending, in  the  most  minute  manner, 
to  their  slightest  requests,  and  to  every 
thing  that  could  conduce  to  their  com- 
fort and  security,  on  their  return  home. 

In  recording  these  interviews,  how- 
ever, we  are  fearful  our  author  has  in- 
dulged a  little  in  his  talent  for  ampli- 
fication, though  he  falls  very  far  short, 
in  this  instance,  of  his  after  efforts  in 
the  official  report  of  the  proceedings  of 
the  embassy,  given  in  a  subsequent 
part  of  the  work,  and  which  we  parti- 
cularly recommend  to  the  perusal  of 
our  readers,  as  the  choicest  specimen  of 
servile  adulation  and  oriental  bombast 
and  insolence  we  have  ever  encounter- 
ed. About  the  25th  of  January,  the 
ambassadors  took  their  final  leave  of 
Tobolski  and  its  governor,  and  quitting 
their  former  road,  proceeded  over  an 
uninteresting  and  thinly  inhabited 
country,  through  the  towns  of  Tara, 
and  Towsky,  to  Veneseik,  and  thence 
slightly  deviating  from  their  old  tract, 
they  passed  by  way  of  Elimsky  to  Ir- 
kutsky.  At  this  place  they  again  fell 
into  their  former  route,  and  continuing 
their  journey,  arrived  without  accident 
at  Pekin,  on  the  26th  of  June,  1715, 
after  an  absence  of  somewhat  more 
than  three  years. 

At  their  return,  the  ambassadors 
were  treated  with  great  favour  by  the 
Emperor,  who  personally  received  their 
report  of  the  transactions,  and  the  re- 
sult of  the  mission,  and  bestowed  upon 
them  some  of  the  highest  marks  of  his 
approbation.  The  official  report,  to 
which  we  have  before  alluded,  then 
follows,  together  with  the  imperial  an- 
swer, which  we  subjoin  f»r  its  brevity 
and  pithiness,  as  a  useful  guide  to  the 
framers  of  all  future  replies  to  loyal 
addresses. — "  We  understand  your  ad- 
dress, and  have  referred  it  to  the  pro- 
per tribunal.  Your  map  we  retain  for 
further  examination." 

The  remainder  of  the  narrative  com- 
prises a  few  private  events  relative  to 
the  author,  together  with  some  account 
of  a  second  mission,  upon  which  he 
was  employed,  to  the  frontiers  of  Rus- 
sia, and  his  communication  on  that 
occasion  with  Prince  Gagarin,  the  lat- 
ter of  which  is  written  pretty  much  in 
the  same  bombastical  and  ridiculous 
style  that  distinguishes  the  official  re- 
port, but  with  apparently  a  much 
greater  violation  of  truth.  In  what 
manner  the  above  communication  was 


320 


Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy. 


received,  we  are  not  informed,  the  nar- 
rative concluding  with  Tu-li-shin's 
letter  to  the  Russian  governor. 

To  the  foregoing  account,  Sir  George 
has  subjoined  a  valuable  appendix, 
containing  the  "  abstract  of  part  of  a 
Chinese  novel,  some  notices  ot  Chinese 
plays,  an  extract  from  a  Chinese  Her- 
bal, and  a  collection  of  miscellaneous 
documents,  extracted  from  the  Pekin 
gazette,"  all  of  which  will  be  read  with 
interest,  though  we  are  sorry  that  the 
translator  should  have  confined  his  ex- 
tracts from  the  Chinese  drama,  to  the 
mere  "  notices"  of  four  plays,  which, 
at  best,  can  give  little  or  no  idea  of  the 
state  of  this  branch  of  their  literature. 
We  experienced  a  similar  disappoint- 
ment in  the  abstract  from  the  novel, 
and  are  scarcely  yet  reconciled  with 
Sir  George,  for  tantalizing  us  with  the 
slight  glimpse  he  has  afforded  of  a 
work  which,  from  its  nature,  promises 
much  entertainment,  and  a  considera- 
ble insight  into  the  manners  and  do- 
mestic habits  of  the  Chinese.  It  is  true, 
he  informs  his  readers  that  he  gave  up 
the  idea  of  a  complete  version  of  the 
latter,  from  the  want  of  sufficient  in- 
terest in  the  sequel,  to  induce  him  to 
proceed,  as  well  as  from  certain  cir- 
cumstances in  the  winding  up  of  the 
story,  which  might  not  altogether  ac- 
cord with  the  feelings  of  the  present 
day.  Nevertheless,  we  cannot  help 
wishing  he  had  persisted  in  his  first 
intention,  of  giving  the  whole  novel  to 
the  public,  not  only  for  the  reasons  we 
have  assigned,  but  because  it  is  obvious 
from  the  nature  of  the  undertaking, 
that  the  number  of  individuals  must 
be  trifling  indeed,  whose  qualifications 
and  experience  could  in  any  degree 
render  them  competent  to  a  task, 
which  we  learn  with  deep  regret,  from 
the  total  abandonment  of  his  "  Chi- 
nese pursuits,"  there  is  no  longer  any 
chance  of  our  seeing  accomplished  by 
the  sensible  and  highly  gifted  transla- 
tor of  the  work  before  us. 

The  extract  from  the  Chinese  Her- 
bal is  a  most  curious  specimen  of  the 
accurate  and  minute  manner  in  which 
the  "  Chinese  treat  subjects  connected 
with  science  and  the  arts,"  and  we 
think,  with  Sir  George  Staunton,  cer- 
tainly justifies  the  "  hope  that  some 
valuable  practical  information  may  yet 
be  drawn  from  some  of  their  works  of 
this  description."  But  by  far  the  most 
remarkable  part  of  the  appendix  will 
be  found  in  the  extracts  given  from  a 


number  of  the  Pekin  Gazettes,  many 
of  which  discover  a  degree  of  justice, 
promptitude,  and  decision  of  conduct, 
in  the  executive  administration  of  af- 
fairs, and  an  earnest  desire  to  influ- 
ence and  conciliate  public  opinion  on 
state  questions,  which  if,  happily  for 
mankind,  it  were  the  nature  of  govern- 
ments ever  to  profit  by  experience, 
might  possibly  prove  a  salutary  lesson 
to  the  rulers  of  some  other  countries, 
who,  in  the  plenitude  of  self-compla- 
cency and  power,  blindly  attempt  to 
arrest  by  coercion,  the  slow  but  steady 
march  of  public  opinion.  As  a  speci- 
men of  the  Gazettes,  we  insert  the  fol- 
lowing, which  we  give  without  selec- 
tion.—" Imperial  Edict." 

"  Na-yen-tching  possesses  in  out- 
ward appearance  some  talents,  but  is 
deficient  in  judgment,  and  is  tardy  and 
undecisive  when  matters  of  importance 
are  laid  before  him,  and  yet  does  not 
attend  to  the  words  of  others,  but  is 
satisfied  of  the  propriety  of  his  own 
opinion.  The  few  good  qualities  which 
he  may  be  allowed  to  possess,  are  in- 
sufficient to  cover  his  misdeeds.  By  a 
strict  execution  of  the  laws,  he  should 
have  been  deprived  of  all  his  dignities, 
and  banished  to  Elle,  as  an  expiation 
of  his  offences ;  but,  because  all  the 
other  relatives  of  A-kowi  have  already 
been  sent  into  banishment,  during  this 
last  half  year,  for  different  causes,  we 
cannot  patiently  endure  the  idea  that 
not  one  should  remain  to  perpetuate 
the  name  and  family  of  that  ancient 
and  faithful  minister.  But  as  Na-yen- 
tching  can  neither  acquit  himself  with 
credit  or  success  in  the  field,  or  with 
propriety  or  decision  in  council,  he  is 
an  unprofitable  and  useless  servant  of 
the  state,  whom  it  is  indispensibly  re- 
quisite that  we  should  remove  from 
every  office  and  employment  of  impor- 
tance }  we  hereby,  therefore,  deprive 
him  of  his  office  as  president  at  one  of 
the  supreme  tribunals,  as  a  general  in 
the  army,  and  as  a  dignitary  of  the 
peacock's  feather ;  but,  as  a  mark  of 
our  especial  grace  and  favour,  we  grant 
him  all  the  rank  of  a  vice-president  of 
the  imperial  college ;  and  if  he  conduct 
himself  eight  years  without  blame  in 
that  situation,  we  shall  permit  him  to 
receive  the  salary  that  is  usually  at- 
tached to  it. 

"  The  state  and  efficiency  of  our 
military  force  has  been  greatly  impro- 
ved of  late  ;  able-bodied  men  have 
been  selected,  and  furnished  with  ade- 


1821-3 


Narrative  of  the  Chinese  Embassy. 


quate  supplies  of  stores  of  every  kind. 
Ge-le-teng-pas,  and  the  other  experi- 
enced generals  in  command,  are  fully 
competent  to  accomplish  our  design  of 
bringing  the  war  to  a  conclusion  in  the 
course  of  the  present  campaign ;  we 
forbid,  therefore,  for  the  future,  any 
civil  or  military  officer,  excepting  those 
peculiarly  distinguished  by  the  title  of 
great  officers  of  state,  to  present  to  us 
any  observations  or  remonstrances  on 
the  state  of  the  army,  and  operations 
of  the  campaign,  as  such  communica- 
tions have  the  effect  of  raising  inju- 
rious suspicions  and  erroneous  ideas, 
highly  detrimental  to  the  cause — 
Khin-tse." 

Much  more  might  be  said  upon  the 
various  topics  the  work  embraces,  but 
we  freely  confess  our  inability  to  do 
them  full  justice,  even  if  our  limits 
did  not  warn  us  to  bring  our  observa- 
tions to  a  close.  In  taking  our  leave 
of  this  singular  and  interesting  book, 
which  certainly  brings  us  better  ac- 


quainted  with  the  Chinese  peopk  and 
government,  than  any  other  work  we 
have  ever  perused,  it  would  be  injus- 
tice to  the  translator  to  forbear  noti- 
cing the  very  able  manner  in  which  he 
appears  to  have  surmounted  the  va- 
rious and  great  difficulties  of  his  un- 
dertaking. We  cannot,  indeed,  from 
our  own  knowledge,  speak  with  cer- 
tainty as  to  the  accuracy  with  which 
the  original  is  rendered,  but  the  whole 
is  written  with  so  much  simph'city, 
perspicuity,  and  elegance,  and  exhi- 
bits such  internal  evidence  of  fidelity, 
that  even  were  the  rare  acquirements 
of  Sir  George  Staunton,  and  the  sound- 
ness of  his  understanding  less  known 
to  us,  we  should  feel  little  hesitation 
in  recommending  it  to  the  attention  of 
our  readers,  not  only  as  one  of  the 
most  curious  literary  productions  of 
the  age,  but  also  as  a  faithful  and 
highly  intelligent  version  of  the  origi- 
nal Chinese  narrative. 


EXTRACT  FROM   HERODOTUS. 


IT  is  amusing  to  the  contemplative 
man,  who,  in  the  seclusion  of  his  study, 
inhabits,  as  it  were,  a  world  of  his  own, 
to  trace  back  to  periods  of  the  remotest 
antiquity  the  same  topics  which  still 
form  the  subjects  of  hostile  dispute 
amongst  the  warring  factions  of  the 
world  without  him.  For  the  last  half 
century  the  minds  of  men  have  been 
almost  exclusively  engrossed  with  the 
study  of  politics,  and  this  universal 
fever  has  called  into  existence  a  race 
of  political  quacks,  who  have  prepared 
their  nostrums  according  to  the  pre- 
vailing symptoms  of  the  distemper. 
But,  after  reading  all  that  has  been 
written  by  these  constitution-mongers, 
from  the  Abbe  Sieyes,  down  to  Jere- 
my Bentham,  both  inclusive,  we  doubt 
whether  we  might  not  collect  a  clearer 
view  of  the  subject  from  a  few  pages 
of  the  great  father  of  history — Hero- 
dotus ;  when  he  relates  what  passed 
in  the  council  of  the  seven  chiefs  of 
Persia,  when  the  government  was  a-< 
bout  to  be  re-stablished  after  the  death 
of  Cambyses,  and  the  punishment  of 
Magus,  who  had  usurped  the  throne 
under  the  pretext  of  being  Smerdis, 
the  son  of  Cyrus. 

Otanes,  one  of  the  assembled  chiefs, 
recommended  that  Persia  should  be- 
come a  republic,  and  supported  his 


opinion  by  the  following  arguments : 
— "  I  do  not  think  that  it  is  any  long- 
er safe  to  entrust  the  supreme  power 
of  the  state  to  the  hands  of  a  single 
person.  Ye  remember  to  what  excess 
Cambyses  went,  and  to  what  degree  of 
insolence  we  have  seen  the  Magus  ar- 
rive. How  can  the  state  be  well  go- 
verned in  a  monarchy,  where  a  single 
person  is  permitted  to  do  everything 
according  to  his  pleasure  ?  Authority 
without  a  check  corrupts  the  most  vir- 
tuous man,  and  deprives  him  of  his 
best  qualities.  Envy  and  insolence 
arise  from  present  riches  and  prospe- 
rity ;  and  all  other  vices  flow  from 
these  two,  when  a  man  is  possessed  of 
every  thing.  Kings  hate  virtuous  men 
who  oppose  their  designs,  but  caress 
the  wicked  who  favour  them.  A  single 
man  cannot  see  everything  with  his 
own  eyes ;  he  often  lends  a  favourable 
ear  to  bad  reports  and  false  accusa- 
tions ;  he  subverts  the  laws  and  cus- 
toms of  the  country ;  he  attacks  the 
honour  of  women,  and  puts  the  inno-> 
cent  to  death  by  his  caprice  and  his 
power.  When  the  people  have  the  go- 
vernment in  their  hands,  the  equality 
amongst  the  members  prevents  all  these 
evils.  The  magistrates  are  in  this  case 
chosen  by  lot ;  they  render  an  account 
of  their  administration,  and  they  form 


Extract  from  Herodotus. 


all  their  resolutions  in  common  with 
the  people.  I  am  of  opinion,  therefore, 
that  we  ought  to  reject  monarchy,  and 
introduce  a  popular  government,  be- 
cause we  shall  be  more  likely  to  find 
the  advantages  we  seek  in  many,  than 
in  a  single  person."  Such  was  the  opi- 
nion of  Otanes. 

But  Megabyses  spoke  in  favour  of 
aristocracy.  "  I  approve,"  said  he,  "  of 
the  opinion  of  Otanes,  with  respect  to 
exterminating  monarchy,  but  I  believe 
he  is  wrong  in  endeavouring  to  per- 
suade us  to  trust  the  government  to 
the  discretion  of  the  people,  for  it  is 
certain,  that  nothing  can  be  imagined 
more  foolish  and  insolent  than  the  po- 
pulace. Why  should  we  reject  the 
power  of  a  single  man,  to  deliver  our- 
selves up  to  the  tyranny  of  a  blind  and 
disorderly  multitude  ?  If  a  king  sets 
about  any  enterprize,  he  is  at  least 
capable  of  listening  to  others ;  but  the 
people  is  a  blind  monster,  equally  des- 
titute of  reason  and  capacity.  They 
are  unacquainted  both  with  decency, 
virtue,  and  even  their  own  interests. 
They  do  every  thing  without  judg- 
ment, and  without  order,  and  resem- 
ble a  rapid  torrent,  which  can  have  no 
bounds  set  to  it.  If  therefore  ye  wish 
the  ruin  of  the  Persians,  establish  a 
popular  government  among  them.  As 
for  myself,  I  am  of  opinion  that  we 
should  make  choice  of  some  virtuous 
men,  and  lodge  the  government  and 
the  power  in  their  hands."  Such  were 
the  sentiments  of  Megabyses. 

After  him,  J)arius  spoke  in  the  fol- 
lowing terms : — "  I  am  of  opinion, 
that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  justice  in 
the  speech  which  Megabyses  has  made 
against  a  popular  state;  but  I  also 


think,  that  he  is  not  entirely  right 
when  he  prefers  the  government  of  a 
small  number  to  a  monarchy.  It  is 
certain,  that  nothing  can  be  imagined 
better  or  more  perfect  than  the  go- 
vernment of  a  virtuous  man.  Besides, 
when  a  single  man  is  the  master,  it  is 
more  difficult  for  enemies  to  discover 
secret  counsels  and  enterprizes.  When 
the  government  is  in  the  hands  of 
many,  it  is  impossible  but  enmity  and 
hatred  must  arise  among  them  ;  for 
as  every  one  wants  that  his  opinion 
should  be  followed,  they  gradually  be- 
come enemies.  Emulation  and  jea- 
lousy divide  them,  and  then  their  ha- 
treds run  to  excess.  Hence  arise  se- 
ditions ;  from  seditions,  murders ;  and 
from  murders  and  blood,  we  see  a 
monarch  become  insensibly  necessary. 
Thus  the  government  always  falls  at 
last  into  the  hands  of  a  single  person. 
In  a  popular  state,  there  must  neces- 
sarily be  a  great  deal  of  malice  and 
corruption.  It  is  true,  equality  ge- 
nerates no  hatred,  but  it  foments 
friendship  amongst  the  wicked,  who 
support  each  other,  till  some  man  who 
has  rendered  himself  agreeable  to  the 
people,  and  acquired  an  authority  over 
the  multitude,  discovers  their  fraud, 
and  exposes  their  perfidy.  Then  such 
a  man  shews  himself  truly  a  monarch  ; 
and  hence  we  may  know  that  mo- 
narchy is  the  most  natural  govern- 
ment, since  the  seditions  of  aristocra- 
cy, and  the  corruptions  of  democracy, 
have  an  equal  tendency  to  make  us 
have  recourse  to  the  unity  of  a  su- 
preme power."  The  opinion  of  Dari- 
us was  approved,  and  the  government 
of  Persia  continued  monarchical. 


ON   PARLIAMENTARY  REFORM. 


REFORM  has  sunk  into  the  establish- 
ed theme. for  incipient  oratory,  and  it 
has  been  found  the  most  convenient 
of  all  discharges  for  the  accumulated 
common-place  of  patriotism  fresh  from 
school.  Two  attempts  at  bringing  it 
into  notice  have  been  lately  made.  One 
by  Mr  Lambton,  the  young  lui.us 
of  the  fallen  empire  of  the  Foxites, 
who  seems  to  have  adopted  the  injunc- 
tion of  his  model  with  pious  fidelity  ; 

"  Disce,  puer,  virtutem  ex  me, — verumque 
laborein." 

No  man  can  follow  example  closer  in 
6 


the  nature  of  his  political  virtues,  and 
the  waste  of  his  time. 

The  public  journals  have  already 
given  his  tale  of  failure.  Nothing  could 
be  more  solemn  than  the  preparative 
for  this  tournament  of  the  young  Chi- 
valry of  Opposition.  All  the  graver 
and  more  battered  champions  had  left 
the  field  clear,  and  were  posted  at  safe 
distances  to  exhilarate  themselves  with 
the  recollection  of  the  field.  The 
trumpets  sounded,  and  the  lists  were 
let  down,  and  Radicalism  had  already 
stooped  its  gracious  presence  to  crown 
the  conquerors,  when  it  was  discover- 


On  Parliamentary  Reform. 


ed  that  the  champions  had  disappear- 
ed in  the  crisis  of  the  charge,  and 
were  actually  sitting  tranquilly  at  din- 
ner, discussing  nothing  more  deadly 
than  the  wines  and  cookery  of  the 
most  profuse  of  all  entertainers.  The 
motion,  of  course,  fell  to  the  ground  ; 
and  it  was  not  honoured  in  its  death, 
"  Soluuntur  risu  tabulae."  Mr  Can- 
ning, the  most  adroit  and  insidious  of 
all  scorners,  pointed  the  House  to  the 
ridicule  of  its  desertion  :  and  when  its 
advocates  returned,  the  ridicule  was 
not  forgotten.  Another  attempt  has 
since  been  made  by  Lord  John  Rus- 
sel,  on  grounds  more  entitled  to  dis- 
cussion. His  motion  was  negatived 
by  a  majority  of  between  forty  and 
fifty ;  a  trivial  number,  which  the 
Reformers  argue  into  a  victory.  But 
the  fact  is,  that  the  topic  seems  to  have 
been  looked  on  as  so  little  worthy  of 
public  interest,  that  a  dozen  votes 
more  or  less,  might  have  been  thrown 
in  from  perfect  nonchalance.  There 
was  no  expectation  of  its  passing  ;  and 
till  some  such  conception  begins  to  be 
formed,  the  serious  feeling  of  the 
House  of  Commons  seldom  takes  the 
trouble  of  shewing  itself. 

The  question  has  thus  perished  in 
the  legislature,  but  it  has  also  perish- 
ed with  the  people.  The  multitude, 
headlong  and  ignorant,  are  yet  not 
altogether  so  blind  or  so  rash  as  to 
give  perpetual  confidence  to  the  Oppo- 
sition. They  have  heard  the  same  out- 
cry against  men  and  politics,  till  it 
has  lost  all  power  of  awakening  them, 
or  awakens  them  only  to  weariness  and 
contempt  of  the  criers.  Reform  has 
past  its  season,  by  a  whole  summer ; 
a  formidable  time  in  the  almanack  of 
popular  disturbance.  A  good  harvest 
has  stopped  the  mouths  of  the  hungry, 
and  with  their  hunger  has  died  their 
discontent.  Bolts  and  dungeons  have 
narrowed  the  patriotic  vigour  of  those 
whose  only  hunger  and  thirst  was  re- 
volution ;  and  the  principal  patriots 
have  found  their  chief  employment 
in  writing  their  memoirs,  and  nurtu- 
ring their  beards,  occupations  equally 
worthy  of  them,  and  equally  import- 
ant to  the  "  great  cause  of  liberty 
round  the  globe."  But  if  those  men 
can  cast  an  eye  from  their  sublime  oc- 
cupations on  the  little  doings  of  the 
under-ground  world,  their  most  con- 
temptuous and  indignant  sneer  must 


223 

be  given  to  the  personages  who  have 
laid  their  hands  on  "  glorious  reform" 
since  their  incarceration.  Cacus,  in 
his  chains,  hearing  of  the  plunder  of 
sheep  and  beeves  by  base  hands  of 
peasants,  could  not  have  writhed  with 
mightier  wrath  against  his  clown- 
ish imitators.  With  what  lofty  scorn 
must  the  great  detenu  in  Ilchester  jail 
see  the  glories  of  Manchester  and  Spa- 
fields,  sullied  by  the  touch  of  Opposi- 
tion— the  sceptre  of  the  Thunderer,  hot 
and  heavy  as  it  was,  thieved  away  by 
Mercury !  With  what  agony  must  the 
martyrs  who  have  expatriated  their 
spirits  and  their  bones  for  the  respec- 
tive terms  of  seven  and  fourteen  years, 
glance  on  that  remote  country  of  the 
west,  whose  reform  has  become  the 
toy  of  a  group  of  giddy  boys,  who,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  their  innocent 
and  hungry  age,  fling  it  down  for  a 
dinner.  The  spirit  of  Guy  Faux  could 
not  put  on  a  darker  frown,  at  rising 
on  a  fifth  of  November,  and  finding 
his  death-dealing  lantern  and  matches 
in  the  hands  of  the  young  rabble.  The 
result  is,  that  even  the  populace  are 
sick  of  the  eternal  jargon  of  parlia- 
mentary restoration.  And  if  there  is 
any  reform  that  they  value  beyond  a 
paragraph  in  a  hustings  speech,  it  is 
undoubtedly  of  that  solid  kind  alluded 
to  in  the  election  committee — "  areform 
in  the  practice  of  the  last  candidates, 
who  gave  nothing  at  all  to  the  voters, 
whereas  it  had  been  the  custom  to  give 
them  a  guinta  a-piece,  and  upwards." 
The  bungling  of  the  Opposition  has 
actually  spoiled  the  reform-trade.  The 
Jackpudding  has  taken  it  upon  him- 
self, in  the  Mountebank's  absence,  to 
distribute  the  potions,  and  play  the 
tricks ;  and  the  consequence  is,  that 
the  rabble  have  deserted  the  booth. 
To  any  man  of  candour,  there  are  but 
two  points  of  view,  in  which  the  ques- 
tion of  a  parliamentary  reform  can  pre- 
sent itself. — It  must  be,  as  increasing 
the  present  power  of  the  Commons, 
or  changing  the  mode  of  its  election. 
On  the  first  head,  no  discussion  has 
been  raised.  The  House  of  Commons 
is  powerful,  perhaps,  to  the  full  extent 
of  public  safety.  We  pass  over  the 
usual  topics  of  the  necessity  of  preser- 
ving a  balance  of  the  three  Estates. 
But  it  is  obvious,  that,  even  as  a  mere 
expedient  for  gaining  the  time  neces- 
sary to  a  sound  judgment  on  great  pub- 


224 

lie  questions,  the  power  of  debate  and 
decision  ought  to  extend  beyond  the 
Commons;  the  will  of  the  House  ought 
not  to  be  authoritative,  final,  irrever- 
sible. It  is  by  no  means  clear,  that 
there  are  not  circumstances  in  which 
the  popular  power,  concentrated  in  the 
House,  may  not  be  too  great  for  the 
people.  There  have  been  contests  be- 
tween the  courts  of  law  and  the  Com- 
mons, within  the  latter  half  of  the  last 
century,  on  interests  serious  enough  to 
make  a  jealous  nation  tremble.  The 
power  of  imprisonment  for  contempt, 
and  of  sweeping  within  that  imprison- 
ment a  number  of  individuals,  of  whom 
but  one  may  be  the  criminal,  has  ex- 
cited strong  animadversion  before  our 
time. 

The  second  point — the  composition 
of  the  House,  is  the  grand  topic  of  all 
the  miscellaneous  oratory  of  patriot- 
ism, from  that  which  drivels  from  the 
lip  steeped  in  Michael  Angelo  Tay- 
lor's champaigne,  to  that  which  burns 
with  the  united,  inspiration  of  gin  and 
despair. 

It  is  but  justice  to  the  Revolutionist 
in  jail,  or  out,  to  allow  that  he  is  the 
only  consistent  reformer.  He  would 
sweep  away  all  at  once.  He  would  have 
no  little  selfish  longing  to  save  one 
fragment  of  the  building  to  the  over- 
throw of  another,  because  some  small 
family  interest  has  built  its  nest  in  the 
corner  to  be  saved.  He  would  not  pre- 
servea  favourite  ditch  or  door-post  upon 
the  ground.  His  plough  makes  clear 
work ;  he  sows  the  trench  with  revolu- 
tionary salt,  and  curses  all  who  would 
dare  to  restore  the  old  sullen  structure 
that  so  long  frowned  over  the  field. 
What  he  would  erect  in  pkce  of  its 
shelter,  sullen  as  it  was,  has  no  share 
in  his  thoughts  or  troubles.  He  takes 
it  for  granted  that  men  will  not  stand 
long  without  trying  to  raise  some  roof 
against  the  common  shocks  and  visita- 
tions of  the  political  seasons.  But  what 
contrivance  they  are  to  adopt,  or  how 
they  are  to  be  protected  till  the  choice 
is  made,  whether  they  are  to  crowd 
their  naked  and  unfed  sides  into  the 
architecture  of  Turk,  or  Scythian,  or 
Saxon,  or  Roman,  he  trusts  to  the  Pro- 
vidence to  which  he  will  trust  nothing 
else. 

A  House  of  Commons  chosen  by  the 
numerical  power  of  the  nation,  must 
be  the  house  of  the  populace,  must  be 
the  slaves  of  the  populace,  must  be  the 
destroyers  of  the  throne  and  of  the 
1 


On  Parliamentary  Reform. 


peers,  must  be  the  tyrant  of  the  nation, 
and  finally  must  either  give  itself  up, 
bound  hand  and  foot,  to  despotism,  or 
excite  the  furious  and  irresistible  in- 
dignation that  makes  it  the  victim  of 
the  populace.  This  is  history — the  suc- 
cessive steps  may  have  a  shorter  or  a 
longer  interval,  but  the  succession  is 
as  sure  as  from  intemperance  to  decay, 
from  opening  the  flood-gates  of  demo- 
cracy to  being  swept  away  by  its  tor- 
rent— from  thrusting  our  torch  into  a 
powder  magazine,  to  being  flung  up  in 
atoms  by  its  explosion. 

There^s  nothing  new  in  politics — the 
same  absurdities  and  artifices  on  which 
our  ignorant  disaffection  has  rejoiced 
with  the  joy  of  originality,  have  been 
played  oft' ages  before  we  were  born.  In 
1C48,  the  orators  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons persuaded  it  to  come  to  the  follow- 
ing resolution:  "  Resolved,  thatthe  peo- 
ple are,  under  God,  the  original  of  all  just 
powers."  The  resolution  seems  harm- 
less and  undeniable.  But  reform  has 
been  seldom  satisfied  with  pausing  in 
its  progress,  from  abstract  truth  to  vi- 
gorous practice.  A  following  resolu- 
tion declared,  "  That  the  Commons 
assembled  in  parliament,  being  chosen 
by  the  people,  have  the  supreme  autho- 
rity of  the  nation."  The  final  resolu- 
tion overthrew  the  frame  of  the  state 
and  laws  at  a  blow, — "  Resolved  that 
whatever  is  declared  law  by  the  Com- 
mons, has  the  force  of  law ;  and  all 
the  people  of  this  nation  are  included 
thereby,  although  the  consent  and  con- 
currence of  the  King  and  House  of 
Peers  be  not  had  thereto."  Are  we  in- 
clined to  return  to  the  hazards  of 
1648? 

But  of  the  moderate  reformers  (in 
the  House)  who  is  to  reconcile  the 
opinions  ?  Every  man  of  the  hundred 
and  fifty  has  his  scheme.  They  puff 
their  policies  with  an  enthusiasm,  that 
might  do  honour  to  Cornhill,  and  each 
man  boasts  of  his  infallible  way  to  se- 
cure the  Capital  Prize.  There  can  be 
no  rational  hope  of  an  improvement  in 
the  formation  of  the  House,  where  the 
ground  work  is  to  be  laid  in  ignorance, 
that  will  not  learn,  and  in  passion,  that 
cannot  understand ;  in  the  virulent 
hatred  of  political  opponents,  and  in 
the  paltry  ambition  of  making  a  name 
among  the  rabble. 

It  is  certainly  to  be  desired,  that 
where  the  most  important  interests  of 
England  are  to  meet  their  most  im- 
portant discussion,  no  meaner  influence 


1821.3 


On  Parliamentary  Reform. 


225 


should  take  a  share — that  where  the 
hecatomb  is  given  for  the  state,  no 
spotted  and  diseased  offering  should 
stain  the  altar.  If  it  were  possible  to 
convert  the  House  of  Commons  into 
an  assembly  of  pure  integrity,  and 
perfect  wisdom,  it  would  be  eminent- 
ly desirable.  But  is  it  within  the  con- 
trivance of  law  and  regulation,  to  ex- 
clude the  influence  of  wealth,  and  birth, 
and  authority  ?  Under  what  dexteri- 
ty of  exclusion  will  not  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  a-year  in  any  county,  from 
Berwick  to  Sussex,  or  even  from  a  more 
northern  boundary — if  we  might  ven- 
ture to  a  region  so  incorruptible — not 
be  felt  through  the  neighbourhood  ? 
Is  it  nothing,  that  the  system  of  uni- 
versal suffrage  would  make  our  foot- 
men and  chimney  sweepers  the  arbi- 
ters of  our  liberties  ?  that  the  system 
of  exclusive  county  representation 
would  inundate  the  House,  with  the 
lazy  opulence  of  fox-hunters,  and  far- 
mers, and  all  that  well-fed  class, 


"  That  with  strong  beer  and  beef,  the 

country  rules, 
And  ever  since  the  Conquest,  have  been 

fools." 

Is  it  to  be  cast  out  of  the  account  of 
practical  results — when  all  that  is  good 
must  be  practical — that  almost  without 
an  exception,  the  great  luminaries  and 
leaders  of  the  state  have  been  the  gift 
of  close  boroughs?  That  Chatham,  and 
Burke,  and  Pitt,  and  Fox,  and  a  whole 
host  of  illustrious  names,  were  first 
lifted  before  the  public  on  those  steps 
which  the  axe  of  reform  would  hew 
away  ?  The  subject  is  too  extensive 
for  my  paper  or  my  time.  But,  ad- 
mitting in  the  fullest  degree,  the  ne- 
cessity of  keeping  the  conscience  of 
parliament  vigilant  and  pure,  we  must 
beware  of  suffering  it  to  be  guided  on- 
ly by  the  fantastic  reveries  of  the  po- 
pulace, or  the  gloomy  and  insidious 
superstition  of  those  who  see  nothing 
good  but  in  themselves,  and  their 
bloody  and  desperate  resolve  of  ruin. 


RlPVANWINKLE. 


SlK, 


THE  American  tale  of  Rip  van  win- 
kle's sleep,  which  has,  no  doubt,  been 
perused  by  most  of  your  readers,  in 
the  "  Sketch  Book,"  bears  so  close  a 
resemblance  in  its  circumstances  to 
that  related  of  Epimenides,  that  I 
cannot  but  think  the  author  must 
have  had  the  latter  before  him.  I 
will,  therefore,  desire  you  to  insert  a 
translation  of  part  of  the  life  of  Epime- 
nides, from  Diogenes  Laertes,*  which 
will,  I  think,  induce  you  to  draw  the 
same  conclusion. 

Yours,  &c. 

WM.  BAINBRIGGE. 

"  Epimenides,  being  one  day  sent 


by  his  father  into  the  fields  to  tend  his 
flock,  oppressed  by  the  heat  of  the  mid- 
day sun,  quitted  the  high  road,  and 
retiredinto  the  shade  of  a  cavern,  where 
he  slept  for  57  years.  Awaking  from 
this  sleep,  he  began  to  search  for  his 
sheep,  but  could  not  find  them  ;  and 
on  going  out  into  the  fields,  he  obser- 
ved, that  the  face  of  all  things  was 
changed,  and  the  lands  now  become  the 
property  of  another  master.  He  re- 
turned home  confounded  and  asto- 
nished. Arrived  at  his  own  house,  he 
was  asked  by  the  occupier  of  it,  who 
he  was  ;  when  at  last,  being  recogni- 
zed by  his  brother,  who  was  then  grown 
old,  he  was  informed  of  the  truth  of 
what  had  happened." 


L.  I.  p.  77.     See  also  Pliny,  L.  VII.  c  52. 


296 


Letter  from  Rio  de  Janeiro. 


LETTER  FROM  RIO  DE  JANEIRO. 


Rio  de  Janeiro,  Jan.  26, 1 82 1 . 
MR  EDITOR, 

DRJOHN  SON  observes,  "thatfriend- 
ship,  like  love,  is  destroyed  by  long 
absence,  though  it  may  be  increased 
by  short  intermissions,"  and  the  asser- 
tion is  certainly  true.  A  very  few 
years  removal  from  my  nativity  have 
estranged  many  of  those  recollections 
which  I  at  one  time  felt  assured  were 
too  deeply  engraven  on  my  mind  to 
stand  in  want  of  any  periodical  revival. 
Your  Magazine  is  forwarded  me  from 
Liverpool,  as  regularly  as  opportunities 
will  admit,  and  still  retains  its  place  in 
my  esteem  ;  indeed,  I  feel  more  anxi- 
ety on  opening  one  of  your  numbers 
three  months  after  its  publication,  than 
I  used  to  do  when,  posting  down  to  the 
Trongate,  I  had  it  delivered  to  me  still 
wet  from  thepress,  and  justling  through 
the  thoroughfare  with  my  number  un- 
der my  arm,  made  the  best  of  my  way 
to  Portland-street,  where,  (unmindful 
of  the  landlady's  suggestions  that  my 
tea  cooled  in  the  dish,)  I  applied  my 
knife  to  the  top  of  your  pages,  without 
perceiving  that  I  buttered  the  subjects 
which  you  had  belaboured. 

I  am  here  the  daily  witness  of  an 
increasing  evil,  the  limiting  of  which 
to  the  southern  hemisphere,  has  remo- 
ved it  further  from  the  observation  of 
those  friends  to  humanity,  whose  lau- 
dable exertions  have  effected  its  partial 
suppression,  but  cannot  lessen  the  ini- 
quity of  such  a  traffic.  When  Portu- 
gal, agreeably  to  the  wishes  of  the 
Sovereigns  in  Congress,  renounced  her 
prosecution  of  the  slave  trade  to  the 
northward  of  the  Line,  she  furtherpro- 
mised  her  exertions  to  bring  about  a 
gradual  abolition  thereof  on  those  parts 
of  the  African  coast,  to  which  she  still 
retained  a  claim.  But  to  this  date  have 
these  promised  exertions  been  made  ? 
On  the  contrary,  the  dread  of  in- 
terference from  Powers  which  have 
espoused  the  cause  of  humanity,  seems 
to  have  stimulated  the  Portuguese  to 
a  more  active  pursuit  of  the  trade.  We 


see  them  carrying  It  on  without  re- 
straint, and  while  the  importers  of 
slaves  continue  to  contribute  material- 
ly to  the  wants  of  a  needy  exchequer, 
it  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that  the 
Government  will  take  any  decisive 
means  to  put  a  stop  thereto,  unless 
through  the  remonstrance  of  some 
power  they  are  bound  to  respect. 

Britain,  example  worthy  of  herself, 
was  the  first  to  declare,  (contrary  to 
the  individual  interest  of  many  of  her 
subjects)  her  aversion  to  this  inhuman 
traffic.  America,  retaining  her  mater- 
nal love  of  liberty,  has  announced  it 
death  for  any  of  her  citizens  to  be  con- 
nected, directly  or  indirectly,  therein. 
France  has  declared  it  illegal,  and  it  is 
there  generally  treated  with  that  ab- 
horrence it  deserves.  I  have  just  seen 
an  article  in  the  "  Revue  Encylope- 
dique"  for  August  last,  wherein  the 
Parisian  press  does  liberal  justice  to 
the  exertions  of  Britain  in  behalf  of 
the  Africans  ;  had  their  emancipation 
been  complete,  it  best  became  her  to 
remain  silent  on  the  subject  of  these 
exertions ;  but  while  such  an  extent 
of  that  unhappy  country  still  remains 
subject  to  this  cruel  oppression,  she 
Ought  not  to  sit  down  in  contemplation 
of  what  she  has  achieved,  and  give 
others  an  opportunity  of  overstepping 
her  in  the  pursuit. 

If  any  of  your  able  contributors 
would  take  this  subject  in  hand,  it 
might  meet  the  eye  of  some  of  our 
philanthropic  countrymen,  who,  bu- 
sied in  endeavouring  to  alleviate  the 
distresses  under  which  Britain  has  late- 
ly groaned,  may  have  overlooked  for  a 
while  the  more  distant  complaints  of 
these  injured  fellow- creatures,  but  in 
whose  bosoms  still  as  keenly  glow  the 
wish  and  determination  to  protect 
them. 

I  am,  with  esteem, 

Mr  Editor, 
Your  obedient  servant, 

S. 


18210 


Lord  Byron  and  Pope. 


227 


LORD  BYRON  AND  POPE.' 


WE  wish  that  Lord  Byron  would  con- 
fine himself  to  poetry  ; — or  if  he  will 
write  prose,  we  wish  at  least  that  his 
friends  would  not  be  so  eager  to  puh- 
lish  it.  This  wish  is  dictated  by  the 
sincercst  admiration  of  his  genius, — 
and  it  is  painful  to  us  to  have  our  ad- 
miration diminished.  It  is  true  that 
Kean  sometimes  condescends  to  ap- 
pear in  farce,  but  then  it  is  only  for 
his  benefit,  and  an  actor  may  perhaps 
be  pardoned  for  exposing  himself  on 
such  an  occasion,  in  order  to  fill  his 
pockets ;  but  we  can  perceive  no  such 
excuse  for  the  exhibition  of  Lord  By- 
ron in  the  pages  of  Pamphlets  and 
Magazines,  in  letters  which  would  do 
little  credit  to  any  writer,  and  are  wholly 
unworthy  of  the  illustrious  author  of 
Childe  Harold.  There  is,  perhaps,  in 
all  Lord  Byron's  writings,  a  too  con- 
stant introduction  of  himself; — but 
this  egotism,  which  we  can  scarcely 
tolerate,  even  when  enveloped  in  the 
graceful  folds  of  his  muse's  veil,  be- 
comes absolutely  nauseous  and  disgust- 
ing when  obtruded  upon  us  in  all  the 
nakedness  of  plain  prose. 

The  letter  which  is  the  subject  of 
our  present  remarks  is  addressed  to 
****  ****#*^  (which  being  interpret- 
ed, means  John  Murray,)  on  the  Rev. 
W.  L.  Bowies'  Strictures  on  the  Life 
and  Writings  of  Pope.  In  the  motto, 
his  lordship  says, — "  I  will  play  at 
Bowls  ;"  but  the  progress  of  his  letter 
resembles  rather  a  game  at  Skittles. 
He  lays  about  him  in  all  directions  as 
he  advances,  hitting  to  the  right  and 
to  the  left ;  or,  as  he  elegantly  ex- 
presses it  himself,  "  Having  once  be- 
gun, I  am  like  an  Irishman  in  a  '  row,' 
any  body's  customer."  The  letter,  con- 
sidered as  a  piece  of  composition,  is, 
like  all  that  he  has  written,  clever, 
smart,  energetic,  bitter,  obscure ;  but, 
unlike  much  that  he  has  written,  it  is 
not  only  flippant,  but  the  flippancy  is 
of  the  coarsest  character,  partaking 
rather  of  the  slang  of  the  pot-house, 
than  the  sallies  of  the  drawing-room. 
We  really  believe,  however,  that  it 
must  take  Lord  Byron  more  time  and 


trouble  to  write  ill,  than  it  takes  others 
to  write  well ;  and,  try  as  much  as  he 
may,  he  cannot  entirely  divest  himself 
of  those  splendid  qualifications,  which 
occasionally  reveal  themselves,  even  in 
the  production  before  us.  For  instance, 
in  the  description  of  the  storm  in  the 
Archipelago,  we  recognize  the  glowing 
pen  of  the  first  poet  of  the  age. 

We  are  almost  tired  of  the  Pope 
controversy  ;  but  as  it  is  our  bounderi 
duty  to  follow  the  fashion  of  the  hour, 
"  and  chase  the  new-blown  bubble  of 
the  day,"  we  must  say  a  few  words  on 
the  subject,  though  with  no  hope  of 
setting  a  question  at  rest,  which  has 
been  so  long  and  so  pertinaciously  agi- 
tated. Lord  Byron  may  have  bowled 
down  some  of  the  "  invariable  princi- 
ples" of  his  antagonist,  because,  though 
right  in  the  main,  Mr  Bowles's  expla- 
nations have  not  done  justice  to  his 
meaning ;  yet  we  think  his  Lordship 
has  not  succeeded  in  hitting  the  wicket 
of  truth  ;  but  that  many  of  the  posi- 
tions in  his  letter  are  quite  as  erroneous 
as  those  which  he  has  with  so  much 
sarcastic  severity  attacked. 

There  has  been,  we  think,  a  great 
waste  of  words  on  both  sides,  in  discus- 
sing whether  images  derived  from  na- 
ture or  from  art,  are  the  most  poetical. 
Mr  Bowles  says, — "  I  presume  it  will 
readily  be  granted  that  all  images  drawn 
from  what  is  beautiful  or  sublime  in 
the  works  of  nature,  are  more  beauti- 
ful and  sublime  than  any  images  drawn 
from  art ;  and  that  they  are  therefore 
per  se  more  poetical."  More  than  one 
naif  the  disputes  in  the  world  would 
be  prevented,  if  the  contending  par- 
ties would  only  be  at  the  pains  of  de- 
fining what  they  mean  by  the  words 
in  which  their  positions  are  propound- 
ed. Now,  in  the  case  before  us,  what 
is  meant  by  poetical  ?  If  it  is  intended 
to  mean  that  which  we  suppose,  it  does, 
the  question  should  rather  be  which 
class  of  objects  is  best  adapted  to  de- 
light the  imagination,  to  move  the 
heart,  and  to  elevate  the  mind  and  the 
thoughts  above  the  dull  prosaical  de- 
tails of  the  world  in  which  we  live, 


*  Letter  to 


*,  by  the  Right  Hon.  Lord  Byron.   London  ;  Murray,  1821. 


228 

and  breathe,  and  have  our  being.  Is  it 
not  evident  that  before  we  can  deter- 
mine which  are  the  most  poetical,  we 
we  must  first  agree  what  poetry  is  ? 
The  greatest  of  poets  has  prayed  for  a 
muse  of  fire  to  ascend  the  brightest 
heaven  of  invention  ;  and  some  wings 
are  necessary  even  to  the  readers  ot 
poetry,  without  which  we  shall  never 
be  able 

"  To  lift  from  earth  our  low  desires." 

or  be  filled  with  those  ideal  musings, 
elevated  thoughts,  and  lofty  aspira- 
tions, which  it  is  the  province  of  poetry 
to  inspire.  That  the  grand  works  of 
nature,  awakening  in  us,  as  they  do, 
associations  which  lead  our  minds  to 
the  contemplation  of  the  Great  Author 
of  Nature,  are,  in  our  sense  of  the 
word,  eminently  poetical,  none  will  de- 
ny ;  and  we  can  understand,  how,  un- 
der certain  circumstances,  the  meanest 
flower  that  blows  may  call  up 

"  Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for 
tears," 

though  this  effect  would,  most  assu- 
redly, never  be  produced  by  one  of  Mr 
Bowles's  minute  descriptions  ; — but  it 
does  not  therefore  follow,  as  Mr  Bowles 
would  persuade  us,  that  all  images 
drawn  from  nature  are  more  poetical 
than  any  derived  from  art ;  and  still 
less  does  it  follow,  according  to  the 
same  Mr  Bowles,  that  the  poet  "  must 
have  an  eye  attentive  to,  and  familiar 
with,  every  external  appearance  that 
she  may  exhibit  in  every  change  of 
season,  every  variation  of  light  and 
shade,  every  rock,  every  tree,  every 
leaf."  The  Lord  defend  us  from  such 
a  poet !  We  agree  with  Mr  Camp- 
bell, that  such  qualifications  would  on- 
ly be  essential  to  a  Dutch  flower-paint- 
er ;  and  we  entirely  coincide  with  the 
following  beautifulremarks  of  the  same 
writer.  "  Nature  is  the  poet's  god- 
dess; but  by  nature  no  one  rightly  un- 
derstands her  mere  inanimate  face — 
however  charming  it  may  be — or  the 
simple  landscape-painting  of  trees, 
clouds,  precipices,  and  flowers.  Na- 
ture, in  the  wide  and  proper  sense  of 
the  term,  means  life  in  all  its  circum- 
stances,— nature  moral,  as  well  as  ex- 
ternal." Nothing  is  more  true,  than 
that  the  grandest  scenes  of  nature 
only  excite  our  interest  or  awaken 
our  sympathy,  by  connecting  them 
with  Human  feelings  and  affections. 
What  would  the  glorious  Sun  himself 
be,  abstracted  from  the  thoughts  of 


Lord  Byron  and  Pope. 


CMay, 


those  sentient  beings  that  bask  in  the 
brightness  of  his  beams?  or  what  the 
charm  of  the  silver  mantle  of  the  peer- 
less Queen  of  night,  if  we  could  con- 
ceive her  wasting  her  beauty  in  the 
inanimate  blank  of  an  eyeless  universe? 
That  the  works  of  art  are  no  less  po- 
etical than  those  of  nature,  Mr  Camp- 
bell has  also  most  successfully  demon- 
strated in  his  instance  of  the  launch  of 
a  ship  ;  and  his  beautiful  description 
of  the  associations  which  such  a  spec- 
tacle awakens  in  the  minds  of  the  spec- 
tators, shews  that  he  uses  the  word  po- 
etical in  the  sense  that  we  wish  to  at- 
tach to  it.  How  could  Lord  Byron, 
whose  writings  breathe  the  very  soul 
of  poetry,  write  such  a  sentence  as  the 
following  ? — "  We  are  asked,  what 
makes  the  venerable  towers  of  West- 
minster-Abbey more  poetical,  as  ob- 
jects, than  the  Tower  for  the  manu- 
factory of  patent  shot,  surrounded  by 
the  same  scenery  ?  I  will  answer,  ar- 
chitecture." What,  is  the  antiquity  of 
its  origin  nothing?— the  kings  that 
have  been  crowned  in  it,  nothing  ? — 
the  heroes,  the  statesmen,  the  poets, 
the  philosophers,  that  are  buried  in  it, 
nothing? — the  solemn  services  that 
have  hallowed  it,  nothing  ? 

"  If  this  be  nothing,— 

Why  then  the  world,  and  all  that's  in't, 
is  nothing !" 

Lord  Byron  did  not  so  think,  and  so 
feel,  when  he  stood  within  the  Coli- 
seum's wall : — 

" 'Till  the  place 

Became  Religion,  and  the  heart  ran  o'er 
With  silent  worship  of  the  great  of  old  ! 
The  dead,  but  sceptred,  Sovereigns,  who 

still  rule 
Our  spirits  from  their  urns." 

Manfred. 

But  to  return  to  Pope. — The  ques- 
tion no  longer  is,  as  Johnson  tells  us  it 
once  was,  "  Whether  Pope  is  a  poet  ?" 
— but  to  ascertain  the  order  to  which 
he  belongs,  that  we  may  assign  him  his 
proper  place  in  the  poetical  calendar. 
Lord  Byron,  however,  assures  us,  that 
all  this  "  ordering"  of  poets  is  purely 
arbitrary  on  the  part  of  Mr  Bowles, — 
"  that  the  poet  is  always  ranked  ac- 
cording to  his  execution," — "  and  that 
the  poet  who  executes  best  is  the  high- 
est, whatever  his  department,  and  will 
ever  be  so  rated  in  the  world's  esteem." 
Now  we  think  nothing  more  outrage- 
ously absurd  than  this  was  ever  ad- 
vanced by  the  boldest  nssertor  of  para- 
doxes. We  do  not  know  what  his 


1821.]]  Lord  Byron  and  Pope.  229 

Lordship's  politics  may  be,  but  his  po-    Ut  magus ;  rt  modo  me  Thebis  modo  ponit 
etics  are  radical  and  levelling  with  a 
No  one  means  to  contend, 


vengeance, 
that  excellence  of  execution  in  an  in- 
ferior department,  will  not  confer 
higher  rank  than  mediocrity  in  a  su- 
perior branch  of  the  art.  Thus, 
"  Slack-eyed  Susan"  may,  perhaps, 
entitle  Gay  to  a  higher  place  than 
"  Prince  Arthur"  would  confer  upon 
Blackmore,  in  spite  of  the  disparity  of 
the  subjects, — for  a  good  song  is  a  bet- 
ter thing  than  a  bad  epic.  But  shall 
we  therefore  say,  that  he  who  attains 
excellence  in  the  tragic,  the  epic,  and 
the  lyric,  is  not  a  greater  poet  and 
a  sublimer  genius,  than  he  who  is 
equally  supereminent  in  the  didac- 
tic, descriptive,  the  satirical,  or  the 
ludicrous;  or,  in  other  words,  that 


There  is  nothing  of  this  in  Pope. — 
Shall  we  take  our  idea  from  Shake- 
speare ? 

"  The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 
Doth  glance  from  Heaven  to  earth,  from 

earth  to  Heaven, 

And  as  the  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's 

pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy 

nothings 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name." 


Can  this  be  applied  to  Pope  ?  We 
think  not.  He  is  a  moralist,  a  wit, 
a  critic,  and  a  fine  writer,  much  more 
than  he  is  a  poet.  Though  we  seldom 
quote  the  Edinburgh  Review  with  any 

Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  Dry  den,  do  marks  of  approbation,  yet  there  is  no 
not  belong  to  a  higher  order  of  in-  rule  without  an  exception ;  and  in  the 
tellects,  than  Pope  and  Thomson,  and  present  instance,  we  are  glad  to  find 

so  strong  a  confirmation  of  our  senti- 
ments, in  the  words  of  Mr  Jeffrey. 


Butler  and  Anstey  ?  As  well  might  we 

say  that  a  painter  is  also  to  be  ranked 

according  to  his  execution  alone,  and 

that  in  painting  as  in  poetry,  he  who    says : — "  There  is  no  finer  gem  than 

executes  best  is  the  highest,  whatever    this  poem  in  all  the  lighter  treasures 

may  be  his  department.    In  this  case, 

however,  every  body  will  perceive  at 


Speaking  of  the  Rape  of  the  Lock,  he 
says : — «  There  is  no  finer  gem  than 
this  poem  in  all  the  lighter  treasures 
of  English  fancy.  Compared  with  any 


other  mock-heroic  in  our  language,  it 

once  that  it  requires  a  higher  order  of  shines  out  in  pure  supremacy  for  ele- 
faculties  to  execute  the  "  Last  Judg-  gance,  completeness,  point,  and  play- 
ment"  and  the  "  Transfiguration,"  as  "  " 


they  have  been  executed  by  Raphael 
and  Michael  Angelo,  than  could  be 
displayed  in  any  excellence  of  execu- 
tion in  the  inferior  walks  of  landscape 
or  caricature ;  and  every  body,  but 
Lord  Byron,  will  surely  admit,  that  it 
is  impossible  to  display  as  much  poe- 
tical power  in  a  satire  or  a  song,  or  a 
mock  heroic,  however  excellent  the 
execution,  as  must  be  exerted  in  the 
proper  execution  of  a  Tragedy,  an 
Epic  Poem,  or  an  Ode.  The  difference 
of  the  subjects  must,  supposing  each 


fulness.  It  is  an  epic  poem  in  that 
delightful  miniature,  which  diverts  us 
by  its  mimicry  of  greatness,  and  yet 
astonishes  us  by  the  beauty  of  its  parts, 
and  the  fairy  brightness  of  its  orna- 
ments. In  its  kind  it  is  matchless ; — 
but  still  it  is  but  a  mack-heroic,  and 
depends  in  some  measure  for  its  effect, 
on  a  ludicrous  reference  in  our  own 
minds,  to  the  veritable  heroics  whose 
solemnity  it  so  wittily  affects.  His 
aerial  puppets  of  divinity, — his  sylphs 
and  gnomes,— and  his  puppet  heroes 
and  heroines, — the  beaux  and  belles 


performance  to  be  equally  excellent  of  of  high  life — required  rather  a  subtle 
its  kind,  establish  that  gradation  of  than  a  strong  hand  to  guide  them 
ranks,  and  that  "  ordering"  of  the  re-  through  the  mazes  of  poetry.  Among 

spective  writers,  for  which  we  think    '  ._    .AJ . 

Mr  Bowles  is  right  in  contending. 

And  where,  then,  are  we  to  place 
Pope  ?  Let  us  first  endeavour  to  satis- 
fy ourselves  with  the  definition  of  a 


poet.     What  is  poetry  ? — and  who  is 
a  poet  ?  Shall  we  listen  to  Horace  ? 

"  Hie   per   extentum  funem  mihi  posse 

videtur 
Ire  Poeta,  meum  qui  pectus  inaniter  an- 

Irritat,  mulcet,  falsis  terroribus  implet, 


inventive  poets,  this  poem  will  place 
him  high.  But  if  our  language  con- 
tains any  true  heroic  creations  of  fan- 
cy, the  agents  of  Spenser's  and  Mil- 
ton's machinery  will  always  claim  a 
superior  dignity  to  their  Lilliputian 
counterfeits." 

Andagain; — "Without defining  the 
picturesque,  we  all  feel  that  it  is  a 
charm  in  poetry  seldom  applicable  to 
Pope.  In  vain  shall  we  search  his 
Pastorals,  or  Windsor  Forest,  for  such 


230  Lord  Byron 

a  landscape  as  siirrourids  the  Castle  of 
Indolence, — the  Bower  of  Eden,  or 
the  inimitable  Hermitage  of  Beattie. 
In  the  knowledge  and  description  of 
refined  life,  Pope  was  the  mirror  of 
his  times.  He  saw  through  human 
character  in  the  living  manners  of  his 
a;>;e,  with  the  eye  of  a  judge  and  a  sa- 
tirist. But  when  we  use  the  trite 
phrase  of  Shakespeare  understanding 
human  nature,  we  mean  something 
more  extensive  than  when  we  apply 
the  same  praise  to  Pope.  From  the 
writings  of  the  former,  we  learn  the 
secrets  of  the  human  heart,  as  it  exists 
in  all  ages,  independent  of  the  form 
and  pressure  of  the  times.  From  Pope 
we  learn  its  foibles  and  peculiarities  in 
the  18th  century.  We  have  men  and 
women  described  by  Shakespeare :  by 
Pope  we  have  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men of  England.  The  standard  of  his 
ridicule  and  morality  is  for  ever  con- 
nected with  fashion  and  polite  life. 
Amidst  all  his  wit,  it  has  been  thefeeling 
of  many  in  reading  him,  that  we  miss 
the  simplicity  of  the  poet  in  the  smart- 
ness of  the  gentleman." 

Is  not  this  criticism  for  the  most 
part  just  ?  Is  it  not  true,  that  Pope  is 
the  poet  of  high  life,  of  town  life,  of 
literary  life; — dealing  little  in  pictures 
of  general  nature  and  simple  emotion  ? 
Are  not  his  characters,  as  Johnson 
would  distinguish  them,  characters  of 
manners  rather  than  of  nature  ?  Is 
there  not,  in  short,  between  Shakes- 
peare and  Pope,  considered  as  painters 
of  character,  as  much  difference  as  be- 
tween the  man  who  knew  how  the 
watch  was  made,  and  the  man  who 
could  tell  the  hour  by  looking  on  the 
dial-plate  ? 

We  should  be  ashamed  of  uttering 
such  truisms,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
extravagant  and  exaggerated  praises 
that  have  been  lately  lavished  on  the 
little  man  of  Twickenham ;  as  if  it 
were  the  object  to  exalt  him  above  all 
his  rivals ;  and  establish  a  sort  ofPope- 
dom  in  the  poetical,  as  in  the  religious 
world.  Lord  Byron,  with  all  the  zeal 
of  a  partisan,  endeavours  to  support 
this  new  kind  of  papal  supremacy ; — 
though  we  think  the  arguments  he 
uses  shew  little  more  than  the  zeal  of 
a  partisan.  But  let  his  lordship  speak 
for  himself. 

"  In  my  mind,  the  highest  of  all 
poetry  is  ethical  poetry,  as  the  highest 
of  all  earthly  objects  must  be  moral 


and  Pofie. 

truth.  Religion  does  not  make  a  part 
of  iny  subject ;  it  is  something  beyond 
human  powers,  and  has  failed  in  all 
human  hands  except  Milton's,  and 
Dante's  ;  and  even  Dante's  powers  are 
involved  in  his  delineation  of  human 
passions,  though  in  supernatural  cir- 
cumstances. What  made  Socrates  the 
greatest  of  men  ?  His  moral  truth — 
his  ethics.  What  proved  Jesus  Christ 
the  son  of  God  hardly  less  than  his 
miracles  ?  His  moral  precepts.  A  nd 
if  ethics  have  made  a  philosopher  the 
first  of  men,  and  have  not  been  dis- 
dained by  the  Deity  himself,  are  we  to 
be  told  that  ethical  poetry,  or  didactic 
poetry,  or  by  whatever  name  you  term 
it,  whose  object  is  to  make  men  better 
and  wiser,  is  not  the  very  first  order  of 
poetry  ?" 

Now  we  think  the  whole  of  this 
passage,  passing  over  the  argument  for 
a  moment — is  in  the  worst  possible 
taste,  even  if  it  had  proceeded  from 
the  pen  of  Mr  Bowles,  who  is  a  mini- 
ster of  the  church  ; — but  how  are  we 
to  understand  it  as  coming  from  the 
author  of  Don  Juan  ?  Is  it  sarcasm  ? 
or  irony  ? — or  are  we  to  consider  it  as 
an  illustration  of  the  maxim  of  Roche- 
foucault ; — "  Hypocrisy  is  the  homage 
which  vice  pays  to  virtue."  It  is  real- 
ly edifying  to  meet  with  a  passage  like 
this  in  the  very  same  letter  in  which 
his  Lordship  indulges  himself  in  the 
following  invective.  "  The  truth  is, 
that  in  these  days  the  grand  "primum 
mobile"  in  England  is  cant ;  cant  po- 
.litical,  cant  poetical,  cant  religious, 
cant  moral ;  but  always  cant,  multi- 
plied through  all  the  varieties  of  life." 

"  Quis  tulerit  Gracchos,  &c." 

But  to  resume  the  argument.  Lord 
Byron  having  resolved  to  magnify  the 
little  God  of  his  idolatry,  proceeds 
through  thick  and  thin  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  purpose  ;  and  among 
the  first  victims  he  ofFersupatthe  shrine 
of  his  divinity  is  Cowper,  who  is  thus 
incidentally  immolated  in  a  parenthe- 
sis,— "  For  Cowper  is  no  poet."  We 
should  have  thought  his  Lordship's 
own  obligations  to  Cowper,  would  have 
secured  him  a  more  respectful  men- 
tion ;  though  poets  are  not  famous  for 
their  gratitude  to  one  another.  Thus 
Voltaire,  after  borrowing  from  Shakes- 
peare, laboured  most  assiduously  to 
depreciate  him, — like  a  thief,  as  Ste- 
vens said,  who,  after  robbing  a  house, 


Lord  Byron  and  Pope* 


931 


sets  it  on  fire,  to  prevent  the  detection 
of  the  stolen  goods.  It  is  but  fair,  how- 
ever, to  say,  that  his  Lordship  after- 
wards, when  he  sacrifices  a  whole  heca- 
tomb of  schools,  at  the  same  altar  does 
not  spare  himself.  "  Sooner,"  says  he, 
"  than  a  single  leaf  should  be  torn 
from  his  laurel,  it  were  better  that  all 
which  these  men,  and  that  I  as  one  of 
their  set,  have  ever  written,  should 

"  Line  trunks,  clothe  spice,  or  fluttering 

in  a  row, 
Befringe  the  rails  of  Bedlam  or  Soho." 

His  Lordship  adds; — "There  are  those 
who  will  believe  this,  and  those  who 
will  not."  We  have  no  reason  to  think 
that  the  poetical  temperament  has 
much  changed  since  Cicero's  time,  who 
tells  us  ; — "  Adhuc  neminem  cognovi 
poetam  qui  sibi  non  optimus  videre- 
tur."  Still  we  must  not  call  in  ques- 
tion his  Lordship's  sincerity.  There 
is  something  consoling  and  satisfacto- 
ry in  the  heroism  of  self  devotion  ; — 
but  we  much  doubt  whether  Lord  By- 
ron would  have  been  pleased  at  recei- 
ving the  same  sentence  from  any  other 
judge.  For  ourselves  we  can  sincere- 
ly say,  that  we  should  be  most  unwil- 
ling to  consent  to  the  terms  of  the 
sacrifice,  and  have  no  hesitation  in  ex- 
pressing our  conviction,  that  if  Lord 
Byron  continues  to  live  and  to  write, 
and  will  only  abstain  from  Pamphlets 
and  Magazines,  he  will  be  placed  by 
universal  acclamation  far  above  the 
object  of  his  present  panegyric,  and 
form  the  fourth  star  of  a  glorious  con- 
stellation with  Shakespeare,  Milton,' 
and  Dryden.  But  we  forget  that  we 
have  now  to  do  with  Lord  Byron  as  a 
writer  of  prose ;  and  it  is  in  the  fol- 
lowing style  of  flippant  cant,  and  hy- 
perbolical rhodomontade,  that  he  winds 
up  the  climax  of  his  adoration. 

"  Of  his  power  in  the  passions,  in  de- 
scription, in  the  mock-heroic,  I  leave 
others  to  descant.  I  take  him  upon  his 
strong  ground  as  an  ethical  poet :  in 
the  former  none  excel ;  in  the  mock 
heroic  and  the  ethical,  none  equal  him; 
and  in  my  mind  the  latter  is  the  high- 
est of  all  poetry,  because  it  does  that 
in  verse,  which  the  greatest  of  men 
have  wished  to  accomplish  in  prose. 
If  the  essence  of  poetry  be  a  lie,  throw 
it  to  the  dogs,  or  banish  it  from  your 
republic  as  Plato  would  have  done. 
He  who  can  reoncile  poetry  with  truth 
and  wisdom,  is  the  only  true  'poet' 

VOL.  IX. 


in  its  real  sense,  the  '  mafcer,'  the 
creator — why  must  this  mean  the 
1  liar,'  the  '  feigner/  the  '  tale-teller.' 
A  man  may  make  and  create  better 
things  than  these." 


"  If  any  great  national  or  natural 
convulsion  could  or  should  overwhelm 
yatir  (it  is  by  this  pronoun  that  Lord  B. 
designates  the  country  of  himself  and 
his  fathers)  country  in  such  sort,  as 
to  srreep  Great  Britain  from  the  king- 
doms of  the  earth,  and  leave  only  that, 
after  all  the  most  living  of  human  things, 
a  dead  language,  to  be  studied  and  read, 
and  imitated  by  the  wise  of  future 
and  far  generations  upon  foreign  shores; 
if  your  literature  should  become  the 
learning  of  mankind,  divested  of  party 
cabals,  temporary  fashions,  and  nation- 
al pride  and  prejudice ;  an  English- 
man, anxious  that  the  posterity  of 
strangers  should  know  that  there  had 
been  such  a  thing  as  a  British  Epic 
and  Tragedy,  might  wish  for  the  pre- 
servation of  Shakespeare  and  Milton  ; 
but  the  surviving  world  would  snatch 
Pope  from  the  wreck,  and  let  the  rest 
sink  with  the  people.  He  is  the  moral 
poet  of  all  civilization,  and  as  such  let 
us  hope  that  he  will  one  day  be  the 
national  poet  of  mankind." 

Now  we  should  have  really  thought 
it  impossible  for  any  person,  who  had 
left  school  seTen  years,  to  write  seri- 
ously in  this  manner  of  the  Essay  on 
Man.  There  is  more  sublime  morali- 
ty, and  more  impressive  lessons  of  life 
and  conduct,  to  be  derived  from  one 
play  of  Shakespeare,  than  from  all  the 
school-boy  common-places  and  pom- 
pous truisms  of  Pope's  Essay,  of  which 
the  motto  ought  to  have  been,  "  What 
oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  ex- 
press'd." — We  are  not  advancing  any 
new  opinion  ;  and  if  it  be  necessary  to 
call  in  the  aid  of  authority,  let  us  turn 
to  the  discriminating  criticism  of  John- 
son as  an  antidote  to  the  unmeaning 
rhapsody  of  praise  which  we  have 
quoted  above. 

"  The  '  Essay  on  Man,'  (says  John- 
son in  his  Life  of  Pope,)  was  a  work  of 
great  labour  and  long  consideration, 
but  certainly  not  the  happiest  of  Pope's 
performances.  The  subject  is  perhaps 
not  very  proper  for  poetry ;  and  the 
poet  was  not  sufficiently  master  of  his 
subject ;  metaphysical  morality  was  to 
him  a  new  study ;  he  was  proud  of 
2F 


Lord  Byron  and  Pope. 


933 

his  acquisitions,  and  supposing  him- 
self master  of  great  secrets,  was  in 
haste  to  teach  what  he  had  not  learn- 
ed. 


"  This  Essay  affords  an  egregious  in- 
stance of  the  predominance  of  genius, 
the  dazzling  splendour  of  imagery,  and 
the  seductive  powers  of  eloquence. 
Never  was  penury  of  knowledge  and 
vulgarity  of  sentiment  so  happily  dis- 
guised. The  reader  feels  his  mind  full, 
though  he  learns  nothing ;  and  when 
he  meets  it  in  its  new  array,  no  longer 
knows  the  talk  of  his  mother  and  his 
nurse.  When  these  wonder-working 
sounds  sink  into  sense,  and  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Essay,  disrobed  of  its  or- 
naments, is  left  to  the  powers  of  its 
naked  excellence,  what  shall  we  disco- 
ver ?  That  we  are,  in  comparison  with 
our  Creator,  very  weak  and  ignorant ; 
that  we  do  not  uphold  the  chain  of 
existence ;  and  that  we  could  not  make 
one  another  with  more  skill  than  we 
are  made.  We  may  learn  yet  more — 
that  the  arts  of  human  life  were  copied 
from  the  instinctive  operations  of  other 
animals  ;  that,  if  the  world  be  made 
for  mnn,  it  may  be  said  that  man  was 
made  for  geese.  To  these  profound 
principles  of  natural  knowledge  are 
added  some  moral  instructions  equally 
new ;  that  self-interest  well  under- 
stood will  produce  social  concord  ;  that 
men  are  mutual  gainers  by  mutual 
benefits ;  that  evil  is  sometimes  ba- 
lanced by  good  ;  that  human  advan- 
tages are  unstable  and  fallacious,  of 
uncertain  duration  and  doubtful  ef- 
fect; that  our  true  honor  is  not  to 
have  a  great  part,  but  to  act  it  well  ; 
that  virtue  only  is  our  own  ;  and  that 
happiness  is  always  in  our  power. 

"Surely  a  man  <>fno  rery  comprehen- 
sive search,  mm/  venture  to  sny  tluit  he 
has  heard  all  this  he  fore  ;  but  it  was 
never  till  now  recommended  by  such 
a  blaze  of  embellishments,  or  such 
sweetness  of  melody.  The  vigorous 
contraction  of  some  thoughts,  the  lux- 
uriant amplification  of  others,  the  in- 
cidental illustrations,  and  sometimes 
the  dignity,  sometimes  the  softness  of 
the  verses,  enchain  philosophy,  sus- 
pend criticism,  and  oppress  judgment 
by  overpowering  pleasure." — Lives  of 
the  Poets. 

We  earnestly  recommend  those  gen- 
tle readers  who  now  accompany  us 


CMay, 


through  the  columns  of  this  article,  to 
turn,  when  they  have  concluded  it,  to 
Johnson's  Life  of  Pope,  which  might, 
we  think,  have  saved  all  the  ink  that 
has  been  since  spilled  in  this  discus- 
sion. We  have  already  quoted  so  much 
that  we  may  as  well  conclude  as  v.e 
have  begun  ;  and  shall,  therefore,  givu 
our  own  opinion  of  Pope  in  the  words 
of  the  author  of  "  The  Diary  of  an  In- 
valid ;" — a  volume  which,  with  the  en- 
tertainment of  a  book  of  travels,  con- 
tains much  incidental  observation  on 
all  subjects.  "  The  character  of  Pope's 
poetry  may  be  well  illustrated  by  one 
of  his  own  lines.  It 

'  Plays  round  the  head,  but  comes  not  near 
the  heart.' 

He  delights  us  by  the  fertility  of  his 
fancy,  the  elegance  of  his  imagination, 
the  point  and  pleasantness  of  his  wit, 
the  keen  discrimination  of  his  satire, 
and  the  moral  good  sense  of  his  reason- 
ing : — but  he  is  seldom  pathetic,  and 
never  sublime.  If  Eloisa  to  Abelard 
be  an  exception  to  this  observation,  it 
is  a  solitary  exception,  and  exceptio 
probat  refill um  ; — besides,  in  that  poem 
the  sentiments  seem  rather  adopted, 
than  the  genuine  offspring  of  the  poet's 
heart. 

"  What  that  soul  of  feeling  is,  that 
poetical  verve  by  which  alone  the  poet 
can  rise  to  sublimity,  and  which  Pope 
wanted,  will  be  understood  at  once  by 
comparing  his  Ode  on  Music  with  Dry- 
den's  divine  effusion  on  the  same  sub- 
ject. His  merit  even  in  versification, 
seems  to  have  been  over-rated.  Pope 
may  perhaps  be  said  to  have  done  for 
verses  what  Arkwright  did  for  stock- 
ings, by  the  invention  of  a  sort  of  me- 
chanical process  in  their  composition. 
His  couplets  are  as  regular  as  if  they 
had  been  made  with  the  unerring  pre- 
cision of  a  spinning  jenny." 

Thismechanical  process,  however,  did 
not,  in  Pope's  case,  lighten  the  labours 
of  the  worktnan.  His  vers?s  seem  al- 
ways to  have  come  from  him  "  like 
bird-lime  from  frieze."  His  were  not 
the  thoughts 

"  Which  voluntary  move  harmonious  num- 
bers." 

Inspiration  had  little  to  do  with  his 
poetry, — at  least  if  we  trust  to  the  evi- 
dence of  his  manuscripts  in  the  British 
Museum,  which  shew  us  how  literally 
his  verses  may  be  said  to  have  been 
made  with  hands  ;  and  with  how  much 


Lord  Byron  and  Pope, 


labour  of  correction  they  were  worked 
up  to  their  present  polish.  His  poeti- 
cal opinions  are  much  what  we  should 
have  expected  from  reading  his  poems. 
Accordingly  we  learn  from  Spence,  that 
he  thought  "  Ben  Jonson's  Works  ta- 
ken altogether  are  but  trash  ;" — and 
in  the  same  spirit  he  pronounces  that 
"  Shakespeare's  dramatic  style  is  a  bad 
one."  Again,  he  says  in  speaking  of 
rhyme,  "  I  have  nothing  to  say  of 
rhyme,  but  that  I  doubt  whether  a 
poem  can  support  itself  without  it  in 
our  language,  unless  it  be  stiffened  with 
such  strange  words  as  are  likely  to  de- 
stroy our  language  itself.  The  high 
style  that  is  affected  so  much  in  blank 
verse  would  not  have  been  borne  in 
Milton  had  not  his  subject  turned  up- 
on such  strange  out-of-the-world  things 
as  it  does."  The  man  who  could  thus 
write  of  the  Paradise  Lost,  must  sure- 
ly have  wanted  some  of  the  qualities 
that  are  necessary  to  constitute  the  per- 
fection of  the  poetical  temperament. 

But  while  we  are  combating  the  ex- 
aggerated panegyrics  that  have  been 
pronounced  upon  him ;  we  must  take 
care  that  we  are  not  carried  by  the  force 
of  reaction  into  the  opposite  extreme. 
Let  us  give  to  Pope — elegant  sensible 


233 

Pope — the  praise  that  is  his  due.  We 
Bit  down  to  the  feast  of  reason  and  the 
flow  of  fancy  which  his  works  present  to 
us  with  perpetual  delight.  The  variety 
of  his  powers  securing  us  against  any 
feeling  of  satiety,  and  the  exquisite 
taste  with  which  he  embellishes  what- 
ever he  touches, — 

"Leaving  that  beautiful  which  still  was  so, 
And  making  that  which  was  not, — 

gives  to  his  reader  a  peculiar  species  of 
enjoyment  which  no  other  poet  per- 
haps can  communicate.  If  he  does  not 
sweep  the  strings  of  the  human  heart 
with  that  master-touch,  which  be- 
longs exclusively  to  a  higher  order  of 
poets,  he  knows  how, 

u  To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of 

art," 

and  can  at  once  charm  the  ear,  delight 
the  imagination,  and  inform  the  un- 
derstanding. These  are  no  slight  qua- 
lifications, and  though  they  may  not 
be  sufficient  to  entitle  Pope  to  a  place 
in  the  highest  rank  of  poets,  will  ever 
cause  him  to  shine  pre-eminently  in 
the  second  class, — 


-"  Velut  inter  ignes 
Luna  minores." 


Y. 


£Mr  Bowles  has  just  published  a  Pamphlet,  the  title  of  which  we  subjoin.* 
We  regret  that  we  have  neither  space  nor  time  to  notice  it  particularly  ;  but 
we  beg  to  recommend  it  to  our  readers  as  a  most  satisfactory  answer  to  Lord 
Byron's  paradoxes,  and  as  evincing  throughout  the  spirit  of  the  scholar  and 
the  gentleman.  C.  X.^ 


•  Two  Letters  to  the  Right  Honourable  Lord  Byron,  in  Answer  to  his  Lordship's 
Letter  to  ****  •*««»»,  on  the  Rev.  \Vm.  L.  Bowles's  Strictures  on  the  Life  and  Wri- 
tings of  Pope  ;  more  particularly  on  the  question,  Whether  Poetry  be  more  imme- 
diately indebted  to  what  is  Sublime  or  Beautiful  in  the  works  of  Nature,  or  the  works 
of  Art  ?  By  the  Hey.  Wm.  L.  Bowles.  "  He  that  plays  at  BOWLS  must  expect  RUB- 
HKHS." — Old  Proverb.  "  Xatiiram  expellas  Furca,  tamen  usque  recurret." — Horace, 
John  Murray,  Albemarle  Street,  London,  1U21. 


334 


Wurht  preparing  for  Publication. 
WORKS  PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 


LONDON. 


A  History  of  Parga,  by  Ugo  Foscolo, 
will  shortly  appear. 

Shortly  will  be  published,  a  Catalogue 
of  the  extensive  Library  of  his  Excellency 
the  Cardinal  Fesch,  which  will  be  found 
particularly  rich  in  Abbatial  and  Local 
Ecclesiastical  History ;  Koyal  and  Noble 
Genealogies  ;  Versions  of  the  Scriptures  ; 
Sacred  Philology  ;  Councils  ;  Lives  of  the 
Fathers ;  Theology ;  Canon  and  Civil  Law ; 
Ancient  History  and  Biography.  Toge- 
ther with  several  early  printed  Books  and 
Chronicles. 

The  Author  of  "  The  Student's  Ma- 
nual," or  an  Etymological  and  Explanatory 
Vocabulary  of  words  derived  from  the 
Greek,  is  preparing  for  the  press  a  Work 
on  a  similar  plan,  to  consist  of  words 
adopted  from  the  Latin  language ;  both  of 
which  are  intended  as  Appendages  to  the 
English  Dictionaries  usually  placed  in  the 
hands  of  youth. 

The  Faustus  of  Goetht,  translated  by 
Mr  George  Soane ;  also  a  translation  of 
Sangerliebe ;  a  Provencal  Legend,  by  the 
same. 

Dr  Bethell,  Dean  of  Chichester,  has  in 
the  press,  a  general  view  of  the  Doctrine  of 
Regeneration. 

The  personal  History  of  King  George 
the  Third ;  by  E.  H.  Locher,  Esq.  F.  R. 
S.  will  shortly  be  published  hi  quarto. 

The  second  part  of  Horae  Entomologi, 
cae ;  or  Essays  on  the  Annulose  Animals ; 
by  W.  S.  MacLeay,  Esq.  A.  M.  F.  L.  S. 
being  an  attempt  to  ascertain  the  rank  and 
situation  which  the  celebrated  Egyptian 
insect,  Scarabseus  Sacer,  holds  among  or- 
ganized beings. 

The  Odes  of  Pindar,  translated  into 
English  verse  ;  by  Abraham  Moore. 

Speedily  will  be  published,  in  three  vo- 
lumes 8vo.  an  Account  of  the  Abipones,  an 
equestrian  people  in  the  interior  of  South 
America,  translated  from  Martin  Dobriz- 
hoffer,  22  years  a  Missionary  in  Paraguay. 
Mr  Brande's  Manual  of  Chemistry,  en* 
larged  to  3  vols.  8vo. 

Nearly  ready  for  publication,  a  Gram, 
mar  of  the  Tamul  Language ;  by  Robert 
Anderson,  Esq.  of  the  Madras  Civil  Ser- 
vice. 

In  the  press,  the  Adventures  of  the  Goo- 
roo  Noodle,  and  his  five  foolish  Disciples ; 
a  comic  Hindoo  Tale,  in  the  Tamul  Lan- 
guage, printed  in  the  original  characters, 
and  accompanied  by  a  Translation,  Voca- 
bularly,  and  Ar:ily-is;  by  Benjamin  Ba- 
bingloi:,  Ksq.  of  the  I\iadra>>  (  ivil  Service. 
Viev.-s  or'/.jiiaii'a.  in  a  serifs  of  Letters 
from  that  country  to  a  friend  in  England, 
during  1818,  19,  and  '20,  by  an  English 
woman. 

A  Practical  Essay,  on  Ring -Worm, 
Scald-IIeod,  &c. ;  by  Samuel  Plumbe,Esq. 


Memoirs  of  James  the  Second,  in  two 
vols.  small  8vo.  with  a  Portrait. 

Lucidus  Ordo  ;  a  complete  Course  of 
Studies  on  the  several  branches  of  Musical 
Science,  with  a  reduction  of  all  the  present 
intricacies  of  thorough  Bass,  to  one  simple 
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skeleton  Exercises,  &c.  ;  by  J.  Ralfe,  Mu- 
sician in  ordinary  to  his  Majesty. 

Mr  M'Kenzie's  thousand  Experiments 
in  Chemistry  and  the  Useful  Arts  will 
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with  calmness,  impartiality,  and  truth. 

In  the  press,  a  splendid  Work,  by  Dr 
Turton,  illustrative  of  the  Conchology  of 
the  British  Islands.  Two  hundred  copies 
only  will  be  printed  ;  the  Plates  all  colour-, 
ed  from  nature. 

Principles  and  Doctrines  of  Assurances, 
Annuities  on  Lives,  and  of  Contingent  Re- 
versions, stated  and  explained ;  by  Wil- 
liam Morgan,  Esq.  Actuary  of  the  Equit- 
able Life  Assurance  Office. 

The  History  of  the  Plague,  as  it  has 
lately  appeared  in  the  Islands  of  Malta, 
Corfu,  Cephalonia,  &c. ;  by  J.  D.  Tully, 
Esq.  Surgeon  to  the  Forces. 

The  first  volume  of  Dr  Latham's  Gene- 
ral History  of  Birds,  in  4to.  will  be  publish- 
ed in  June. 

Early  in  next  Month  will  be  published, 
a  Treatise  of  the  Principles  of  Bridges  by 
Suspension,  with  reference  to  the  Catenary, 
and  exemplified  by  the  Chain.Bridge  over 
the  Strait  of  Menai.  In  it  the  properties 
of  the  Catenary  will  be  fully  investigated, 
and  those  of  Arches  and  Piers  will  be  de- 
rived from  the  motion  of  a  Projectile.  It 
will  contain  practical  tables ;  a  table  of 
the  dimensions  of  a  Catenary,  and  tables 
of  the  principal  Chain,  Rope,  Stone,  Wood, 
and  Iron  Bridges,  with  the  dimensions  of 
them,  erected  in  different  countries. 

In  the  press,  a  Treatise  on  Scrophula, 
(to  which  the  Jacksonian  prize  for  the  year 
1818  was  adjudged  by  the  Court  pf  Exa- 
miners of  the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons,) 
containing  its  Nature,  Treatment,  and  Ef- 
fects, particularly  upon  Children  ;  and  on 
the  alteration  produced  on  all  the  different 
parts  of  the  body  ;  with  especial  reference 
also  to  its  connexion  with  Spinal  Curva- 
tures, Diseases  of  the  Joints,  Affections  of 
the  Glands ;  particularly  of  the  Female 
Breasts,  Testicles,  and  prostate  Glands, 
with  Diseases  of  the  Eyes ;  to  which  is. 
added,  an  Account  of  the  Opthalmia  so 
long  prevalent  in  Christ's  Hospital ;  by 
Eusebius  Arthur  Lloyd,  Member  of  the 
Royal  College  of  Surgeons,  Senior  Surgeon 
to  the  General  Dispensatory,  Aldersgate 
Street,  and  late  House-Surgeon  to  St  Bar, 
tholomew's  Hospital,  in  one  vol.  Jtvo. 


18210 


Works  preparing  for  Publication. 
EDINBURGH. 


235 


We  are  happy  to  inform  our  readers,  that 
the  title  of  the  new  Work,  by  the  "  Great 
Unknown,"  now  in  the  press,  is,  "  The 
Pirate;1'  and  the  scene  is  (Shetland  about 
the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

The  Ayrshire  Legatees,  or  the  Cor- 
respondence of  the  Pringle  Family,  will  be 
published  in  a  few  days. 

Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  Botany  ; 
containing  Botanical  Nomenclature,  Theory 
of  Classification,  Anatomy,  Physiology, 
Geography,  and  Diseases  of  Plants  ;  v.ith 
a  History  of  Botany ;  by  A.  P.  DC  Can- 
do'ile,  and  K.  Sprengell.  ttvo.  with  8  Plates. 

In  a  very  small  Volume,  an  Essay  on  the 
Sentiments  of  Attraction,  Adaptation,  and 
Variety. 

Johnson's  Scots  Musical  Museum, 
containing  Six  Hundred  Scottish  Songs. 
Adapted  for  the  Harp,  Pianoforte,  or  Or- 
gan.  Chiefly  collected  and  corrected  by 
^Robert  Burns.  Including  nearly  Two 
Hundred  Songs,  originally  written  for  this 
Collection,  by  the  Bard.  A  new  edition. 
To  which  are  prefixed,  An  Introductory 
Essay,  and  Illustrations,  Historical,  Bio- 
graphical, and  Critical,  of  the  whole  Lyric 
Poetry  and  Music  contained  in  this  great 
National  Work  ;  by  William  Stenhouse, 
6  vols.  f!v (i. 

A  History  of  the  Origin  and  Progress  of 
the  Society  of  Clerks  to  His  Majesty's  Sig- 
net in  Scotland  ;  their  Duties  and  Privi- 
leges ;  by  William  Balfour,  Esq.  W.  S. 

The  Poems  of  Alexander  Montgomery, 
Author  of  the  Cherrie  and  the  Slae  ;  with 
a  Biographical  Preface,  &c.  Printed  by 
Ballantyne,  in  post  flvo.,  uniformly  with 
the  Publications  of  Ritson,  Ellis,  &c.  Only 
U30  Copies  printed  for  sale. 

Transactions  of  the  Society  of  the  Anti- 
quaries of  Scotland.  Vol.  II.  Part  II.  4to. 

Geometrical  Analysis,  and  the  Geome- 
try of  Curve  Lines  ;  by  Professor  Leslie, 
Hvo.  (Nearly  ready.)  This  Work  will 
include,  not  only  a  regular  and  complete 
system  pf  Conic  Sections,  but  will  exhibit 
the  beautiful  relations  of  those  Higher 
Curves,  ancient  or  modern,  which  either 
invite  the  application  of  Algebra,  or  elu- 
cidate the  properties  of  Mechanics  and 
other  branches  of  Natural  Philosophy.  It 
will  serve  as  a  comprehensive  Introduc- 
tion to  the  study  of  Astronomy  and  Phy- 
sical Science  ;  and,  being  joined  to  the 
Elements  of  Geometry,  will  form  the  chief 
part  of  a  Course  of  Classical  Mathematics. 

A  short  Treatise  on  Heat,  Theoretical 
and  Practical ;  by  Professor  Leslie,  oVo. 
This  Work  will  unfold  the  Principles  of 
Science,  and  apply  them,  not  only  to  the 
explication  of  the  Phenomena  of  Climate, 
but  to  the  improvement  of  many  of  the 
Mechanical  and  Chemical  Arts. 

The  Elements  of  Natural  Philosophy ; 
by  Professor  Leslie,  3  vols.  ttvo.  Vol.  I. 
will  soon  be  published. 


The  History  and  Croniklis  of  Scotland, 
compilit  and  newly  corrected  be  the  Reve- 
rend  and  noble  Clerke,  Maister  Hector 
Boccc,  Channon  of  Aberdene ;  translatit 
laitly  be  Maister  John  Bellenden,  Arch- 
dene  of  Murray,  Channon  of  Itos,  at  the 
command  of  the  Richt  Hie,  Kicht  Excel- 
lent, and  Nobk  Prince,  James  the  V.  of 
that  name,  King  of  Scottis  ;  and  im- 
prcntit  in  Edinburgh  be  Thomas  David- 
son, dwellyng  forenens  the  Frerc  Wynd. 
It  will  be  accurately  printed  by  Ballantyne, 
from  the  original  edition  in  Black  Letter  ; 
and  will  be  accompanied  by  Memoirs  of 
Boece  and  Bellenden.  It  will  form  two 
handsome  volumes  in  quarto  ;  each  vo- 
lume containing  about  450  pages. 

An  Index  to  the  Decisions  of  the  Court 
of  Session  ;  exhibiting  the  Names  of  the 
Pursuer  and  Defender,  and  the  Date  of 
every  Reported  Case  ;  with  a  Reference  to 
the  Page  of  the  Reporter's  Volume,  and 
to  the  Page  of  M  orison's  Dictionary,  in 
which  each  Case  is  to  be  found.  The  Cases 
are  arranged  in  the  strictly  Alphabetical 
Order  of  the  Pursuers'  Names.  Those 
Cases  which  have  the  same  name  as  Pur- 
suer are  arranged  under  the  Alphabetical 
Order  of  the  Defenders.  By  means  of  the 
Double  Reference,  this  Index  will  be  equal- 
ly useful  to  those  who  possess  Morison's 
Dictionary,  and  those  who  have  the  Fa- 
culty Collection  and  the  Collections  of  the 
more  early  Decisions. 

A  Treatise  on  the  History  and  Law  of 
Entails ;  by  Erskine  Douglas  Sandford, 
Esq.  Advocate. 

Professor  Dunbar  is  preparing  for  pub- 
lication a  third  edition  of  his  Greek  Exer- 
cises, with  considerable  additions,  especial- 
ly to  the  observations  on  the  Idioms  and 
to  the  Notes.  A  complete  Key  will  be 
published  along  with  it  for  the  use  of 
teachers.  Also  a  new  edition  of  Dalzel's 
Collectanea  Majora,  vol..  I.,  in  which  will 
be  inserted,  instead  of  the  extracts  from 
Xenophon's  Cyropwdia,  now  published  in 
the  new  edition  of  the  Minora,  the  whole 
of  the  Seventh  Book  of  Thucydides,  and 
in  addition  to  the  extracts  from  Plato,  the 
Mi'nc.rcniix  of  that  author,  with  copious 
Notes  on  the  new  matter,  and  a  number  of 
others  in  addition  to  those  already  published. 
The  Life  of  Sir  Thomas  Craig  of  Ric- 
carton,  author  of  the  celebrated  treatise 
De  Jure  Feudali,  containing  biographical 
.sketches  of  the  most  eminent  Lawyers, 
who  were  the  predecessors  or  contempora- 
ries of  Craig ;  with  incidental  notices  of 
the  Literary  and  Political  State  of  Scot- 
land, and  of  the  History  of  the  Court  of 
Session,  from  the  period  of  its  Institution 
till  the  Union  of  the  Crowns  ;  by  Patrick 
Fraser  Tytler,  Esq.  Advocate,  F.R.S.  and 
F.S.A.  author  of  the  Life  of  the  Admira- 
ble Crichton. 

In  the  press,  Practical  Observations  on 


23<J  Works  preparing  for  Publication. 

Cold  and  Warm  Bathing ;  with  an  Ac- 
count of  the  Principal  Watering  Places  in 
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sicians. (Nearly  ready.) 

A  Treatise  on  the  Contract  of  Sale  ;  by 
M.  P.  Brown,  Esq.  Advocate.  the  Astronomy  lately  published,  will  cotn- 

I)r  Brew.ster  has  in  the  press,  a  new     prise  a  uniform  edition  of  tliis   popular 
edition  of  Ferguson's  Lectures  on  Select     author. 


Subjects,  in  which  will  be  Introduced  much 
new  matter.  He  is  also  preparing  for  the 
press,  editions  of  Ferguson's  Electricity, 
Lady's  and  Gentleman's  Astronomy,  Per- 
spective and  Select  .Mechanical  Exercises, 
with  notes  and  additions.  These,  with 


MONTHLY  LIST  OF  NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 
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AGRICULTURE. 

A  Dissertation  on  Lime,  and  its  use  and 
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ARCHITECTURE. 

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exander, 4to.  9s. 

BOTANY. 

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plaining  the  Physiology  of  Vegetation,  and 
the  Principles  both  of  the  Artificial  and 
Natural  Systems  of  Linnseus,  and  also  the 
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DOMESTIC  ECONOMY. 

The  Family  Cyclopaedia ;  being  a  Ma- 
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COMMERCIAL  REPORT.— 1  I/A  May,  1821. 

Sugar.-—  The  demand  for  die  superior  new  sugars  continues  to  be  tolerably  good,  and 
the  prices  to  be  maintained.  The  holders,  however,  anticipate  a  reduction  from  the  arri- 
vals, which  henceforward  must  prove  considerable.  A  short  time  will  determine  whe- 
ther or  not  they  are  right.  The  price  of  sugar  is  now  sunk  so  low,  that  the  planters 
everywhere  are  labouring  under  the  severest  distress,  and  something  must  be  done  by 
the  mother-country  for  their  relief.  The  latter  claims  a  monopoly  of  all  their  labour, 
and  of  all  their  produce  and  supplies  ;  and,  therefore,  a  close  attention  to  their  interesst 
is  required  from  her  in  return.  Whatever  injures  these  colonies  must  equally  injure 
the  interests  of  the  mother-country.  The  Administration,  it  is  said,  have  it  at  present 
in  contemplation  to  lay  an  additional  tax  upon  East  India  sugars,  which  may  afford 
some  relief ;  but  no  permanent  relief  can  be  expected,  unless  the  foreign  slave-trade  is 
completely  and  immediately  put  a  stop  to.  If  it  is  continued  much  longer,  the  colonies 
of  foreign  powers  will  be  so  filled  with  slaves,  that  the  quantity  of  Sugar,  and  other  co- 
lonial produce,  raised  in  these  places,  will  be  more  than  sufficient  for  the  supply  of  all 
Europe,  upon  terms  much  lower  than  our  colonies  can  afford  it.  In  foreign  colonies, 
the  cultivator  is  amply  remunerated  at  20s.  per  cwt.  The  expences  of  producing  it 
costs  the  West  India  planters  as  much. 

Coffee. — The  market  for  coffee  may  be  stated  at  2s.  higher  for  all  descriptions  of 
foreign  coffee.  On  the  other  hand,  Jamaica  coffee  was  for  some  time  rather  on  the 
decline ;  but  the  market  for  it  has  rather  improved  towards  the  close  of  last  week,  and 
for  every  description  of  coffee  the  demand  is  considerable,  and  the  market  firm. 

Cotton Notwithstanding  the  few  arrivals  of  cotton,  still  the  market  of  late  has  been 

languid,  and  prices  rather  on  the  decline.  This  is  the  case  with  Boweds,  in  which  there 
1ms,  nevertheless,  been  a  considerable  demand.  Other  kinds  remain  without  alteration. 
The  purchases  have  been  considerable,  and  the  demand  for  twist  has  been  extensive. 
The  manufacturers  are  all  busy,  and  the  workmen  in  full  employment. 

The  prices  of  Cocoa  continue  exceedingly  low  and  declining.  There  is  little  doing  in 
Spiers,  except  in  Pimento,  for  which  the  demand  is  considerable.  The  market  for  /«- 
digo  continues  firm,  and  prices  may  be  stated  at  an  advance  of  2d.  to  3d.  per  lib.  The 
purchases  of  Tobacco  have  for  some  time  past  been  inconsiderable,  and  chiefly  confined 


1-S2I.J  Register* — Commercial  &.•/,.//•/.  233 

to  parcels  for  home  consumption.  Ruin  continues  exceedingly  low  and  depressed. 
There  are  few  sales  of  Brandy,  and  Geneva  is  without  variation.  Fine  wheats  have 
rather  advanced  in  price.  Every  other  description  is  dull.  Barley  is  scarce,  and  an^ 
advance  of  Is.  has  taken  place.  The  demand  for  oats  has  been  brisk,  in  consequence  of 
the  limited  supply.  There  has  been  some  inquiry  for  beef.  The  price  of  bacon  is 
merely  nominal ;  and  for  Irish  butter  there  is  a  fair  demand.  There  is  a  fair  demand 
for  foreign  tallow.  Hemp  has  declined  in  price.  In  flax  there  is  little  alteration.  The 
other  articles  of  commerce  require  no  particular  notice. 

The  trade  of  this  country  in  general  may  be  stated  as  progressively  improving.  That 
to  the  East  Indies  is  gradually  extending  ;  and  from  the  Report  of  the  House  of  Lords 
on  the  Foreign  Trade  of  this  country,  we  are  happy  to  observe,  that  there  is  a  prospect 
of  British  subjects  being  admitted  to  participate  in  the  Tea  trade  with  China,  and  also 
to  extend  their  exertions  in  different  parts  of  the  Eastern  world,  at  present  within  the 
limits  of  the  East  India  Company's  Charter.  We  also  observe,  from  some  recent  occur- 
rences,  that  the  attention  of  this  country  is  directed  to  that  immense  field  for  trade,  which 
the  shores  of  the  Persian  Gulph,  Arabia,  the  Red  Sea,  and  the  east  coast  of  Africa  af- 
ford. At  no  distant  day  we  hope  to  see  a  still  more  extensive  field  for  British  commerce 
laid  open  in  the  interior  of  the  African  continent. 


1st, 
2d, 
3d, 

Wheat. 
Sis.  (Jd. 
......30s.  Od. 
28s.  Od. 

EDINBUR( 
Barley. 
1st,  20s.  Od. 
2d,  18s.  Od. 
3d,  16s.  6d. 

JH  —  MAY  9. 
Oats. 
1st,  17s.  Gd. 
2d,  His.  Od. 
3d,  14s.  Od. 

Pease  &.  Beans. 
1st,  His.  Od. 
2d,  15s.  Od. 
3d,  14s.  Od. 

Average  of  Wheat,  £1:9:  8  3-12ths.,  per  boll. 
Tuesday,  May  8, 


Beef  (17i  oz.  per 

lb.) 

(Is. 

5d. 

to     Os.  7  id. 

Quartern  Loaf    .     . 

Os.    Od.  to 

Os.  Od 

Mutton      .     .     . 

. 

Os. 

Gd. 

to     Os.    ?d. 

Potatoes  (2tt  lb.)      . 

Os.    8d.  to 

Os.  Od 

Lamb,  per  quarter  . 

4s.  Gd. 

to     6s.    Od. 

Fresh  Butter,  per  lb 

.    Is.    8d.  to 

Os.  Od 

Veal     .... 

Os. 

Gd. 

to     Os.  lOd. 

Salt  ditto,  per  stone 

20s.    Od.  to 

Os.  Od 

Pork     .... 

Os. 

Gd. 

to     Os.    7d. 

Ditto,  per  lb. 

Is.    4d.  to 

Os.  Od 

Tallow,  per  stone 

. 

Us 

Gd. 

to     9s.    6d. 

Eggs,  per  do/cen 

Os.    Gd.  to 

Os.  Od 

HADDINGTON.—  MAY  4. 

Wheat. 

Barley. 

Oat*. 

Pease. 

Beans. 

1st,  30s.  Gd. 

1st, 

20s. 

Od. 

1st,  IGa.  6d. 

1st,  15s. 

Oil. 

1st,  

15s.  Od. 

2d,  -27s.  (id. 

2d,. 

l«s. 

Od. 

2d,  15s.  Od. 

2d,  13s. 

Od. 

2d,  

13s.  Od. 

3d,  25s.  Od. 

3d,. 



15s. 

Od. 

3d,  13s.  Od. 

3d,  11s. 

Od. 

3d,  

lls.  Od. 

Average,  £1  :  7s.  9d.  10-12ths. 
Average  Prices  of  Corn  in  England  and  Wales,  from  tin'.  Return*  received  in  the  Week 

ended  April  2i!//<. 

Wheat,  52s.  5<1 — Rye,  34s.  2d.— Barley,  25s.  10d.— Oats,  17s.  9d — Beans,  29s.  8d.— Pease,  30s.  5d. 
Beer  or  Big,  Os.  Od. — Oatmeal,  19s.  5d. 


London,  Corn  E.rchange,  May  "J. 


Liverpool,  May  1. 


t.           S.                                           S.              .1. 

t.     d.    s.  d. 

...  d.   t.  a. 

Wheat,  red,  new  36  to  46 

Hog  pease  .    .  27  to  28 

Wheat,  per  70  lb. 

Amer.  p.  12  61b. 

Fine  ditto  .     .    48  to  52 

Maple    .     .     .   28  to  29 

Eng.  Old      7     6  to    8    5 

S'veet.U.S  —  0  to  —    0 

Superfine  ditto  53  to  54 

White"  .     .     .  50  to  31 

W  atcrford  7     4  to    7     5 

Do.  in  bond  21  0  to  22  — 

Ditto,  old  .    .    —  to  — 

Ditto,  boilers  .  57  to  40 

Limerick  .7    4  to    7    5 

Sour  do.  .    26  0  to  27     0 

White,  new    .     40  to  46 

New  ditto,  .    .  —  to  — 

Drogheda    7    0  to    7    5 

Oatmeal,  per  240  lb. 

Fine  ditto  .     .   48  to  54 

SmallBeans,new30  to  52 

Dublin    .     6     9  to    7     0 

English        24  0  to  25     0 

Superfine  ditto  56  to  59 

Ditto,  old  .     .   28  to  29 

Scotch    .  .  7     6  to    8     0 

Scotch  .  .    i:0  0  to  23    0 

Ditto,  old  .     .    —  to  — 

Tick,  new  .    .  22  to  26 

Irish  Old  .7    2  to    7    4. 

Irish  ...    19  0  to  22    o 

Foreign,  new  .  —  to  — 

Ditto,  old  .    .   —  to  — 

Bonded  .  .  4     0  to    5     0 

Bran,  p.  2  lib.  1  0  to  1     1 

Rye  ....    26  to  23 
Fine  ditto,  .     .  —  to  — 

Forcigix,.    .    .  —  to  — 
Feed  oats  .     .    14  to  18 

Barley,  per  60  Ibs. 
Eng.  ...   3    8  to    3  10 

Butter,  Beef,  $c. 

Barley  .    .    .    20  to  21 

Fine  .     .     .     .  19  to  20 

Scotch  .  .   3     2  to    3     6 

3utter,p.cwt.  s.  d.     ».  d- 

Fine,  new  .     .   23  to  25 

Poland  ditto  .    16  to  19 

Irish  ...  2    9  to    3    0 

Belfast,  new  95  0  to  98  0 

Superfine  .    .    26  to  27 

Fine  .     .     .     .  20  to  21 

Oats,  per  45  lb. 

Newry  .  .     94  0  to  96  0 

Malt  .    .    .    .  42  to  5S|P6tatoa  ditto  .  20  to  22 

Eng.  pota.   2    5  to    2    7 

Waterford  .  88  0  to  90  0 

Fine  .    .    .    .  54  to  58  Fine  .    .    .    .  23  to  25 

Irish  do.  .    2     6  to    2     6 

Cork,pie.2d,  90  0  to  96  0 

Scotch  do.  2    6  to    2    7 

3d  dry    85  0  to  — 

Malt  per  b. 

Beef,  p.  tierce. 

Seeds,  <|T' 

—  Fine  .  .  7    6  to    8    0 

—  Mess      112  6  to  115  0 

Beans,  per  qr. 

—  per  brl.    72  0  to    74  0 

i.      s.  d. 

t.          -'. 

English    .  .30     0  to  38     0 

Pork,  p.  brl. 

Must.  Brown,  7  to  10  0 

H  empseed  .  .   48  to    54 

Irish    .  .    Id    0  to  32    0(  —  Mess    .    60  0  to   — 

—White  ...  6  to    80 

Linseed,  crush.  4"J  to    50 

Rapeseed,  p.  1.  £82  to  S3  —  Middl.     55  0  to    56  0 

Tares,  new,   .  5  to    60 

New,  for  Seed  60  to    63 

Pease,grt-v26    0  to  28    0  Bauon.  p.  ewt. 

Turnips,  bsh.  16  to  20  0 

Ryegrass,  .  .     10  to    40 

—  White  i  ."".8     0  to  44     0 

Short  mids.  46  0  to    47  0 

—  Red  &greeul7  to  20  0 

Clover,  red  ewt.  22  to    60 

Flour,  English, 

Sides  .    .     41  0  to    44  0 

—YeHow,        36  to  42  0 

—White  ...    42  to    92 

p.2401b.fiue34    0  to  36    0  Hams,  dry,  54  0  to    56  0 

Caraway,  ewt.  72  to  76  C 

Coriander  .  .    12  to    16 

Irish    .    .    31    0  to  .":3     li  Green    .  .    35  0  to    36  0 

L'anary,"  qr.      46  to  52  0 

Trefoil  .  .     .  .  7  to    28 

Lard,rd.p.c.56  Oto    — 

Hape  Seed,  pw  last,     .     £38  to  £40. 

VOL.  IX. 


240 


Remitter. — Commercial  Report. 
PRICES  CURRENT   May  5. 


QMay, 


SUGAR,  Muse. 

LEITH. 

GLASGOW. 

LIVERPOOL. 

LONDON. 

B.  P.  Dry  Brown,  .  cwt. 

59      to      65 

56              61 

56               59 

56                62 

Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 

76                8(5 

61               72 

60                <>7 

64                67 

Fine  and  very  fine,     .     . 

80               «(> 

71               81 

70                81 

Hefined  Doub.  Loaves,     . 

130              145 

,               

_ 



Powder  ditto,       .      . 

106              110 

_               _ 

_               _ 

89              105 

Single  ditto,        .        . 

102              106 

_               _ 

_               __ 

—                — 

Small  Lumps,  ... 

94               98 

_               _ 

_               _ 

_                — 

Large  ditto  

91               94 

—               _ 

—               _ 

_                — 

Crushed  Lump?,    .     . 
MOLASSES,  British,    cwt 

44              56 

26                27 

24           24  6 

28 

22                24 

COFFEE,  Jamaica,  .  cwt. 

Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 

116              124 

114              120 

108              118 

107             120 

Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 

124              138 

121              124 

120              12H 

135              140 

Dutch  Triage  and  very  ord. 

95              112 

Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 

120              135 

_               _ 

114              120 

_                — 

Mid.  good,    and  fine  mid. 

135              140 

_               _ 

121              127 

—                — 

122              126 

__ 

107             110 

__                w__ 

Pimento  (in  Bond,)   .    .    . 

8i                83 

"i               7i 

73              » 

— 

SPIRITS, 

Jam.  Rum,  16  O.  P.  gall. 

2slOd    3s  Od 

2s  2d      2s  3d 

2s  Id      2s  3d 

2s  Od     Is  Od 

4046 

__               _^ 

—  _                ___ 

30        34 

Geneva,        ... 

2              22 



_                _ 

14       00 

Grain  Whisky,        . 

68        70 

—               _ 

—                — 

—                — 

WINES, 

Claret,  1st  Growths,  hhd. 

45               55 

—               — 

—                — 

£20            £60 

Portugal  Red,           pipe. 
Spanish  White,         butt. 
Teneriffe,                  pipe. 

35                46 

34               55 
30               32 

-               - 

-                - 

30               34 

55                6.5 

»            .                   —  . 

_                               — 

35               40 

LOGWOOD,  Jam.        ton. 

£7           77 

7     10     8    0 

7  15     85 

8s    Od  8s  lOd 

8               — 

^_               __ 

80      8  10 

8     5     8  15 

Campeachy,       .     .    . 

8               — 



8  15      95 

8  10      8  11 

FUSTIC,  Jamaica,   . 

7                8 

6  10        70 

6670 

£60      £70 

9                11 

85       8  10 

9095 

8  10      9  15 

INDIGO,  Caraccas  fine,  Ib. 

9s  6d  11s  6d 

76       86 

8090 

10    0    10    6 

TIMBER,  Amer.  Pine.foot. 

1618 

—               — 

_                — 

_               — 

Ditto  Oak,    

3034 

^^               _  _ 

__                _ 

_  _  .               — 

Christiansand  (dut.  paid.) 

2                 • 

—               — 

—                — 

—               — 

Honduras  Mahogany, 

1418 

12        18 

1014 

—               — 

St  Domingo,  ditto,     .    . 

—                — 

14        30 

1319 

—               — 

TAR,  American,            brl. 

—                — 

_                — 

17 

—                — 

18              — 

_^               ^^ 

16     0          — 

PITCH,  Foreign,          cwt. 

10                11 

_ 

—             — 

80         — 

TALLOW,  Rus.  Yel.  Cand. 

50               — 

50              51 

50               51 

—               — 

Home  melted,    .... 

53                — 

_               _ 

—                _ 

—               — 

HEMP,  Riga  Rhine,     ton. 

44                 — 

_ 

—                — 

£42  10         — 

Petersburgh,  Clean,    .     . 

39                40 

—               — 

—                — 

37  10         38 

FLAX, 

Riga  Thies.  &  Druj.  Rak. 
Dutch,      

55                — 
50               90 

—               — 

—                — 

£56               — 
45              57 

Irish, 

41                46 

_               



MATS,  Archangel,        100. 

75               80 

—               — 

_               _ 

_              — 

BRISTLES, 

Petersburgh  Firsts,    cwt. 

13  10         14 

—               — 

—                — 

—               — 

ASHES,  Peters.  Pearl,  .     . 

40 

__               — 

—  -                — 

40                42 

Montreal,  ditto,     . 

41               46 

44                45 

41                  — 

40                42 

Pot, 

37               38 

36               37 

33               — 

32                35 

OIL,  Whale,        .        tun. 

£24               — 

25                — 

—               — 

22                10 

Cod  

84s  (p.  brl.)— 

21           22 

_               — 

—  -                — 

TOBACCO,  Virgin,  fine,  Ib. 

6J                7 

63                7i 

0    54    0     8 

0  6d           7 

Middling, 

6               CJ 

6*              7} 

0    44    0    5 

0  2J      05 

Inferior,        .        .        . 

5                5J 

4                  4J 

0     2j    0    3 

—              — 

COTTONS,  Bowed  Georg. 

0    9J        11J 

09     0  104 

0   84       0  10 

Sea  Island,  fine, 

_                — 

1820 

1619 

1  2}         2     4 

Good, 

_                — 

1     64    1     8 

1315 

—                _ 

Middling,       .      . 

_               — 

1416 

1315 

_                — 

Dernerara  and  Derbies, 

—                _ 

1012 

0  11      12 

0  113     1     2 

West  India,       .       .       . 

—                _ 

0  10     0    11 

090  104 

__              — 

Pernambuco,         . 

—                — 

1112 

1  OJ      12 

1     11    1     24 

Maranhaui,        . 

—                ~ 

1011 

10        11 

'•"*             ~~ 

ALPHABETICAL  LIST  of  ENGLISH  BANKRUPTCIES,  announced  between  the  2(!th 
of  March  and  the  2i)th  of  April,  1821,  extracted  from  the  London  Gazette. 


Allsop,  T.  late  of  Gloucester,  linen  draper. 

Ashcroft,  T.  Liverpool,  timber  merchant. 

Atkins,  W.  Chipping  Norton,  mealman. 

Ayton,  J.  a  id  Saunders,W.Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 
merchants. 

Ayton,  W.  Macclesficld,  cotton-spinner. 

Bagley,  G.  PocUinxtOO,  spirit-merchant. 

Ball,  C.  Post  Ford  Hill,  Surrey,  paper-maker. 

Benzies,  A.  St  Martin's-lanc,  baker. 

Berriman,  W.  Lyneham,  Wilts,  timber-mer- 
chant. 

Bigsby,  J.  Deptford,  brewer. 

Bishop,  J.  Broad-street,  Bloomsbury,  horsa-dealcr. 

Blackband,  J.  Burslem,  Stafford,  grocer. 

Bonner,  T.  Monkwearmouth,  fitter. 

Brandon,  W.  Kent-ftrcet,  Borough,  builder. 


Bristow,  R.  jun.  in  Lloyd's  Coifte-house,  and  Iver, 
Bucks,  insurance  broker. 

Brown,  T.  Longdon,  Stafford,  grocer. 

Buckhouse,  G.  Kendal,  ironmonger. 

Buckland,  J.  Newcastle-street,  Strand,  carpenter, 

Burbery,  J.  Coventry,  ribbon-manufacturer. 

Burberry,  T.  Woolston,  Warwick,  farrier. 

Carter,  J.  jun.  Liverpool,  merchant. 

Chinn,  T.  Maidstone,  linen-draper. 

Clarke,  J.  Worcester,  coach-proprietor. 

Clements,  R.  Coventry,  ribbon-manufacturer. 

Cape,  W.  London  bridge  Foot,  grocer. 

Carter,  J.  jun.  late  of  Liverpool,  merchant. 

Cole,  J.  Linningtou,  Yorkshire,  farmer. 

Cope,  C.  Berkttlc-y  Mews,  PorUnan-square,  job- 
master. 


Remitter. — Commercial  Report. 


Cope,  P.  Bridgnorth,  grocer. 

Cox,  H.  Lambeth,  timber-merchant. 

Coulson,  J.  and  Leadbitter,  E.  Gateshead,  glass- 
manufacturers. 

Coupland,  C.  R.  F.  &  E.  Leeds,  spirit-merchants 
and  cotton-spinners. 

Croft,  T.  late  cf  Chatham,  hair-dresser. 

Cushion,  F.  Spitalfields,  hat-manufacturer. 

Dewsbury,  P.  Altringham,  Chester,  corn-dealer. 

Dignam,  J.  Warnford-street,  Throgmorton-street, 
coal-merchant  and  scrivener. 

Dunderdale,  G.  and  R.  Leeds,  clothiers. 

Edwards,  J.  Vine-street,  Spital-fields,  silkman. 

Ellis,  W.  Liverpool,  white  cooper. 

Farquharson,  T.  Swansea,  merchant. 

Field,  T.  St  John's-street,  inn-keeper. 

Ford,  J.  Gloucester,  patent  woollen  yarn  manu- 
facturer. 

Garton,  J.  Hull,  lighterman. 

Greaves,  J.  jun.  Liverpool,  broker. 

Gooeh,  A.  Norwich,  bombazine-maker. 

Gregory,  G.  B.  Lisson  Grove,  merchant. 

Grundon,  W.  New  Malton,  merchant. 

Gunnery,  T.  Liverpool,  dealei. 

Harding,  J.  Great  Winchester-street,  jeweller. 

Hart,  J.  Bath,  saddler. 

Ilayncs,  W.  Stourbridge,  currier. 

Hellman,  A.  late  of  Mincing-lane,  merchant. 

Hessledon,  W.  and  W.  S.  Barton-upon-Humber, 
scriveners. 

Hinchlifle,  J.  now  or  lateof  Bradley,  Huddersfield, 
wood  merchant  and  lime  dealer. 

Holding,  W.  Devonshire-street,  Queen's-square, 
wine-merchant. 

Hovle,  R.  Neweastle-upon-Tyne,  merchant. 

Jackson,  A.  Bristol,  corn  factor. 

Jeffs,  F.  Coventry,  shop-keeper. 

Jerom,  S.  Birmingham,  victualler. 

Johnson,  J.  Leamington,  Warwick,  druggist. 

Jones,  T.  Sedgley,  iron  master. 

Jones,  T.  P.  Carmarthen,  linen-draper. 

Kennifeck  P.  late  of  Tonbridge-plaee,  New  Road, 
now  of  Calais  in  France,  merchant. 

Kennifeck,  W.  Throgmorton-street,  stock-broker, 

Lea,  W.  and  Lea,  J.  V.  of  Paternoster-row,  ribbon 
and  silk  manufacturers. 

Maberley,  J.  Welbeck-street,  coach-manufacturer. 

Macdonagh,  T.  Chesterfield,  wine  merchant. 

Macleod,  J.  Cornhill,  boot-maker. 

Mann,  T.  Halifax,  merchant. 

Marshall,  J.  Gainsborough,  druggist. 

Mason,  J.  Liverpool,  linen  draper. 

Massey,  T.  Derby,  mercer. 

Masters,  J.Upper  Berkeley-street,  Portman-squaie, 
coach-maker. 


241 

Mathews,  J.  Coventry,  ribbon  manurVitxirer. 
Mence,  N.  Worcester,  brewer,  and  money  gcrlTe- 

ner. 

Morris,  J.  Upholland,  Lancaster,  tanner. 
Mussie,  J.  Derby,  mercer. 
Mutch,  J.  Queen  Ann-street,  Cavendish-square, 

upholsterer. 

Noble,  H.  and  A.  Camberwell,  wine  merchant*. 
Ovenden,  E.  late  of  Old  Boswell-eourt,  jeweller. 
Palmer,  J.  Rugeley,  Stafford,  butcher. 
Palmer,  E.  T.  Bedford,  draper. 
Peet,  J.  Ashton  Within,  Mackerfleld,  Lancaster, 

hinge  manufacturer. 
Philips,  B.  Threadneedle-street,  vintner. 
Pullen,  D.  Birchin-lane,  broker. 
Richardson,  G.  Mecklenburgh-square,  and  Yokes, 

T.  late  of  Gloucester-street,   Queen-square, 

merchants. 

Ritchie,  R.  Deptford,  brewer. 
Riley,  T.  H.  Crawford-street,  Mary-le-bone,  linen 

draper. 

Roberts,  R.  G.  Minories,  ironmonger. 
Seaman,  G.  Bishopsgate-street,  linen  draper. 
Sedgewick,  M.  London,  warehouseman. 
Shrapnell,  P.  Broadford,  Wilts,  clothier. 
Sloper,  J.  Bath,  baker. 

Smith,  J.  L.  late  of  Vauxhall-walk,  coal  dealer. 
Snape,  W.  Litchfleld,  mercer. 
Stang,  L.  late  of  Fore-street,  merchant. 
Stanley,  H.  Jackhouse  within,  Oswald  Twistle, 

Lancaster,  whitster. 

Sumter,  J.  Charlotte-street,  Old-street-road,  stone- 
mason. 

Taylor,  J.  Sheffield,  iron-founder. 
Traherne,  J.  St  Martin's-street,  Leicester  I-'ieUU, 

victualler. 

Trinder,  W.  J.  Portsea,  victualler. 
Trix,  F.  South  Molton,  Devon,  tanner. 
Troughton,  B.  and  J.  Wood-street,  London,  and 

Overton,  Hants,  silk  throwsters. 
Vaughan,  Mary,  and  Appleton,  Catherine,  lale  of 

Liverpool,  straw  bonnet  manufacturers. 
Wade,  J.  S.  Aldeburg,  Suffolk,  brickmaker. 
Walker,  J.  Upper  Russell-street,  BermomUey, 

parchment  dealer. 
Wain,  D.  Liverpool,  plumber. 
Wells,  J.  Liverpool,  merchant. 
White,  T.  late  of  Brinklow,  Warwick,  innholder. 
White,  J.  Lambeth-road,  merchant. 
Whittle,  S.  U.  Islington,  timber  merchant. 
Whittley  and  Mason,  Liverpool. 
Wilkinson,  J.  Great  Driffield,  coal-merchant. 
Witchurch,  J.  Worship-street,  coach  master. 
Wright,  J.  Bermondsey-street,  Southwark,  provi- 
sion merchant. 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  of  SCOTCH  BANKRUPTCIES,  announced  between  the  Cth  and 
28th  April,  1821,  extracted  from  the  Edinburgh  Gazette. 

A-Uey,  Joscph.chemicalmanufacturer.Portobello.      Cheyne,  Alex.,  sometime  merchant  in  I.citli;  n 

dividend  15th  May. 
Craig,  John,  the  late,  senior,  leather  merchant, 

Glasgow;  a  final  dividend  1'Jth  May. 
Elder,  David,  late  merchant,  Glasgow  ;  a  final  di- 
vidend 29th  May. 
Grahame,  Thomas,  merchant  and  manufacturer 

in  Glasgow  ;  a  second  dividend  cSth  June. 
Jeffrey,  James,  and  Co.  merchants,  Edinburgh, 
and  James  Jeffrey,  Wm.  Jeffrey,  and  Wm.  Ai- 
ken,  as  individuals ;  a  dividend  3d  June  to  the 
creditors  of  J.  Jeffrey  and  Co.  of  i's.  but  no  di- 
vidend from  the  individual  estate. 
Laird,  John,  and  Co.  merchants,  Greenoek  ;  and 
Laird,  William,  and  Co. merchants,  Liverpool; 
an  equalizing  dividend  of  3s.  per  pound. 
Macnab,  Archibald,  and  Co.  merchants  and  com- 

s~.-.  mission  agents,  Glasgow ;  a  dividend  20th  May. 

Stevenson,  Robert,  distiller  and  grain  dealer  at      Penman,  Andrew,  bookseller,  Glasgow;  a  second 

Easter  Mill,  parish  of  Lochwinnoch.  dividend  8th  June. 

Young  and  Gordon,  drapers  and  merchants,  Dun-      Roxburgh,  John  and  Andrew,  carpet  manufactu- 
dee.  rers,  Kilmarnock  ;  a  dividend  I'd  June. 

DIVIDENDS.  Scott,  Hugh,  haberdasher,  Greenoek ;  a  first  divi- 

Anderson  and  Brown,  tanners,  Glasgow ;  a  second          dend,  8th  June. 

dividend  22d  May. 
Baird,  Alex.,  merchant,  Inverkeithing ;  a  second 

dividend  loth  June. 
Battieman,  Jacob,  and  Co.  sugar  refiners,  Stirling ; 

a  final  dividend  2-d  May. 

Cameron  and  Woodlnirn,  merchants  in  Glasgow, 
»nd  Kingston,  Jamaica  ;  a  seoond  and  final  di- 
vidend 16th  May. 


Bell,  David,  corn  merchant,  Dundee. 

Collieson,  John,  merchant  and  underwriter,  Dun- 
dee. 

Crawford,  Andrew,  plaisterer  and  lime  merchant, 
Glasgow. 

Currie,  Hugh,  salt  merchant,  Saltcoats. 

Hunter,  H.  and  A.  spirit  dealers,  Glasgow. 

M'lnfyie,  Duncan,  merchant  in  Inverary. 

M'Math,  Donald,  merchant,  Inverary. 

Malcolm,  William,  cooper  and  herring  merchant, 
Greenoek. 

Matthew,  John,  haberdasher  and  merchant,  Glas- 
gow. 

Saunders,  James,  printer  and  writer,  Dundee. 

Shade.Thomas,  nursery  and  seedsman,  Edinburgh. 

Smith,  William,  writer,  agent,  and  trader  in  Glas- 
gow 


Smith,  James,  and  Co.  booksellers,  Peterhead ;  a 

second  dividend,  7th  May. 
Urquhart,  Henry,  late  perfumer  in  Edinburgh  ;  a 

final  dividend,  24th  May. 
Young,  John,  and  Co.  merchants  and  general 

agents,  Edinburgh ;  a  dividend,  10th  May. 


242  Register  —  Commercial  R 


Weekly  Price  of  Stockt,from  2*  to  28th  April,  1821 


2d. 

J)tli. 

16th. 

28th. 

JtaTlV      «tr>ck,       -r-r    rr   „    jjjj 

222 

'2'2'2:> 

•'23?          i 

3  per  cent.  reduced,~-™~~—  ™.~~  



71|       * 

-7U        \ 

~"'   4               3 
714              3 

3  per  cent,  consols,  ...  —  ,.«  — 

m     4 

72£ 

71  g     72 

7-'  s     ii 

3£  per  cent,  consols,  „ 

80  J! 

80| 

804    •  4 

4  per  cent,  consols,  ..„ 

— 

88j 

89J 

89-;         i 

5  per  cent,  navy  ami  ~™~ 

107 

107 

1074 

107|       8 

Imperial  3  per  cent,  ann  ~ 

, 

- 





India  stock,  ,„,„„.-,  „,„.-„!--,  -ir.--,r,  T.-r,-,— 





22!)' 

230 

-                               bOndS     fff.        'f,f    f    Jjjj                fffrfrff+ffffrrff* 

47  pr. 

49  pr. 

40  pr. 

45  pr. 

Exchequer  bills,  ™  „„  —  ~_~ 

3pr. 

(5  pr. 

5  pr. 

6  pr. 

Crmsnl*;  fnr  arr.  ,            ,,,-,-  -',r  --,  -•-,-• 

72  ' 

72? 

72  i 

721 

Amer.  3  per  cent-  
French  5  «er  cents.  

4  **  H 

82fr.  25c. 

*     8 

704 

82fr.  20c. 

*  **fl 

70* 

82i'r.  25f. 

*     8 

70i 

Course  of  Exchange,  Mcy  8 — Amsterdam,  12  :  14.  C.  F.  Ditto  at  sight,  12  :  11. 
Rotterdam^  12  :  15.  Antwerp,  12  :  10.  Hamburgh,  38  :  7-  Altona,  :«» :  ».  Paris,  3 
d.  sight,  25  :  80.  Ditto  26  :  15.  Bourdeaux,  20  :  15.  Frankfort  on  the  Maine,  15(5^. 
Petersburg!*,  9$  :  3  U.  Vienna,  10  :  20  Eff.flo.  Trieste,  10  :  2(t  Eff.fo.  .Madrid,  3G. 
Cadiz,  36.  BUboa,  35^.  Barcelona,  35.  Seville,  35^.  (iibrakar,  30^.  Ijeghorn, 
47-  Genoa,  44.  Venice,  27  :  60.  Malta,  45.  Naples,  39^-  Palermo,  115.  Lis- 
bon, 50.  Oporto,  50.  Rio  Janeiro,  48.  Bahia,  56.  Dublin,  1>J  per  cent. 
Cork,  8^  per  cent. 

Prices  of  Gold  nnd  Sihrr,  per  0.7 — Foreign  gold,  in  bars,  £3  :  17  :  lO^d.  New 
Dollars,  4s.  lOd.  Silver  in  bars,  stand.  4s.  lid. 


METEonOLOGiCAi.  TABLE,  extracted  from  the  Register  kept  at  Edinburgh,  in  the 
Observatory,  Culton-fiilL 

NiB. — The  Observations  are  made  twice  every  day,  at  nine  o'clock,  forenoon,  and  four  o'clock,  after- 
noon.— The  second  Observation  in  the  afternoon,  iu  the  first  column,  is  taken  by  the  Register 
Thermometer. 


VttiU'll. 

Ther. 

Barom. 

Ther. 

Wind. 

Ther. 

Barom. 

Vhcr.  ' 

Wind. 

April  1  { 

M.28 
A.  40 

J9.142 
.128 

M.46\ 
\.44j 

S.W. 

Dull,  with 
lail. 

Ap.    16  { 

A.  '45 

28.822 
.998 

M.47\ 

A.46/ 

Cble. 

Fair,  but 
cold. 

H 

M.3I 
A.  44 

28.688 
.688 

M.44\ 
\.45J 

Cble. 

Ditto. 

17-[ 

M.31 
A.  47 

29.175 
.250 

M.48\ 
A.49/ 

Cble. 

Ditto. 

M  "81 

.435 

M.46\ 

Dull,  with 

no  ^ 

M.29 

.250 

M.49\ 

Dull,  with 

^x 

A.  45 

.730 

A.  43/ 

^blc. 

leet. 

X 

A.  46 

.306 

A.  49  / 

t.  blc. 

lail. 

t 

.875 

M.-16) 

Very  cold, 

( 

M.30 

.240 

M.50) 

Rain  morn. 

4^ 

A.".!-;- 

.998 

V.  45  / 

N.AV. 

witli  Hail. 

X 

A.  49 

28.975 

A..  >(,)• 

S- 

air  day. 

5{ 

M.30 
A.  41 

29.376 

.37.'- 

M.45\ 
\.  43  / 

X. 

Ditto. 

20  1 

M.35 
A.  49 

29.186 
.392 

M.52) 
A.  55) 

W. 

Fair,  with 
sunshine. 

e{ 

M.i'5 
A.  39 

.707 
.505 

M.421 
\.42/ 

Cble. 

<>ost  mom. 
rain  aftern. 

21  { 

M..--3 
A.  40 

.655 
.788 

M.48\ 
A.  48  | 

E. 

Hain.  morn, 
fair  aftern. 

? 

M.32 

.605 

M.50\ 

VT  W 

Dull,  but 

M.38 

.788 

M.51  \ 

Mild,  with 

X 

A.  50 

.603 

A.'51  ) 

N  .  W  . 

air. 

X 

A.  47 

.619 

A.  51  / 

* 

sunshine. 

•I 

M.1().< 
A.  51" 

.741 

.740 

M.54\ 
A.  53  ) 

M.W. 

Ditto. 

-•"{ 

M.32 
A.  48 

.486 
.20-1 

A.'  48  ( 

Cbl-. 

Dull  and 
cold. 

M.41 
A.  51 

.536 
.507 

M.52\ 
A.  51  / 

N.W. 

Ditto. 

21  1 

M.35J 
A.  46 

28.983 
29.218 

M.19\ 
A.  52  C 

Cble. 

Rain  foren. 
fair  aftern. 

J 

.508 

M.53\ 

Fair  foren. 

or/ 

M.36 

.443 

M.51-) 

r'i\io 

Warm  foren. 

\ 

A/50 

.353 

A/53  / 

n. 

rain  aftern. 

\ 

A.  50 

.476 

A.  58  / 

I.    ItiC. 

dull  aftern. 

ii{ 

M.351 
A.  49 

.143 

28.!)94 

M.52\ 
A.  50  / 

Cble. 

Dull,  but 

fair. 

26  { 

M.38J 
A.  54" 

.569 

.573 

M.56) 
A.55  ( 

Cble. 

Mild,  rather 
dull. 

**{ 

M.30 
A.  \\ 

.8HO 

.7*:'-' 

M.50\ 
A.  46) 

Cble. 

Cold,  rain 
aftern. 

«t 

M.38 
A.  49 

.344 

.5  I.'- 

M.53) 
A"T'; 

K. 

Koirgy,  but 
fair. 

lo{ 

M.:«J 
A.  44 

.870 
.991 

M.49  \ 
A.  48  1 

Cble. 

fair  day. 
rainv  night. 

M.38 
A.  48 

.'583 

A.56/ 

Cble. 

Fog.  foren. 
clear  aftern. 

M.31 

29.102 

M..-.0  ( 

Cold, 

f 

M.42 

.798 

M.56> 

E. 

Foren.  fair. 

A.  46 

2X.POS 

A.  43  )" 

C  bJe. 

rain  aftern. 

"*  X 

A.  54 

•  >2!> 

A.  56  )" 

aftern.  rain. 

'•-•{  £S 

.881 
.979 

M.43\ 
A.  47) 

Cble. 

Snow  and 
hail  shower.- 

30  -[ 

M.38 
A..-.0 

.PS7 

M.57"> 
A.  50  1 

E. 

Fair,  with 
sunshine. 

Averagp  of  Rain,  T.W!  inches. 


Apjifiintmcnts,  Promotions, 


243 


APPOINTMENTS,  PROMOTIONS,  &c. 


5  Dr.  G.  General  W.  Loftus,  to  lie  Colonel,  vico 

Sir  C.  Crawfurd,  dead     i'd  Apr.  IH'Jl 

4  Dr.  Surg.  O'Donel,  from  10  F.  vice  Surg. 

Wylde,  h.  p.  7  Vet.  Bat.         ll'th  do. 

19        \V.  II.  L.  Brooke,  Cornet,  by  purch. 

vice  Clagett,  ret.  L2M  Mar. 

23        Lard  A.  Conyngham,  Cornet  do.  vicu 

Lorrf  Convngham  cancelled 

21st  Sept.  1820 

2  F.  Capt.  Gordon,  Major,  vice  Thisleth- 

wayte,  dead,  '-'2d  Mar. 

Lieut.  Kell,  Capt.  do. 

Ensign  Wyse,  Lieut.  do. 

\V.  Congreve,  Ensign.  do. 

10  Surg.  Young,  from  7  Vet.  Bat.  Surg. 

vice  O'Donel,  4  Dr.  12th  Apr. 

1 1  Km.  Worsley,  from  5  Vet.  Bat.  Qu.  Mr. 

vice  Edwards,  h.  p.  Bourb.  R. 

29th  Mar. 

H      Newenham,  Lieut,  vice  Brannan 

dead  9th  Aug.  1820 

J.  Watson,  Ensign  22d  Mar.  IH'Jl 

15      As.  Surg.  Badenach,  from  59  F.  Surg. 

vice  Davy,  Staff'  29th  do. 

18      N.  R.  Tomlinson,  Ens.  by  purch.  vice 

Birch,  ret.  22d  do. 

20      Ensign  Wood,  Lieut,  vice  Cheek,  dead 

12th  Apr. 

R.  B.  Martin,  Ensign  do. 

28      Lieut.  Milliard,  from  h.  p.  43  F.  Paym. 

vice  Tomlinson,  dead  22d  Mar. 

31      Gent.  Cadet  W.  S.  Moorsom,  from  R- 

Mil.  Coll.  Ens.  by  purch.  vice  Jeffries, 

ret.  do. 

37  Qua.  Mast.  Holmes,  from  h.  p.  20  Dr. 

Qua.  Mast,  vice  Fox,  h.  p.  99  F. 

12th  Apr. 

38  Capt.  Dely,  from  1  Ceyl.  R.  Capt.  vice 

Daniell,  75  F.  5th  do. 

Hosp.  As.  W.  H.  Burrell,  As.  Surg.  vice 
Thomson,  pro.  Stall'.  12th  do. 

40  Lieut.  Garner,  Capt.  by  pur.  vice  Phil- 
lips, ret.  1st  Mar. 

Knsign  Clarke,  Lieut,  do.  do. 

R.  Floyer,  Ensign        do.  do. 

46  Ensign  Duke,  Lieut,  vice  Wilson,  dead 

28th  July,  1820 
N.  R.  Brown  22d  Mar.  1821 

47  Assist.  Surg.  Millar,  from  53  F.  Surg. 

vice  Ridsdale,  dead  12th  Apr. 

48  Lieut.  Atkinson,  from  h.  p.  12  F.  Lieut, 

vice  Thomson,  9  Vet.  Bat.    22d  Mar. 

Ens.  &  Adj.  Wild,  rank  of  Lieut,      do. 

63      2d  Lieut.  Fennell,  from  Rifle  Brigade, 

Lieut,  vice  Wilson,  dead  do. 

Assist.  Surg.  Greig,  from  h.  p.  22  Dr. 

Assist.  Surg.  vice  Millar,  47  F. 

12th  Apr 

55      Capt.  White,  from  h.  p.  14  F.  Capt.  vice 

Morris,  h.  p.  H  F.  8th  Mar. 

59      Supern.  Assist.  Surg.  Sievwright,  from 

Staff'  As.  Surg.  vice  Badenach,  15  F. 

29th  do. 

67  Lieut.  Kfir,  from  h.  p.  22  Dr.  Lieut, 
vice  Eliot,  res.  17th  July,  1820 

69  Bt.  Col.  Bruce,  from  h.  p.  39  F.  Lieut. 
Col.  vice  Douespe,  dead 

•J9th  Mar.  1-il'l 

73  Capt.  Daniell,  from  58  F.  Capt,  vice 
Autell,  h.  p.  New  Brunsw.  Fene. 

5th  Apr.  do. 

"6      Surg.  Flannagan,  from  9  Vet.  Bn.  Surg. 

vice  Halpin,  h.  p.  9  Vet.  Bn.  12th  do. 

78       Ens.  Munro,  Lieut,  vice  M'Queen,  dead 

29th  Mar. 

A  Montrcssor,  Ensign  do, 

93      Ens.  Macbean,  Lieut,  vice  M'Donnell, 

dead  5th  Apr. 

N.  S.  Christie,  Ensign  do. 

Rifle  Brig.  II.  Clinton,  lid  Lieut,  vice  Fennell,  53  F. 

22d  Mar. 

1  W.  I.  R.  J.  H.  Pickering,  Ensign,  vice  Ford,  deul 

do. 

1  Ccyl.  R.  Capt.  Cooper,  from  h.  p.  New  Brunsw. 
Fenc-  Capt.  vice  Dcly,  38  F.  5th  Apr. 
Colonial  .. 

Comp.at  f  2d  Lieut.  Campbell,  1st  Lieut. 
the.Mau-  I  2Wh  Mar. 


Garrisons. 

Lieut.  C.en.  .la.  Hay,  Lt.Gov.  of  Tync- 
mouth  and  Cliff  Fort,  vice  Sir  C.  Crau- 
furd,  dead  2d  Apr.  1821 

Jiuijal  Militcry  Asylum. 

Ens.  Fair,  from  7  Vet.  Bat.  Qua.  Matt. 
vice  Hill,  h.  p.  5th  Apr.  1821 

Staff. 

Bt.  Maj.  M'Ra,  Dep.  Qua.  Mast.  Gen. 

in  the  East  Indies,  with  rank  of  Lieut. 

Col.  in  the  army,  vice  Stanhope,  res. 

'J9th  Mar.  1821 

Lt.  Col.  Torrens,  65  F.  Dep.  Qua.  Mast. 

Gen.  in  the  East  Indies,  vice  M'Ra 

12th  do. 
Lt.  &  Adj.  Nicholson,  of  Army  Depot, 

Isle  of  Wight,  to  have  the  Rank  of 

Capt.  15th  do. 

Medical  Department. 

Bt.  Insp.  E.  Tegart,  Insp.  of  Hospitals 
in  the  West  Indies  only 

25th  Mar.  1821 

StaffSurg.  Arthur,  Physician  to  the  For- 
ces, vice  Taylor,  dead  S9th  do. 

.Surg.  Davy,  from  15  F.  Surg.  to  the  For- 
ces do. 

Hosp.  As.  W.  Birrell,  As.  Surg.  to  the 
Forces,  vice  Cavehill,  dead  5th  Apr. 

Dochard,       do.       do.      do. 

vice  Davy,  from  15  F.  12th  do. 

Assist.  Surg.  Thomson,  from  38  F.  Apo- 
thecary to  the  Forces,  vice  Leeson, 
dead  do. 

C.  Hughes,  Hosp.  Assist,  to  the  Forces, 
vice  Conway,  dead  22d  Mar. 

C.  Pargeter,  do.  do.  vice  Birrell, 
prom.  5th  Apr. 

Hosp.  Assist.  M'Dennott,  from  h.  p. 
Hosp.  Assist,  to  the  Forces,  vice  Bur- 
rell, 38  F.  12th  do. 

Bruce,     do.      do.     do. 

vice  Dockhard  do 

Ordnance  Department. 

Roy.  Art.  Bt.  Lieut.  Col.  Bull,  Major  of  Brigade 

in  Ireland  27th  Feb.  1821 

Bt.  Maj.  Bates,  from  h.  p.  Capt.  2d  Apr. 

1st  Lieut.  Gapper,  I'd  ('apt.  do. 

Jaeo,  from  h.  p.  1st  Lieut. 

1st  do. 

Palmer,     do.          do.  2d  do. 

2d  Lieut.  Stokes,      do.          do.        do. 

Bigge,        do.     2d  Lieut,  do. 

Roy.  Eng.  Bt.  Lt.  Col.  Ellieombe,  Major  of  Brig. 

vice  Handfield,  dead.  9th  Jan. 

Lieut.  Col.  Gossett,  from  h.  p.  Lt.  Col. 

do. 

Capt.  Jones,  from  h.  p.  Capt. 

18th  Nov.  1820 
1st  Lieut.  Elliot,  2d  Capt.  do. 

Dalton,  from  h.  p.  1st  Lt. 

do. 

2d  Lieut.  Fraser,  from  h.  p.  2d  Lieut, 
do. 

Lagden,  1st  Lieut.  do. 

1st  Lieut.  Maison,  2d  Capt. 

9th  Jan.  1821 

Burt,  from  h.  p.  1st  Lt  do. 

2d  Lieut.  Bordes,  1st  Lieutv  do. 

Walpole,  from  h.  p.  2d  Lt. 

do. 

Exchange*. 

Lieut.  Col.  Pelly,  from  16  Dr.  with  Lieut.  Col.  El- 
phinstone,  ."3  F. 

Bt.  Lt.  Col.  Grant,  from  56  F.  with  Major  Monta- 
gue, 82  F. 

Bt.  Major  Wood,  from  4  Dr.  rec.diff.  between  full 
pay  Cav.  and  full  pay  Inf.  with  Capt.  Barlow, 
h.  p.  2S  Dr. 


544 


A]rftf>intmenix  and  Promotion^  Sjc. 


t.  Major  Onyns,  from  20  F.  with  Capt.  Harrinon, 
h.  p.  53  F. 


Olay, 


Rein  i  tat  td 
-  from  68  F-  with  CaP4-  Hewe«.      Lieutenant  Machell,  18  Dr. 


h.  p.  60.  F. 
Capt.  Vernon,  from  18  Dr.  rec.  differ,  between  full 

pay  troop,  and  full  pay  company,  with  Captain 

Brett,  h.  p.  1(1  Dr. 
Evelyn,  from  3  F.  G.  with  Capt.  De>  Voeux, 

h.  p.  60  F. 
Jones,  from  37  F.  with  Capt.  Stainton,  h.  p. 

York  Chas. 


Ge"'  H.  Earl  of  Carhampton,  M.  P.  6  Dr.  O.  Lon- 

c£&  Broughton,  R.  Mar.  Floren^''  ""' 


Feb.  1821. 


Lieut.  Col.  E.  V.  Eyre,  h.  p.  Ind 
Lieut.Bay.ey,  from  2  Dr.  G.  with  Lieut  Cuff,  h.  p.      Major  F-ltxmaycr>  Roy.  Art.  Lin 

21st  March,  1821. 

C.  James,  of  late  R.  Art.  Driv.  London, 

14th  April. 

Douglas,  late  Scotch  Brigade,  Bothwell 

Bank,  near  Hamilton,  16th  do. 

Foljambe,  h.  p.  8  F.  Retford,  1st  do. 

Hirtz,  half-pay  Dillon's  Regt.  France, 


•  Christie,  from  21  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt.  Cald- 
well,  h.  p.  2  W.  I.  R. 

•  Kennedy,  from  2"  F.  with  Lt.  Keith,  89  F. 

•  De  Lapasture,  from  38  F.  rec.  diff.  with 


Lieut.  Huston,  h.  p.  67  F. 
Tittle,  from  38  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt.  Sparkes, 

h.  p.  R.  African  Corps. 
Tudor,  from  65  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt.  Bea- 

van,  h.  p.  57  F. 

-  Yates,  from  72  F.  with  Lt.  Markham,  Cape 


4th  Feb. 

Breymann,  h.  p.  8  Line  Germ.  Leg.  Sesper- 

hude  in  Lunenburg,  24th  Jan. 

Otto,  h.  p.  1  Huss.  Germ.  Leg.  Hanover, 

4th  March. 
Lpril,  1821. 

Barry,  ofa  F.  on  passage  from  the  Mauritius, 
6th  March. 

Falconer,  h.  p.  2  Dr.  Woodcot,  Haddington, 
l.ith  Sept.  1820. 

Fallon,  h.  p.  87  F.  Ireland,  27th  Jan.  1821. 
Kettler,  h.  p.  6  Line  Germ.  Leg.  Verden, 

,  from  33  F.  with  Ensign  Riddel,  h.  p.      Lieilt.  Johnsoll(  _,  F  Anti 

Cheek,  20  F.  Isle  of  Wight,  9th  Apr.  1821. 

Campbell,  75  F.  Ceylon. 

M'Queen,  78  F.  22d  March,  1821. 

Macdonnell,  93  F. 

Macfarlane,  7  R.  Vet.  Bn.  Kennington, 

22d  Feb.  1821. 

Willock,  R.  Art.  Woolwich,         6th  April. 
Palmer,  h.  p.  33  F.  Jan. 

Fraser,  h.  p.  86  F.  Rypoor,  East  Indies, 

19th  April,  1820. 


Corps. 

—  Gabb.from  77  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt.  Cosby,      Capt-Thurlow,  16  F.  at  sea,  ,    _8th  April'™! 
Comet  Bruce,  from  4  Dr.  with  2d  Lt.  St  Quintin, 

Ensign  M'Dermott,  from  11  F.  with  Ensign  De- 

rinzy,  h.  p.  12  F. 
Knox,  from  33  F.  with  Ens.  Cameron,  h.  p. 

G6F. 


Maclean,  from  91  F.  with  Ensign  Bunbury, 

h.  p.  88  F. 
Dep.  Inspec.  of  Hosp.  Porteous,  with  Dep.  Inspec. 

Erly,  h.  p. 
Staff.  Surg.  Thomson,  with  Staff  Surg.  Arthur, 

h.  p. 
Assist.  Surg.  Spry,  from  2  W.  I.  R.  with  As.  Surg. 

Kelly,  h.  p.  1  W.  I.  R. 
Dep.  Purveyor  Bradford,  with  Dep.  Purv.  Pratt, 

h.  p, 


Resignations  and  Retirements. 
Capt.  Phillips,  40  F. 

Caneellor,  Roy.  East  Ind.  Vol. 

Lieut.  Eliot,  67  F. 

Kiddell,  Hoy.  East  Ind.  YoL 

Comet.  Clagett,  19  Dr. 
Knsign  Birch,  18  F. 

Jeffries,  31  F. 

Thornton,  Roy.  East  Ind.  Vol. 

Appointment*  Cancelled. 
Brevet  Major  De  Havilland,  55  F. 
('apt.  Hay,  8  F. 

White,  81  F. 

Cornet  Lvrd  F.  Conyngham,  22  Dr. 


2d  Lieut.  Williams,  h.  p.  3  Ceylon  Regt.  Newport 
near  Barnstable,  1 1  th  Nov.  1 8zO, 

Du  Moulin,  h.  p.  Watteville's  Regf.  Paris, 

llth  Dec. 
Paym.  Armstrong,  h,  p.  38  F.  Ireland, 

1st  April,  1821. 

Adj.  Henning,  East  and  West  Lothian  Kenc.  Car. 

Haddington,  20th  March,  1821 . 

Qr.  Mast.  Finan,  h.  p.  Newfoundland  Fen.  Lough- 

brckland,  Ireland,  21st  Feb.  1821. 

Muller,  h.  p.  2  Huss.  Ger.  Leg.  Harbug. 

22d  Dee.  1820. 
Suigeon.  Ridsdale,  47  F. 
Hosp.  As.  Moon,  Jamaica. 

Wilkins,  10th  March,  1821. 

Chaplain.  Meyer,  h.  p.  Ger.  Leg.  Auleben. 

5th  Nov.  1820. 


BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 

BIRTHS.  13.  The  lady  of  C.  Lenox  Gumming  Bruce,  of 

Aug.  1820.  At  Calcutta,  Mrs  Thomas  Dingwall  Roseisle  and  Kinnaird,  of  a  daughter. 

Fordyce,  of  a  son  14.  At  Kilgraston-house,  the  hon.  Mrs  Grant,  of 

Oct.  31.  At  Madras,  the  lady  of  David  Hill,  a  daughter. 

Esq.  of  a  son.  _  At  Touch  House,  the  lady  of  R.  Macdonald, 

March  29.  1821.  At  Carriden  Manse,  Mrs  Flc-  Esq.  of  Staffa,  ofa  daughter, 

ming,  of  a  son.  —  Mrs  Milner  of  Nunmonkton,  near  York,  of 

April  2.  Mrs  William  Maxwell  Little,  Union  a  son. 

Street,  ot  a  daughter.  16.  At  7,  Great  King  Street,  Mrs  Heriot,  of  a 

4.  Mrs  Hood  of  Stoneridge,  of  a  son.  daughter. 

f>.  At  Edinburgh,  the  lady  of  Captain  James  18.  Mrs  Patrick  Robertson,  Howe  Street,  of  a 

Hahtone  Tait,  royal  navy,  ot  a  daughter.  daughter. 

7.  At  f6,  Gieat  King  Street,  Mrs  James  Lang,  —  Mrs  Thomas  Hamilton,  Howard  Place,  ofa 

of  a  daughter.  daughter. 

10.  At  Newbattle  Manse,  Mrs  Thomson,  of  a  ly.  At  Duddingston  Manse,  Mrs  Thomson  ofa 
daughter.  son. 

11.  At  Ruchlaw-house,   Mrs  Hawthorn,  of  a  21.  In  Burton  Crescent,  London,  the  lady  of 
daughter.  Sir  James  C.  Anderson,  Hart,  of  a  daughter. 

—  A  tBalbegno  Castle,  the  lady  of  Captain  Ram-  V2.  Mrs  Robinson,  No.  70,  gueen  .Street,  of  a 
lay,  of  a  son.  son. 

12.  At  l-laddington,  Mrs  Welsh,  of  a  son.  —  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Walter  Cook  of  a daugh- 

13.  At  Freeland-house,   Perthshire,  the  hon.  ter. 

Mis  Hore,  of  a  son.  '.'5.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Mathoson,  Bellvue  Crea- 

—  Mrs  Wylie,  1,  Charlotte  Street,  of  a  daugh-  cent,  ofa  i>on. 

tor.  _  At  2.5,  Abercromby  Place,  Lady  Macdonald 

—  Mrs  C'lcghorn,  Dundas  Sheet,  of  a  daughter.  Lwkhait,  of  a  daughter 

19 


Register. — Marriages  and  Deaths. 


SB.  At  NeUon  Street,  Edinburgh,  Mrs  George 
Hogarth,  of  a  ton. 

—  At  St  David's  Street,  Edinburgh,  Mrs  John 
Bruce  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  Houston,  Mrs  Shairp,  of  a  daughter. 
27.  At  Nelson  Street,  Mrs  Dalrymple,  of  a  son. 

MARRIAGES. 

Sept.  13,  1820.  At  St  John's  Church,  Trichino- 
poly,  Archibald  Ewart,  Esq.  of  the  Madras  medi- 
cal service,  to  Susannah  Petronella,  daughter  of 
the  late  Arnold  Lunel,  Esq.  formerly  chief  secre- 
tary to  the  Dutch  government  at  Cochin. 

Feb.  11,  1821.  AtSt  Botolph's  Church,  Ald< 


Office,  Bank  of  England. 

:'fi.  At  Florence,  in  the  house  of  his  Excellency 
Lord  Burghersh,  Visc.mntTullamore,  only  son  of 
the  Earl  of  Charleville,  to  Miss  Beaujolis  Camp- 
bell, third  daughter  of  the  late  Colonel  Campbell 
of  Shawfield,  and  niece  to  the  Duke  of  Argyll. 

March  4.  At  the  Palace  of  Canino,  near  Rome, 
(the  residence  of  Lucien  Bonaparte,)  T.  Wyse, 
Esq.  jun.  eldest  son  of  T.  Wyse,  Esq.  of  the  Ma- 
nor of  St  John,  near  Waterford,  Ireland,  to  Letitia, 
daughter  of  Lucien  Bonaparte,  Prince  of  Canino. 

20.  At  Guernsey,  Fitzhubert  Macqueen,  Esq.  to 
Mary  Christiana,  relict  of  Captain  James  Dalrym- 
ple, and  third  daughter  of  Sir  James  Nasmyth, 
Bart,  of  New  Posso. 

29.  At  Stockton-upon-Tees,  Gilbert  Munro, 
Esq.  of  Brighton,  Island  of  St  Vincent,  and  of  Al- 
bemarle  Street,  London,  to  Rachel  Sophia,  daugh- 
ter of  the  late  Jonathan  Anderson  Ludford,  M.  D. 
of  Warwick,  &c.  Island  of  Jamaica. 

—  At  Aberdeen,  Mr  William  Lowe,  merchant, 
to  Annabella,  youngest  daughter  of  the  late  Cap- 
tain John  Leitli,  of  Barrack,  Aberdeenshire. 

April  5.  At  Cirencester,  the  Earl  of  Dartmouth, 
to  Lady  Frances  Charlotte  Chetwynd  Tallxrt,  eld- 
est daughter  of  his  Excellency  Earl  Talbot,  Lord 
Lieutenant  of  Ireland. 

—  At  Lockerby-house,  his  Excellency  Colonel 
Maxwell,  C.  B.  Captain-General  and  Governor  of 
the  island  of  St  Christopher's,  &c.  &e.  to  Miss 
Douglas,   only  daughter  of  Lieutenant -Colonel 
Douglas  of  Green  Croft. 

8.  At  Dublin,  Captain  Francis  Stupart,  of  the 
Royal  North  British  Dragoons  (Scots  Greys,)  to 
Anne,  daughter  of  John  Jameson,  Esq.  Alloa. 

!'.  At  Niddrie,  William  Mackenzie,  Esq.  Writer 
to  the  Signet,  to  Alice,  eldest  daughter  of  Andrew 
Wauchope,  Esq.  of  Niddrie  Marischall. 

—  At  Alloa,   Mr  George  Young,   merchant, 
Leith,  to  Catherine,  second  daughter  of  Archibald 
Hill  Rennie,  Esq.  of  Baleleisk. 

14.  At  St  George's  Church,  Hanover  Square,  the 
reverend  William  Pegus,  to  the  Countess  of  Lind- 
sey,  widow  of  the  late,  and  mother  of  the  present 
Earl  of  Lindsey. 

16.  At  Edinburgh,  Adam  Ferguson,  Esq.  late 


Bucklersbury,  London. 

21.  Maxwell  Gordon,  Esq.  to  Jane,  youngest 
daughter  of  David  Steuart,  Esq.  of  Steuarthall. 

23.  At  Kirkaldy,  Mr  James  Tail,  postmaster  of 
Windygates,  to  Christian,  second  daughter  of  Mr 
William  Meldrum,  head  inn  there. 

23.  At  St  George's  church,  Hanover  Square, 
London,  the  Earl  of  Aylesford,  to  Lady  Augusta 
Sophia  Greville,  sister  to  the  Earl  of  Warwick. 

24.  At  Camphill,  James  Monteith,  Esq.  to  Mar- 
garet, eldest  daughter  of  Robert  Thomson,  Esq. 
of  Camphill. 

25.  At  St  George's  church,  Everton,  Liverpool, 
the  Rev.  Joseph  Evans  Beaumont,  of  Haddington, 
to  Susannah,  second  daughter  of  John  Morton, 
Esq.  of  Liverpool,  surgeon,  late  of  the  Royal  Ar- 
tillery, and  sister  to  Mrs  Dr  Morrison  of  Canton. 

27.  At  Pitfour,  James  Hay,  Esq.  of  Seggieden, 
to  Miss  Christian  Craigie  Stewart,  daughter  of  the 
deceased  James  Stewart,  Esq.  of  Urrard. 

—  At  the  Manse  of  Dumblane,  the  Rev.  Tho- 
mas Dimma,  minister  of  the  parish  of  Queensfer- 
ry,  to  Miss  Laura  Grierson. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  John  Lesslie  Macintosh, 
to  Margaret,  eldest  daughter  of  Mr  William  Dryt- 
dale,  Lothian  Street. 


245 

27.  At  Leith,  Mr  Nicholas  Whltehead.  to  Mis* 
Elizabeth  Kirk,  daughter  of  the  late  Mr  James 
Kirk,  teacher  there,  formerly  of  Hawick. 

30.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Henry  Armstrong,   to 
Miss  Graham,  48,  Frederick  Street. 

—  At  Hawthornbank,  the  Rev.  James  Trail). 
minister  of  the  Episcopal  church,  Haddington,  to 
Margaret,  eldest  daughter  of  Robert  Veitch,  Esq. 
of  Hawthornbank. 

Lately.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Charles  James  Fle- 
ming of  Bewdley,  Worcestershire,  to  Sarah,  only 
child  of  Mr  John  Baxter,  South  Bridge. 

DEATHS. 

Oct.  22.  1820.  At  Esseer  Ghier,  Major  Gilbert 
Grierson  Maitland,  of  the  European  infantry  of 
the  Madras  establishment,  only  remaining  son  of 
the  late  Pelham  Maitland,  Esq. 

Now.  —  At  China,  the  Hon.  Valentine  Gardner, 
captain  of  his  Majesty's  ship  Dauntless. 

17.  At  his  station  on  the  south  banks  of  the 
Narbudda,  in  Bengal,  Alexander  Dick  Lindsay, 
Esq.  of  the  civil  service  of  the  Hon.  East  India 
Company,  second  son  of  the  Hon.  Robert  Lindsay 
of  Balcarres. 

Jan.  20.  1821.  At  Davis's  Cove,  Jamaica,  Ri- 
chard Dickson,  Esq. 

Feb.  G.  At  Jamaica,  James  Fraser,  son  of  Mr 
Fraser,  St  James'  Square,  the  third  son  he  has  lost 
in  that  island  since  May  last. 

—  At  Demerara,  Mr  Robert  Thomson,  surgeon, 
second  son  of  Mr  Thomas  Thomson,  late  town- 
clerk,  Musselburgh. 

7-  At  Quebec,  Mrs  Ker,  wife  of  James  Kerr, 
Esq.  judge  of  the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  Vice  Ad- 
miralty, &c.  &e.  province  of  Lower  Canada. 

24.  At  Madeira,  Thomas  Litt,  Esq.  of  Glasgow. 
Mar.  2.  On  his  passage  home,  James  Carnegy, 

Esq.  late  merchant  in  Malacca,  and  third  son  oC 
the  late  Patrick  Carnegy,  Esq.  of  Lower. 

3.  At  Madeira,  Captain  John  Murray,  R.  N. 
second  son  of  the  late  William  Murray,  Esq.  of 
Polmaise. 

10.  AtOrleans,  Captain  Coll M'Dougall,  lateof 
the  42d  regiment. 

17.  At  Boulogne-sur-Mer,  Duncan  Monro,  Esq. 
of  Culcairn.  > 

18.  At  Quebec,   Benjamin  Joseph  Frobisher, 
Esq.  Provincial  Lieutenant-Colonel,  and  Aide-de- 
Camp  to  his  Excellency  the  Earl  of  Dalhousie, 
Governor-General  of  the  Canadas. 

19.  At  Tangwick,  in  Shetland,  James  Cheyne, 
Esq.  aged  84. 

23.  At  Rome,  after  a  lingering  illness,  Mr  John 
Keats,  the  poet,  aged  25. 

21.  At  Clifton  Wtxwl,  near  Bristol,  in  the  20th 
year  of  his  age,  William  Heaven  Esq.  only  son  of 
the  late  Robert  Heaven,  Esq.  of  Burdwan,  in  Ben- 
gal. 

—  At  Cairnie,  Fifeshire,  Mrs  Dalyell  of  Lingo. 

25.  At  Paisley,  the  Rev.  Dr  John  Findlay,  of 
the  High  Church,  Paisley,  in  the  41st  year  of  his 
ministry.    During  the  course  of  a  long,  an  active, 
and  an  useful  life,  he  was  eminently  distinguished 
by  his  personal  religion — by  eminent  natural  ta- 
lents, which  were  well  cultivated  and  improved — 
and  by  the  conscientious  fidelity,  diligence,  and 
exactness,  with  which  he  discharged  all  his  official 
and  relative  duties. 

26.  At  Crofthall,  near  Glasgow,   Miss   Helen 
Pasley,  aged  '22,  daughter  of  the  late  John  Pasley, 
Esq.  of  Edinburgh. 

—  Suddenly,  at  Ranby  Hall,  near  Retford,  Ge- 
neral Crawford,  by  whose  death  the  Dowager 
Duchess  of  Newcastle  becomes  again  a  widow. 

—  At  Merstham-hpuse,  Surrey,  the  Right  Ho- 
nourable Lady  Ann  Simpson,  relict  of  John  Simp* 
son,  Esq.  of  Brandley-Hall,  Durham. 

27.  At  Shacklewell,  of  a  decline,  in  the  2Gth 
year  of  her  age,  Miss  Jane  Menzies,  only  daughter 
of  the  late  Mr  Archibald  Menzies,  of  Edinburgh. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  aged  25,  Mr  William  Masson, 
writer. 

—  At  his  house,  in  Frederick  Street,  Lieute- 
nant-Colonel Thomas  Inglis. 

—  At  Woolwich,    Davidona   Frances  Stuart, 
youngest  daughter  of  Major  John  Sutherland  Sin- 
clair, Royal  Artillery. 

31.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Joanna  Pringle,  relict 
of  Alexander  Hay,  Esq..  late  of  Mornington. 

—  At  Loanside,  Andrew  Stein,  Esq. 

— •  Suddenly,  in  Stratford  Place,  Londcn,  Mrs 


Register. — Deaths. 


246 

Ellis  ton,  wife  of  Mr  Eltlstou,  of  Drury  Lane 
Theatre.  She  retired  to  rest,  at  her  usual  hour, 
In  better  apparent  health  than  she  had  enjoyed  for 
some  time  past.  She  had  not  been  in  bed  long, 
when  she  was  attacked  by  an  hysteric  affection,  to 
which,  during  the  last  two  years,  she  had  been  sub- 
ject, and  in  ten  minutes  she  expired. 

April  1.  At  Edinburgh,  Grace  Euphemia,  young- 
est daughter  of  the  late  Mr  John  Fraser,  Rhives, 
Sutherfandshire. 

—  At  Brighton,  Sir  Charles  Edmonstone,  of 
Duntrcath,  Bart.  M.  P.  for  the  county  of  Stir- 
ling. 

2.  Mr  John  Little,  merchant,  Lawnmarket. 

3.  At  Carlton,  Nottinghamshire,  aged  !)•-',   Mrs 
Mary  Needham,  relict  ot  Mr  Robert  Needham,  of 
that  place. 

—  At  Drimnin-House,  Argyllshire,  John  Mac- 
lean, Esq,  of  Boreray. 

—  At  London,  Charlotte,  second  daughter  of 
the  Right  Hon.  Sir  James  Mansfield,  Knt. 

—  At  Gilmour  Place,  Christian  Fordyce,  eldest 
daughter  of  Lieutenant  David  Robertson,  Royal 
Marines. 

—  At  No.  8,  Queen  Street,  Torquil,  second  son 
of  J.  N.  Macleod  of  Macleod,  Esq. 

4.  At  Stratyrum,  Fife.shire,  Mr  John  Falconer, 
a  corresponding  member  of  the  Caledonian  Horti- 
cultural society,  and  next  upon  the  list  of  that  in- 
stitution for  obtaining  the  medal  for  long  service, 
having  been  gardener  to  the  present  proprietor  for 
38  years.     This  is  the  first  death  that  has  happen- 
ed at  Stratvrum  in  the  course  of  nearly  thirty-nine 
years,  the  family  consisting  of  ten  persons,  besides 
five  servants,  in  the  farm  and  garden,  with  their 
families,  in  which  there  have  been  fifteen  children, 
thirteen  of  whom  have  arrived  at  the  age  of  rnajo- 

5.  At  Raeburn  Place,  Edinburgh,  George,  third 
•on  of  Captain  Williamson. 

—  At  Gallanach,  in  Argyllshire,  John  Macdou- 
gall, Esq.  surgeon  in  the  Hon.  East  India  Compa- 
ny's service,  son  of  the  late  Patrick  Macdougall, 
Esq.  of  Gallanach. 

6.  At  Mount-Stuart,   the  Most  Noble  Robert 
Marquis  of  Londonderry  ;  and  on  the  9th,  in  obe- 
dience to  his  Lordship's  own  express  desire,  his  re- 
mains were  interred,  privately,  in  the  family  vault 
at  Newtonards.     His  Lordship  was  twice  married 
— first  to  Lady  Sarah  Frances,  sister  to  the  Mar- 
quis of  Hertford,  by  whom  he  had  issue,  Viscount 
Castlereagh,  (who  succeeds  to  the  marquisate,) ; 
and,  secondly,  to  Lady  Frances,  sister  to  the  Mar- 
quis of  Cambden,  by  whom  he  liad  issue,  Lord 
Stewart,  (the  present  British  ambassador  to  the 
Court  of  Vienna,)  and  other  children. 

—  At  Dalkeith,  Mr  John  Dalzk-1,  son  of  the 
late  Alexander  Dalziel,  Esq.  of  Skedbush. 

—  At  Coats  descent,  Edinburgh,  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Robert  Swinton. 

7.  At  Edinburgh,  Miss.  Barbara  Bradfute,  aged 
73. 

—  At  Applegirth,  Sir  Alexander  Jardine,  Bart. 

11.  At  Leith,  Mr  John  Palmer,  shipmaster. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Ann  Falconer,  daughter 
of  the  late  John  Sutherland  of  Wester. 

12.  At  Bath,  Alexander  Oswald,  Esq. 

—  At  Easter  Road,  near  Leith,  Mrs  Molhson 
Maitland,  wife  of  Mr  Jonathan  Wilson,  gardener. 

14.  At  Edinburgh,  John,  aged  18  months,  son 
of  Mr  Alexander  Goodxir,  British  Linen  Compa- 
ny's Bank. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  William  Thomson,  iron- 
founder. 

—  At  Warriston  Crescent,  William,  youngest 
$on  of  Andrew  Stivens,  solicitor. 

—  At  South  Charlotte  Street,  Edinburgh,  Miss 
Marion  Hunter  of  Hunterston. 


—  AtCharleton,  a  flora  lingering  illness,  which 
»he  bore  with  the  utmost  fortitude,  Mrs  Susan 
Scott,  relict  of  the  late  George  Carnegie,  Esq. 
of  Pitarrow,  in  the  "8th  ye.tr  of  her  age.     In  an- 
nouncing the  death  of  this  lady,  we  announce  tha 
death  of  one  who  will  be  l-'iij  and  most  justly  re- 
membered in  Montrosp  aii"  its  neighbourhood. — 
To  befriend  the  widow  and  the  fatherless,  to  feed 
the  hungry,. and  to  clothe  the  naked,  to  assist  the 
honest  and  the  industrious  in  time  of  need,  and  to 
shield,  bv  the  utmost  extent  of  her  influence,  the 
weak  and  unprotected,  e\  i  r  yielded  her  the  high- 
est gratification. 

l.'i.  At  Hawick,  Mrs  Brown,  of  the  Tower  Inn, 
there. 

17.  At  Sloane Street, London,Lieutenant-Colonel 
George  Smith,  of  the  Hon.  East  India  Company's 
service,  aged  S". 

19.  At  Edinburgh,  Stuart,  infant  son  of  Mr  Ro- 
bert Watson,  !  4,  Pitt  Street. 

21.  At  George's  Square,  aged  <HJ,   Mrs  Violet 
Pringle,  daughter  of  the  late  Lord  Haining,  and 
sister  of  the  late  Lord  Alt-more,  both>Senators  of 
the  College  of  J  u»tice. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  in  his  l'?th  year,  John,  the 
eldest  son  of  William  M'Call,  Esq.  of  Maiden  Hill. 
Cumberland. 

22.  At  George's  Square,  Edinburgh,   Margaret 
Julia,  youngest  daughter  of  John   Smith,   Esq. 
writer  to  the  signet. 

2.5.  At  Prestonnans,  Francis  Buchan  Sydserf, 
Esq.  collector  of  the  customs  there. 

—  At  Kilgraston  House,  the  Hon.  Mrs  Grant  of 
Kilgraston. 

24.  At  Edinburgh,  in  his  13th  year,  Robert,  el- 
dest son  of  Mr  Robert  Laidlaw,  Simon's  Square. 

25.  In  the  78th  year  of  his  age,  the  Earl  of  Car- 
hampton.     This  venerable  nobleman  was  distin- 
guished in  early  life  as  Colonel  Luttrell.  He  fought 
some  political  battles,  and  was  the  opponent  of  the 
celebrated  Mr  Wilkes,  in  the  memorable  contest 
for  the  county  of  Middlesex,  when  the  latter  wa* 
expelled  the  House  of  Commons  by  a  vote  of  the 
house.    He  was  brother  to  the  beautiful  Miss  Lut- 
trell, the  late  Duchess  of  Cumlicrland.    His  Lord- 
ship siu'ceedcd  to  his  titles  on  the  death  of  his  fa- 
ther, in  l~,->7.     He  has  left  no  issue,  and  is  there- 
fore succeeded  by  his  brother.     The  late  Earl  wa« 
colonel  of  the  <ith  dragoon  guards.  He  stood  third 
on  the  list  of  Generals — those  preceding  him  being 
the  Marquis  of  Drogheda  and  Earl  llarcourt. 

•Jii.  At  Ambleside,  Westmoreland,  on  his  way  to 
Mattock  for  the  recovery  of  his  health,  David 
Erskine  Dewar,  Esq.  of  Gilston  House,  in  the 
county  of  Fife,  eldest  son  of  the  late  Major-Gene- 
ral  Dewar  of  that  place. 

28.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Kuphemia  Clark,  spouse 
of  Mr  Bremner,  solicitor  of  stamps. 

LuMy,  at  Buenos  Ayrcs,  Archibald  Primrose, 
aged  2S-;  and  on  the  10th  July  last,  at  Cane  Hen- 
ry, St  Domingo,  George,  aged  24  ;  and  at  the  same 
place,  on  the  28th  January,  Allan,  aged  22,  sons 
of  the  late  Mr  Allan  Fowlii,  wood-merchant,  Glas- 
gow. 

At  Colinton  Mains,  Elizabeth,  eldest  daughter 
of  the  late  Rev.  David  Pypci,  minister  of  Pen- 
caitland. 

Lately.  Joseph  A  ustin,  Esa.  aged  Sfi,  many  years 
proprietor  of  the  Chester  and  Newcastle  theatres, 
&c.  and  the  last  remaining  actor  mentioned  in 
Churchill's  Roscind. 

At  Hanover,  A.  Herschdl,  Esq.  well  known  in 
the  musical  world  as  a  profound  and  elegant  mu- 
sician, and  brother  to  Sir  W.  Hcrschcll,  the  cele- 
brated astronomer. 


I'rintcit  by  Ja,t.i'i 


BLACKWOOD'S 

EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE 


No.  LI,  JUNE,  1821.  VOL.  IX. 

THE  FISHERMAN'S  BUDGET.    No.  I. 
To  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH,  ESQ. 

MOST  RESPECTED  SlR, 

You  are  well  acquainted  already  with  the  purport  of  the  subjoined  and  forth- 
coming epistles,  as  well  as  with  the  humble  individual  that  aforetime  has  had 
the  honour  of  writing  unto  you.  But  the  world  is  a  sharp  critic,  "  gravis  cen- 
sor," as  the  old  poet  hath  it ;  and  I  am  therefore  called  upon  to  satisfy  the 
scruples  which  it  may  feel  on  perusing  them.  And  assuredly  the  unadvised 
disclosure  of  private  letters,  and  private  concerns,  is  what  few  can  justify, 
much  less  I,  that  am  a  minister  of  the  church,  and  a  staunch  upholder  of  the 
decencies  of  life.  Therefore,  I  think  I  cannot  shew  such  my  disposition  bet- 
ter, than  by  plainly  and  truly  declaring  the  manner  in  which  I  became  pos- 
sessed of  these  curious  documents,  and  the  authority  by  which  I  now  take 
upon  me  to  publish  them.  Yet,  I  know  there  are  some  acute  persons  that  will 
impugn  my  veracity,  be  it  ever  so  veraciously  asserted;  but,  to  them,  and 
particularly  to  that  half-pay  captain,  who,  in  his  Preface  to  a  Popish  Work, 
I  conjecture,  called  the  Monastery,  is  said  to  ridicule  the  idea  of  documents 
being  found  in  the  way  these  were  actually  bequeathed  untojne, — to  them  I 
reply,  that  the  subjoined  facts  are  true,  for  any  thing  they  know  to  the  con- 
trary ;  and  you  have  full  power  from  me  to  certify  them  thereof.  If,  never- 
theless, they  look  for  proof  more  positive,  or,  to  use  a  favourite  expression  of 
Pompey's  great  opponent,  in  his  elegant  work  De  Bell.  Gall.  lib.  ter.  p.  275. 
Edit.  Delph.  8vo.  1794.  Imprim.  Lugdun. — "  certior  factus  ;"  then,  in  such 
case,  I  bid  them  inquire  for  me,  the  Reverend  Owen  Owen  Balderdash, 
Master  of  Arts,  and  Vicar  of  Caengylliwzlligul,  in  North  Wales,  where 
I  will  readily  shew  them  the  original  manuscripts,  and  moreover,  welcome 
them  to  a  slice  of  excellent  mutton,  and  maybe  to  a  stout  wholesome  glass  of 
Mrs  Balderdash's  best  punch,  or  toddy,  as  I  think  you  call  it ;  provided  I  per- 
ceive that  they  come  for  the  clearing  of  the  said  conscientious  doubts,  and  not 
of  my  mutton,  and  Mrs  Balderdash's  punch,  or  toddy. 

And  now,  Sir,  I  assever,  upon  the  credit  of  my  cloth,  as  vicar  duly  inducted 
to  the  living  of  Caengylliwzlligul,  and  by  the  honourable  word  of  the  Balder- 
dashes, that  I  was  returning,  on  the  29th  day  of  June,  anno  doraini  1820, 
from  my  said  church  of  Caengylliwzlligul,  about  five  o'clock  p.  m.,  where  I 
had  been  paying,  virtute  officii,  the  last  sad  rites  to  a  respected  old  friend  and 
servant,  Mr  Job  Turnshovel,  that  had  been  sexton  of  the  said  church  of 
Caengylliwzlligul  sixty-two  years  and  a  good  deal  more,  and  was  a  man  of 
simple,  honest  habits,  and  sorely  lamented  all  throughout  the  neighbourhood. 
Well,  Sir,  I  thought,  upon  so  dolorous  an  occasion,  I  should  pay  but  a  due 
tribute  to  so  worthy  a  character,  if  I  caused  some  little  monument  to  be  erect- 

VOL.  IX.  2  H 


250  The  Fisherman's  Budget.    No.  I.  ^Jone, 

ed  to  his  memory,  seeing  he  had  been  sexton  of  the  said  church  such  an  un- 
common period  ;  and  I  was  ruminating  to  myself,  whether  I  should  indite  the 
same  in  prose  or  hexameter  verse,  or  something  of  that  kind,  that  would  read 
harmoniously,  when  Mr  Simon  Simpertree,  who  is  a  worthy  draper,  and  one  of 
the  church-wardens  of  the  said  church  of  Caengylliwzlligul,  came  out  of  his 
door,  and  very  courteously  insisted  upon  my  taking  a  dish  of  tea  with  him 
and  Mrs  Simpertree,  and  the  two  Miss  Simpertrees,  who,  he  said,  had  just 
come  home  from  the  boarding  school.  So  I  allowed  myself  to  be  persuaded  ; 
for  in  truth  I  was  not  in  over  conceit  with  myself  or  the  world,  after  parting 
with  old  Mr  Job  Turnshovel,  who  was  a  marvellous  shrewd  man.  The  tea 
was  very  pleasant,  although  I  was  grieved  to  see  how  the  Miss  Simpertrees 
were  changed  by  their  genteel  schooling,  for  they  tossed  their  heads,  and  con- 
tradicted their  father,  and  wore  their  frocks  too  low  down  on  their  shoulders, 
and  frequently  said,  "  Good  Lord,  pa,"  and  "  Good  Lord,  ma,"  till  I  felt  my- 
self quite  angry,  and  so  did  Mr  Simpertree,  I  think,  for  he  is  a  staid,  pious 
kind  of  man,  and  looked  at  his  daughters  with  a  stern  eye.  But,  however, 
they  seemed  to  be  checked  towards  the  last,  by  my  serious  looks,  and  the  even- 
ing passed  off  very  pleasantly  upon  the  whole  ;  and  when  I  came  away,  I  hint- 
ed to  Mr  Simpertree,  the  necessity  of  checking  such  profane  expressions  in 
such  young  creatures,  and  he  thanked  me  for  the  hint,  and  likewise  begged  I 
would  excuse  the  liberty  he  was  taking,  in  requesting  me  to  give  them  a  dis- 
course the  next  Sabbath,  upon  the  death  of  the  lamented  Mr  Job  Turnshovel, 
which  I  readily  promised  to  do.  Now,  as  there  was'nt  much  time  for  putting 
together  a  discourse  between  then  and  the  next  Sunday,  I  thought  I  might  as 
well  decide  my  thoughts  to  the  subject  during  the  remainder  of  my  walk, 
which  was  upwards  of  three  miles  ;  the  vicarage  house  of  Caengylliwzlligul 
being  a  wearisome  distance  from  the  church  of  that  name.  So  I  e'en  deter- 
mined to  return  home  by  the  beach,  by  which  I  knew  I  should  avoid  the  in- 
terruptions of  the  boys  taking  off  their  hats,  and  the  girls  curtseying,  and  tell- 
ing me  how  much  they  had  learnt  of  their  catechism  ;  and  particularly  old 
Thomas  Tumbler,  that  will  always  make  me  come  in  and  look  at  his  pigeons, 
which  he  takes  a  great  pride  and  delight  in,  and  which  I  also  like  to  do,  be- 
cause he  always  sends  Mrs  Balderdash  two  couple  of  fine  ones,  for  a  pie  on 
Easter  Sunday. 

Perhaps,  Mr  North,  you  were  never  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Caengylli- 
wzlligul, which  is  a  great  pity,  particularly  if  you  wished  to  write  sermons, 
or  epitaphs,  or  poetry  ;  for  the  beauty  of  the  country,  manifoldly  increased 
by  its  appropinquity  to  the  Irish  Channel,  doth  so  cause  the  moral  ideas  to 
expand,  that  prose  itself  assumeth  the  very  garb  of  poetry.  And,  indeed, 
Mr  North,  oftentimes  when  I  have  sauntered  in  an  evening,  along  the  huge 
rocks,  that  bind  this  part  of  the  coast,  and  watched  the  blue  waves  rolling, 
and  tossing,  and  foaming,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  and  the  red  sun  just 
dipping  his  golden  base  in  the  waters  thereof,  and  the  distant  mountains  of 
Erin  throwing  a  blacker  and  larger  shade  across  the  horizon,  as  day-light 
waned  in  our  hemisphere, — I  say,  Mr  North,  I  have  felt  the  tears  come  into  my 
eyes,  and  my  breast  to  heave  with  unwonted  emotion,  and  my  lips  have  in- 
voluntarily murmured  my  admiration  of  the  Great  Being  that  hath  created 
such  a  magnificent  dwelling-place  for  such  weak  and  such  finite  creatures. 
And  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  though  perhaps  a  person  so  gifted  as  you  arc 
may  esteem  the  idea  trifling,  but  I  never  walk  amongst  these  rocks,  and  look 
upon  that  prospect,  and  feel  those  sensations  of  almost  unutterable  gratitude, 
but  my  heart  feels  happier  and  better,  and  my  mind  lighter ;  and  Mr  Simper- 
free  says  my  language  is  more  lofty  and  scriptural,  which  is  the  reason  I  always 


W21/]  Letter  to  Christopher  North,  Esq.  251 

walk  that  way  to  church,  oa  a  Sunday  morning,  to  prepare  and  regulate  my 
feelings,  and  also  the  reason  why  I  say  it  is  a  pity  that  you,  who  have,  I  sup- 
pose, often  to  write  poetry,  do  not  possess  such  a  clarifier  for  the  gross  and 
earthly  ideas  which  must  be  suggested  in  such  a  huge  city  as  Edinburgh.  But 
this  prospect  has  led  me  away  from  the  letters,  and  I  must  tell  how  I  became 
possessed  of  them.     I  had  the  thoughts  of  old  Job  Turnshovel  sorely  on  my 
mind  j  and  I  fancied  I  saw  him  just  dropping  the  handful  of  earth  upon  the 
coffin,  as  he  did  on  the  very  last  corpse  that  was  laid  there  before  himself.     I 
am  not  used  to  be  so  desponding  nor  weak-minded,  Mr  North ;  but  I  confess 
I  felt  rather  uncomfortable,  for  the  night  was  rapidly  closing  in,  and  the  wind 
howled  rather  mournfully  among  the  rocks,  and  the  thick  black  clouds  looked 
wilder  and  rougher  than  usual ;  and  every  now  and  then  a  loud  scream  issued 
from  the  building-places  of  the  sea-fowl  that  shelter  thereabouts,  and  the 
waves  roared  deeper,  and  came  furiously  lashing  against  the  rocks,  and  then  a 
large  dash  of  spray  would  catch  me  plump  in  the  face ;  and  I  began  to  be  very 
chilly,  and  I  buttoned  my  top-coat  close  into  my  neck,  and  I  pulled  my  wig 
over  my  ears,  and  I  whistled,  and  walked  very  briskly,  for  I  feared  I  should 
not  reach  the  fisherman's  hut  before  it  was  quite  dark.    Not  that  I  dreaded 
robbers,  or  evil  spirits,  for  I  had  no  money  to  tempt  the  one,  and  I  had  the 
Christian  armour  of  a  good  conscience  to  fright  away  the  other ;  but  the  road 
amongst  the  rocks  was  narrow  and  dangerous,  and  I  had  heard,  moreover,  that 
the  smugglers  about  these  parts  were  grown  very  desperate  since  the  excise- 
men came  to  look  after  them  ;  and  they  would  feel  no  scruple  at  popping  me 
over  head  in  the  salt-water,  if  they  fancied  I  was  a  spy  upon  than.  *    How- 
eyer,  I  got  safe  and  sound  to  Andrew  Saltfin's,  the  fisherman,  and  as  I  saw 
but  a  thin  light  in  the  place,  I  did  not  go  right  in,  as  was  my  custom,  but 
gave  a  smart  tap  at  the  door ;  for  I  thought,  maybe,  he  had  to  go  with  the 
morning's  tide,  and  was  already  in  bed.    So,  as  I  said,  I  knocked  at  the  door, 
and,  in  a  moment,  it  flew  open,  and  before  I  could  speak  a  word,  Andrew's 
wife  got  her  arms  round  my  neck,  and  cried,  and  laughed,  and  hugged  me,  till 
I  was  verily  astonied.     Nevertheless,  I  had  little  occasion  to  disengage  her 
aims,  for  she  immediately  perceived  her  mistake,  and  foil  back  into  the  arm- 
chair in  which  Andrew  Saltfin  usually  sat,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  and  burst  into  such  a  passion  of  grief,  that  even  made  me  ory  to  look 
upon  ;  and  two  little  lads,  the  eldest  not  above  three  years  of  age,  were  in  the 
cabin,  and  one  came  and  stood  before  its  mother,  and  looked  piteously  in  her 
face,  as  if  to  inquire  the  cause  of  her  trouble,  and  the  other  that  was  undress- 
ed and  upon  the  bed,  seemed  to  wish  to  direct  my  attention  to  its  parent's 
grief,  by  repeatedly  pointing  with  its  finger,  and  crying  out  "  mammy.*'     I 
took  the  two  children  on  my  knee,  and  after  much  persuasion  and  endeavours 
to  pacify  the  poor  creature,  I  found  that  her  husband  had  been  absent  two 
days,  and  she  made  certain  he  had  perished  in  the  preceding  night's  storm  ; 
"  for,"  said  she,  "  there's  the  sure  tidings  of  some  one's  wreck  in  that  bundle 
which  my  little  Tommy  found  on  the  heaoh  this  morning."  The  eldest  child, 
on  hearing  this  allusion  to  the  bundle,  slipped  from  my  knee,  and  fetched  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  cabin  a  parcel,  which  was  much  wet  and  torn,  and  about 

*  And,  by  the  bye,  I  wish  to  ask  you,  whilst  speaking  of  the  smugglers,  whether 
Shakespeare  did.  not  allude  to  the  articles  which  they  furnish,  when  he  made  Owen 
Glendower  (that  wild  chieftain  whose  castle  lay  upon  this  coast,  and  of  whom,  more- 
over, I  am  a  descendant)  assert  that  he  could  "  call  spirits  from  the  vast  deep."  At  all 
events,  I  have  nqt  seen  that  signification  put  upon  it  by  any  of  Hie  illustrator?  of  his 
works. 


253  Ttte  Fisherman  t  Budget.    No.  L  £June, 

which  were  some  remnants  of  brown  paper  and  cord,  although  the  whole  was 
completely  soaked  by  the  salt  water.  Several  papers  that  had  dropped  from  it 
were  lying  about  the  cabin,  and  I  ascertained  indeed  the  melancholy  truth, 
that  they  were  the  contents  of  some  mail-packet,  that  had  most  likely  been 
lost  in  the  fatal  stonn.  I  was  in  the  act  of  examining  these,  and  endeavour- 
ing to  comfort  the  afflicted  mother,  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  may  I  never 
be  believed  again,  if  it  was  not  the  happiest  moment  that  I  had  ever  experien- 
ced, when  I  saw  the  honest  Andrew  clasped  in  the  arms  of  his  faithful  and 
affectionate  wife. 

Not  to  detain  you,  Mr  North,  upon  the  fisherman's  case,  I  shall  next  pre- 
mise, that  his  boat  had  been  driven,  spite  of  all  his  exertions,  into  a  creek  many 
miles  down  the  coast,  where  he  was  compelled  to  pass  the  night ;  and,  sure 
enough,  he  confirmed  my  forebodings  concerning  the  packet  between  Man  and 
Whitehaven,  for  he  saw  it  wrecked  with  his  own  eyes  on  the  Great  Head.  An- 
drew Saltfin  would  gladly  have  seen  me  safe  to  the  Vicarage,  but  I  thought  it 
was  not  over  right  to  take  him  from  his  dear  little  home  as  soon  as  he  had  set 
sound  foot  in  it  again,  so  I  borrowed  his  great-coat  and  a  good  lantern,  and 
bundling  up  the  parcel  of  letters,  I  bid  the  thankful  couple  good-night,  and  was 
soon  safe  in  my  own  corner,  (where  I  have  just  finished  smoking  my  pipe,)  to 
the  no  small  joy  of  the  timorous  Mrs  Balderdash,  my  faithful  and  most  wor- 
thy wife. 

Well,  Mr  North,  I  do  not  know  whether  Mrs  Balderdash  or  I  was  most 
curious  to  examine  the  contents  of  the  bundle  ;  although  I  may  say  that  she 
was,  if  I  may  judge  by  her  earnest  entreaties  to  read  me  a  little  of  the  "  per- 
ticulers"  whilst  I  was  eating  a  rasher  of  ham  to  my  supper.     But  Mrs  Bal- 
derdash is  not  over-gifted  in  deciphering,  and  I  assure  you,  it  required  all 
my  scholarship  to  make  either  head  or  tail  of  the  writing,  it  had  become  so 
illegible  by  reason  of  the  salt-water  and  rubbing  against  the  shore.    And,  in- 
deed, you  may  be  sure  I  should  have  instantly  dispatched  them  to  Mrs  High- 
flyer, that  has  the  care  of  the  post-office  of  Caengylli wzlligul,  to  be  forwarded 
by  her  to  the  unhappy  relatives,  if  so  be  that  any  thing  like  a  direction  could 
be  traced  thereon.    However,  there  was  one  packet  that  was  so  sealed,  and  so 
covered  with  wrappers  of  thick  paper,  that  I  verily  believe  the  document  inclo- 
sed might  be  said  to  be  fire  as  well  as  water-proof;  and  well  and  fortunate  was 
it  that  such  care  had  been  taken ;  for  marvellously  did  I  ejaculate,  and  wide 
did  Mrs  Balderdash  open  her  mouth  thereupon,  it  being  nothing  less  than  a 
last  will  and  testament,  dated  October  the  17th.  Ann.  Dom.  1802,  and  convey- 
ing to  the  heirs-male,  legally  begotten,  the  sum  of  thirty  thousand  pounds,  of 
— ;  but  I  am  forgetting  myself.  I  have  no  right  to  tell  other  people's  se- 
crets, and  they  will  be  abundantly  exposed  in  the  forthcoming  letters.  Having 
consulted  with  Mrs  Balderdash,  who,  bating  her  prejudices,  is  a  worldly  wise 
woman,  although  fond  of  the  clish-ma-claver,  as  you  call  it,  of  much  speaking; 
well,  I  say,  after  such  consultation,  it  was  judged  advisable  to  dispatch  a  mes- 
senger the  next  morning,  with  a  letter  to  the  nearest  town  to  Caengylliwzlligul, 
where  a  weekly  news  is  printed,  giving  notice  of  such  will  and  testament  being 
in  possession  of  the  Rev.  Owen  Owen  Balderdash,  Vicar  of  Caengylliwzlligul, 
in  North  Wales.   Nearly  a  fortnight  passed  over,  however,  and  no  application 
was  made  for  it ;  so  that  I  began  to  fear  I  should  retain  that  in  my  holding,  the 
want  of  which  would  cause  misery  and  sorrow  to  some  expecting  relatives. 
Mrs  Balderdash  and  I  regularly  perused  the  said  testament  every  night  after 
supper,  for  I  was  in  hopes  I  should  recollect  some  individual  of  the  name  of 
the  testator  or  legatee;  because,  although  I  have  not  seen  much  of  the  world 
since  I  took  upon  me  the  ministerial  duties  of  the  Vicarage  of  Caengylliwzill- 


1S21/J  Letter  to  Christopher  North,  Esq.  863 

gul,  yet  I  knew  a  host  of  people,  when  private  tutor  to  my  Lord ,  that's 

now  on  a  foreign  mission  for  the  government. 

It  was  on  the  thirteenth  night  after  the  publication  of  the  said  document,  that 
Mrs  Balderdash  and  I  were  just  in  the  middle  of  the  first  codicil,  which  bequeath- 
ed the  clear  annual  rental  of  £500  to  the  aforesaid  Edward .  But  here  I  am 

telling  secrets  again.  Well,  sir,  Mrs  Balderdash  was  just  wishing  our  income  was 
half  that  sum,  that  she  might  lay  out  a  part  in  a  new  sarsnet  pelisse  and  bonnet, 
when  Molly,  that  has  been  in  the  Vicarage  65  years,  which  includes  some  part 
of  the  ministry  of  the  late  reverend  Vicar  that  was  Vicar  before  me ;  well,  sir, 
who  should  she  usher  in  but  a  man  in  a  riding-coat,  splashed  up  to  the  shoulders, 
and  marvellously  discomposed  in  his  dress,  with  black  hair  and  a  paleface,  and 
having  altogether  the  most  unpropitiating  physiognomy  that  ever  was  stamped 
upon  the  human  countenance.  Nevertheless,  he  was  uncommonly  civil  and 
compkisant ;  and,  after  apologizing  for  his  appearance  at  such  an  untimely 
hour,  was  proceeding,  I  suppose,  to  advert  to  the  will,  when  seeing  it  lie  upon 
the  table,  he  took  it  up,  and,  as  I  am  a  living  man,  with  the  greatest  compo- 
sure stuffed  it  into  his  pocket.  Such  a  piece  of  consummate  assurance  com- 
pletely astonished  me ;  and  whilst  I  stood  with  my  eyes  staring,  my  mouth 
open,  and  my  hand  extended  towards  him,  and  as  yet  unable  to  express  my- 
self in  words,  he  drew  a  small  case  from  his  pocket,  something  like  my  leather 
tobacco-pouch,  and  took  a  ten-pound  note  from  it,  which  he  placed  in  my 
hand.  Money  hath  ever  been  a  touch-stone,  and  the  sight  of  it  recalled  my 
reason,  which  sharply  reproached  me  for  allowing  the  fellow  to  presume  so  far 
on  my  corruptibility  ;  so  I  forced  the  note  back  upon  him,  and  insisted  upon  a 
complete  exposition  of  his  claims  to  that  document  before  he  left  the  Vicarage. 
He  seemed,  however,  to  pay  no  attention  to  this  demand,  but  to  be  rather  pre- 
paring for  moving ;  and  although  I'm  something  too  old  for  a  tussle,  yet  I 
thought  in  a  good  cause  I  could  stand  a  brush,  so  I  e'en  collared  the  scoundrel, 
and  Mrs  Balderdash  foreseeing  the  issue,  seconded  my  efforts,  and  after  some 
scuffling,  found  her  way  to  the  bottom  of  the  pocket  in  which  he  had  deposited 
the  testament.  Hereupon  the  fellow,  finding  rough  means  would  not  answer, 
suddenly  lowered  his  key  from  bullying  to  cringing,  and  proceeded,  in  such  a 
plausible  and  straight-forward  manner  to  establish  his  claim,  attributing  his 
unmannerly  behaviour  to  his  earnest  desire  of  obtaining  a  document  upon 
which  the  fortunes  of  his  family  rested,  and  then  to  apologize  so  largely  for  his 
rudeness  to  us,  that  I  really  believe  he  would  have  obtained  it  in  the  end — not- 
withstanding Mrs  Balderdash  answered  his  numerous  appeals  to  her  decision 
and  her  justice,  by  an  incredulous,  "  yes,  to  be  sure,"  and  such  like — if,  at 
the  moment,  a  carriage  had  not  drove  up  to  the  gate,  and  Mrs  Balderdash  pre- 
tending to  inquire  what  it  was,  (Oh  !  I've  thought  her  a  foreknowing  creature 
since  then,)  left  the  room,  and  sure  enough  she  turned  the  lock  upon  the  door 
and  fastened  us  in.  Strangely  did  the  fellow's  face  vary  from  its  composure 
during  the  few  intervals  that  elapsed  before  the  door  again  opened ;  but  when 
it  did,  and  two  noble-looking  young  men,  one  in  uniform,  and  the  other  in  a 
suit  of  mourning,  entered  by  it,  he  darted  past  them,  and  notwithstanding  they 
were  after  him  like  lightning,  he  got  to  the  gate,  untied  his  horse,  and  was  off 
in  a  whiffey.  I  wish  I  might  tell  you  all  the  particulars  of  this  strange  deli- 
verance ;  but  it  may  not  be.  However,  the  will  got  to  the  right  owner,  and 
200  golden  guineas  were  laid  upon  the  table  by  these  generous  lads,  which,  ne- 
vertheless, I  would  not  hold  to  myself,  for  it  was  Andrew  Saltfin  the  fisher- 
man, and  his  faithful  wife,  to  whom  they  rightly  belonged,  and  they  have  been 
.the  unforeseen  instruments  for  effecting,  through  the  goodness  of  Providence, 
a  singular  deliverance  from  the  hand  of  the  oppressor.  And  if  I  am  Vicar  of 


S54  The  Fisherman's  Budget.    No.  7.  £June, 

Caengylliwzlllgul  till  the  end  of  my  life,  which  I  would  not  affirm  will  be  the 
case,  now  I  have  served  this  rich  gentleman  ;  but,  however,  if  I  live  to  be  Bi- 
shop of  St  Asaph,  I  shall  never  forget  the  laughing  and  joking  we  had  over  a 
bowl  of  brandy  and  water,  or  toddy,  as  I  think  you  call  it,  when  reading  the 
epistles  that  were  in  my  possession ;  and  the  end  of  it  was,  that  they  agreed  it 
would  be  a  good  joke  to  publish  them,  as  they  all  belonged  to  some  of  their 
connexions,  and  thus  not  only  preserve  a  memorial  of  the  occurrence,  but,  by 
the  remuneration  which  would  be  given  for  them,  a  small  addition  might  be 
made  to  the  fisherman's  honey-fall.  And  he  to  whom  the  will  belonged,  and 
that  was  dressed  in  black,  said  he  would  add  two  or  three  letters  to  the  list, 
which  had  been  written  and  transmitted  in  England,  and  which  would  be  ne- 
cessary to  give  a  connected  character  to  the  subject,  as  they  related  to  those  that 
were  subsequently  found  by  me  at  the  fisherman's  hut ;  and  I  was  desired  to 
write  the  introduction  to  them,  and  to  explain  how  letters  written  in  England 
should  come  to  be  amongst  those  that  were  lost  in  their  passage  from  the  Isle 
of  Man.  So,  when  I  had  done  this,  and  polished  it  up  as  it  is  now,  I  sent  the 
whole  series,  at  the  recommendation  of  Mr  Simpertree,  to  the  Evangelical  Ma-« 
gazine,  for  publication,  but  they  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  subject ; 
and  when  I  told  the  Captain,  he  bid  me  send  them  to  you,  with  Ensign  O'w 
Dogherty's  compliments,  who,  I  believe,  is  an  old  crony  of  the  Captain's.  I  am 
told  he  accompanied  you  on  a  shooting  expedition,  of  which  you  published  an 
account,  under  the  name  of  The  Tent,  and  that  you  were  the  most  jovial  set 
he  ever  met  with  out  of  his  own  mess-room.  And  so,  now  you  know  a  geod 
deal  about  the  letters,  but  not  all ;  and  I  wish  I  might  tell  you  what  I  did  for 
the  young  gentleman  in  black,  last  Sunday  morning,  at  the  Church  of  Caen- 
gylliwzlligul,  but  I  must  not  at  present  ;  and  you'll  know  all  in  good  time. 
And  so  I  am,  dear  Mr  North, 

Your's  at  command, 

0.  BALDERDASH. 


From  Edward  Ashby,  Esq.  of  St.  John's,  Cambridge,  to  his  Friend 
Frederick  Ferrimond,  Esq. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  and  assistance,  which  to  me  would 
THE  long  expected  trial  is  at  last  have  been  doubly  grateful  at  the  pre- 
terminated,  and  your  lucky  friend  will  sent  moment.  I  shall  remain,  how- 
be  first  wrangler.  Our  friend  Jones  ever,  with  my  friends  but  a  short  time 
is  amongst  the  senior  Ops :  Elworth  this  evening ;  and,  by  rising  early,  and 
heads  the  ot  woxxo«.  This  evening  I  some  exertion,  I  yet  hope  to  spend  a 
dine  with  Professor  Somers,  and  he  few  hours  with  you  at  Aldhame.  The 
has  invited  several  of  my  acquaintance  gold  medal,  and  a  first  class  degree, 
to  the  feast.  I  am  gratetul  for  this  will,  I  fear,  Fred,  but  little  advance 
good  man's  kindness— he  is  almost  the  the  great  end  I  have  in  view  ,•  nor  can 
only  one,  saving  thee,  my  dear  Fred.  I  refer  with  much  satisfaction  to  the 
whose  friendship  has  been  firm  and  happy  but  inactive  days  of  my  aca- 
undeviating.  Yet,  I  could  well  have  deim'c  life,  since  they  have  been  pass- 
dispensed  with  its  expression  at  this  ed,  not  indeed  in  an  unworthy  pur- 
moment,  since  there  are  many  circum-  suit,  but  in  that  which  can  have  no 
stances  connected  with  my  present  un-  connexion  with  the  first,  the  dearest, 
dertaking,  that  demand  the  unruffled  and  the  most  sacred  object  of  my  fu- 
reflection  of  a  few  quiet  hours.  Sin-  ture  exertions.  You,  my  dear  friend, 
cerely  do  I  regret  the  cause  of  your  you  can  appreciate  the  fervour  of  that 
present  absence,  not  only  for  the  trou-  enthusiasm  which  is  directed  to  the  at- 
ble  in  which  it  has  involved  you,  but  tainmcnt  of  parents  and  a  home ;— you 
also  for  the  deprivation  of  that  advice  can  estimate  the  solitary  singleness  ot' 


1821. 


The  Fisherman's  Budget.    No.  I. 


one  that  has  had  no  father  to  foster 
his  exertions,  no  mother  to  alleviate 
his  sorrow; — that  has  passed  the  green* 
ness  of  his  childhood,  and  the  flower 
of  his  youth,  in  mysterious  banish- 
ment from  the  cheering  smile  of  kin- 
dred and  of  friends ;  and  that  has  been, 
and  still  is,  indebted  to  the  bounty  of 
some  unknown  individual  for  the  very 
means  of  his  subsistence.  Nor  is  the 
information  which  I  have  hitherto  been 
able  to  gather  at  all  equal  to  my  ex- 
pectations, but  indefinite  and  vague. 
Yet  I  go  in  the  secret  assurance  of 
success;  promoted,  as  it  will  be,  by 
every  exertion  that  health,  interest, 
and  affection  can  stimulate. 

Nothing  very  material  was  elicited 
on  my  interview  with  Mr  Heys,  the 
banker,  of  Eaglesholme.  I  fancied  that 
his  courtesy  was  somewhat  more  ge- 
nial, when  I  presented  the  Professor's 
letter.  It  appears,  that,  about  fifteen 
years  ago,  a  person  of  gentlemanly  de- 
portment deposited  six  thousand  five 
hundred  pounds  with  the  firm,  the  in- 
terest of  which  was  to  be  regularly 
transmitted  to  my  respected  old  school- 
master, Dr  Winton,  at  Hopeferry,  for 
the  maintenance  and  education  of  a 
youth  then  about  to  be  placed  with 
him  ;  and  that,  when  such  youth  was 
sent  to  the  University,  the  issuing  in- 
come was  to  be  received  by  him.  The 
investment  was  made  in  the  name  of 
an  individual,  with  whom  the  banker 
declared  he  had  not  the  slightest  ac- 
quaintance ;  nor  since  that  period,  had 
the  person  ever  communicated  with 
the  concern.  But  the  most  curious  part 
of  the  business  is,  that  I  am  unaccoun- 
tably withheld,  on  pain  of  its  devol- 
ving to  a  local  charity,  from  appro- 
priating, either  now  or  at  any  other 
period,  and  to  any  purpose  whatsoever, 
the  principal  itself.  The  inquiry  has 
been  so  far  satisfactory,  inasmuch  as  I 
am  assured  of  the  perpetuity  of  the 
funds  on  which  I  have  hitherto  de- 


055 

pended ;  although  I  am  as  distant  as 
ever  from  the  chief  object  of  my 
anxiety — the  individual  by  whom 
they  are  provided.  Surely  this  capri- 
cious, this  unaccountable  appropri- 
ation, which  at  once  provides  for,  and 
endangers  my  respectability,  securing 
me,  indeed,  against  the  assaults  of 
want,  yet  perpetually  involving  me  in 
hazardous  suspicions,  cannot  be  the 
provision  of  parental  care,  nor  the 
kindly  offering  of  parental  fondness. 
Already  have  I  experienced  the  mis- 
fortune of  my  lot  in  the  mortifying 

rencontre  at  ;  nor  do  I  know 

at  this  moment,  upon  which  I  reflect 
with  the  greatest  pain,  the  vivid  re- 
collections of  that  most  lovely  girl,  or 
the  petulant  intemperance  of  her  over- 
bearing brother.  To-morrow,  how- 
ever, will  witness  a  first  endeavour  to 
penetrate  the  mystery ;  and,  indeed,  I 
have  strong  hopes  of  obtaining  some 
happy  clue  from  the  old  couple  that 
had  the  care  of  my  childhood.  I  have 
written  to  our  good  Dr  Winton,  and 
requested  his  company  in  my  intended 
visit  to  them.  My  future  plans  will 
materially  depend  on  the  opinions 
which  he  entertains.  My  rooms  are 
let  to  a  man  from  Winchester;  and 
my  books  and  papers  lodged  in  So- 
mers's  library.  I  shall  request  him  to 
let  you  have  access  to  them,  when  you 
return  hither  next  term,  and  I  shall 
be  glad  if  they  prove  of  any  service  to 
you. 

But  the  repeated  salutes  at  the  Pro- 
fessor's door  warn  me  to  prepare  for 
my  visit;  and,  with  an  assurance  of 
speedily  hearing  from  me  again,  in 
case  I  am  prevented  visiting  you,  be- 
lieve me  to  be, 

Dear  Fred. 

most  sincerely 
and  affectionately  yours, 

EDWARD  ASHBY. 
Fred.  Ferrimond,  Esq. 


From  Mrs  Rebekah  Verlle  to  Mrs  Frumbish. 


MY  DEAR  MRS  FRUMBISH, 
As  I  conjecterd  you  wud  be  anxus  to 
here  how  me  and  my  usband  is  sinse 
we  left  ome,  I  take  this  hoportunity  of 
sending  you  a  few  scrauls  conserning 
the  pertiklers  thereof,  tho  Got  nose 
when  they  may  rache  you.  I  was,  you 
rekollect,  very  loth  all  along  to  cum 
by  this  here  water  carriage,  insomuch 


Duglas,  Oily  Man  ;  June  24.  1819. 

as  it  is  neither  so  safe  or  so  plessant  as 
the  one-horse  shandideredan :  but  as 
there  is  no  other  on  the  rode  just  nou, 
folks  is  like  to  make  the  best  of  it  they 
can.  Its  a  fereful  helliment ;  and  as 
grene  as  your  bumbasine  pettycot.  The 
ship  we  were  to  ryde  in,  was  called  the 
Robber  Bruse ;  and  hanker 'd  at  the 
sine  of  the  Pere's  Head.  We  were  tould 


TJte  Fisherman's  Budget.     No.  L 


£June, 


to  be  there  by  hate  ;  so  we  swallud  our 
preckftist  in  a  great  urra ;  and  after 
much  trubble  found  out  the  plase ;  but 
it  was  hard  wurk  for  'em  to  get  me  to 
go,  the  bote  being,  as  you  see,  the  lenth 
of  our  cabbage  garden  from  the  rode 
side  ;  altho  the  watur  was  marvillus 
lo,  being  what  is  call'd  tyed  out. 

Howsumever  they  fastened  a  hand- 
kerchif  over  my  hize ;  and  too  pure 
fellows,  without  shus  and  stockins, 
whipped  me  up  in  their  harms,  and 
carrid  me  into  the  vehicle.  Lord,  Mrs 
Frumbish,  how  my  hart  went  bump, 
bump,  as  the  salt  see  went  splash, 
splash,  undernethe  o'  my  fete.  And 
then  the  bote  was  as  rickety  as  a  cray- 
dle ;  furst  going  to  one  side  and  then 
to  the  other  ;  so  that  I  verily  thout  I 
shud  never  heskape  with  my  life.  The 
peple  is  as  harden'd  as  Beelzibub  ;  for 
when  I  basked  one  of  them  if  there 
was  water  enuf  to  drown  abody  ?  he 
said  there  was  12  fete,  which  mayhap 
wud  be  soughfishent,  if  I  nelt  down 
to  it. 

But  the  most  perillous  thing  of  all 
was  getting  out  of  the  bote  on  to  the 
ship  ;  which  was  dubble  the  hate  of 
our  aystack,  and  nothin  but  a  potterin 
rope  lador  to  ass  end  by.  Wen,  how- 
ever, him  as  they  call'd  the  kaptin,  saw 
the  prikdikament  I  was  in,  a  harm 
chare  was  let  doun  to  iste  me  up ;  and 
sure  enuf  I  was  goin  very  nisely,  when 
holing  to  a  nasty  bully  to  which  the 
rope  was  fastend,  I  stuck  fast,  in  the 
middle  hair,  and  altho  I'm  none  o'  the 
litest,  I  swung  backwards  and  forwards 
like  a  cro's  nest  in  a  popular  tree.  And 
wud  you  bilheave  it,  whilst  I  was  ang- 
ing,  for  all  extents  and  porpoises,  be- 
tween the  heven  and  the  hearth,  the 
impident  kubs  were  hinjoying  my  shi- 
tuation,  and  crying  out,  "  O  ye,  0  !" 
"  Heve  ahead ! '  "  She's  agoing ;"  and 
such  like  barber  us  expressons ;  and 
go  I  veryly  bilheave  I  shud ;  but  I 
skrik'd,  and  voud  I  wud  invite  em  for 
murder,  if  I  got  down  alive ;  which  in 
a  maner  broiled  there  impettinence. 

When  I  got  on  the  deck,  a  felli  as 
black  as  Hold  em  cole,  such  as  him  that 
rydes  behind  Mrs  Noir's  charrat,  came 
up  and  ask'd  me  if  I  had  a  birth,  and 
wud  have  me  go  bilhow  to  chuse  a 
bed.  But  I  fetch'd  him  a  slap  in  the 
faise,  and  tould  I  wasn't  such  a  sim- 
pletun  as  that ;  for  I  new  a  ship  from 
a  lyin-in-hospital.  The  kaptin,  how- 


ever,  who  is  a  very  civil  man,  and  does 
not  ware  a  weppon,  or  large  wiskers, 
like  them  in  our  town,  tould  me  he  was 
call'd  the  stew  hard  ;  and  ritely  enuf, 
for  I  saw  him  marvellus  bissy  pilling 
bunions  and  potatas,  and  making  supe, 
and  biling  h'ttels,  the  rest  o'  the  day. 
Oh  !  Mrs  Frumbish,  you  cannot  form 
the  remmotest  liidea  of  the  hellegan- 
ces  and  konvinninces  of  this  sed  ship. 
There  his  beds  with  clene  shits  and 
kounter  pains ;  and  hotter  mans  to  de- 
cline upon ;  and  rnihoginy  tables ;  and 
luking  lasses,  and  chanticleers,  and  the 
Specktathor  ;  and  the  Hole  Duti  of 
Man ;  and  Pammilhah,  and  a  store  of 
other  godli  bukes  for  those  hadicted  to 
mediation. 

After  seeing  all  bilhow  I  went  uj>on 
deck ;  and  it  was  a  mirkle  to  see  one 
man  push  such  a  big  ship  along  quite 
easy.  He  stud  at  what  they  call  the 
elm  (tho  its  nathing  like' that  in  yure 
gardin.)  I  watch'd  how  he  stered  his 
kumpass ;  and  he  kept  luking  at  sum- 
thin  that  he  calld  north.  I  think  I  saw 
it  onse,  like  a  large  white  duck  in  the 
whater ;  but  I  wont  be  shure. 

There  was  a  site  of  folks  on  the  top ; 
and  wen  I  was  tird  of  standin,  I  ask'd 
the  stew  hard  for  a  seat  that  pull'd 
out ;  as  there  was  two  or  three  skore 
aboarn.  He  laff  'd  and  said,  "  Ver  veil : 
ver  veil :"  and  brought  one,  so  1  sat 
and  watch'd  the  oashame  over  the  sip 
shide.  He  always  laff'd  when  I  spoke 
to  him :  he  said  they  were  called  guard- 
ing stools.  In  a  few  minnits,  however, 
there  was  a  general  constipation ;  sum 
crying  out  they  were  running  on  the 
banks  ;  wich  1  thout  was  all  a  joke  ; 
as  the  folks  were  paying  such  hepes  of 
munny  to  the  hagent,  that  there  must 
have  been  a  run  on  the  banks  before. 
Howscmever  it  was  a  dedly  truth. 
There  was  such  hurry  skurry,  and 
no  more  thouts  of  tikkets  and  pay. 
Then  they  tied  a  pure  fello  with  a  rope 
outside  the  ship  ;  and  sure  enuf  I 
thought  they  were  goin  to  serve  him 
like  Joe  Nash,  and  make  him  swallow 
Wales  for  an  hatonement.  But  they 
tould  me  it  was  only  "Eve  in  the 
Suds,"*  and  the  merryner  afore  named 
let  down  a  fishing  line,  and  called  out. 
"  By  the  wack  there's  five  ;"  upon 
wich  the  kaptin  utter'd  a  profane  oath, 
and  bid  him  count  agen.  Then  he 
shouted  "  By  the  wack  there's  seven ;" 
till  at  last  ke  could  not  make  up  his 


It  is  presumed  the  writer  refers  to  heaving  the  lead. 
13 


The  Fisherman's  Budget.    No.  /.  337 

mind  how  menny  there  was  •  and  the  were  ded :  one  old  gentleman  begged 
kaptin  bid  him  let  em  go,  and  when  he  they'd  fetch  him  a  lawyer,  to  settle  his 
pulled  up  his  fishing  line,  it  turned  out  off  heirs ;  and  another  asked  to  be 
there  was  none  at  all.  thrown  over,  and  then  began  to  prey. 
Some  said  we  were  short  of  whater ;  I  had  cense  enuf,  however,  to  keep  my 
which  is  vastly  hod,  as  nothing  else  mouth  shut,  since  there  was  a  huge 
could  be  seen :  but  this  ship  was  drawn  swarm  of  she-bulls  hovring  about  the 
by  what  they  call  steming  gin  ;  and  so  ship,  as  they  said  was  wating  for  prey- 
many  peple  being  in  it,  acquir'd  a  pour  ers. 

of  boiling  water ;  as  the  kettles  them-  Tordes  nite,  many  could  see  the 

selves  were  as  big  as  our  kitgin  ;  and  Oily  Man  ;  and  mi  usband  kept  blis- 

fizzed  enuf  to  deffen  one.  I  never  will  tcring  me  to  luke,  as  I  have  a  gude 

travail  in  one  of  these  spiritous  vessels  site  :  but  the  very  menshon  of  the  oil 

agen  ;  for  you  kno  I'm  but  used  to  a  completely  revoked  me  ;  so  that  I  did 

little  of  a  night ;  and  the  foom  of  the  not  see  it  till  we  landed,  and  then  it 

likker  quite  superfined  me ;  till  I  felt  was  pitch  dark.    To  be  sure  some  had 

as  squeamish  as  if  I  had  been  taking  an  a  tillerskup,  thro  which  they  spide  it, 

he  metic.  A  litile  biskit  kept  me  quiat :  before  it  was  in  site ;  which  is  a  very 

nevertheles  I  had  fereful  misgivings  zinglar  pinonmyman. 

and  uprizings  before  dinner  was  de-  But  I  have  now  X  heeded  the  cut  of 

nounced,  as  you  may  well  suppose,  my  shete ;  and  the  backit  is  going  to 

About  fore  the  dinner  was  lade ;  but  the  sale ;  and  therefore  I  must  con- 

I  had  wated  and  wated  till  I  was  past  elude 

heating ;  and  the  first  pece  of  mutton  With  no  more  at  present, 

chop  settled  my  hash  throughly.  The  From  yure  dere  friend, 

kaptin  and  stew  hard  carried  me  bil-  RIBBEKKA  VEIIBLE. 

how  ;  where  there  was  quite  a  hospital  P.  S.— The  whater's  boiling,  and  my 

of  sick  travailers.     Sum  wishd  they  good  man  just  cum  to  his  t. 


SOX& 
Aia— •"  Here  awa',  there  awa'." 

I. 
'Tis  sweet  on  the  hill  top,  when  morning  is  shining, 

To  watch  the  rich  vale  as  it  brightens  below  ; 
'Tis  sweet  in  the  valley,  when  day  is  declining, 

To  mark  the  far  mountains,  deep  tinged  with  its  glow. 
But  dearer  to  me  were  one  moment  beside  thee, 

In  the  wild  of  the  desart,  while  love  lit  thine  eye  ; 
For  in  weal  or  in  woe,  or  whatever  betide  thee, 

Thou'rt  the  charm  of  my  life,  the  mild  star  of  my  sky. 

Then  fly  to  me  here,  while  the  noontide  is  glowing ; 

The  greenwood  is  cool  in  the  depth  of  its  glooms, 
There  I've  wove  thee  a  seat,  where  the  wild  flowers  are  blowing, 

And  the  roses  thou  lov'st  shed  their  dearest  perfumes. 
There  we'll  talk  of  past  griefs,  when  our  love  was  forbidden, 

When  fortune  was  adverse,  and  friends  would  deny  ; 
But  my  heart  was  still  true,  though  its  fervour  was  hidden 

From  the  charm  of  my  life,  the  mild  star  of  my  sky. 

3. 

Then  haste,  my  beloved,  the  moments  are  flying, 

And  catch  the  bright  fugitives,  ere  they  depart, 
That  each  its  own  portion  of  pleasure  supplying, 

May  wake  the  mute  rapture  that  dwells  in  the  heart ; 
And  when  age  shall  have  temper'd  our  warm  glow  of  feeling, 

Though  our  spirits  are  soberd,  less  ardent  our  joy, 
Our  love  shall  endure,  though  youth's  lustre  is  stealing 

From  the  charm  of  my  life,  the  mild  star  of  my  sky, 

M.  R. 
VOL.  IX.  9. 1 


258  Tht  Steam-Boat.     No.  IT.  £June, 

THK  (TIAM-BOAT ;    OR,  THE  VOYAGES  AND  TRAVELS  OF  THOMAS  DUFFLE, 
CLOTH-MERCHANT  IN  THK  SALT-MAKKKT  OF  GLASGOW. 

No.  IV. 

Voyage  Second. 

WHEN  I  had  residented  at  home  the  space  of  four  weeks,  having  much  sola- 
cing of  mind  in  reflecting  on  the  adventures  of  my  first  voyage,  I  began  to  feel 
an  onset  to  a  new  motion  working  within  me,  which  everyday  gathered  strength, 
and  in  the  end,  came  to  a  head  in  my  going  forth  a  second  time  from  the  ob- 
scurities of  the  Salt-market,  and  the  manufacturing  smokes  and  smells  of  Glas- 
gow, to  enjoy  the  hilarity  of  the  sparkling  waters  of  the  summer  sea,  and  the 
blitheness  of  the  hills  and  of  all  living  things,  in  the  seasonable  brightness  and 
gkdness  which  was  then  shining  from  the  heavens  and  glittering  upon  the 
earth. 

I  thought  I  had  now  acquired  an  experience  in  voyaging  for  pleasure,  by 
what  I  noticed  in  my  first  ploy  of  that  kind,  so  I  told  Mrs  M'Leckit  that  I 
would  go  by  the  very  earliest  steam-boat  in  the  morning,  and  as  the  Britannia 
was  to  sail  at  six  o'clock,  she  need  not  rise  to  boil  the  kettle,  for  it  was  my  in- 
tent to  enjoy  myself  by  taking  my  breakfast  in  the  steward's  room  with  the 
other  passengers ;  indeed  I  was  chiefly  egged  on  to  da  this  by  my  neighbour 
Mr  Sweeties,  who,  upon  my  exhortation,  had,  soon  after  my  return,  taken  his 
diversion  by  a  voyage  to  Greenock  likewise,  and  partaken  of  a  most  comforta- 
ble meal  in  that  way.  But  the  progeny  of  the  schemes  of  man  are  not  in  his- 
own  hands,  and  though  I  had  got  a  degree  of  insight  as  to  the  manner  of  set- 
ting about  an  embarkation,  I  found  that  I  had  really  gone  out  with  too  much 
confidence  in  the  strength  of  my  own  knowledge. 

It  was  such  an  early  hour  that  the  steward,  not  counting  on  any  body  want- 
ing to  breakfast  till  they  would  reach  Greenock,  had  made  no  provision  of  pro- 
render  ;  so  that  when  I  went  tolhim,  as  cagy  as  a  pyet  picking  at  a  worm,  to  in- 
quire when  the  eggs  would  be  boiled,  judge  of  my  mortification  to  hear  that 
there  was  to  be  no  breakfasting  that  morning ;  which  disappointment,  with  the 
natural  vapours  of  the  river's  tide,  caused  me  to  remember  the  judicious  observe 
of  Mrs  M'Leckit,  that  there  was  a  danger  in  going  on  the  water  with  an  empty 
stomach.  However  I  had  put  some  ginge-bread  nuts  in  my  pocket,  and  by  the 
use  of  them  the  wind  was  keepit  off  my  heart,  and  I  suffered  less  from  the  ef- 
fect than  might  have  been  expected. 

But  though  this  in  its  kind  was  an  adversity  that  I  had  not  foreseen,  I  sus- 
stained  another,  which,  in  my  opinion,  in  its  season  was  far  greater.  The  major 
part  of  the  passengers  had  not  been  accustomed  to  rise  so  soon  in  the  morning,  and 
Borne  of  them  had  been  up  late  ayont  the  night — in  short,  we  were  all  oorie, 
and  scant  in  our  intercourse  towards  one  another,  so  that  for  the  greater  por- 
tion of  the  way  there  was  little  communion  practicable  among  us,  and  what  was 
could  not  be  said  to  have  that  cordiality  with  which  I  was  in  the  fain  expecta- 
tion of  meeting.  We  had  sailed  indeed  as  far  as  Blithewood's  new  house  be- 
fore any  kind  of  an  awakened  sociality  began  to  sprout,  and  I  was  beginning  to 
fear  that  an  undertaking  so  unsatisfactory  at  the  outset  would  afford  but  small 
pleasure  in  the  progress,  and  be  found  wanting  in  the  end.  However,  at  that 
point  things  took  a  turn  to  the  better,  and  I  fell  into  conversation  with  a  Yanky 
man  from  America,  that  had  been  at  Glasgow  laying  in  goods  for  his  store  in 
the  city  of  Philadelphia.  (He  was  surely  a  man  of  great  wisdom  and  experience 
in  the  world,  according  to  his  own  account,  and  from  what  he  said  of  the  Uni- 
ted States,  they  can  be  little  short  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  except  in  the  mat- 
ter of  religion,  of  which  I  could  discern,  that,  taking  him  for  a  swatch,  the 


1821.3  The  Steam-Boat.    No.  IF.  2A» 

Americans  have  but  a  scanty  sprinkling,  and  that  no  of  the  0oundest  grace. 
Indeed  anent  this  I  had  heard  something  before,  but  the  Yanky  was  a  testifica- 
tor  by  his  discourse  to  the  veracity  of  the  information. 

Our  conversation  was  for  a  time  of  that  jointless  and  purposeless  kind,  that 
is  commonly  the  beginning  of  acquaintance  ;  but  it  took  a  more  settled  course 
as  we  proceeded  onward,  and  at  last  ran  into  a  regular  stream,  like  a  river  that 
has  its  fountain-head  up  among  the  moors  and  mosses.  What  chiefly  occasion- 
ed this  sedate  currency  of  the  Yanky 's  words,  was  an  observe  of  mine  regarding 
the  beauty  of  the  prospects  that  the  hand  of  Nature  was  setting  before  us  at 
every  turn  of  the  navigation — all  which  the  American  man  slighted  as  a  com- 
modity in  its  kind  of  no  value,  saying,  that  the  views  in  his  country  were  of 
a  more  excellent  quality,  being  on  a  greater  scale ;  and  he  laughed  outright 
when  I  directed  his  attention  to  the  Mare's  Tail,  that  bonny  waterfall  near 
Finlayston  House,  which  I  should  have  mentioned  in  my  first  voyage,  had  I 
then  noticed  it.  This  drew  on  to  some  account  of  things  that  he  had  seen ;  and 
then  he  told  me,  that  he  was  well  known  throughout  "  all  the  States"  by  the 
name  of  Deucalion  of  Kentucky — a  title  which  was  bestowed  upon  him  in  con- 
sequence of  being  the  sole  survivor  of  a  town  that  was  washed  away  by  a  de- 
luge. His  description  of  this  calamity  it  behoves  me  to  give  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible in  his  own  words  ;  indeed,  as  I  have  already  said,  I  find  myself  possess- 
ed of  a  felicitous  fecundity  in  writing  down  the  recollections  of  what  I  heard, 
but  my  pen  is  afflicted  with  a  costive  impediment  when  I  try  to  eke  or  enlarge 
upon  the  same.  And  it  is  this  peculiar  gift  that  emboldens  me,  along  with  the 
strenuous  counselling  of  that  discerning  man,  Mr  Sweeties,  to  send  forth  my 
voyages  and  travels  in  this  manner  to  the  republic  of  letters, — the  only  sort  of 
republic  that  I  entertain  any  pure  respect  for,  notwithstanding  the  laudatory 
descant  of  the  Yanky  man's  on  that  of  "  the  States," 

DEUCALION  OF  KENTUCKY. 

TALE  V. 

My  grandfather  was  one  of  the  his  prospects  were  certainly  undenia- 

first  settlers  of  Kentucky.  He  was,  by  ble. 

profession,  a  miller,  and  built  a  flour-  I  think  it  is  not  possible  that  I 
mill  at  a  village  in  that  state.  It  was  shall  ever  see  again  a  place  half  so  beau- 
called  Thyatira,  after  one  of  the  ancient  tiful  as  the  unfortunate  Thyatira,  and 
towns  mentioned  in  the  Bible ;  and  he  the  valley  which  it  overlooked.  The 
and  his  neighbours,  the  founders,  ex-  valley  was  green,  the  stream  was  clear, 
peeled  it  would  become  a  great  city,  and  the  woods,  that  clothed  the  moun- 
but  not  a  vestige  of  it,  neither  of  the  tains,  were  of  the  loftiest  kind,  and 
church  nor  mill,  now  remains — yet  I  the  richest  leaf !  All  is  now  desolate, 
remember  it  all  well.  It  was  a  hand-  Sometimes  of  a  night,  as  I  came  across 
some  place,  situated  at  the  bottom  of  the  Atlantic,  I  thought  the  bell  of  the 
a  range  of  hills,  wooded  to  the  top — a  little  wooden  church,  that  stood  on  the 
fine  stream  washed  their  feet,  and  the  slope  above  the  village,  rung  in  my  ear, 
mill  stood  at  the  side  of  a  pretty  wa-  and  I  heard  the  dogs,  as  it  were,  bark 
terfall.  again,  and  the  cocks  crow ;  but  the  ship 

My  grandfather  left  his  property  would  give  a  lurch  and  turn  my  eyes 

in  a  flourishing  condition  to  my  father,  outwards  upon  the  ocean  waters  all 

who  was  an  enterprizing  character,  around  me,  as  lone  and  wild  as  the 

He  took  an  active  part  in  the  war  for  deluge  that  destroyed  my  native  val- 

the  independence,  and  when  the  peace  ley. 

was  adjusted,  he  returned  to  Thyatira,  In  the  summer,  before  the  dreadful 

where  he  enlarged  the  old  flour-mill,  yellow  fever  broke  outinPhiladelphia— 

and  constructed  another  for  sawing  the  I  was  in  that  city  at  the  time  when  the 

timber,  with  which  the  neigh  curing  fever  raged,  which  makes  me  remember 

mountains  were  covered.   Every  body  it  so  well, — my  father  was  much  trou- 

predicted  that  my  father  would  soon  be  bled  by  the  failure  of  the  stream  which 

one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  state,  and  supplied  his  mill.   The  drought  dried 


TJx  Steam-Boat,  No.  IV. 


260 

it  up,  and  hiswheek  stood  still  for  want 
of  water.  Some  of  the  old  neighbours 
had  visited  the  source  of  the  river  in 
their  youth.  It  was  a  lake  far  up 
among  the  mountains,  and  my  father, 
being  a  bold  and  en terprizing  character, 
thought,  if  he  could  enlarge  the  open- 
ing at  the  banks  of  the  lake,  where 
the  stream  issued,  he  would  obtain  an 
abundance  of  water. 

The  scheme  was  feasible,  and  he  en- 
gaged a  number  of  men  to  go  with  him 
to  the  lake  for  that  purpose.  I  was  then 
a  youth,  fond  of  any  adventure,  and  I 
accompanied  the  heroes  of  the  pick-axe 
and  shovel.  We  had  a  cheerful  jour- 
ney through  the  woods;  we  startled 
showers  of  beautiful  humming-birds ; 
they  were  like  apple-blossoms  scatter- 
ed in  the  winds ;  we  slept  at  night  in 
the  woods,  and  we  crossed  several  an- 
cient Indian  war-tracks,  which  we 
knew  by  their  inscriptions  on  the 
rocks ;  we  saw  also  in  the  forest  arti- 
ficial mounds,  on  which  trees  of  the 
oldest  growth  were  growing.  They 
were  the  works  of  inhabitants  before 
the  present  race, — perhaps  they  were 
antediluvian.  Sometimes  I  think  Ame- 
rica is  the  old  world  that  was  destroy- 
ed. But  be  that  as  it  may,  it  contains 
many  remains  of  an  antiquity  that 
philosophy  has  not  yet  explained.  The 
warfare  belts  of  the  Indians  are  hiero- 
glyphical  lectures.  The  Egyptians 
•wrote  in  that  language.  Did  they  teach 
the  Indians  ?  Not,  however,  to  dwell 
on  such  abstruse  matters,  I  shall  just 
say,  that  we  reached  on  the  second  day 
the  lake  which  supplied  the  stream.  It 
was  about  some  ten  miles  long,  and 
five  broad — a  bowl  in  the  midst  of  se- 
veral hills.  It  was  overlooked  by  the 
woods  and  mountains;  but  towards 
our  valley,  a  vast  embankment  gave  it 
the  form  of  a  dam,  over  the  middle  of 
which  the  stream  of  Thyatira  flowed. 

It  was  the  evening  when  we  reached 
the  top  of  the  embankment ;  we  took 
some  refreshment,  and  my  father  pro- 
posed that  we  should  rest  ourselves  for 
that  night ; — the  whole  business  par- 
took of  the  nature  of  a  hunting  excur- 
sion;— our  end  was  labour,  but  we 
sweetened  the  means  with  pleasure. 
Accordingly,  after  our  repast,  the  party 
severally  betook  themselves  to  the 
sports  in  which  they  most  delighted. 
I  retired  to  a  rock  that  overlooked  the 
lake,  and  seated  myself  to  view  the 
landscape,  that  in  the  lone  magnifi- 
cence of  mountain,  lake,  and  wood, 


QJune, 


was  spread  around  me.  The  spirit  of 
the  place  held  communion  with  mine, 
and  I  was  seized  with  an  awful  fore- 
boding. Tranquillity  floated  like  a 
corpse  on  the  water ;  silence  sat  in  the 
dumbness  of  death  on  the  mountains ; 
the  woods  seemed,  as  the  light  faded, 
to  take  the  form  of  hearse-plumes; 
and  as  I  looked  down  towards  my  na- 
tive village,  I  thought  of  the  valley  of 
Jehoshaphat,  and  the  dayof  judgment. 
What  curious  sense  of  the  mind,  keen- 
er than  the  eye,  and  quicker  than  the 
ear,  gave  me  in  that  evening  the  fore- 
taste of  what  was  to  happen  ? 

The  rest  of  the  party  slept  well,  but 
I  durst  not  close  my  eyes.  The  moment 
I  did  so,  the  ever  restless  faculty  of 
my  spirit  discovered  the  omens  of  what 
was  to  ensue,  and  frightened  me  awake. 
It  is  amazing  how  such  things  hap- 
pen ; — for  my  part,  I  think  the  mind 
never  sleeps,  and  that  our  dreams  are 
but  the  metaphorical  medium  of  its 
reflections,  when  the  five  physical 
senses  are  shut  up.  Dreams,  I  would 
.say,  are  but  the  metaphors  in  which 
reason  thinks.  But  the  mysteries  of 
the  kingdom  of  the  soul  are  more  dark 
and  profound  than  those  of  all  the 
other  kingdoms  of  nature ;  and  I  can- 
not expound  them. 

At  daybreak  my  father  called  us 
cheerily  to  work.  I  know  not  by  what 
impulse  I  was  actuated.  I  had  been 
educated  by  a  strange  man — a  deep 
classical  scholar,  who  had  settled  at 
Thyatira.  He  had  been  brought  up 
atOxford,  andhe  ascribed  livingpowers 
to  all  organized  existences.  The  woods 
were  to  him  endowed  with  spirits,  the 
streams  had  intelligence,  and  the  rocks 
the  memory  of  witnesses  bearing  tes- 
timony. These  fancies  came  thick  up- 
on me,  and  I  went  to  my  father,  and 
laid  my  hand  on  his  arm.  "  Forbear, 
father,"  said  I ;  "  there  may  be  some- 
thing unhallowed  in  disturbing  the  an- 
cient channel  of  these  solitary  waters." 
My  father  laughed,  and  again  struck 
his  pick-axe  into  the  mound.  It  was  a 
fatal  stroke,  for  as  he  pulled  out  the 
weapon,  the  ground  gave,  as  it  were,  a 
shudder,  and  presently  after  a  groan 
was  heard,  as  if  the  whole  mound  of 
earth  was  breaking  up. 

My  father,  by  the  stroke  of  his  pick- 
axe, had  cleft  asunder  an  incrustation 
of  sand,  that  formed,  as  it  were,  the 
bowl  of  the  lake.  The  water  rushed 
through  and  widened  the  seam  with 
great  violence.  The  mound,  which 


1821/3 


The  Steam-Boat,  No  IV. 


981 


dammed  up  the  lake,  had  been  formed 
by  a  gradual  accumulation  of  fallen 
timber.  The  water  through  the  rent 
insinuated  itself  among  the  mass ;  the 
mud  and  sand  between  the  gathered 
trunks  were  washed  away,  and  the 
mass  lost,  its  adhesion.  In  the  course 
of  a  few  minutes,  Heaven  knows  by 
what  strange  aptitude,  the  stupendous 
mound  began  to  move.  It  became  con- 
vulsed; it  roared  with  the  throes  of 
tearing  asunder;  the  waters  of  the 
lake  boiled  up  from  the  bottom ;  I  ran 
from  the  spot;  my  father  andhis  friends 
stood  aghast  and  terrified ;  birds  were 
screaming  from  the  woods  below;  I 
called  to  my  father,  and  to  all,  for 
God's  sake  to  follow  me ;  I  looked  to- 
wards the  lake — it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
its  calm  level  surface  was  taking  the 
shape  of  sloping  glass ;  I  caught  hold 
of  the  branch  of  a  tree  which  grew  on 
the  rock  where  I  had  contemplated  the 
scene  the  preceding  evening ;  I  felt  as 
it  were  the  globe  of  the  world  sliding 
from  under  my  feet;  I  exerted  my- 
self; I  reached  the  rock ;  every  thing 
was  reeling  around  me;  I  saw  the  hills 
and  woods  moving  away.  I  shut  my 
eyes  in  terror,  and,  covering  my  face 
with  my  hands,  stretched  myself  on 
the  rock,  as  if  I  lay  at  the  feet  of  the 
angel  of  destruction.  I  heard  a  sound 
louder  than  thunder ;  my  senses  were 
for  a  time  stunned.  What  in  the  mean- 
time happened  I  know  not ;  but  when 
I  had  fortitude  enough  to  look  around, 
I  found  myself  on  the  ledge  of  an  aw- 
ful precipice — a  black  and  oozy  valley, 
herbless  as  a  grave,  where  the  lake 
had  been  ;  and  for  the  mound  where  I 
had  left  my  father  and  his  labourers, 
a  horrible  chasm — devastation  hoi-rid 
as  the  roaring  deluge  was  seen  raging 
down  the  valley  towards  Thyatira. 
The  sound  lessened  as  I  looked,  and  a 
silence  succeeded,  such  as  the  raven  of 
Noah  found  upon  the  earth,  when  she 
went  forth,  ban  queuing  on  the  abo- 
lished races  of  the  old  world." 

The  Yanky  man  was  much  affected 
as  he  related  this  desolation  ;  and  in 
telling  it,  his  voice  had  a  fearful  haste 
that  hurried  on  my  fancy,  till  1  was 
almost  a  partaker  in  the  grief  and  con- 
sternation that  possessed  his  memory ; 
insomuch,  that  I  was  thankful  when 
the  vessel  reached  the  quay  of  Port- 
Glasgow,  when  I  went  on  shore  to  take 
my  breakfast  at  an  inn,  being  resolved 
to  leave  her  there,  and  to  travel  by 


myself  on  to  Greenock,  which  is  si- 
tuated about  three  miles  to  the  west- 
ward. This  determination,  as  it  pro- 
ved, was  most  judicious  on  my  part ; 
for  I  found  a  comfortable  house,  and 
great  civility  in  the  attendance,  facing 
the  shipping  in  the  harbour,  with  ex- 
cellent warm  rolls,  piping  hot  from  the 
baker's,  and  fresh  herring  that  would 
have  been  a  treat  at  any  time.  Judge 
then,  courteous  reader,  what  they  were 
to  me,  appeteesed  as  I  was  by  a  voy- 
age of  nearly  twenty  miles  without 
breaking  my  fast?  Truly  scandalous 
is  the  by-word  to  say,  "  There's  no- 
thing good  in  Port- Glasgow." 

When,  with  the  help  of  the  dainties 
at  the  inns,  I  had  pacified  the  craving 
of  nature  within  me,  I  walked  out  to 
inspect  the  curiosities  of  the  place,  and 
to  make  my  remarks  on  the  inhabit- 
ants. I  cannot,  however,  honestly  say, 
that  I  saw  a  great  deal  to  occasion  any 
thing  like  an  admiration.  The  waiter, 
to  be  sure,  as  his  wont  doubtless  is 
with  all  strangers,  directed  my  atten- 
tion to  the  steeple,  telling  me  that  it 
was  higher  than  the  Greenock  one ; 
but  we  have  so  many  handsome  stee- 
ples in  Glasgow,  it  could  not  reason- 
ably be  expected  that  this  of  "  the 
Port"  would  be  regarded  by  me  as  any 
very  extraordinary  object.  One  thing, 
however,  I  ascertained  completely  to 
my  satisfaction,  which  is,  that  the 
story  of  its  being  crackit  is  not  cor- 
rect, although,  in  the  matter  of  the 
general  edifice,  there  may  be  a  foun- 
dation for  the  report :  that  building 
being  bevelled  to  the  shape  of  the 
street,  and  erected  in  an  ajee  style, 
has  no  doubt  given  rise  to  the  misre- 
presentation. Upon  the  which  I  would 
remark,  that  we  have,  in  this  instance, 
an  example  how  careful  and  precise 
travellers  should  be  in  publishing  their 
descriptions ;  for  it  has  been  a  sore 
heart  to  the  worthy  people  of  Port- 
Glasgow  to  think  it  is  a  received  opi- 
nion in  the  great  world,  that  their 
beautiful  steeple  is  lout-shouldered, 
when,  in  fact,  it  is  only  the  town- 
house  that  is  capsided. 

When  I  had  satisfied  my  curiosity 
relative  to  all  the  particulars  concern- 
ing this  renowned  structure,  I  visited 
the  dry-dock,  a  very  useful  place  for 
maritime  purposes  of  various  sorts, 
especially  for  repairing  vessels'  bot- 
toms ;  and  then  I  went  to  investigate 
that  famous  antiquity,  the  old  Castle  ; 
and,  in  turning  back  towards  the  inns 


263 


The  Steam-Boat,  No.  IV. 


£June, 


entry ;  and  not  only  a  harbour,  but 
to  seek  my  way  to  the  Greenock  road, 
I  saw  several  of  the  inhabitants  at 
their  shop-doors,  and  some  elderly 
characters  standing  forenent  the  inns 
waiting  for  the  London  papers.  Upon 
the  whole,  they  appeared  to  be  a  hame- 
ly  race ;  and  the  town,  like  all  small 
pkces  of  little  note  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness, seemed  to  have  but  few  young 
men,  and  what  they  had  were  not  of  a 
sort  calculated  to  make  a  figure  in  de- 
scription. As  for  the  houses,  they  are 
built  in  various  styles  of  architecture, 
and  a  few  of  them  have  been  erected 
within  the  last  ten  or  twenty  years ; 
so  that  it  cannot  be  said  the  town  has 
actually  fallen  into  a  habitude  of  de- 
cay. But  I  should  conjecture  that  the 
population  cannot  be  greatly  on  the 
increase. 

By  the  time  I  had  gone  my  rounds, 
and  come  back  to  the  inns,  there  was 
a  noddy  at  the  door,  bound  for  the 
town  of  Greenock;  so  being  somewhat 
tired  with  my  itinerancy,  I  stepped 
into  it,  where  I  found  a  brave  young 
lass  going  the  same  road.  At  first  this 
gave  me  no  concern ;  but  when  the 
noddy  began  to  move,  I  remembered 
the  story  of  my  deceased  worthy  old 
neighbour  and  brother  of  the  trade, 
James  Hillan,  who  had  his  shop  at 
the  corner  of  the  Salt-market,  entering 
"  aboon  the  Cross,"  and  I  began  to 
grow,  as  it  were,  uneasy. 

TALE  VI. 

JAMES   HILLAN  AND  THE  YOUNG 
WOMAN. 

James  Hillan  was  a  very  wealthy 
man,  both  creditable,  and  well  respec- 
tit,  but  of  a  kindly  simplicity  of  man- 
ner. In  his  time  there  was  not  such 
an  orderly  fashion  in  the  art  of  shop- 
keeping  as  there  is  now-a-days ;  we 
neither  fashed  ourselves  with  prenti- 
ces, nor  with  journal  books  and  led- 
gers, but  just  had  one  in  which  we  en- 
tered all  our  counts  of  credit ;  and 
when  the  customers  that  took  on  with 
us  paid  what  they  were  owing,  we 
scrapit  out  the  debt.  In  this  fashion 
James,  aud  Mrs  Hillan,  his  wife,  keep- 
it  their  cloth  shop,  the  which  being  in 
under  the  pillars  that  were  then  round 
the  buildings  of  the  cross,  had  no  glass 
window  but  only  an  open  door,  which, 
when  James  and  the  mistress  went 
home  to  their  own  house  in  the  Stock- 
well,  at  meal-time,  was  always  locked. 

It  happened  one  evening,  that,  as 


her  wont  was,  Mrs  Hillan  Bteppit  home 
a  short  time  before  her  gudeman,  to 
have  the  tea  masket  by  the  time  he 
would  come,  and  as  James  was  setting 
bye  the  tar  tans  and  plaidings  that  stood 
at  the  door-cheek  for  a  sign  and  show, 
a  kintra  wife  drew  up  to  buy  some- 
thing; "  Come  in,  young  woman," 
said  James,  for  that  was  his  manner  of 
salutation  to  all  ages  of  the  female  sex. 
"  Come  in,"  said  he,  "  and  steek  the 
door,"  said  he,  meaning  the  half-door, 
a  convenience  which,  like  many  other 
good  old  fashions,  has  gone  down ;  and 
over  which,  in  his  shop,  I  have  often 
stood,  to  see  the  lords  coming  in,  and 
the  magistrates  drinking  the  King's 
health,  on  the  birth-day,  at  the  cross. 
So  in  came  the  customer,  but,  no  being 
acquaintit  with  the  manner  of  shop- 
doors,  as  James  was  looting  down  be- 
hind the  counter,  to  lift  up  what  she 
wanted,  she  shut  the  mickle  door  up- 
on them,  and  there  they  were,  the  two 
innocent  souls,  in  the  dark  by  them- 
selves. "  Heh !"  quoth  James,  "  but  it's 
grown  suddenly  dark — we  maun  get  a 
candle ;"  and  with  that  he  came  round 
the  counter  to  where  the  carlin  was 
standing.  "  Hey !  what's  this,  young 
woman  ?"  cried  he  ;  "  what  gart  you 
shut  the  door  ?"  and  with  that  he  flew 
till't,  with  a  panting  heart,  and  found 
the  lock-bolt  was  almost  shotten. 
"  Think  what  might  have  been  the 
consequence  if  it  had  gane  in  a'  the- 
gither,  and  me  obliged  to  cry  to  the 
neighbours,  to  let  me  and  the  young 
woman  out  of  the  dark  shop,"  said 
James,  as  he  used  to  tell  the  tale  in  his 
jocose  manner. 

So  I  thought  of  this  story  as  I  was 
nodding  away  to  Greenock,  beside  the 
Port-Glasgow  lass ;  but  by  and  by  an-  , 
other  passenger  came  in,  and  we  arri- 
ved safe  and  sound. 

I  observed  on  the  road  as  we  travel- 
led along,  that  the  young  ladies  of 
"  the  port"  were  all  going  Greenock- 
ward ;  and  no  doubt  they  had  reasons, 
well  known  to  themselves,  for  seeking 
that  direction,  dressed  out  in  their 
best ;  and  I  could  not  avoid  reflecting 
that  this  tribute  of  her  beauties  which 
Port-Glasgow  pays  to  Greenock  is  an 
absolute  acknowledgment  of  her  infe- 
riority, and  it  naturally  led  me  to  ex- 
pect what,  indeed,  I  found  in  reality, 
a  very  different  sort  of  a  town  ;  for  in 
Greenock  there  is  not  only  a  steeple, 
but  likewise  a  bottle-cone,  and  a  belk 
8 


The  Steam-Boat,  No.  IT. 


also  a  new  harbour ;  besides  the  place 
they  call  the  tail  of  the  bank,  and  that 
stately  edificial  pile,  the  Custom- 
house, with  diverse  churches,  schools, 
and  places  of  worship ;  a  Tontine  Inn, 
a  Play-house,  and  Assembly  Rooms, 
built  at  a  great  cost  of  thousands  of 
pounds,  for  the  purpose  of  having  a 
dance,  maybe  thrice  a-year.  I'll  cer- 
tainly no  go  the  length  of  the  Port- 
Glasgow  man  that  came  in  upon  us  on 
the  road,  and  say  that  the  toom  house 
foment  the  Tontine  is  a  monument  of 
the  upsetting  vanity  of  the  Greenock 
folk.  But  it's  surely  a  type  of  the  en- 
terprizing  spirit  of  the  place ;  for  it 
should  be  allowed  that  they  must  have 
had  great  notions  of  things,  and  a 
strong  sense  of  prosperity,  to  project 
and  bring  to  a  completion  such  un- 
dertakings. But  there  was  an  ettling 
beyond  discretion  perhaps  in  this ;  for 
a  town  like  Greenock  is  overly  near  to 
our  great  city  ever  to  have  a  genteel 
independency  in  its  own  community 
to  maintain  such  establishments  with 
a  suitable  bravery.  And  so  it  has,  as  I 
was  informed,  kythed ;  for  the  Assem- 
bly-room buildings  are  in  a  manner 
deserted  in  their  purposes ;  insomuch, 
that  some  folks  are  of  an  opinion  that 
they  might  be  put  to  a  worse  use  than 
by  being  converted  into  a  kirk,  as  the 
profane  circus  in  our  town  was  trans- 
mogrified into  a  tabernacle  of  prayer. 
From  what  I  could  pick  out  of  my 
companions  in  the  noddy,  its  a  serious 
object  with  the  Port-Glasgow  folk  to 
rival  Greenock ;  but  the  Greenock  peo- 
ple, like  the  cow  in  the  meadow,  re- 
gardless of  the  puddock,  chew  the  cud 
of  their  own  self-satisfaction  in  great 
complacency.  It  would,  however,  be 
toocritical  forthe  nature  of  my  writings 
to  particularise  all  the  manifold  merits 
and  instances  of  public  spirit  among 
the  feuers,  sub-feuers,  and  inhabi- 
tants of  Greenock.  They  have  got,  I 
believe,  something  of  every  kind  of  in- 
stitution among  them,  except  a  luna- 
tic asylum ;  and  they  are  lied  upon  if 
they  have  not  some  things  that  they 
stand  less  in  need  of;  for  it  was  a  wise 
Baying  that  I  have  heard  said  of  a  daft 
laddie,  belonging  to  Glasgow,  when  he 
was  asked  what  took  him  so  often  to 
Greenock, — "  Its  a  fine  place,"  quo' 
Jemmy,  ' <  for  a'  the  folk  there  are  just 
like  mysel." 


But  no  to  dwell  at  o'er  great  a  length 
on  the  ettling  of  the  Greenockians,  111 
just  mention  a  thing  that  was  told  to 
me  by  a  very  creditable  person  that 
was  no  Port-Glasgow  man. — After  the 
Edinburgh  Musical  Festival,  nothing 
less  would  serve  the  aspiring  people  of 
Greenock  than  an  oratorio,  for  which 
purpose  they  made  a  wonderful  collec- 
tion of  precenters,  melodious  weavers, 
and  tuneful  cordwainers,  together  with 
sackbuts  and  psalteries,  and  various 
other  sorts  of  musical  implements  of 
sound ;  and  that  nothing  fitting  might 
be  wanting,  as  to  place,  they  borrowed 
the  oldest  kirk  in  the  town  ;  the  cold 
in  which  prevented  some  of  the  flute- 
players,  it  is  thought,  from  properly 
crooking  their  mouths,  while  the  damp 
made  the  fiddle-strings  as  soft  as  pud- 
ding skins ;  so  that  when  the  work  be- 
gan, there  was  nothing  but  din  for 
music,  and  for  quavers  a  chattering  of 
teeth.  The  outcry  was  so  dreadful  in 
the  chorus  of  "hallelujah,"  that  it 
might  be  well  called  a  halleboloo ;  and 
there  was  a  suspicion  that  the  whole 
affair  was  a  device  of  some  paukie 
young  doctors,  who  at  the  time  were 
scant  of  practice,  and  thought  the  cold 
damp  kirk  might  help  them. 

When  I  had  seen  the  outlines  and  sel- 
vages of  Greenock,  and  made  my  own 
remarks  on  the  spruce  clerks,  and  no- 
ticed a  surprising  apparition  of  beauti- 
ful Misses,  I  went  to  see  my  worthy 
friend  and  customer  Mr  Tartan,  who, 
after  some  discourse  anent  the  cause  of 
the  late  falling  off  in  the  demand  for 
superfines  among  his  correspondents  in 
the  Highlands,  invited  me  to  take  my 
dinner  with  him  at  his  own  house, 
where  I  met  with  several  gentlemen  of 
a  powerful  sagacity,  in  all  manner  of 
affairs.  But  what  took  place  is  matter 
that  must  be  reserved  to  grace  and  re- 
plenish another  chapter.  Let  it  suffice 
for  the  present,  that  it  was  really  a 
wonder  to  hear  how  they  riddled  the 
merits  of  things,  proving  one  another's 
opinions  all  chaff  and  stour,  a  contro- 
versical  spirit  begotten,  as  Mr  Tartan 
told  me,  out  of  the  town  politics,  every 
body,  feuers,  sub-feuers,  and  inhabi- 
tants in  general,  having  all  a  share  and 
handling  in  the  concerns  of  their  body 
politic.— -But  more  anent  this  by  and 
by. 


204  Bacchus,  or  the  Pirates.  £June, 

BACCHUS,  OB  THE  PIRATES. 

DEAR  CHRISTOPHER, 

I  send  you  a  short  Homeric  hymn,  translated  into  that  lyric  metre  of  which 
Sir  Walter  Scott  is  the  mighty  master.  How  I  have  succeeded,  must  of  course 
be  left  to  others  to  determine  ;  but  I  may  say,  that  I  am  decidedly  of  opinion 
that  the  measure  might  be  advantageously  employed  in  rendering  several  pas- 
sages in  the  romantic  parts  of  the  classical  poets.  There  are  a  great  many  por- 
tions of  Homer  particularly,  which  are  peculiarly  fit  for  it.  And  every  reader 
of  taste  must  recollect  with  what  grace  and  spirit  two  of  the  finest  odes  of  Pin- 
dar have  been  translated  into  this  metre  by  a  Quarterly  Reviewer,  a  few  years 
ago. 

Lord  Byron,  in  his  dedication  of  the  Corsair,  justly  observes,  that  no  one 
has  been  able  to  manage  with  perfect  success,  the  dangerous  facility  of  the 
octosyllabic  verse,  but  the  Ariosto  of  the  North.     I  agree  with  his  lordship 
altogether  ;  even  in  his  own  hands,  or  those  of  Moore,  it  is  by  no  means 
equally  well  managed.  Coleridge  could  give  it  its  fullest  and  most  bewitching 
melody  ;  but  I  fear  that  we  call  on  him  in  vain,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it.    Many 
poets  of  most  respectable  powers  have  failed  completely,  which  I  mention  to 
excuse  myself,  if  I  be  judged  to  have  followed  their  example. 
If  you  wish.  I  shall  send  you  a  few  more  specimens. 
I  am, 

DEAR  CHRISTOPHER, 

Your's  sincerely, 

R.F.  P. 
Dublin,  May  24,  1821. 


£We  have  a  misty  sort  of  recollection  of  a  translation  of  this  poem,  by  Mr 
L.  Hunt,  whereof  the  two  first  lines  only  have  remained  in  our  memory. 
They  are  as  follows  : 

Of  Bacchus  let  me  tell  a  sparkling  story— 
'Twas  by  the  sea-side  on  a  promon  —  tory. 

But  the  rest  of  the  translation,  and  how  he  cockneyized  at  the  expence  of  Ho- 
mer, is  it  not  to  be  found  in  the  shops  of  the  trunk-makers  ? 

_  C. 

Homer,  Hymn  5th. 


I  SHALL  now  a  tale  relate, 

ftf  Bacchus,  son  of  Semele  ; 
How  upon  a  cliff  he  sate, 

Wash'd  by  the  ever  barren  sea. 
A  youth,  scarce  passing  from  the  years 
Of  boyhood,  the  gay  God  appears. 
Dark  waved  the  tresses  of  his  head, 
And  round  his  beauteous  form  was  spread 

A  mantle  dipt  in  Tyrian  dye. 
When  swift  across  the  azure  deep 
A  crew  of  Tuscan  pirates  sweep, 

Driven  on  by  evil  destiny. 
.  Who,  when  they  see  the  youth  divine, 
With  many  a  secret  nod  and  sign, 
To  seize  him  as  a  prey  combine. 


Bacchus,  or  the  Pirates.  265 

Instant  they  spring  upon  the  land, 
And  grasp  the  God  with  felon  hand ; 
Then  with  their  captive,  glad  at  heart, 
Quick  to  their  galley  they  depart. 
The  crew  were  joyous,  for  they  thought 
That  they  a  gallant  prize  had  brought, — 

Deeming  him,  from  his  regal  air, 
The  offspring  of  a  high-born  King • 

And  soon,  with  cruel  hands,  they  dare 
Round  him  the  rigorous  bands  to  fling. 

They  bound  him,  but  the  hope  was  vain 
To  hold  the  God  in  servile  chain ; 
The  flexile  withs,  *  which  they  had  twined 
Round  hand  and  foot,  self-loosed  unbind. 
Unshackled  sat  the  youth — a  smile 
Play'd  in  his  dark  blue  eye  the  while. 
The  pilot  mark'd  it ;  at  the  view 
Awestruck,  he  thus  address'd  the  crew : 
— "  O  friends,  unhappy  friends,  I  fear 

That  you  have  seized  a  powerful  Godx; 

Wo  to  our  vessel,  if  it  bear 
Such  captive  o'er  the  watry  road. 

King  Jupiter  he  seems  to  be, 
Or  Phoebus  of  the  silver  bow, 

Or  Neptune,  monarch  of  the  sea, 
And  not  a  son  of  earth  below. 
Even  from  his  form  'tis  plain  he  comes 
From  high  Olympus'  heavenly  domes. 
Haste  then,  companions,  and  restore 
The  immortal  stranger  to  the  shore, 

Nor  farther  efforts  make 
To  hold  him  prisoner,  lest  his  wrath 
Should  with  fierce  storms  pursue  our  path, 

Or  bid  the  whirlwind  wake." 
"  Fool !"  the  indignant  captain  cried, 
"  Fair  blows  the  wind  along  the  tide  ; 
Then  spread  the  sail,  arrange  the  yard : 
That  is  thy  duty,  ours  to  guard 

The  captive  we  have  ta'en. 
He  goes  with  us ;  whether  we  wend 
To  Egypt,  or  to  Cyprus  bend; 

Or  farther  o'er  the  main, 
Reach  the  cold  regions  of  the  North. 

At  last  he  will  disclose  his  kin, 
And  rank,  and  riches ;  by  his  worth 

We  then  shall  know  what  price  he'll  win. 
Steer  onward  fearlessly ;  for  Heaven 
His  fate  into  our  hands  has  given." 

He  spoke — the  mast  was  raised — the  sail 
Spread  bellying  to  the  prosperous  gale. 
They  went — but  wonders  strange  and  new 
Ere  long  arose  before  their  view. 
First  round  the  sable  vessel's  side 

Gush'd  bubbling  forth  a  flood  of  wine, 
Exhaling  from  its  balmy  tide 

Ambrosial  perfume,  scent  divine. 

*  An  expressive  word,  as  it  seems  to  me,  but  I  fear  almost  obsolete*.  It  is  used  by 
the  translators  of  the  Bible.  "  And  Samson  said  unto  her,  if  they  bind  me  with  seven 
green  wM.-,  that  were  never  dried,"  &c.  Judges  xvi.  7-  and  again,  verses  8,  9. 

VOL.  IX.  «  K 


^66  Bacchus,  or  the  Pirates  £June, 

With  awe  th'  affrighted  rovers  stood, 
Gazing  upon  the  magic  flood. 
Then  round  the  sail,  high  over  head 
A  vine  its  wandering  tendrils  spread 

Deep  hung  with  clustering  fruit ; 
Its  clasping  arms  about  the  mast 
An  ivy  gemm'd  with  berries  cast 

With  many  a  flowery  shoot ; 
And  every  rower's  bench  around 
Was  with  a  festal  chaplet  crown'd. 
"  Haste,  haste,  Mededes,  gain  the  shore," 

Loud  on  the  pilot  was  their  cry. 
Vain  prayer — that  refuge  they  no  more 

Are  destined  to  espy. 

Changed  was  his  form — and  lo  !  the  Gotl 
In  lion  shape  the  deck  bestrode, 
With  hideous  roaring ;  and  a  bear  * 
Furr'd  in  a  rugged  coat  of  hair 

He  raised  by  wonderous  sorcery 
In  the  mid- vessel :  where,  oh  !  where 

Shall  the  sad  pirates  flee  ? 
The  bear  sprung  up — the  lion  dread 
Glared  awful  from  the  vessel's  head, 
They,  terror-smitten,  turn'd  and  fled, 
And  round  the  unfearing  pilot  throng — 
Unfearing,  for  he  did  no  wrong. 
On  rush'd  the  God  in  furious  mood, 

And  seized  the  chieftain  of  the  band  ; 
The  rest,  when  his  dire  fate  they  viewed, 
Plunged — headlong  plunged,  into  the  flood, 

And  swam  to  gain  the  land. 
In  vain  ;  the  God's  resistless  force 
Changed  them  to  dolphins  in  their  course. 
But  the  just  pilot  he  did  bless 
With  life,  and  flowing  happiness. 
"  Thou  need'st.  not  fear ;  thy  worth,"  he  said, 
"  A  mighty  friend  in  me  has  made  ; 
For  I  am  Bacchus,  son  of  Jove, 

And  Semele,  his  Theban  love." 
Hail,  son  of  bright-eyed  Semele ;  thy  praise 
Shall  still  be  sung  by  me  in  tuneful  lays. 

*  I  think  this  bear  is  rather  a  superfluous  monster  ;  but  a  translator  must  go  through 
thick  and  thin  with  his  author.  I  suspect  the  passage  is  interpolated,  and  recommend 
the  next  editor  of  the  Homeric  hymns,  to  consider  the  propriety  of  striking  out  the  lines 
marked  below  in  brackets. 

li   44.     — o  yi^a.  e-<f>i  XEOOV  yiwr  IvJofli  Wiof, 

Aetvoj  STT'  dxforaTWj,  [y.iya.  J'lffap^sv  'svJ'aja  /t*i<ro->), 
"AfJtTov  !w4t««-fy  Xaa-(aup£Evct,  o-ti/xara  <J>aiva>y* 
Ay  J'  ESTIH  [Atfittuia.'  Xiwv  J'lwt  {riX|W.aTO{  axgjf, 
Aeivov  £nr«?£tt  iJusr]  ol  J'si'f  Tr^fytviiv  e<f><j£>j9Ey,  *.  T.  X. 

There  could  be  many  objections  made  against  the  enclosed  lines,  which  I  leave  to  my 
learned  readers  (if  I  have  any)  to  discover,  only  remarking  that  the  47th  and  48th  lines 
merely  repeat  the  44th  and  4oth.  If  there  were  MS.  authority  of  any  kind,  I  should 
not  hesitate  to  strike  out  what  I  have  marked. 


1S21.J  Letter  from  Cliristophe,  King  of'Hayti.  2«7 

CHRISTOrilE,  KING  OF  HAYTI. 

"  Sal  quid 
Turla  Remi  ?*'  "  Scquitur  fortiinam,  ut  sonifcr." 

Juv. 

SINCE  the  fall  of  Christophe,  King  of  Hayti,  it  has  been  the  fashion,  (after  the 
established  custom,)  to  rail  at  him  as  a  compound  of  all  bad  qualities ;  with  a 

'        <  >  Nunquam,  si  quid  mild  credis,  amuvi 
JIunc  Itojmnnu  ; 
Hie  Niger  est,  &c.  &c. 

Yet  evidences  can  be  adduced  in  his  behalf,  which  may  fairly  be  allowed  to 
negative  anonymous  or  gratuitous  accusations. 

If  external  testimony  is  to  be  relied  upon,  let  Colonel  Malenfant's  account 
of  Le  Clerc's  execrable  expedition  to  St  Domingo,  in  which  that  officer,  (an 
old  proprietor  in  the  island)  bore  a  part,  be  consulted  on  the  subject.  Ejected 
from  his  plantations,  and  opposed  in  arms  to  the  blacks,  by  whom  he  had  been 
dispossessed,  he  assuredly  was  not  likely  to  'be  influenced  by  any  prejudices  in 
their  favour.  But  a  still  more  correct  estimate  may,  perhaps,  be  formed  from 
the  subjoined  letter,  addressed  by  Christoplie  himself  to  a  distinguished  British 
senator,  from  whom  I  received  it,  coupled  with  the  irresistible  inference,  that, 
"  if  it's  writer  deserved  the  name  of  '  tyrant/  then  was  that  name  compatible 
with  the  most  earnest  desire  in  a  sovereign  to  promote  the  improvement  and 
happiness  of  his  people."  That  he  had  deep  feelings,  burnt  in  probably  by  the 
ardours  of  a  tropical  sun,  and  inflamed  by  long  suppression,  is  proved  by  his 
last  act  of  guilty  desperation.  With  a  temperament  so  irritable,  and  in  a  situ- 
ation so  critical,  we  may  admit  him  to  have  been  a  truly  great  man,  and  yet 
contemplate  without  surprise  the  issue  of  his  regal  career.  Possibly,  from  his 
very  earnestness  to  advance  the  public  welfare,  he  might  urge  forward  his 
whole  system  of  improvements,  political  and  moral,  too  impetuously  for  the 
rough  and  unhinged  condition  of  his  new  subjects.  We  know  with  what  dif- 
ficulty enterprises  of  the  utmost  "  pith  and  moment,"  whether  considered  in 
the  light  of  interest  or  in  that  of  duty,  (e.  g.  the  abolition  of  the  slave  trade,) 
are  accomplished,  even  in  more  civilized  and  Christian  realms.  The  immense 
army  likewise,  which  he  was  compelled  to  maintain,  with  perhaps  needful,  but 
highly  unpopular  strictness  of  discipline,  for  the  purpose  of  resisting  the  inva- 
sion menaced  by  France,  and  the  heavy  expenditure  invariably  accompanying 
great  military  establishments,  would  cause  the  yoke  of  government  to  press 
xmeasily  on  their  shoulders.  But  that  he  was  not  constitutionally  brutal,  or 
habitually  prodigal,  the  letter  itself  will  abundantly  testify.  It  proves  that  the 
king  of  Hayti,  if  he  could  not  write  like  an  European,  certainly  did  not  dictate 
like  a  savage. 

His  plan  of  providing  schoolmasters,  furnished  with  all  the  modern  compen- 
dia of  English  education,  of  weaning  the  entire  population,  by  a  rapid  transi- 
tion from  the  language  and  the  religion  of  France,  in  order  to  link  its  interests 
indissolubly  with  those  of  Great  Britain — however  it  may  be  pronounced  by 
some,  a  project  rather  hardy  than  hopeful — should  secure  to  him,  (if  it  were 
but  out  of  gratitude)  an  indulgent  censure  from  English  judgments.  That  he 
had  not  overrated  the  capacities  of  his  countrymen,  appears  from  the  testimo- 
ny of  some  of  the  teachers  employed.  One  of  these  in  particular,  after  a  resi- 
dence of  three  or  four  months,  reported  to  his  English  patron  the  unexampled 
zeal  with  which  the  youth  applied  themselves  to  their  literary  labours;  and 
added,  that  "  their  success  surpassed  all  his  former  experience." 

If  we  would  seek  more  specific  causes  of  his  unpopularity,  it  may  be  conce- 


268  Letter  from  Christophe,  King  of  Hayli.  QJune, 

ded  perhaps,  that  he  carried  the  precision  and  promptitude  of  the  soldier  too 
strenuously  into  every  branch  of  his  civil  authority,  and  that  he  was  also,  pro- 
bably, with  reference  to  existing  circumstances,  too  sternly  just.  But  it  ought 
to  be  recollected,  in  his  vindication,  that  only  by  the  compression  of  military 
discipline  could  he  reasonably  expect  to  keep  within  bounds  the  passions  of  his 
self-enfranchised  and  impetuous  community ;  and  it  is  not  in  embryo  legisla- 
tors that  we  can  hope  to  find  the  delicate  apportioning  of  clemency  and  equity, 
which  prevent  the  summum  jus  from  becoming  the  summa  injuria. 

By  some  it  has  been  asserted,  that  '  he  did  not  pay  his  forces ;'  while  others 
affirm,  that  '  he  had  punished,  or  threatened  to  punish,  an  officer  to  whom  the 
troops  were  devotedly  attached.'  But  it  seems  more  likely,  that  they  had  pro- 
mised themselves  a  latitude  of  indulgence,  after  their  emancipation,  inconsist- 
ent with  all  civil  government :  while  he,  not  improbably  with  the  best  of  mo- 
tives, erred  on  the  side  of  rigid  restraint.  They  had  already  tasted  the  danger- 
ous sweets  of  insubordination  ;  and  all  the  rest  followed  of  course. 

What  has  since  taken  place  in  that  ill-fated  country,  affords  but  too  strong  a 
confirmation  of  the  necessity  of  an  efficient  and  well-ordered  police.  Through- 
out Hayti,  all  is  at  present  instability  and  anarchy.  Even  the  Cape  has  been 
attacked  by  parties  of  the  disbanded  soldiery.  The  marriages,  to  the  sanctity 
of  which  Christophe  had  contributed  every  security  in  ^his  power,  are  almost 
universally  dissolved ;  and  the  institutions  of  education  are  wholly  at  an  end. 
In  a  word,  every  thing  seems  rapidly  hurrying  into  utter  and  irremediable  con- 
fusion. 

But  your  readers  will  begin  to  be  impatient  for  the  letter. 

F.  W. 

Au  Palais  de  Sans  Soucy  ISme.  "  *  •  *  1816,  tan  13  de  I' Indepcndance. 

HENRY 
Par  la  grace  de  Dieu  et  la  Loi  Constitutionelle  de  1'Etat  Roi  d'  Ha'ity,  &c,,  &c., 

a*******,  ESQ. 
Membre  du  Parlement  Britannique,  &c.  &c. 

Mon  Ami,  en  aucune  maniere  d'aucune  affaire  po- 

Je  me  sers  de  1'occasion  de  M.  Chal-  litique  quelconque  de  ma  part,  soit  ver- 

mers,  homme  simple  et  sur,  que  j'ai  balement  ou  par  ecrit;  s'il  n'e'toit  pas 

employe  a  mon  service  dans  sa  profes-  seulement  porteur  des  de'peches  pour 

sion,  pendant  le  sejour  qu'il  a  fait  a  vous  et  mes  amis,  et  que  puisqu'il  n'e- 

Ha'ity,  pour  vous  addresser  ma  reponse  tait  revetu  d'  aucune  qualite  officiclle, 

a  vos  trois  lettres  privees  et  confiden-  comment  avait-il  pu  se  permettre  de 

tielles  sous  les  dattes  des  14  et  20  Aout  faire  mettre  en  tete  du  livre  des  pieces 

dernier.  Je  1'ai  charge  de  vous  remet-  du  gouvernement  Ha'iticn,  qu'il  a  fait 

tre  ma  lettre  en  main  propre,  et  com-  imprimer,  ces  mots — Par  Autoritc,  et 

me  il  compte  incessamment  revenir  a  de  s'arroger  le  titre  d'agent  du  gouver- 

Hai'ty,  il  pourra  m'apporter  celles  que  nement  Hai'tien  ?    Comment  avait-il 

vous  auriez  a  m'ecrire.  pu  se  permettre  de  prendre  et  de  sti- 

J'ai  deplore  la  maniere  dont  le  Sieur  puler  des  engagemens  avec  ces  profes- 

Prince  Sanders  s'est  conduit  en  An-  seurs  ?  si  ce  n'  etait  pas  vous  seul  que 

gleterre,  et  les  sujets  de  chagrin  qu'il  ce  soin  regardait  ?  car  j'ai  vu  dans  les 

vous  a  donne"s  ;  car  quoique  par  deli-  marches,  que  c'est  lui  qui  a  contracte' 

catesse  vous  ne  vous  soyez  pas  plaint,  les  engagemens  qui  ont  ete'  pris,  et  que 

je  suis  ne'anmoins  instruit  de  la  ma-  pour  attenuer  les  pretensions  qui  ont 

mere  legbre,[inconsequente,  vaniteuse,  ete  faites,  vous  lesavez  sagement laisses 

avec  laquelle  il  s'est  comporte  en  An-  a  ma  ratification.     Enfin  je  lui  ai  de- 

gleterre ;  aussi  a  son  arrive'e,  en  pre'-  mande  comment  avait-il  pu  promettre 

sence  de  M.  Murray  et  des  autres  pro-  a  Tine  infinite  des  personnes  de  venir 

fesseurs  qui  sont  venus,  je  lui  ai  te-  a  Haity,  ou  ellcs  auroient  ete  em- 

moigne'  mon  me'contentement ;  et  1'ai  ploy ees  par  le  gouvernement  sans  s'em- 

sorame  de  declarer,  s'ilavoitet^  charge  barasser  si  elles  peuvent  ou  non  nous 


Letter  from  Christophe,  King  of  Ilaytl. 


etre  de  quelque  utilite;  comme  s'il 
e"tait  capable  de  juger  de  leurs  talens, 
et  s'il  pouvait  connaitre  leurs  moeurs 
et  leurs  moralites.  C'est  vous  seul,  que 
j'avais  charge',  etque  je  charge  encore, 
du  soin  de  me  procurer  des  maitres  et 
professeurs,  parceque  je  suis  persuade 
d'avance,  qu'avant  de  me  les  addresser, 
vous  vous  serez  assure  de  leurs  talens, 
de  leurs  mceurs,  et  de  leurs  moralites. 
C'est  ainsi  qu'au  lieu  d'un  jardinier, 
que  j'avais  precedemment  temoigne  le 
desir  d'avoir  a  Boston,  Sanders  a  fait 
venir  inutilement  M.  Wetherley  dont 
nous  n'avons  pas  besoin,  et  que  j e  n'avais 
pas  demande,  parce  qu'il  ne  peut  nous 
etre  d'aucune  utilite  pour  le  moment, 
et  dont  je  fais  payer  Taller  et  le  retour. 

Vous  devez  penser,  mon  ami,  qu'il 
aurait  fallu  que  je  fusse  depourvu  de 
bon  sens  pour  envoyer  un  homme 
comme  Sanders,  qui  n'a  pas  les  moyens 
ni  la  capacite  requise  pour  suivre  au- 
cune  affaire  politique :  Je  sais  que  le 
terns  n'est  pas  encore  venu  ou  je  pour- 
rai  faire  cette  demarche,  telle  neces- 
saire  qu'elle  serait  d'ailleurs  pour  moi : 
ce  serait  compromettre  et  avilir  1'au- 
torite  que  d'envoyer  un  agent  sans 
etre  assure  s'il  serait  ref  u  en  cette  qua- 
lite,  et  quele  gouvernement  auquel  je 
1'aurai  addresse  m'en  enverrait  un  de 
sou  cote.  Je  laisse  a  la  sagesse  et  a  la 
discretion  de  mes  amis  a  applanir  les 
difficultes,  et  a  m'instruire  lorsque  je 
pourrai  faire  honorablemeut  cette  de- 
marche. 

Je  veux  croire  que  Sanders  n'a  pas 
agi  par  mechancete  ;  mais  il  n'etait,  il 
ne  pourrai t  pas  se  regarder  autrement 
que  comme  porteur  des  paquets  pour 
vous  et  nos  amis.  Vous  pouvez  etre 
tranquille  sur  son  compte,  il  ne  re- 
tournera  pas  en  Angleterre.  Je  1'ai 
employe  ici  avec  Mr  Gulliver. 

Je  vois  avec  plaisir,  mon  ami,  la 
maniere  franche,  amicale  que  vous 
agissez  dans  nos  communications. 
J'agirai  comme  vous  sans  reserve  ;  et 
vous  verrez  que  je  suis  digne  d'enten- 
dre  et  de  connaitre  la  ve'rite.  Vous 
pouvez  vous  reposer  sur  la  discre'tion 
de  mes  secretaires  pour  toutes  les  com- 
munications et  les  ouvertures  que  vous 
auriez  a  me  faire.  Lorsque  vous  au- 
rez  quelque  chose  d'important  et  de 
confidentiel  a  me  faire  part,  vous  pou- 
vez charger  une  person  ne  devouoe  de 
votre  depeche,  et  me  1'ad dresser  direc- 
tement.  Je  ferai  solder  religieusement 
les  frais  que  ces  depenses  auront  cau- 
ses. Sanders  vous  a  dit  avec  raison, 
que  j'entends  parfaitement  1' Anglais  : 


269 

c'est  dans  cette  langue  que  je  desire 
que  vous  continuiez  toujours  a  corre- 
spondre  avec  moi. 

J'ai  dans  ma  possession  les  lettres 
crimineuses  de  Peltier :  Je  ne  vous 
marquerai  pas  toutes  les  epithetes 
aboniinables  qu'il  vous  prodigue,  ainsi 
qu'anosamis ;  et  toutes  les  insinuations 
perfides,  qu'il  m'a  faites  contre  vous 
et  nos  amis.  Tant  de  mechancetcs 
m'ont  inspire'  la  plus  grande  horreur 
contre  lui :  Voila  ce  qui  fait,  que  je  ne 
veux  plus  avoir  aucune  correspond- 
ance,  et  que  j'ai  rompu  totalement 
avec  un  homme  aussi  pervers.  Vous 
pensez  bien  que  de  semblables  atro- 
cites,  loin  de  faire  sur  mon  esprit  au- 
cune impression  defuvorable  contre  nos 
amis,  ne  font  au  contraire  que  redou- 
bler  1'estime  et  la  consideration  que  je 
leur  porte :  car  il  est  toujours  hono- 
rable d'etre  en  but  a  la  haine  et  a  la 
calomnie  des  mechans.  Us  ne  in' 
epargnent  pas  plus  que  vous.  Je  vous 
en  parle  par  experience ;  car  je  me 
trouve  souvent  dans  le  meme  caa. 
Neanmoins  je  ressens  la  plus  vive  af- 
fliction, et  jepartage  bien  sincerement 
vos  peines,  lorsque  je  vois  les  desagre- 
mens  que  vous  eprouvez  pour  avoir 
embrasse  et  defendu  la  plus  grande  et 
la  plus  juste  des  causes. 

Je  goute  parfaitement,  mon  ami, 
vos  idees  lumineuscs  sur  les  grands 
principes  du  governement  que  vous 
m'exposez :  Je  suis  persuade  de  leur 
efficacite  pour  le  bonheur  de  mes  con- 
citoyens ;  pour  mon  propro  bonheur, 
puisqu'il  ne  se  compose  que  de  ceiui 
de  mes  concitoyens.  Mon  application 
constante  sera  de  les  employer.  Je 
ferai  tout  ce  qui  sera  en  mon  pouvoir 
pour  justifier  la  haute  opinion  que  mes 
amis,  et  vous  en  particulier,  avez  con- 
cu  de  moi.  Je  suis  penetre,  mon  cher 
W  *  *,  des  sentimens  genereux  et 
philanthropiques  que  vous  m'expri- 
mez ;  et  je  serais  indigne  de  1'amitie 
pure  que  vous  m'avez  vouee,  si  je  ne 
faisais  tous  mes  efforts  pour  la  meriter, 
en  suivant  les  sages  conseils  que  vous 
me  donnez. 

Vous  voyez  avec  quelle  sollicitude 
je  m'empresse  a  donner  le  bienfait  de 
1' education  a  mes  concitoyens.  La  nou- 
velle  methode  me  parait  la  plus  sub- 
lime qu'on  puisse  employer  pour  pre- 
parer  les  etudes.  Je  suis  emerveille  des 
effets  de  cette excellente  methode:  tous 
mts  soins  seront  de  1'etendre,  et  de  lui 
donner  a  Hai'ty  toute  1'extension  et 
1'encouragement  possibles. 

O'est  bien  aussi  mon  intention  de 


270 

fairc  delivrer  des  prix  aux  eleves,  qui 
se  seront  distingues :  chaque  ecole  ou 
college  aura  epoque  fixee  pour  la  dis- 
tribution des  prix,  comtnecellede  1'In- 
dcpendance,  de  ma  Fete,  celle  de  la 
Heine,  de  mes  enfans,  et  celle  des  au- 
tres  jours  im'morables  de  notre  revolu- 
tion. 

Je  me  suis  efforce,  autant  qu'il  m'a 
cte  possible,  de  faire  inculquer  lesprin- 
cipes  de  religion  et  de  morale  parmi 
mes  concitoyens  ;  mais,  mon  ami,  son- 
gez  combien  un  peuple  nouvelkment 
sorti  des  tenebres  de  1'ignorance  et  de 
1'esclavage,  qui  a  eprouve  25  ans  de  se- 
cousses  et  de  revolutions,  a  besoin  en- 
core de  terns,  de  soins,  etd'effbrts,  pour 
parvenir  a  e'tendrelesprincipesreligeux 
et  moraux  dans  toutes  les  classes  de  la 
societe.  L'objet  de  ma  sollicitude  est 
done  de  les  etendre  encore  davantage ; 
mais  non  pas  les  principes  de  cette  re- 
ligion defiguree  par  la  fanatisme  et  la 
superstition,  mais  cette  religion  que 
vous  professez,  pleine  de  1'essence  et  de 
rimmanite  de  son  divin  auteur.  II  y  a 
longtems  que  je  desire  la  voir  etablie  a 
Hai'ty. 

Par  la  consideration  et  le  respect 
«lont  j'ai  entoure  les  liens  du  Mariage, 
je  n'ai  qu'a  me  louer  de  rempressement 
de  mes  concitoyens  a  les  former,  et  des 
heureux  resultats  qu'ils  ont  pour  la 
morale. 

La  Tolerance  est  etablie  a  Hai'ty.  Je 
permets  a  chacun  la  liberte  de  servir 
laDivinite  a  sa  maniere.  J'etendrai,  s'il 
est  necessaire,  les  efFets  de  cette  tole- 
rance, en  lui  donnant  la  plus  grande 
latitude.  Je  suis  penetre,  et  je  sens  la 
necessite  de  changer  ce  que  les  manieres 
et  leshabitudes  de  mes  concitoyens  peu- 
vent  encore  conserver  de  semblubles  a 
celle  des  Francais,  et  de  les  modeller 
sur  les  manieres  et  les  habitudes  An- 
glaises.  La  culture  de  la  litterature 
Anglaise  dans  nos  ecoles,  dans  nos  col- 
leges, fera  predominer  enfin,  je  1'espere, 
la  langue  Anglaise  sur  la  Francaise : 
cc'st  le  seul  inoyeu  de  conserver  notre 
independance,  que  de  n'avoir  absolu- 
ment  rien  de  commun  avec  une  nation 
dont  nous  avons  tant  anous  plaindre,et 
dont  les  projets  ne  tendent  qu'a  notre 
destruction.  II  y  a  long  teius  que  je  de- 
sire que  la  langue  Anglaise  soit  la  lan- 
guenationale  de  mon  pays.  J'en  ai  tou- 
jours  parle  a  mes  concitoyens  :  Je  leur 
ai  toujours  fait  sentir  la  necessite  de 
n'avoirabsolumentrien  de  commun  avec 
la  nation  Francaise,  d'embrasser  la 
rc'ligion  Anglicane  comnie  la  plus  su- 
blime, ctant  celle  ou  Ton  trouve  gene- 
ralement  le  clcrge'  le  plus  vertueux,  le 


Letter  from  Ckristcjihc  King  of  Hayti. 


plus  honnete  et  le  plus  e'clarre' ;  bien 
different  en  cela  du  clerge  Catholique 
Komain,dont  la  dissolution  desmocurs 
est  connue,  1'Apotre  et  le  Defenseur  de 
1'Esclavage.  Je  leur  ai  fait  connaitre 
1'enorme  difference  quiexiste  entreles 
Anglais  et  les  Francais,  combien  ces 
derniers  se  sont  degeneres  et  avilis ; 
que  lorsqu'on  voudrait  designer  un 
homme  vil  et  faux,  Ton  devrait  dire, 
"faux  comme  un  Franyiis."  Je  sais 
cependant,  que  generalemcnt  parlant, 
il  y  a  des  honnetes  gens  dans  tous  les 
pays ;  mais  presque  tous  les  Francais 
que  nous  avons  eu  occasion  de  connai- 
tre ne  se  sont  pas  montres  a  nous  sous 
des  coulcurs  plus  favorables ;  qu'au 
contraire  les  Anglais  adorcnt  leur  pa- 
trie,  qu'ils  sont  si  embrases  du  patrio- 
tisme  national,  et  que  la  trahison  est  si 
abhorree  et  detestee  chez  eux,  qu'a 
peine  peut-on  citer  un  petit  nombre  des 
traitres,combienilssontbraves,  loyaux, 
philanthropes,  religieux  observateurs 
tie  leur  parole,  qu'il  suffirait  a  un  Anglais 
de  jurer  sur  la  Bible,  pour  etre  cru 
sur  sa  parole  :  qu'on  n'avait  jamais  eu 
d'example  qu'ils  avaient  fausse  leur 8 
paroles  ou  leur  affirmations  si  solcnnel- 
lement  donnees ;  qu'on  ne  pouvait  pas 
en  dire  autant  des  Francais  et  des  Ca- 
tholiques  Remains,  qui  i'aisaient  jour- 
nellement  profanation  des  choses  repu- 
tees  les  plus  saintes  parmi  eux  ;  que  le 
souverain,  qui  se  qualine  du  fils  aine 
de  1'Eglise,  n'a  pas  craintde  laisser  sig- 
ner par  son  ministre,  sans  provocation 
comme  sans  insulte,  la  mort  de  400 
mille  de  mes  concitoyens  pour  pourvoir 
a  repeupler  notre  pays  avec  nos  mal- 
heureuxfrerestransplantes  d'Afrique ; 
que  ce  souverain,  qui  seditsi'religieux, 
a  envoye  de  vils  espions  pour  intriguer, 
semer  le  trouble  et  la  confusion  dans 
notre  pays  tvanquille;  qu'il  ne  travaille 
qu'au  re'tablisscment  des  prejuge's  et 
de  1'esclavage  j  usque  meme  dans  son 
propre  pays. 

Enfin,  je  desire  que  mes  concitoyens 
puissent  posseder  les  vertus  des  Anglais 
pour  leur  propre  bonheur. 

Les  Haitiens  aiment  gen^ralement 
les  Anglais  ;  c'est  le  seul  peuple,  avec 
qui  ils  puissent  mieux  compatir :  mes 
concitoytns  feront  tout  ce  que  je  leur 
conseilltrai,  car  ils  sont  entitlement 
persuades,  que  mes  conseils  n'ont  ^our 
but  que  leur  bonheur.  J'emploierai 
mon  influence,  les  lecons  puissantes  de 
1'exemple  pour  les  amener  a  ce  point 
bi  desire ;  et  je  suis  d'avance  assure, 
qu'ils  se  porteront  avec  joie  a  cette 
grande  refonne  quand  le  temps  en  sera 
arrive' :  c'cst  n  dire  lorsque  la  connais- 


1821-3 


Letter  from  Chrittopht,  King  of  Hayli. 


sance  do  la  langue  Anglaise  sera  rdpan- 
due  dans  une  partie  de  la  population — 
ce  qui  ne  sera  pas  longtems — d'apres 
la  methode  de  Lancastre,  et  d'apres  les 
heureux  dispositions  que  montrent  les 
eleves  qui  s'intruirent  sous  Mr  Gulli- 
ver. 

Je  desire  de  tout  mon  coeur  que  les 
souhaits  que  vous  faites  pour  le  bon- 
heur  et  ^instruction  des  Ilaitiens  puis- 
sent  se  realiser  !  Puissiez  vous  a  votre 
tour,  6  mon  ami,  vous  enorgueillir  des 
vertus  et  de  la  civilisation  de  ce  peuple, 
dont  vous  aurez  eti-  un  desbienfaiteurs ! 
Croyez,  que  leur  reconnaisance  sera 
eternelle:  croyez  aussi,  que  ma  pen- 
see  sera  sans  cesse  portee  vers  le  grand 
but  pour  lequel  vous  desirez  les  voir 
ele'ver — en  effet,  combien  je  m'estime- 
rai  hereux  de  les  voir  contribuer  a  vos 
vues,  en  vous  aidant  a  perfectionner  et 
ameliorer  le  sortdenosfreresd'Afrique. 

J'ai  re^u  et  agree,  mon  ami,  avec 
sensibilite,  votre  portrait,  que  vous  m' 
avez  addresse  :  il  me  tardait  de  posse- 
der  les  traits  d'un  de  nos  plus  vertueux 
amis.  En  retour,  et  d'apres  le  desir 
que  vous  m'avez  temoigne,  je  vous  en- 
voie  le  mien,  et  celui  de  mon  fils  le 
Prince  lloyal,  que  j'ai  fait  peindre  par 


271 

le  Sieur  Evans.  Je  souliaite  que  vous 
acceptiez  ce  gage  de  mon  amitie  avec 
autant  de  plaisir  que  j'en  ai  eu  a  rece- 
voir  le  votre,  et  que  vous  puissicz  Its 
conside'rer  comme  ceux  de  deux  de  vos 
plus  sin  ceres  amis. 

J'ai  appris  avec  la  plus  grande  peine, 
et  j'ai  etc  dcsappointc,  que  le  but  pour 
lequel  j'avais  addresse  dernierement 
des  confitures  en  Angleterre  a  totale- 
inent  manque  par  1'indiscretion  de  San- 
ders— ne  pouvant  connaitre  a  quelle 
somme  se  seroient  eleves  les  droits — 
Mr  Straffbrd  m'avait  cependant  promis 
d'ecrire  a  cet  effet. 

Je  vous  prie,  mon  ami,  de  me  faire 
agreer  dans  la  Societe  de  1' Institution 
Afriquaine,  dans  celle  de  la  Societe  de 
la  Bible  Anglaise  et  Etrangere,  et  dans 
celle  de  1'Ecole  Anglaise  et  Etrangere ; 
si  toutefois  il  n'y  aurait  pas  d'impossi- 
bilite — et  alors  vous  le  feriez  de  la  ma- 
mere  que  vous  croirez  le  plus  convena- 
ble.  Lorsque  les  lettres  de  change,  que 
je  compte  vous  addresser,  vous  par- 
viendront,  vous  pourrez  faire  couvrir 
les  frais,  que  cette  admission  aura  nc- 
cessites. 

Je  suis  et  demeure  tout  a  vous, 
Votre  Ami. 


THE  MANIAC  S  PLAINT. 

MY  heart  throbs  on  from  day  to  day ; 
Mine  eyes  they  never  close  in  sleep  ; 
I  see  my  loved  companions  gay, 
Yet  all  my  solace  is  to  weep  ; 
For,  clothed  in  melancholy  deep, 
My  heart  may  well  afflicted  be, 
Since  Time  can  bring 
Upon  his  wing 
No  earthly  joy  to  me  !  ! — 

I'll  twine  my  brow  with  willow  wreathe ; 

I'll  place  the  cypress  in  my  breast ; 
I'll  sit  upon  his  tomb,  and  breathe 

My  plaint  to  him  that  loved  me  best ; 
When  brooding  storms  obscure  the  west, 
How  sweet  beneath  the  willow  tree, 
If,  while  I  sing, 
The  lightning's  wing 
Should  come  to  set  me  free  ! 

The  ravens  sit,  a  clamorous  troop, 

Upon  the  mouldering  Abbey  tower ; 
Hark  !  as  the  owl  sends  forth  her  whoop 
From  danky  vaults  that  form  her  bower ; 
Soon,  at  the  silent  midnight  hour, 
Lone  men  shall  mark,  amid  the  gloom, 
In  dim  affright, 
A  lambent  light 
Glide  slowly  o'er  my  tomb. 


272  The  Maniac's  Plaint.  June, 

Beloved  youth  !  since  thou  art  gone, 
No  hope  bestirs  my  bosom,  save. 
When  dark  existence  all  is  flown, 
To  join  thee  in  the  quiet  grave ; 
And  when  the  wandering  breezes  wave 
The  forests  in  the  cold  moonshine, 
When  all  is  still, 
My  spirit  will, 
Unseen,  converse  with  thine  ! ! 


KUBAL  SECLUSION. 

A  Sketch. 

How  splendidly  !  with  what  a  glorious  light, 

Beyond  the  summits  of  yon  forest  deep, 

The  sun  descends,  tinging  its  boughs  with  flame  ! 

The  western  tent  around  him  glows,  and  far 

Up  the  steep  cope  of  heaven  outstretching  bright, 

Dart  the  red  lines  with  soft  decaying  glow. 

How  utter  is  the  solitude  around  ! 

How  wild,  and  how  forlorn  !  It  is  a  scene, 

Which  stern  Salvator,  with  a  kindling  eye, 

Might  long  have  gazed  unsated,  treasuring  up 

A  throng  of  omens  dark,  and  desolate  thoughts : 

Nor  motion  of  one  living  thing  dispels 

The  breathless  and  unstirring  loneliness, 

Nor  insect's  hum,  nor  vesper  song  of  bird, 

Nor  sound  of  lapsing  stream ;  the  evening  breeze, 

Sighing  along,  just  passes  o'er  the  flowers 

Of  the  dark  heather,  and  subsides  to  peace : 

There  is  no  trace  of  human  step,  no  mark 

Of  man's  dominion  here  ;  these  mossy  rocks, 

These  lichen'd  stones,  all  purple-tinged  and  blue, 

These  deep-brow'd  rocks,  and  that  dim  weedy  pool, 

Mayhap  from  Time's  remotest  chronicling, 

Untouch'd  have  lain,  and  undisturb'd  and  lone  ! 

The  ptarmigan,  when  wintry  frosts  were  o'er, 
And  skies  were  blue,  may  here  have  sunn'd  herself, 
The  red-deer  taken  up  a  night's  abode, 
Or  the  lithe  adder  roll'd ;  it  may  have  been, 
That  in  the  gloom  of  olden  times  austere, 
Beneath  that  arching  rock,  the  Eremite, 
Shunning  communion,  may  have  dwelt  alone, 
Till  human  speech  was,  to  his  vacant  ear, 
Like  vision  to  the  blind,  a  thing  gone  by  ; 
Saw,  o'er  yon  far-off  hills,  the  waning  light 
Of  the  last  setting  sun  that  shone  for  him, 
In  loneliness  outstretch'd  his  wither 'd  limbs, 
And,  dying,  left  his  bones  to  whiten  there  ! — 
Or,  it  may  be,  when  Persecution's  rage 
Pursued  the  champions  of  the  Covenant, 
In  ages  less  remote,  on  this  lone  mount, 
At  earliest  sunrise,  or  beneath  the  stars, 
The  suffering  martyrs  gathered,  from  the  looks 
Of  un  repining  zeal  in  each  worn  face, 
— As  each  on  each  they  gazed  with  searching  eyes — 
To  glean  rekindled  ardour ;  here  perhaps, 
— And  sanctified  if  such  the  spot  must  be  ! — 
Kneeling  they  pray'd ;  for  Scotland's  hills  and  dales, 
Pour'd  out  their  hearts,  for  liberty  of  soul, 
And  for  serener  times. 

11 


The  Spring  Morning's  Walk . 


273 


THE  SPUING  MORNING  8  WALK. 


Lo,  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain  is  over  and  gone.  The  flowers  appear  on  the  earth  ;  the 
time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  our  land. 
The  fig-tree  putteth  forth  her  green  figs,  and  the  vines  with  the  tender  grape  give  a 
good  smell.  Song  of  Solomon,  chu^.  II. 


THERE  is  something  inexpressibly 
delightful  in  the  aspect  of  a  spring 
morning;  to  awake  from  refreshing 
slumber,  and  behold  the  crimson  sun- 
shine streaming  through  the  casement 
in  long  oblique  lineo,  where  myriads 
of  motes  are  observed  dancing  to  and 
fro  in  mazy  movements,  and  listen  to 
the  brisker  crow  of  chanticleer  from 
beneath,  and  the  flap  of  his  golden 
wings.  The  chirpings  and  noisy  bick- 
erings of  the  sparrows  are  heard  from 
the  neighbouring  roofs ;  and,  at  in- 
tervals, the  distant  voice  of  the  linnet 
breaks  melodiously  in,  and  fills  the 
pauses  of  the  concert. 

But  let  us  out  to  the  morning  air ; 
let  us  enjoy  the  freshness  of  the  breeze, 
and  the  delicate  warmth  of  the  sun- 
shine ;  let  us  brush  the  dews  of  morn- 
ing from  the  grass,  and  respire  the 
very  essence  of  health  in  the  cool  sa- 
lubrious air.  Forth  from  his  cloudy 
bondage  the  great  Apollo  hath  burst- 
ed,  a  clear  hue  pervades  every  sur- 
rounding object ;  but,  as  yet,  a  light 
veil  of  mist  hangs  over  the  bosom  of 
the  stream,  and  encircles  the  sides  and 
summits  of  the  far  off  hills,  as  with  a 
coronal  of  unillumined  glory.  The 
blades  of  the  young  grass  glitter,  and 
are  gemmed  with  a  thousand  tiny 
pearls  of  dew ;  while  the  fresh  buds 
have  that  glutinous  appearance,  which 
indicates  their  vigour  and  healthiness. 

How  lovely  is  the  appearance  of  a 
vernal  wood  !  a  garland  of  green  seems 
to  be  woven  round  the  branches  that 
were  lately  so  dark,  and  barren,  and 
bare,  through  which  the  wintry  wind 
whistled  bleak  and  desolate,  or  which 
bent  beneath  the  burthen  of  the  fea- 
thery snows.  There  is  something 
cheering  and  delightful  in  the  sight ; 
something  that,  in  almost  audible  lan- 
guage, speaks  to  the  heart  of  the  hopes 
of  renovation  ;  something  that  tells  us 
that  there  may  yet  be  a  triumph  over 
decay ;  something  that  whispers  to  us 
of  the  departed  blessings  of  early  days ; 
something,  in  short,  so  congenial  to 
the  feeling,  as  to  form  an  antidote  to 
the  cares  that  press  upon  the  spirit, 
and  to  the  forebodings  of  gloom  that 
darken  the  prospects  of  futurity. 

VOL.  IX. 


The  fields  are  clothed  in  a  mantle 
of  delicate  green,  the  young  wheat 
shoots  up  its  tender  and  exuberant 
blades,  through  the  bosom  of  the  dark 
mould,  moist  with  the  dews  that  have 
fallen  during  the  silent  watches  of  the 
night;  while  still,  upon  the  distant 
loftier  grounds  the  slow  motion  of  the 
ploughs  may  be  perceived,  and  the 
dark  furrows  which  they  are  leaving 
behind.  The  hedge-rows  have  now  all 
assumed  an  emerald  hue,  and  the 
crows,  issuing  from  the  forest,  alight 
on  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  fill  the 
air  with  the  sound  of  their  ceaseless 
and  discordant  cries. 

What  alteration  does  this  landscape 
present  from  what  it  was  but  a  brief 
space  ago  !  These  banks,  now  green- 
ed over  with  the  budding  briars,  and 
with  the  fine  leaves  of  the  hawthorn, 
forming  a  pleasant  contrast  with  its 
dark  boughs — now  spotted  with  white 
daisies,  and  with  yellow  king-cups, 
with  dandelions,  and  a  variety  of  wild 
flowerets,  were  frozen,  and  cold,  and 
barren,  decorated  here  and  there  with 
a  few  tufts  of  tall  rank  grass,  sere  and 
rustling  in  the  wind,  and  with  some 
bleak  leafless  boughs  drooping  and  me- 
lancholy, topped  with  the  funeral  ber- 
ries of  the  dog-rose.  From  these  rocks 
depended  a  thousand  icicles.  The 
course  of  the  rivulet  from  above  was 
marked  out  by  a  long  white  stripe, 
winding  down  the  steep,  and  edged 
with  a  multitude  of  fantastic  figures, 
wrought  with  a  magical  effect,  and  a 
fairy  brilliancy.  Over  the  surface  of 
the  stream,  the  giant  Frost  had  extend- 
ed his  polar  sceptre,  and  taught  "  the 
ice -chained  waters  to  slumber  on  the 
shore."  But  now,  with  a  gentle  and 
melodious  ripple,  the  gushing  streams 
pass  down  bet  ween  their  verdantbanks, 
with  a  soft  blue  tinge  on  the  surface, 
glittering  in  the  genial  sunshine ;  and 
broken  here  and  there  by  the  enlarging 
circles  caused  by  the  leaping  of  the 
trout,  after  the  tiny  insects  that  wan- 
ton above. 

Nature,  animate  and  inanimate, 
seems  to  have  partaken  of  the  genial 
influences  of  the  season.  The  flocks 
are  gambolling  amid  the  pastures,  and 


The  Spring  Morning's  Walk. 


274 

each  mother  following  its  lamb,  with 
coat  as  white  as  snow.  The  cattle  are 
some  nibbling  the  tender  herbage,  and 
others  ruminating  their  food  with  list- 
less pleasure.  Some,  with  their  faces 
turned  toward  "  the  shining  day,"  and 
some,  reclining  amid  the  stumps  of 
yon  aged  trees.  How  grandly  does  that 
magnificent  mansion  yet  look  forth 
amid  its  ruins  over  the  wide  chase, 
once  subject  to  those,  who  took  up 
their  abode  within.  Alas  !  "  Time 
hath  wrought  strange  alteration,"  and 
the  tempests  and  the  sunshine  of  cen- 
turies have  not  beat  and  burned  upon 
its  roofs  in  vain.  Where  is  now  the 
pomp,  and  the  pride,  and  the  circum- 
stance "of  state,"  "the appliances, and 
the  means  to  boot ;"  the  retainers  that 
thronged  the  hall,  to  whose  wassail 
voices  the  vaulted  roofs  often  re-echoed 
at  midnight;  the  staghounds  that  cum- 
bered the  parlour-floor  ?  Where  is  the 
steed  that  neighed  in  the  stall,  arid  the 
lord  that  rode  him  to  the  field  ?  All 
have  passedaway  like  amorning  dream ; 
and  these  lone,  and  bare,  and  desolate 
walls,  over  which  the  long  grass  waves, 
and  the  stalks  of  the  gilly-flowcr  shoots 
greenly,  remain  a  gigantic  sepulchre 
of  the  majesty  of  ancient  days.  Shrubs 
and  bushes,  here  and  there,  amid  the 
scattered  ruins  of  what  were  once  en- 
closures, lift  up  their  wild  branches, 
proclaiming  more  distinctly  the  wrecks 
and  the  ravages  of  Time — like  frag- 
ments of  a  perished  vessel  floating  in 
the  boundless  deep  after  a  tempest. 
The  buds  and  young  leaves  expand- 
ing on  the  chesnut  trees — that  once 
formed  an  avenue  to  the  baronial  man- 
sion— seem  to  tell  that  the  works  of  art 
may  change,  but  that  the  beauties  of 
nature  are  of  a  more  durable  kind ; 
and  spreading  their  branches,  as  if  in 
derision,  form  a  magnificent  portico  to 
a  temple,  that  hath  passed  away. 

It  is  the  season  of  spring,  the  season 
of  renewed  beauty,  and  grace.  The 
sky  has  assumed  its  vernal  azure  ;  the 
white  stainless  clouds  sail  gracefully 
athwart  its  bosom;  the  sun  shines 
with  renovated  splendour,  and  the 
birds  sing  in  ebullience  of  heart.  But 
all  is  still,  and  stirless  here ;  the  glory 
of  man  is  like  a  rainbow  that  over- 
arches the  fall  of  a  stream,  and  through- 
out the  live-long  day  looks  in  beauty 
and  brilliance  at  the  glowing  sun  ;  but 
fades  away  as  he  sets,  and  then  sinks 
to  nothingness; — it  is  like  that  of  a 
shooting  star,  which  blazes  momenta- 


rily  in  its  downward  path,  and  is  swal- 
lowed in  the  gulph  of  darkness  and 
oblivion. 

How  lovely,  from  this  eminence, 
looks  the  far  off  surface  of  the  ocean  ; 
calm  as  a  lake,  and  outspreading  its 
capacious  bosom  to  the  radiance  of  the 
morning  sun.  The  world  of  waters 
seems  also  to  acknowledge  the  influ- 
ence of  the  advancing  year,  and  in  to- 
ken of  its  reverence  stills  its  ruffled 
waters  into  peace.  The  rocks  that  rise 
from  its  bosom  still  appear  dark  and 
frowning,  but  the  casual  gleam  of  the 
sea-birds  wing  points  them  out  as  not 
being  a  joyless  abode. 

But,  let  us  turn  from  the  mightiness 
which  hath  perished,  to  the  contem- 
plation of  the  lowliness  that  now  pros- 
pers. I  low  cheerful  looks  that  range 
of  thatched  cottages ;  the  blue  smoke 
itself,  that  wreathes  from  the  chimney, 
seems  an  emblem  of  the  domestic  com- 
fort enjoyed  within ;  and  the  sunshine, 
clothing  the  white  walls,  and  the  glit- 
tering lattice,  adds  a  cheerfulness  to 
the  grace  of  the  exterior.  The  small 
gardens  before  the  doors,  free  from 
weed  and  stone,  bespeak  the  "  sleep- 
less hand  of  industry."  The  pease 
have  already  shot  their  taper  lengths 
far  above  the  soil,  and  the  neatly  trim- 
med gooseberry  bushes  have  all  their 
prickly  branches  garlanded  with  leaves, 
and  studded  with  the  incipient  fruit. 
The  flower-plot  now  exhibits  a  variety 
of  colour,  and  emits  a  mingled  richness 
of  perfume.  The  crocus  here  opens  a 
yellow  and  there  a  blue  calice.  The 
snow-drop,  the  earliest  daughter  of 
the  spring,  has  already  passed  the  me- 
ridian of  its  beauty,  and  droops  like  a 
forsaken  girl.  The  wall-flower  already 
begins  to  protrude  its  rich  yellow 
flowers,  "  tinged  with  iron  brown." 
The  gentle  primrose,  like  a  beauty  too 
modest  and  diffident  to  be  gazed  at, 
bends  down  to  hide  its  sweets  amid  its 
girdle  of  green  leaves ;  while  the  dark- 
eyed  violet,  still  more  lowly,  seeks  to 
shelter  itself  beneath  them.  Here  the 
dark,  strong-scented  spearmint  diffu- 
ses its  perfumes,  and  there  the  never- 
fading  thyme  stretches  along,  forming 
an  odoriferous  border. 

Placed  against  the  sunny  wall  stands 
on  its  platform  the  conical  hive,  a  lit- 
tle kingdom,  alive  with  the  hum  of  its 
inhabitants,  who  are  entering  and  de- 
parting in  never-ending  succession, 
rifling  the  sweets  of  every  blossom, 
and  laying  up,  with  a  patient  indus- 


1821.J 


Tka  Spring  Morning's  Walk. 


try,  and  indefatigable  toil,  their  ho- 
jiied  store. 

Oh  !  who  can  gaze  around  at  such 
a  season  as  this,  when  the  beauties  of 
nature,  bursting  phoenix-like  from 
their  wintry  sepulchre,  expand  in  all 
the  loveliness  of  reanimated  beauty — 
and  then  can  allow  the  burden  of  sel- 
fish misery  to  press  upon  the  soul, 
when  the  sun  shines,  and  the  lark 
sings  from  the  clouds,  when  the  dew 
glitters  on  the  green  herb,  and  the 
snow-like  blossoms  expand  on  the 
tree,  and  every  sight  and  every  sound 
breathes  harmony  and  happiness  ? — 
But,  let  us  turn  our  steps  to  the 
churchyard,  let  us  enter  the  silent 
porch,  and  gaze  on  the  melancholy 
scene.  Not  to  quench  the  pure  flame 
of  spiritual  light,  which  vernal  beauty 
kindles  in  the  breast,  but  to  shade  its 
intemperance  with  a  tender  and  a  mo- 
ralizing gloom.  Oh,  when  shall  spring 
reanimate  the  ashes  of  the  departed  ! 

*'  Oh,  when  shall  morn  dawn  on  the  night 
of  the  grave !" 

The  shadow  of  the  house  of  prayer  falls 
long  and  dim  over  the  green  graves, 
the  white  tomb-stones,  and  the  fu- 
nereal shrubs,  as  if  it  took  them  all  un- 
der its  silent  protection ;  and,  varying 
continually  with  the  varyingday,  covers 
them  each  in  turn  with  its  unsubstan- 
tial wing,  as  it  were  the  spirit  of  religion 
brooding  over,  and  rendering  pregnant 
with  hope  the  mansions  of  the  dead — 
of  those  who  slumber  in  hope,  and 
who  will  burst  forth  to  renewed  life 
at  the  sound  of  the  last  trumpet,  when 
the  voice  of  the  Archangel  shall  pro- 
claim that  "  Time  shall  be  no  more  !" 
Here  all  are  alike,  and  the  slave  is  freed 
from  his  master.  No  sorrow  enters, 
and  no  care  molests.  The  old  and  the 
young,  the  selfish  and  the  amiable,  all 
that  adds  a  dignity  to,  and  bestows  a 
lustre  on  human  nature,  with  all  that 
debases,  and  lowers  it  down  to  the  le- 
vel of  poor  mortality,  are  here  met  in 
one  common  resting-place.  Here  re- 
pose the  ashes  of  those,  who,  flushed 
with  the  brilliancies  of  hope,  looked 
far  forward  down  the  vista  of  happy 
days,  who  said  unto  care  "  be  far 
from  me,"  and  unto  fear,  "  I  know 
thee  not ;"  who  forgot  the  past  in  the 
anticipation  of  the  future,  and  felt 
that  the  world  was  all  before  them, 
where  to  choose ;  and  here  the  wretch, 
who,  bowed  down  by  the  burthen  of 
misfortune,  and  the  pelting  of  adver- 
sity's pitiless  storm,  wondered  why 


death  delayed  so  long  to  release  him, 
and  looked  forward  to  this  quiet  field 
of  graves,  as  to  the  asylum,  where  all 
his  sorrows  were  to  find  repose. 

The  gentle  breeze  wantons  among 
the  grass,  and  the  wild-flowers,  stir- 
ring them  into  a  beautiful  agitation ; 
but  all  beneath  is  dark,  and  silent,  and 
unlovely.  The  sky  is  bright  above,  an 
a/ure  canopy,  deep  and  glorious,  but 
the  shadow  of  despondency  dwells  be- 
neath. Nature  rejoices  in  the  reno- 
vation of  her  sweets,  the  trees  bud, 
the  flowers  blow,  and  the  birds  sing, 
the  air  re-assumes  its  vernal  warmth, 
and  the  waters  their  glassy  smooth- 
ness ;  but  alas !  in  this  world  at  least, 
there  is  no  second  spring  in  human 
life.  Like  the  water  of  a  river,  that 
flows  on  amid  the  pomp  of  forests  and 
green  fields,  through  landscapes  of 
light,  and  grandeur,  and  beauty,  to 
the  brink  of  a  precipice,  where  they 
flash  in  the  sunshine,  and  descend- 
ing, vanish  to  darkness  for  ever  ! 

But  far  be  all  despairing  thoughts 
from  the  contemplation  of  a  vernal 
landscape.  If  a  man  die,  shall  he  not 
rise  again  ?  both  nature  and  revelation 
declare  that  he  shall ;  that  having 
passed  over  the  boundaries  of  Time's 
finite  empire,  he  will  take  up  his  abode 
in  the  mansions  of  Eternity. 

It  is  but  natural,  however,  that 
when  we  cast  our  eye  over  the  renew- 
ed beauty  of  the  material  world,  that 
we  should  heave  a  sigh  of  regret  for 
those  who  roamed  with  us  through  the 
woods,  and  green  meadows,  when  life 
was  young,  and  every  avenue  of  the 
heart  open  to  the  influence  of  pleasure- 
able  feelings ;  and  who  are  now  scat- 
tered far  from  us  over  the  surface  of  a 
waste  and  weary  world.  How  many, 
alas  !  that  noticed  with  us  the  first 
appearance  of  the  virgin  snow-drop, 
and  the  "  wandering  voice"  of  the 
cuckoo,  are  now  in  the  silent  grave, 
callous  alike  to  the  glories  of  the  year, 
or  the  icy  rigour  of  the  wintry  tem- 
pest From  our  sensitive  regret  for 
the  past,  even  the  recollection  of  de- 
parted years  seems  embalmed  with  a 
serener,  but  a  more  passionate,  and 
warmer  glow,  than  what  we  now  feel 
and  perceive ;  we  are  apt  to  imagine 
that  the  change  is  in  nature,  that  the 
fields  are  less  green,  that  the  summer 
day  is  less  glorious  and  bright,  that 
the  murmur  of  the  river  is  less  musi- 
cal, and  the  note  of  the  nightingale 
less  replete  with  plaintive  melancholy  ; 
nor  think  of  finding  the  change,  not 


276  The  Spring-  Morning's  Walk.  TJune, 

in  external  sights  and  sounds,  but  in     I  have  composed  the  following  stanzas, 
our  own  bosoms.  with  which  I  will  conclude  my  wan- 

From  the  impression  of  this  truth,    dering  speculations. 

"  Oh !  where,"  says  the  Spirit  of  Life  to  my  soul, 
"  Is  the  ravage  and  wreck  thou  deplorcst  ? — 

The  sky  spreads  its  azure  in  tender  repose, 

The  stream  of  the  mountain  in  melody  flows ; 

The  spring  smiles  in  beauty,  and  summer  bestows 
A  wreath  of  green  leaves  on  the  forest. 

"  The  landscape  around  thee  is  sprinkled  with  flowers  ; 

The  mountains  are  blue  in  the  distance ; 
Like  a  mote  in  the  sunshine  the  lark  flits  away  ; 
The  insects,  a  numberless  host,  are  at  play, 
And  opening  their  delicate  wings  to  the  day, 

Rejoice  in  the  gift  of  existence. 

fc  Or  look  to  the  sea,  and  its  emerald  isles — 

All  joyous  its  flocks  are  in  motion ; 
The  plovers  their  limitless  inarch  have  begun, 
O'er  the  sands  like  a  field-beaten  army  they  run, 
And  flashing  the  white  of  their  wings  to  the  sun, 

Like  arrows  descend  to  the  ocean. 

"  Were  the  smiles  of  the  universe  ever  more  fair  ? 

No  !  something  proclaims  to  thee — never ! 
But  Time  looks  beneath  with  a  haughty  disdain, 
And  silently  steals  link  by  link  from  the  chain ; 
'Tis  thy  heart  which  hath  alter'd ;  thou  lookest  in  vain 

For  the  change,  in  what  lasteth  for  ever." 


THE  COT  IN  THE  GLEN. 

OH  !  'tis  not  the  star  of  the  evening  o'ertopping 

With  fairy  bright  radiance  the  dim  azure  hill, 
The  green  forests  far  up  the  wide  valley  sloping, 

The  gleam  of  the  lake,  or  the  sound  of  the  rill, 
That  tempt  me  at  twilight  to  wander  thus  lonely, 

So  far  from  the  din  and  the  bustle  of  men ; 
A  magic,  a  magic,  that  charms  for  me  only, 

Surrounds  with  its  halo  yon  cot  in  the  glen  ! 

How  sweet,  far  remote  from  all  tumult  and  danger, 

It  were,  in  this  valley  to  pass  the  long  year, 
In  friendship  and  peace  lift  the  latch  to  the  stranger, 

And  chase  off  the  anguish  of  pale  sorrow's  tear  ! 
To  roam  out  at  morn,  when  the  young  sun  is  shining, 

When  birds  are  awake,  and  flocks  bleat  in  the  pen ; 
And  to  catch  his  last  beams,  with  my  loved  one  reclining 

In  the  bower,  by  the  side  of  yon  cot  in  the  glen. 

Oh  !  Mary,  thou  know'st  not  how  often  a  pleasure 

In  crowds  thy  soft  image  hath  given  to  my  heart ! 
Like  the  spirit  that  wanders  beside  buried  treasure, 

My  steps  ever  lead  to  the  spot  where  thou  art : 
Oh  !  soon  may  the  day  come — if  come  it  will  ever  ! — 

The  brightest  and  best  in  futurity's  ken, 
When  fate  may  ordain  us^no  longer  to  sever, 

Sweet  girl  of  my  heart,  from  the  cot  in  the  glen  ! 


J  The  Summer  Night's  Reverie.  377 

THE  SUMMER  NIGHl's  REVERIE. 

I  would  recall  a  vision  which  I  dream'd 
Perchance  in  sleep — for  in  itself  a  thought, 
A  slumbering  thought  is  capable  of  years, 
And  curdles  a  long  life  into  one  hour. 

BYRON. 

MINE  eyes  did  never  see  a  moonlight  night 

So  purely  beautiful ;  the  skies  were  blue, 
Without  a  stain  of  cloud,  and,  twinkling  bright, 

The  thin  stars  wore  an  evanescent  hue ; 
I  gazed,  and  gazed  ;  far  off  the  mighty  hills 

Their  hoary  brows  uprear'd  ;  the  silent  woods 

Without  a  sound  outspread  their  solitudes, 
Darkly  umbrageous  ;  the  descending  rills 

Glitter'd  with  fitful  light ;  it  was  a  scene, 

So  magical  it  look'd,  and  so  serene, 
That  brought  to  mind  old  Fairyland  ;  beside 
My  lattice,  with  the  woodbine  canopied, 

Long  did  I  sit  and  gaze,  and  thought  my  fill ', 
And  ere  the  midnight  chime  the  dews  of  sleep 

Fell  not  upon  my  eye-lids ;  all  was  still, 
And,  as  I  mused,  I  could  not  chuse  but  weep 

As,  thronging  in  upon  me  bright  and  fast, 

Came,  clothed  in  light,  the  visions  of  the  past. 

Sleep  bound  me  in  his  chains,  and  lo  !  a  dream 

Came  o'er  my  heart,  with  its  fantastic  dyes 
All  rain-bow  tinctured,  and  the  whole  did  seem 

To  settle  to  a  calm,  bright  paradise  : 

Flowers  gemm'd  the  path,  and  over-head  blue  skies 
Outspread  their  lucid  canopy ;  tall  trees, 

The  cedar,  and  the  chesnut,  and  the  palm, 
Their  mighty  arms  expanded,  and  the  breeze 

Kiss'd  them  in  passing,  and  an  odorous  balm 
From  bloomy  beds  in  rich  varieties 

Loaded  the  gale. 

Methought  I  stood  with  thee, 
Arm  link'd  in  arm,  and  down  a  vista  green 
We  gazed  delighted,  where  far  off  were  seen, 

Crowning  a  rosy  knoll  with  symmetry, 
A  woodbined  cottage,  while  the  light  blue  smoke  ' 

Mounted  up  tranquilly,  and  wreathed  away 
To  nothingness,  and  far  behind  it  broke, 

Reddening  the  west,  the  setting  orb  of  day. 
Then  did  we  turn,  and  gaze  upon  the  lake 

Sleeping  in  all  the  bright  and  glowing  hues 

Which  the  last  beams  of  summer  suns  infuse 
Into  the  waters  ;  here  the  swans  did  break 

With  snowy  breast  its  glassiness ;  and  there 

The  lily  lifted  to  the  wooing  air 
Its  white  and  azure  beauties,  and  its  stem 
Girdled  with  leaves,  almost  as  fair  as  them : 
The  swallow,  with  its  shrill  and  twittering  note, 

Darted  along  its  surface,  and  the  trout, 

After  the  skimming  insects  leaping  out 
From  its  cool  home,  made  round  about  it  float 

A  thousand  widening  rings. 

My  heart  was  full 
To  surfeiting  of  joy,  and  I  did  look 
Into  thine  eyes,  and  on  thy  cheek,  and  took 

A  draught  of  love,  for  thought  did  ever  cull 

Home  fancied  charm,  thou  wert  so  beautiful ! — 


278  The  Summer  Night's  Reverie. 

Methought,  that  none  for  many  a  weary  mile 
Were  near,  nor  aught  around  us  to  destroy 
This  seat  of  bliss,  this  paradise  of  joy, 

Illumin'd  ever  by  love's  golden  smile : — 

For  us  alone  the  bright  boughs  blossom'd  round ; 
For  us  alone  the  young  flowers  prank'd  the  ground  ; 

The  evening  shed  its  rosy  tints  ;  the  birds 
Chaunted  their  hymns  of  joy  from  every  tree  ; 
For  us  alone  the  never  idle  bee 

Treasured  its  honey 'd  store ;  our  very  words 
Savour'd  of  luxury  and  sweetness,  more 
Than  speech  can  tell ;  to  love,  and  to  adore 

Each  other,  and  uncheck'd  to  wander  free, 

Our  only  care  and  duty  seem'd  to  be  ! 

Methought,  I  ponder'd  on  the  vanish'd  scenes 
Of  noisy  cities,  and  the  haunts  of  men ; 
Of  knavish  cunning ;  of  the  fool  who  leans 

On  sandy  piles ;  of  sin  within  its  den  ; 
Of  Jealousy ;  and  Grief  that  wails  aloud ; 
Of  Care  that  walks  amid  the  smiling  crowd 

With  heavy  heart ;  of  Penury  that  pines 

In  roofless  hovels,  where  the  shower  descends  ; 
Of  pale  Disease,  whom  Pain  the  torturer  rends, 

Inch  after  inch,  from  life  that  slow  declines ; 

And  dark  Remorse,  with  wild  and  bloodshot  eye, 
Clenching  his  sinewy  hands  in  agony  ! — 

Shuddering  I  turn'd,  and  saw  thee  at  my  side, 
Watching  my  looks  ; — these  ills  had  pass'd  away, 
Like  mists  before  the  glorious  dawn  of  day, 

And  left  our  hearts  and  souls  beatified, 

Without  a  care,  without  a  fear  to  roam, 
Scenes  pregnant  with  a  most  unearthly  joy, 
Where  grief  could  never  come,  nor  cares  destroy, 

With  one  sad  thought,  the  blessings  of  our  home  ! 

Thought  had  no  entrance  here  of  yew-trees  dark, 
Of  church-yards  sombre,  and  of  wormy  graves, 
Of  melancholy  vaults,  and  dripping  caves  ; 
And  on  each  brow,  where  Youth  had  set  his  mark, 
Methought  a  gentle  silentness  did  lie, 
Which  spoke  the  vigour  of  eternity  ; 
When  lo !  as  gazing  on  a  silver  cloud, 
We  stood  admiring,  from  the  heaven  it  came 
Lower  and  lower,  and  a  tongue  of  flame 
Glow'd  in  its  centre  ;  and,  at  length,  it  bow'd 
Its  volume  to  the  earth,  and  broader  grew 
The  central  light ;  while,  from  its  inner  shrine, 
Stepp'd  shining  forth,  with  countenance  divine, 
A  radiant  Angel,  and  he  look'd  at  me 
As  if  in  pity ;  then  he  took  thy  hand, 
And  bade  thee  go  with  him ;  he  waved  his  wand, 
And  the  dim  volumes  of  the  chariot-cloud 
Closed  upon  both,  concealing  like  a  shroud 
His  radiance,  and  thy  beauty ;  and  it  rose 
Majestical,  as  doth  the  eagle  dun, 
When  bent  to  drink  the  fountains  of  the  sun, 
And  round  its  path  unmingled  splendour  glows. — 
There,  as  with  throbbing  heart,  and  stedfast  gaze, 
I  watch'd  its  quick  ascent,  methought  it  grew 
A  speck,  within  the  empyrean  blue, 
Fainter  and  fainter  waned  upon  my  sight, 
And  melted  in  the  lucid  arch  of  night ! 


The  Summer  NigJifs  Keverie. 

Dismay'd,  discomfited,  I  kept  mine  eye 

Fix'd  on  the  space,  where  I  had  seen  thee  last  ; 
And,  gazing  through  the  dim  and  empty  sky, 

Stood  statue-like,  all  silent,  and  aghast ; — 
Sudden  the  clouds  roll'd  o'er  the  hemisphere  ; 

The  sunshine  was  not ;  and  an  inky  hue 

Blotted  the  stars,  and  heaven's  serener  blue  ; 
The  lake  rose  up  in  madness  loud  and  drear, 

Lashing  to  foam  its  huge  and  billowy  tide, 

Heaving  and  sinking,  dark,  and  dim-descried  ; 
The  forest,  with  a  melancholy  sound, 

Waved  to  and  fro  its  wide  umbrageous  boughs, 
Till  the  tall  oaks  fell  crashing  ;  and  around 

As  if  of  time  I  saw  the  final  close ; 
Bright  flash'd  the  lightnings,  and  the  thunders  spoke 
Awfully  deep— I  trembled,  and  awoke  ! 


279 


ON  THE  ALLEGED  DECLINE   OF  DRAMATIC  WHITING. 


IF  we  may  be  allowed  to  judge  of 
the  feelings  of  others  by  our  own;  the 
lovers  of  the  drama  will  feel  no  little 
pleasure  in  the  publication  of  Moore's 
Sheridan.*  Its  very  announcement 
was  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  through  a 
cloudy  sky.  Nor  is  the  satisfaction  it 
affords  much  abated  by  the  omission 
of  the  promised  life.  I,  for  my  part, 
would  much  rather  read  it  unconnect- 
ed with  his  works.  Sheridan  is  alrea- 
dy a  classic  ;  and  to  see  his  plays  sim- 
ply collected  and  printed  upon  good 
paper,  with  Mr  Davison's  best  types, 
is  quite  "  a  fillip,"  as  old  ladies  say,  to 
all  whoare  suffering  under  adesponden- 
cy  occasioned  by  the  decline  of  the  dra- 
ma. The  greatest  croakers  on  this  score 
must,  at  least,  make  an  exception  in 
favour  of  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan. 
He  may  shine,  like  Claudian,  perhaps, 
in  the  midst  of  an  age  of  darkness — 
but  that  is  another  thing.  He  is  still 
a  "  column  in  the  melancholy  waste" 
— a  stray  diamond  washed  up  from 
the  waters  of  oblivion  upon  a  shore  of 
pebbles.  There  has,  after  all,  been 
too  much  wailing  and  lamentation 
about  this  imputed  dwindling  of  dra- 
matic intellect.  I  must  own  I  have 
better  hopes  on  this  head  than  many 
of  my  neighbours ;  nor  has  a  cool  con- 
sideration of  the  question  at  all  dimi- 
nished the  force  of  these  consolatory 
conclusions.  Should  the  readers,  if 
any,  of  the  following  remarks,  lay 


them  down  with  an  increased  tenden- 
cy to  the  same  opinion,  so  much  the 
better. 

Taking  into  one  view  the  whole 
range  of  the  British  drama,  it  has  al- 
ways seemed  to  me  that  the  great  and 
injurious  change,  (for  change  there  has 
been)  in  this  species  of  writing,  was 
a  sudden  one.  It  was  one  of  the  many 
evils,  great  and  small,  which  flowed  in 
at  the  Restoration,  and  one  of  the 
most  incurable.  If  tl\e  French  taste, 
as  well  as  the  Romish  religion,  could 
have  been  sent  back  with  James  the 
Second  to  St  Germains,  it  would  have 
been  of  little  consequence.  But  the 
Commonwealth  was  an  inter-regnum 
in  the  drama  as  well  as  in  the  mo- 
narchy ;  an  easy  way  was  prepared  by 
the  fanaticism  of  the  Puritans,  and  the 
thing,  when  once  adopted,  could  not 
be  dismissed  again  sans  ceremonie,  like 
an  unpopular  family,  or  persecuted  in- 
to silence  like  an  obnoxious  religion. 

The  dramatic  writings  of  the  period 
between  Elizabeth  and  Charles  the 
Second,  are  confessedly  the  glory  of 
the  literature  of  this  country.  They 
are  no  where  else  to  be  paralleled. 
They  are  unique.  Springing,  as  it 
were,  naturally ;  the  indigenous  and 
spontaneous  growth  of  the  soil, — they 
have  all  the  vigour  with  the  perfection 
of  Nature.  The  plays  of  Shakespeare,, 
and  of  the  other  lights  of  the  olden 
time,  will  be  found,  if  critically  ex- 


*  The  Dramatic  Works  of  the  Right  lion.  R.  B.  Sheridan,  now  first  collected  ar.d 
edited,  with  a  Preface,  by  Thomas  Moore,  Esq.  2  vols.  (ivo.  Murray,  London,  1821. 


Oft  the  alleged  Decline  of  Dramatic  Writing. 


280 

amined,  to  be  written  on  principles 
philosophical,  and  yet  simple, — stri- 
king, and  yet  recondite.  In  their  treat- 
ment of  the  tragic,  which  is  itself  ele- 
vated nature,  that  is  to  say,  a  repre- 
sentation of  events  essentially  exalted 
and  deeply  interesting ;  the  poetical 
exaggeration  is  uniformly  suppressed 
and  kept  down,  in  compliance  with  our 
common  ideas  of  the  natural.  The  feel- 
ings of  the  reader,  or  spectator,  are  at- 
tracted and  engaged  oy  the  strongest 
and  most  familiar  language,  used  to 
convey  the  most  poetical  thoughts  and 
boldest  metaphors.  The  natural  ten- 
dency of  tragedy  to  bombast  and  de- 
clamation, is  sobered  by  the  admixture 
of  thoughts,  and  phrases,  and  words, 
which  are  common  and  familiar.  Lear, 
the  deserted  and  powerless  king,  and 
broken-hearted  father,  is  throughout 
the  whole  sublimity  of  his  sorrows 
still  "  a  very  foolish  fond  old  man- 
threescore  and  upwards."  Humanity 
is  never  lost  sight  of.  In  their  come- 
dy, on  the  contrary,  the  events  of  com- 
mon life  are  continually  heightened 
by  a  junction  with  the  poetical  and  ro- 
mantic. Even  the  melancholy  and  sar- 
castic Jaques,  who  abruptly  quits  Or- 
lando with  a  "  God  be  wi'  you,  an  you 
talk  in  blank  verse,"  is,  for  the  most 
part,  made  to  talk  blank  verse  him- 
self. 

In  these  wholesome  principles  the 
Frenchified  wits  of  Charles  the  Second 
effected  a  radical  change.  The  roman- 
tic was  transferred  from  comedy  to 
tragedy  ;  and  in  comedy,  mere  wit  or 
slang  became  the  substitute  for  the 
poetical.  Since  that  time  it  has  be- 
come a  sort  of  solecism  to  talk  of  the 
Comic  Muse.  The  greatest  stretch  of 
definition  can  hardly  include  the  au- 
thor of  a  modern  comedy  amongst  the 
poets.  The  novelist  has  a  much  bet- 
ter right,  and  Joe  Miller  almost  as 
good  a  one.  In  tragedy,  the  lofty,  and 
yet  natural  characters  of  Shakespeare, 
Fletcher,  Marlow,  and  Massinger,  were 
deserted  for  declamatory  lovers— long- 
winded  and  drawling  compositions  of 
bombast  and  metaphysics — ladies  and 
gentlemen  with  their  mouths  full  of 
unintelligible  professions  of  impossible 
performances.  The  amour  of  comedy 
had  become  a  witty  profligacy,  and  not 
seldom  a  ribald  licentiousness.  Such 
were  the  dramatic  fruits  of  the  age  of 
Charles  the  Second.  But  it  is  not  the 
dramatists  of  that  and  the  succeed- 
ing rcijjn  oh!}';  that  are  to  be  put  in 


competition  with  those  of  the  period 
since  the  accession  of  the  house  of 
Hanover.  The  wits  of  Anne  must 
be  taken  into  the  account.  With  this 
brilliant  and  extensive  era,  the  present 
state  of  the  drama  cannot,  I  fear,  be 
compared  without  disadvantage.  I 
mustventure  to  contend,  however,  that 
the  comparison  will  not  be  found  to  be 
of  so  trying  a  nature  as  many  persons 
are  inclined  to  suppose. 

Contrary  to  the  opinion  of  most  cri- 
tics, it  will,  I  believe,  be  found,  that  it 
is  in  tragic  talent  that  the  dramatic 
literature  of  the  present  day  is  most 
deficient.     In  fact,  there  is  a  general 
deficiency  in  tragedy,  from  the  times 
of  the  Restoration  ;  but  to  that  period, 
which  includes  Otway  and  Southern, 
the  preponderance  must  without  doubt 
be  conceded.     If  we  go  over  the  list 
of  worthies,  who  wrote  during  the  life- 
time of  the  merry  monarch  and  his 
successor,  we  have  first  in  name.  Dry- 
den,  then  Lee,  Otway,  Shadwell,  and 
others.  Of  these,  if  we  except  Otway, 
scarcely  one  has  left  a  tragedy  which 
has  continued  to  keep  possession  of  the 
stage.     Dryden's  rhyming  plays,   in 
spite  of  their  nervous  poetry,  and  fine 
versification,  soon  died — "  of  a  surfeit 
of  bad  taste."     His  All  for  Love  was 
long  popular,  and  is  certainly  a  piece 
of  fine  poetical  passages.     It  has  not, 
I  believe,  been  played  for  many  years. 
Shadwell's   Don   John  was   endured 
probably  for  the  sake  of  the  excite- 
ments of  the   story  of  that  popular 
profligate.  Nat.  Lee's  Alexander,  with 
all  its  extravagance,  is  a  favourite  to 
the  present  hour  ;  his  other  pieces  are 
much  inferior.     The  most  powerful 
tragedy,  however,  of  that  time,  is  per- 
haps the  "  OZdipus"  of  Lee  and  Dry- 
den,     a    composition    of    wonderful 
strength,  but  which,  on  account  of 
its  subject,  modern  fastidiousness  has 
long   banished   from   the    stage.     In 
truth,  after  Venice  Preserved,  and  the 
Orphan,  until  Southern,  Lillo,   and 
Congreve  had  written,  the  drama  by- 
no  means  abounded  in  talent.     The 
Fatal  Marriage,  Oroonoko,  Fatal  Cu- 
riosity, and  then  the  Mourning  Bride, 
and   the   Revenge,    and   Zara,    soon 
followed,  together  with  the  plays  of 
Rovve,  which  last  ought  not,  however, 
to  be  classed  as  first-rate.  Tamerlane, 
Jane  Shore,  and  Calista,  are  most  re- 
markable for  their  smooth  and  often 
cloying  versification.    Their  diction  is 
tumid,  however,  though  correct,  and 
12 


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On  ihe  alleged  Decline  of  Dramatic  Writing. 


to  class  them  with  Phillips'  Distrcst 
Mother,  and  Addison's  Cato,  would 
not  perhaps  be  injustice  to  any  of 
them. 

Some  of  the  tragedies  of  this  period 
seem  to  have  been  written  with  a  view 
to  the  Shakespearian  manner  of  in- 
terposing pros-j  dialogue,  of  a  light 
and  comic  character,  in  order  to  re- 
lieve the  tragic  scenes.  The  ill  suc- 
cess, or  rather  the  vile  taste  with  which 
this  is  invariably  done,  strongly  shews 
the  depravity  which  then  infected  the 
drama.  The  ribaldry  with  which  Ot- 
way  has  mixed  up  Venice  Preserved, 
is  incredible  almost,  to  those  who  are 
only  acquainted  with  the  play  "  as 
acted." 

ShadwcH's  Don  John  is  as  bad,  and 
Isabella  is  injured  by  an  admixture 
somewhat  similar.  But  the  most  pro- 
voking specimen  of  all  is  D'Avenant 
and  Dryden's  alteration  of  the  Tem- 
pest. With  an  inconceivable  degene- 
racy of  taste,  the  exquisite  romance  of 
Shakespeare,  which  seems  to  come  as 
near  poetical  perfection  as  human  in- 
firmity will  permit,  is  dismembered 
for  the  admission  of  new  characters, 
and  more  fashionable  dialogue,  and 
the  air  of  the  enchanted  island  of  Pros- 
pero  and  his  daughter  infected  with 
the  breath  of  that  Covent  Garden 
slang,  which,  more  or  less,  tainted  al- 
most every  play  of  the  period. 

During  the  succeeding  reigns  of  the 
monarchs  of  the  House  of  Hanover, 
nothing,  doubtless,  has  been  produced 
equal  to  the  best  tragedies  of  the  pre- 
ceding period,  Gustavus  Vasa  is  per- 
haps a  better  play  than  Cato,  and  the 
Grecian  Daughter  of  Murphy,  and 
Roman  Father  of  VVhitehead,  are  per- 
haps equal,  and  more  than  equal,  to 
the  inferior  productions  of  Otway,  or 
Lee,  or  Lillo ;  but  their  masterpieces 
are  still  unmatched  by  any  thing  that 
has  succeeded  them.  The  best  praise 
-of  modern  tragedy  is,  that  it  has  slow- 
ly, but  gradually,  shewn  reviving 
symptoms  of  that  better  taste  which 
was  depraved  on  the  return  of  the  Stu- 
arts. Lord  Byron  has  oddly  enough 
styled  Horace  Walpole  "  Utiimus  Ko~ 
manorum,"  for  his  tragedy  of  The  Mys- 
terious Mother.  With  a  story  far  more 
revolting  than  that  of  (Edipus,  it  is  a 
play  of  considerable  genius  and  power 
of  writing.  But  the  epithet  is  sadly 
misapplied.  "  Uitim  us  Gallant  m"  would 
be  more  suitable.  His  taste  was  noto- 
riously founded  upon  the  starched 

VOL.  IX. 


maxirn.s  of  the  French  School,  ami  it 
would  seem  that  lie  was  so  vain  as 
hardly  to  conceal  his  preference  of  his 
own  sonorous  but  declamatory  and 
pompous  speeches  to  the  dialogue  of 
Shakespeare.  The  later  plays  of  the 
last  reign,  however,  become  more 
and  more  free  from  that  pompous 
and  formal  interlocution,  and  smooth 
and  monotonous  versification,  which 
Howe  carried  to  the  utmost.  Dr 
Johnson's  Irene  is  perhaps  the  last 
perfect  specimen  of  the  old  school  of 
tragedy.  Logan's  Runnimede,  Dou- 
glas, and  Greatheud's  Regent,  are  all 
written  with  evident  struggles  -after 
the  freedom  of  the  earlier  dramatists. 
The  latter  is  especially  so  I  remem- 
ber the  Monthly  Review,  which  seems 
to  have  as  violent  a  horror  of  innova- 
tion in  poetry  as  the  Quarterly  has 
in  government,  is  much  shocked  by 
somebody  in  this  play  telling  another 
to 

"  Go  to  the  huddled  market-place,  and 
there 

Dissect  thy  heart  upon  the  public  sham- 
bles ;"_ 

a  mode  of  expression  coarse  enough, 
no  doubt,  for  persons  of  weak  nerves. 

The  current  has  continued  some- 
what to  increase  as  it  flowed.  Even 
Mrs  Yearsley  the  milkwornan's  tragic 
specimens,  are  by  no  means  milk  and 
water  matters.  Of'Miss  Hannah  More's 
Percy  perhaps  this  cannot  be  said ;  in- 
deed Miss  Hannah  herself  has  since 
repented  of  having  written  it,  in  which 
there  is  no  great  harm,  provided  it  be 
for  the  right  reason.  Miss  Baillie's 
admirable  tragedies,  though  not  in- 
tended for  the  stage,  have  done  much 
to  reform  the  acted  drama  ;  and  the 
increasing  editions  of  the  older  drama- 
tists afford  ample  proof,  that  the  tide  of 
public  taste  is  setting  strongly  in  the 
right  direction.  Lamb's  John  Wcod- 
vi),  the  Tragedies  of  Messrs  Chene- 
vix  and  Gait,  and  likewise,  Mr  Barry 
Cornwall's  scenes,  are  full  of  hope  and 
promise.  Mr  Coleridge,  Mr  Maturin, 
and  Lord  Byron,  might  do  better  than 
they  have  done.  There  would  be  no 
condescension  in  taking  a  lesson  from 
Shakespeare. 

The  immediate  time  of  the  Resto- 
ration was  by  no  means  remarkably 
prolific  of  good  comedies.  Amongst 
the  acting  comedies  of  the  present  day, 
we  find  the  Country  Wife  and  the  Re- 
heavsal,  altered  into  the  Country  Girl, 
11  2M 


On  the  alleged  Decline  of  Dramatic  Writinr. 


282 

and  the  Critic.  The  Nonjuror,  now  al- 
tered into  the  Hypocrite,  having  itself 
been  manufactured  hy  Gibber  from 
Moliere,  and  others,  was  much  later, 
but  may  be  mentioned,  as  having  been 
oddly  kept  alive  by  the  political  and  re- 
ligious feelings  which  took  their  rise 
from  the  second  expulsion  of  the  Stu- 
arts. 

Of  the  play  writers  in  Charles  Se- 
cond's time,  Ethercge  was  for  some 
time  a  favourite,  though  there  is  both 
more  wit  and  more  power  in  Killi- 
grew.  Wycherly  supplanted  both,  and 
will  continue  to  be  read  whilst  Eng- 
lish comedy  exists.  The  comic  vein  of 
Dryden  was  certainly  any  thing  but 
happy.  In  grossness  he  outdoes  all  his 
contemporaries.  Some  one  has  said, 
that  Sir  George  Etherege  was  the  first 
who  founded  a  comedy  barefacedly  up- 
on the  sexual  passion ;  but  the  asser- 
tion may  be  doubted.  Nothing  can  be 
more  openly  and  unblushingly  bad 
than  Dryden's  Limberham,  or  the 
Kind  Keeper.  Of  Shadwell  one  does 
not  well  know  what  to  think  or  to 
say.  His  pieces,  both  tragedy  and  co- 
medy, are  duller  than  a  "  Concert  of 
Antient  Music,"  and  twice  as  uncouth. 
He  is  destitute  of  wit,  but  contrives 
to  supply  its  place  with  a  strange 
slang,  and  a  coarse  jog-trot  kind  of 
humour.  His  characters  are  by  no 
means  devoid  of  originality,  but  they 
are  invariably  heavy,  and  smack  of  the 
vulgar.  Perhaps  the  best  description 
of  Shadwell's  plays  is  to  say,  with 
Dogberry,  "  They  are  most  tolerable, 
and  not  to  be  endured."  They  are  pre- 
cisely the  producticns  to  be  expected 
from  such  a  man  as  Dryden  has  de- 
scribed "  Og"  to  be. 

The  period  following  the  accession 
of  the  Prince  of  Orange  affords  a  splen- 
did display  of  comic  genius.  Congreve, 
Vanburgh,  Farquhar,  and  Gibber,  are 
a  formidable  phalanx.  Of  these,  Con- 
greve has  the  highest  reputation ;  but 
whether  quite  deservedly  or  not,  may 
admit  of  a  question.  He  was  certain- 
ly the  man  of  the  most  extensive  ge- 
nius. To  write  the  Mourning  Bride, 
and  Love  for  Love,  was  no  work  for 
one  even  uncommon  mind ;  it  proves 
the  possession  of  powers  of  the  most 
opposite  descriptions.  He  exemplifies, 
however,  most  completely,  the  change 
of  taste  which  had  taken  place  in  this 
species  of  writing.  His  plots  and  his 
characters  are  equally  artificial ;  and, 
taken  separately,  to  say  the  truth, 


£June 


unsatisfactory.  His  plots,  indeed,  are 
inartificially  artificial.  They  are  loose 
and  improbable  in  the  general  con- 
duct, which  is,  perhaps,  no  mighty 
matter  of  complaint ;  but  then  they 
are  just  as  improbable  in  the  detail, 
as  must  always  be  the  case  when  the 
characters  themselves  are  improbable. 
The  wit  of  these  comedies  has  carried 
them  triumphantly  through  every 
thing.  Like  figures  composed  of  gems, 
they  sparkle  from  top  to  bottom. 
Lord  and  Lord's  Gentleman,  Master 
and  Servingman,  Fop  and  no  Fop,  say 
their  good  things  on  every  occasion, 
and  in  equal  profusion.  Wycherly 
has  more  grossness,  with  not  half  the 
wit  and  eloquence  of  Congreve.  Van- 
burgh,  with  little  less  wit,  and  more 
humour,  has  infinitely  more  originali- 
ty of  natural  character  than  either. 
Gibber  has  character,  and  a  vivacity 
which,  itself  never  flagging,  never 
wearies  his  reader.  The  comedies  of 
Vanburgh,  from  uniting  in  themselves 
the  greatest  proportion  of  conjoined 
wit  and  natural  character,  will  proba- 
bly be  read  more  than  any  of  the  co- 
mic productions  of  the  time.  The  Pro- 
voked Wife  is  a  masterpiece  of  natu- 
ral painting,  easy  wit,  and  humorous 
reflection.  That  it  is  a  faithful  tran- 
script of  the  manners  of  the  age  can- 
not be  doubted ;  and  the  pithiness  of 
the  dialogue  has  not  often  been  equal- 
led since  the  days  of  Shakespeare. 
The  Provoked  Husband  has  less  wit, 
and  is  every  way  inferior ;  but  the 
Confederacy  is  another  sterling  come- 
dy, according  to  the  taste  of  the  time. 
The  Relapse,  Sheridan  has  condescend- 
ed to  alter,  under  the  title  of  A  Trip 
to  Scarborough ;  though,  as  he  himself 
is  said  to  have  owned,  not  for  the  bet- 
ter. It  was  not,  however,  the  most 
unlucky  of  his  condescensions.  Of  Far- 
quhar, I  cannot  help  thinking,  that  he 
has  been  a  little  overrated ;  though, 
far  be  it  from  me  to  endeavour  to  de- 
tract from  the  real  merit  of  some  of 
his  airy  and  most  agreeable  comedies. 
Gibber's  Careless  Husband  is,  per- 
haps, better  than  any  thing  of  Far- 
quhar's.  One  proof  of  its  excellence 
is,  that  Pope  has  attempted  to  throw  a 
doubt  upon  its  authorship : — 

"  Had  Gibber's  self  the  Careless  Husband 
wrote — " 

If  he  had  not,  his  works  afford  toler- 
able evidence  of  his  ability  to  have 
done  so.  She  would  and  She  would 


On  the  alleged  Decline  of  Dramatic  Writing. 


not,  though  inferior  to  the  Careless 
Husband,  deservedly  keeps  firm  pos- 
session of  the  stage.  Gibber  was  a  pil- 
ferer, to  be  sure,  but  he  was  an  adroit 
one.  His  Love  makes  a  Man,  or  the 
Fop's  Fortune,  is  an  edifying  specimen 
of  the  taste  of  the  age.  He  has  here 
compounded  a  most  sprightly  comedy 
out  of  two  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
taking  care  to  extract  every  iota  of 
poetry  with  as  little  injury  as  possible 
to  the  marking  of  the  characters  and 
the  vivacity  of  the  action — a  process  of 
which  he  seems  to  have  been  com- 
pletely master.  Still  Gibber  has  by 
no  means  had  justice.  The  bitter  en- 
mity of  Pope  and  his  friends,  like 
that  of  Johnson  and  others  to  Foote, 
has  thrown  a  lasting  sha  le  upon  his 
character  as  an  author.  The  comedies 
of  Steele  are  of  two  classes.  The  Fu- 
neral is  an  exhibition  of  ludicrous  and 
extravagant  humour,  not  easily  to  be 
paralleled.  The  Conscious  Lovers  is 
perhaps  one  of  the  first  symptoms  of 
what  has  been  styled  Sentimental  Co- 
medy. This  species  seems  to  have 
been  adopted  as  a  sort  of  substitute 
for  the  poetical  in  comedy,  and  was 
first  fairly  tried  in  the  False  Delicacy 
of  Hugh  Kelly,  a  play  of  great  but 
transient  popularity.  The  principle, 
however,  upon  which  it  was  written, 
still  subsists  under  varions  modifica- 
tions, and  in  many  annoying  varieties. 
From  this  period  up  to  the  present, 
if  the  comic  muse  has  been  less  bril- 
liant, she  has  been  more  skilful  in  the 
first  and  most  genuine  province  of  co- 
medy, the  nicely  depicting  original 
characters  of  common  life.  The  wri- 
tings of  Murphy,  the  elder  Colman, 
Goldsmith,  Garrick,  Foote,  Hoadley, 
Morris,  Mrs  Cowley,  Mrs  Inchbald, 
Cumberland,  and  others,  inferior,  as 
they  are,  to  those  of  their  predecessors 
in  the  requisites  of  wit  and  point,  dis- 
play infinitely  more  of  character,  hu- 
mour, and  delicate  delineation  of  man- 
ners. Sheridan,  amongst  the  moderns, 
stands  alone.  The  "  Know  your  own 
Mind"  of  Murphy,  and  "  The  Clan- 
destine Marriage"  of  Colman  and  Gar- 
rick,  include  characters  of  the  most 
exquisite  humour  and  admirably  dis- 
tinguished peculiarities.  Those  who 
have  seen  Mr  Farren  play  Lord  Ogle^ 
by,  in  the  latter  piece,  may  have  a 
complete  insight  into  the  niceties  of 
that  unique  sample  of  nobility — in 
which  the  infirmities  of  age  so  strange- 
ly, yet  naturally,  mingle  with  the 
gaieties  of  youth— vanity  with  good 


283 

sense — profligacy  with  feeling — fasti- 
diousness with  politeness, —  and  the 
tints  of  the  dignified  and  the  ridicu- 
lous cross,  and  mingle  and  overshade 
each  other  at  every  movement — "  aye, 
varying  like  the  pigeon."  In  Mur- 
phy's comedy,  Dashwood  and  old  By- 
grove,  Lady  Jane  and  Lady  Bell,  are 
all  perfectly  finished  portraits ;  and 
the  whole  action  is  so  natural,  as  to 
seem  absolutely  a  transcript  of  real 
events,  with  scarcely  any  heightening. 
The  characters  of  Goldsmith  and  of 
Foote  are  more  farcical,  though  highly 
original ;  nor  must  The  Wheel  of 
Fortune  and  The  West  Indian  of 
Cumberland  be  forgotten.  They  are 
sterling  comedies  of  character. 

It  is  needless  to  particularize  fur- 
ther, save  only  in  one  instance.  The 
dramatic  works  of  Sheridan  are  nearly 
sufficient  to  give  the  preponderance  in 
this  department  of  literature,  to  the 
period  of  which  he  was  the  ornament. 
With  almost  an  unequalled  power  of 
pourtraying  original  character,  and 
with  a  plentiful  store  of  humour  of 
the  most  delicate  description,  the  sheer 
wit  of  his  pieces  has  never  been  sur- 
passed. If  Sheridan  be  compared  to 
Congreve,  he  will,  I  think,  be  found 
very  nearly  to  equal  him,  even  in  that 
for  which  he  is  most  eminent.  The 
brilliancies  of  Sheridan  are  less  forced 
than  those  of  Congreve.  They  seem 
to  flow  more  naturally  from  the  mouth 
of  the  speaker.  They  are  always  more 
or  less  imbued  with  character.  Con- 
greve's  dramatis  personae  always  ap- 
pear to  be  acting  a  part,  and  never 
more  so  than  when  they  are  particu- 
larly smart.  This  was,  no  doubt,  in 
part,  the  real  air  of  the  manners  of 
that  day;  but  it  pervades  his  plays 
throughout.  Sheridan's  witticisms,  on 
the  contrary,  spring  from  the  occasion 
and  "  existing  circumstances,"  as  they 
say  in  parliament.  When  Lady  Teazle, 
on  hearing  the  baffled  Lady  Sneer- 
well's  wish,  "  May  your  husband  live 
these  fifty  years,"  exclaims,  "  Oh  ! 
what  a  malicious  creature  !"  it  seems 
to  be  a  moot  point,  whether  or  not  the 
joke  is  intentional,  so  naturally,  and 
yet  so  humorously,  does  it  arise  out  of 
the  situation.  The  scenes  in  which 
the  scandalous  coterie  "  huddle  jest 
upon  jest,  with  such  impassable  con- 
veyance," remind  one  most  strongly  of 
those  of  Congreve,  because  there  they 
evidently  strain  every  nerve  to  be  wit- 
ty, and  succeed. 

That   Sheridan's  wit  is   evidently 


On  the  alleged  Decline  of  Dramatic  Writing. 


QJune, 


more  easy  and  natural,  is  in  some  sort 
proved  by  its  "being  more  generally 
understood  than  that  of  any  other  dra- 
matic writer,  Wht-n  the  School  for 
Scandal  is  acted,  the  pit  chuckle,  the 
galleries  laugh,  end  even  the  boxes 
relish  it.  The  hits  tell  all  over  the 
house.  Lord  Byron  informs  us  in  the 
preface  to  Faliero,  that  "  the  School 
for  Scandal  is  the  play  that  lias  brought 
It-list  mont-i/,  ani-rn^in^  the  nuniher  of 
times  it,  has  Ixni  tu-lnl."  Had  his  lord- 
ship put  the  conclusion  of  the  sen- 
tence in  italics,  it  would  have  at  once 
explained  itself—  at  least  to  every  play- 
goer. Probably  Hamlet  or  Macbeth 
would  be  next  on  "Manager  Dibdin's" 
list  of  unproductive  plays  upon  the 
average;  and  some  pay /which  had 
the  good  fortune  to  be  damned  by  an 
overflowing  house,  might,  for  aught  I 
know,  be  first  on  the  other  side.  The 
fact  is,  the  comedy,  from  its  extreme 
popularity,  has  become  a  favourite 
managerial  stop-git p,  or  forlorn  hope, 
and  is  constantly  acted  to  five-pound 
houses,  when  any  other  would  proba- 
bly produce  empty  benches. 

In  every  department  of  dramatic 
writing  which  he  has  attempted,  She- 
ridan has  excelled.  His  "  Critic"  has 
supplanted  the  Rehearsal  ;  and  the 
Duenna  is  the  best  comic  opera  in  the 
language,  which,  to  be  sure,  is  not 
mtfch  to  say;  but  it  is  an  excellent 
comic  opera.  Ii>  this  comparison,  how- 
ever, must  not  be  included  that  ano- 
malous effort  of  genius,  the  Beggar's 
Opera,  which  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  moral  satire  in  the  shape  of  an 
opera.  Nor  must  his  light  farce  of 
St  Patrick's  Day  be  forgotten.  It  is 
as  admirable  in  its  wit  and  drollery,  as 
it  is  slight  in  other  requisites.  Had 
Sheridan  never  written  Pizarro,  he 
would  have  left  his  dramatic  fame  as 
pure  as  his  wit,  and  as  unassailable  as 
his  patriotism.  But  the  manager  pre- 
dominated for  once  over  the  man  of 
taste,  and  lie  condescended  to  go  to 
Germany  for  materials  for  the  drama, 
and  what  was  worse,  to  go  to  Kotze- 
bue.  It  was  an  unlucky  importation. 
He  had  better  have  brought  over  a 
bale  of  cotton,  witli  the  plague  in  the 
middle  of  it.  There  is  no  literary  qua- 
rantine ;  and  it  is  to  be  feared,  that  in 
Pi/arro  had  their  origin  all  those  bom- 
bastical,  showy,  noisy,  prose-run-mad 
exhibitions,  which  have  since  inunda- 
ted the  stage.  The  recent  do\vmv;ird 
progress  of  the  drama,  through  plays 


neither  tragedy  nor  comedy — neither 
prose  nor  verse — pathetic  farces — me- 
lodramas, "  et  hoc  genus  omne,"  cer- 
tainly took  its  date  trom  that  unhappy 
production.  Sheridan  Avas  unfortu- 
nately the  proprietor  of  an  unwieldy 
play-house,  in  which  even  his  own 
inimitable  productions  could  not  be 
heard  ;  and  he  stooped  to  employ  the 
scene-painter  and  trumpeter  to  help 
him  out.  It  was  a  sad  fatality  for  the 
public.  His  theatre  should  have  been 
less,  or  his  pride  greater. 

To  expect  such  a  man  as  Sheridan 
once  in  a  century  would  be  folly  ;  and 
the  dramatic  writers  of  the  present 
day,  instead  of  vainly  attempting  to 
imitate  his  Avit,  would  do  well  to  re- 
trace their  steps,  and  look  for  models 
amongst   the    old    dramatic    writers. 
Not  that  they  should  parrot  their  lan- 
guage, but  endeavour  to  catch  some  of 
the  inspiration  of  their  poetry.     It  is 
plain,  that  mere  wit,  separated  from 
character,  is  not  in  itself  sufficient  to 
constitute  the  dramatic  ;  for  what  is 
the  drama  but  a  poetical  representa- 
tion of  human  life,  of  which  wit  is 
only  a  small  portion  ?  It  is  equally 
plain,  that  a  mere  transcript  or  servile 
delineation  of  peculiarities  of  manner 
is  essentially  prosaic,   and,    what  is 
worse,-  in  its  nature  transient  and  fa- 
ding.   It  is  from  their  natural  poetry, 
that  the  comedies  of  Shakespeare  and 
Fletcher  Avill  be  fresh,  almost  as  on 
their  first  conception,  when  the  wit 
and  slang  of  more  modern  dramatists 
Avill  seem  hard,  and  antiquated,  and 
unprepossessing.     The  salt  of  poetry 
is  wanted  to  make  the  matter  savoury. 
It  will  not  keep  without  it.     A  noted 
critic  is  filled  with  enthusiasm  by  the 
comedies  of  Queen  Anne's  time,  and 
yearns  after  the  days,  Avhen  belles  and 
beaux,   in   hoop-petticoats  and  bag- 
Avigs,    fluttered   through   the   stately 
walks  of  St  James's  Park.  But  he  has 
probably  overlooked  a  principal  cause 
of  his  own  feelings.    He  has  forgotten 
that  the  lapse  of  time  Avill  confer  some- 
thing of  the  romantic  and  of  the  poe- 
tical upon  that  Avhich  originally  had 
them  not ;  and  it  is  this,  together  Avith 
the  wit  and  good  sense  which  they 
embody,    that"  has  helped  to  endear 
these  scenes  to  his  imagination.  There 
can  be  little  doubt  of  this.    Time  is  a 
sort  of  Claude  Loraine  glass,  which 
bestows  a  brighter  tint  upon  objects 
seen  through  it.     Lord  Foppington  is 
nut  noAV  a  mere  fop — a  bag- wig  and 


1881.3 


On  the  allied  Decline  of  Dramatic  Writing, 


rapier  arc  not  now  merely  fashionable, 
but  they  are  something  better.  They 
have  become  picturesque  by  distance. 
The  vulgarity  of  common  reality  is 
veiled  by  a  haze  and  mist  of  romance, 
which  envelopes  and  alters  objects  in 
proportion  as  they  are  far  from  us.  So 
impossible  is  it  to  divest  the  represen- 
tation of  departed  things  of  this  sha- 
dowing, that  the  spirit  of  the  most 
prosaic  or  vulgar  personage,  who  had 
died  fifty  years  ago,  would  assume 
something  of  the  poetical.  Let  those 
wiio  doubt  this,  read  that  scene  in 
"  The  Lover's  Progress,"  in  which 
the  apparition  of  "  mine  host"  ap- 
pears, and  mark  the  effect  of  this  most 
homely  of  all  ghosts. 

The  Honey-Moon  of  Tobin,  and 
the  Mountaineers  of  Colman,  are  de- 
cided and  pleasant  symptoms  of  the 
return  of  the  poetical  comic  drama. 
These  two  plays,  though  neither  of 
them  is  written  with  high  dramatic 
power,  have  continued  to  be  popular. 
This  can  only  be  attributed  to  the  plan 
upon  which  they  are  constructed.  It 


is  to  be  hoped,  that  the  admirable  ma- 
terials for  dramas  of  this  description, 
which  both  English  and  Scottish  his- 
tory and  manners  afford,  may  be  no 
longer  neglected.  We  see  every  day 
the  play- wrights  of  the  minor  theatres 
manufacture  pleasing,  nay,  in  a  sort 
poetical,  pieces  out  of  the  Novels  of 
the  Author  of  Waverley,  and  our  co- 
mic poets  sit  still  and  do  nothing. 
Yet  Mr  Cornwall  or  Mr  Milman  is 
just  as  likely  to  succeed  in  a  comedy, 
like  All's  well  that  ends  well,  or 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  as  in  at- 
tempting to  rival  Othello,  or  Romeo 
and  Juliet ;  and  it  would  be  a  much 
more  hopeful  business  for  the  author 
of  the  Nympholept  to  try  the  same 
style,  than  to  write  any  more  comedies- 
about  "  Trade  in  the  West."  Let 
men  of  talent  once  begin  to  turn  their 
attention  to  the  comedies,  as  well  as  to 
the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare,  and  his 
contemporaries,  and  there  will  soon 
be  little  reason  to  despise  the  modern 
drama. 

T.  Dv 


MEDIOCRITY. 


MR  EDITOR, 

IT  is  maintained  by  persons  affecting 
a  superior  delicacy  of  taste  in  tire  ele- 
gant arts,  that  "none  but  works  of 
the  /uffht-'jit  tjualitti  can  possibly  be  to- 
lerated, by  those  who  have  a  true  feel- 
ing for  the  productions  of  genius."  In 
justification  of  this  rule,  it  is  asserted 
that  "  the  excellence  of  such  compo- 
sitions is  of  a  nature  that  admits  of  no 
middle  course  to  which  a  qualified 
praise  might  be  given.  They  are  either 
precious  or  worthless;  if  not  high, 
they  are  low  ;  what  is  pre-eminent  is 
unique  and  incomparable  :  all  below 
that  elevated  point  being  more  or  less 
tainted  with  error,  are  in  a  degree  vi- 
cious, and  therefore  offensive  to  the 
purity  of  taste." 

Thus  after  skimming  off  what  those 
luminaries  imagine  to  be  the  cream  of 
excellence,  the  remainder,  pronounced 
unclean,  is  condemned  in  the  mass, 
and  rendered  eminently  odious,  in  that 
state  of  reprobation  termed  Mediocrity, 
which,  by  the  same  authority,  is  de- 
clared to  be  the  opprobrium  of  genius, 
and  "  hateful  alike  to  gods  and  men." 

There  is  no  vandalism  which  can 
exceed  this  dogma  in  its  most  mischie- 
vous influence  upon  talent ;  for  it  mat- 
ters not  whether  it  becomes  uproduc- 


tive  from  the  want  of  culture,  or  from; 
that  which  is  destructive  of  its  princi- 
ple of  life.  Poetry  suffers  grievously 
under  its  tyranny,  and  if  the  other  arts 
should  sometimes  escape,  it  is  because 
their  principles  are  less  understood, 
and  ignorance  betrays  the  critic  into 
occasional  candour ;  but  when,  as  it 
generally  happens,  he  makes  up  in 
boldness  of  animadversion,  his  defi- 
ciency of  skill,  painting  and  her  sisters 
experience  the  common  fate  of  genius, 
which  is  to  have  nearly  all  their  works 
declared  worthy  only  of  being  hated 
or  despised. 

But  what  is  this  direful  state,  so 
much  abhorred  by  critics  and  dreaded 
by  professors  ?  Mediocrity  is  common- 
ly defined  to  be  "  that  middle  point 
between  the  superlatively  eocd.  and  its 
opposite  extreme,  where  the  high  re- 
lish of  beauty  is  so  diluted,  aad  its  ef- 
fects are  so  chastened  as  to  present  no- 
thing that  can  be  either  highly  appro- 
ved or  harshly  censured ;  possessing 
neither  merits  that  charm,  nor  faults 
that  offend  xis." 

Here,  it  is  true,  we  have  an  idea  cf 
Mediocrity  in  the  abstract ;  but,  un- 
fortunately for  the  definition,  works 
of  genius  so  balanced  by  opposing  qua- 
lities exist  only  in  the  inn  gi  nation  of 


286  Mediocrity. 

the  critic ;  or  if  such  a  union  were 
possible,  it  is  not  true  that,  by  altering 
the  balance,  the  result  would  be  some- 
thing more  estimable.  It  would  surely 
be  ridiculous  to  assert  in  plain  terms, 
that  the  excellence  of  a  composition 
wou-ld  be  improved  by  a  mixture  of 
defects  ;  yet  it  is  actually  on  this  pre- 
sumption that  Mediocrity  is  condemn- 
ed as  peculiarly  offensive.  We  are  not 
averse,  it  is  admitted,  to  compound  for 
a  few  faults  to  obtain  higher  beauties, 
but  we  are  not  therefore  to  believe  that 
the  blemishes  contributed  any  thing 
to  our  admiration. 

If  criticism  would  permit  us  to  fol- 
low the  desires  of  our  own  hearts,  we 
should  naturally  be  most  pleased  with 
those  works  which  to  us  appeared  to 
have  the  greatest  number  of  agreeable 
qualities.  These  would  be  our  best ; 
and  immediately  below  that  high  point 
of  pre-eminence  we  should  perceive  a 
series  to  commence,  in  which  its  merit 
would  be  gradually  diminished  until 
it  reached  its  lowest  stage,  and,  judg- 
ing reasonably  and  fairly,  our  appro- 
bation would  lower  in  the  same  pro- 
gressive order ;  but  by  the  sentence 
pronounced  on  the  crime  of  Mediocri- 
ty, we  are  led  to  suppose  that  there  is 
something  somewhere  about  the  mid- 
way, between  the  best  and  worst,  which 
is  singularly  repulsive,  and  so  much 
to  be  feared  and  shunned,  that  it  were 
better  never  to  adventure  in  the  art 
than  pause  at  that  ill-fated  spot. 

To  detect  the  folly  or  affectation  of 
this  principle,  we  have  only  to  compare 
it  with  the  practice  of  the  critic  ;  for 
although  he  pretends  to  shrink  with 
wounded  sensibility  from  inferiority 
in  every  shape,  note  the  history  of  his 
predilections,  and  you  will  find  him 
successively  the  adorer  of  every  shade 
of  excellence,  and  every  fashion  and 
quality  of  art.  It  is  therefore  the  mere 
prattle  of  idleness  to  say  that  true  taste 
can  approve  of  nothing  but  what  is  in- 
trinsically good,  and  comparatively 
the  best,  since  it  is  evident  that  tin's 
true  taste  is  of  all  things  the  most  ac- 
commodating, and  can  doat  upon  any 
thing  and  every  thing  in  its  turn.  The 
connoisseur  tribe,  in  all  times  and 
places,  forms  to  itself  a  criterion  of  its 
own,  and  lays  down  rules  of  judgment, 
which,  as  they  refer  to  no  established 
and  permanent  code,  scarcely  survive 
their  authors ;  though  time  is  conti- 
nually brushing  away  the  unprofitable 
labours  in  some  new  shape,  they  as 
constantly  reappear. 


£June, 


In  fact  Pre-eminence  xndiMediocrity 
are  just  whatever  the  existing  state  of 
cultivated  talent  may  chance  to  deter- 
mine. The  rapturous  productions  of 
one  age  are  sunk  into  insipidity  by  the 
more  advanced  art  of  another,  which, 
as  the  ever-moving  wheel  revolves, 
either  falls  by  its  own  decay,  or  is  ex- 
tinguished by  rival  splendour,  more 
brilliant,  but  not  more  durable.  The 
works  of  middle  merit  in  the  time  of 
Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  were  be- 
yond all  comparison  higher  than  when 
Giotto  and  Cimabue  were  at  the  head 
of  their  profession,  or  after  wards,  when 
the  "  Raphael  of  the  day"  was  pro- 
claimed in  the  person  of  the  Chevalier 
Mengs. 

Carlo  Maratti  is  usually  named  as 
an  example  of  confirmed  mediocrity, 
and  men  whose  ideas  of  excellence  are 
adjusted  to  a  higher  scale,  affect  to  con- 
template his  works  with  apathy  or  dis- 
gust. But  this  character  of  the  artist 
is  formed  on  a  comparison  with  his 
more  eminent  predecessors ; — let  their 
works  be  annihilated  or  forgotten,  and 
those  of  Carlo  Maratti  will  be  disco- 
vered to  possess  a  very  large  propor- 
tion of  positive  merit.  Being  the  best, 
they  would  be  declared  by  every  voice 
"  most  excellent ;"  in  which  case,  there 
is  no  precious  quality  in  art  that  would 
not  be  seen  in  the  divine  works  of  Car- 
lo Maratti ;  professors  would  imitate, 
andconnoisseursexclaim;  and  it  might 
be  again  said — as  one  great  genius  said 
of  another, — that  "  to  kiss  the  hem  of 
his  cloak  would  abundantly  satisfy  even 
an  ambitious  man." 

Although  it  may  not  be  compatible 
with  the  dignity  of  criticism  to  balance 
the  consequences  of  its  principles  with 
their  truth,  when  the  tutors  of  ingeni- 
ous youth  set  before  their  tyros  the 
hobgoblin  of  Mediocrity  to  stimulate 
their  exertions,  they  should  consider 
whether  an  object,  so  fearful  might  not 
rather  check  than  encourage  their  ala- 
crity; and  also,  when  they  gravely  pro- 
nounce  Mediocrity  to  be  a  thing  "hated 
both  by  gods  and  men,"  whether  they 
should  not  first  be  well  assured  of  the 
fact ;  for  the  cause  of  truth  is  not  al- 
ways best  promoted  by  incredible  evi- 
dence. 

That  men  may  be  moved  by  no  ade- 
quate cause  to  hatred  or  approbation 
on  matters  of  taste,  it  will  not  be  dis- 
puted ;  but  that  the  gods  have  the  same 
sense  of  abhorrence  for  this  unfortu- 
nate stage  of  inferiority,  is  not  equally 
certain.  If  we  may  judge  by  their  own 


18210 

works,  and  compare  them  with  each 
other  as  they  appear  to  us,  both  in 
physical  and  intellectual  nature,  where 
the  s  line  variety,  the  same  gradations 
hetween  heauty  and  deformity,  be- 
tween meanness  and  magnificence,  are 
no  less  apparent  than  in  the  produc- 
tions of  men,  it  would  seem  that,  how- 
ever immortals  may  feel  with  respect 
to  what  is  most  excellent,  th.2y  can  at 
least  behold  with  complacency  the  nu- 
merous examples  which  do  not  reach 
that  elevated  point.  This  extraordi- 
nary delicacy,  this  critical  squeamish- 
ness,  has  indeed  nothing  of  divinity  in 
it.  It  is  neither  produced  nor  sanction- 
ed by  the  gods,  but  is  a  creature  of  hu- 
man growth,  partaking  of  human  infir- 
mity ;  and  though  believed  to  be  the 
issue  of  fine  taste,  had  ignorance  and 
brutality  been  its  parents,  it  could  not 
have  been  more  inimical  to  the  welfare 
of  art.  If  it  be  the  effect  of  refinement, 
it  is  a  plethoric  symptom  in  the  cause, 
and  indicates  a  state  of  vicious  excess ; 
for  the  taste  so  highly  rectified  is  not 
improved  either  in  delicacy  or  inten- 
sity of  feeling.  Instead  of  being  an  en- 
largement of  the  capacity  of  receiving 
pleasure  from  the  operations  of  genius, 
it  is  in  reality  a  contraction  of  that  be- 
nevolent provision  in  nature, — a  power 
communicated  to  the  mind  of  circum- 
scribing its  own  enjoyments  ;  whereas 
the  taste  which  is  free  from  this  vice, 
has  more  ample  resources,  and  can  ex- 
tract pleasure  from  works  various  in 
their  degrees  of  merit ;  equally  just  and 
liberal  in  its  perceptions,  it  can  distin- 
guish the  excellence  which  is  attained, 
and  that  also  which  was  intended,  and 
discovers  motives  of  approbation  both 
in  the  aim  and  in  the  performance. 

In  truth,  there  are  few  of  the  pro- 
ductions of  genius  that  rise  to  the  ele- 
vation of  the  despised  character  in 
question,  which  do  not  contain  quite 
enough  to  satisfy  the  general  appetite 
for  such  things,  and  also  that  of  the 
majority  of  those  who  assume  the  di- 
rection of  public  taste,  if  they  did  not 
find  it  much  more  convenient  to  ac- 
quire a  kind  of  importance  by  dispu- 
ting the  claims  of  merit  in  others,  than 
by  a  fair  competition  to  establish  their 
own. 

The  arts  are  our  legitimate  offspring, 
and  nature  has  bound  us  to  the  chil- 
dren of  our  love.  The  business  of  the 
critic  should  therefore  be  to  strengthen 
this  affection,  by  enabling  the  mind  to 
discover,  and  appreciate  liberally  what 


Mediocrity.  287 

is  good  in  all  its  degrees,  and  not,  by 
an  unnatural  pursuit  of  defects,  and 
habits  of  peevish  rejection,  leave  it 
with  scarcely  any  other  sentiment  than 
that  of  aversion.  By  the  fastidious  cri- 
tic we  are  placed  in  the  situation  of 
the  great  Sancho,  before  a  table  bend- 
ing under  a  load  of  sumptuous  viands 
prepared  for  his  refreshment,  with  an 
officious  doctor  at  his  elbow  directing 
his  choice  of  food  ;  and  by  whose  im- 
pertinent solicitude  the  honest  gover- 
nor, with  an  appetite  for  every  thing 
before  him,  was  well  nigh  famished  in 
the  midst  of  what  appeared  to  his  un- 
sophisticated eye  a  luxurious  abun- 
dance. Heavens  !  how  different  was 
that  state  of  subdued  taste  and  elegant 
starvation  from  the  paradise  of  Camaco 
— the  type  of  liberal  criticism — where 
the  same  illustrious  personage  found 
himself  surrounded  by  the  flesh-pots 
of  Egypt,  and  at  full  liberty  to  approve 
and  enjoy  ;  and  where,  yielding  to  the 
generous  impulse  of  his  nature,  to 
meet  with  equal  pleasure  the  kind  in- 
tentions of  those  who  endeavoured  to 
please,  he  realized  all  that  his  luxuri- 
ous fancy  could  conceive  of  human  fe- 
licity ! 

With  this  impressive  example  be- 
fore us,  of  the  vigorous  relish  of  a  sim- 
ple and  natural  taste,  we  are  compel- 
led to  acknowledge,  (wherein  we  shall 
be  sanctioned  by  the  Prince  of  Pro- 
verbs) that  "  a  good  appetite  is  better 
than  a  delicate  taste."  By  the  one  we 
have  many  sources  of  pleasure,  by  the 
other  few.  If  the  generality  of  men 
can  be  gratified  by  imperfect  or  infe- 
rior productions  in  the  fine  arts,  be- 
cause their  higher  excellencies  are  un- 
known to  them,  it  is  better  they  should 
continue  so,  than  by  a  superfluous  re- 
finement be  almost  excluded  from  such 
enjoyments.  The  pleasure  diffused 
by  that  happy  ignorance,  gives,  in  its 
cheering  effect,  vivacity  and  strength 
to  art,  while  the  other  operates  upon 
it  as  a  blight.  An  ingenious  youth, 
who  is  certain  of  finding  admirers  in 
all  the  stages  of  his  progress,  will  have 
every  motive  to  proceed  with  vigour, 
and  consequently  every  chance  of  ul- 
timate success;  but  if  warned,  that 
unless  he  reaches  the  summit,  contempt 
instead  of  praise  will  certainly  be  the 
only  reward  of  his  labour,  he  will 
shrink,  at  the  outset,  from  an  underta- 
king of  such  difficulty  and  hazard. 

I  have  now,  learned  sir,  expended 
all  my  shafts,  and  I  hope  not  without 

12 


288  Mediocrity.  [[June, 

some  effect ;  but  if  you  think  the  ene-  the  refinement  of  public  taste  must 
my  still  on  the  field,  seize  your  lance,  precede  the  developemcnt  of  talent ; 
I  conjure  you,  or  trusty  broad-sward — •  shew  that  genius  put  forth  its  fairest 
which  none  can  wield  with  more  skill  blossoms  when  men  had  no  critics  to 
and  adroitness  than  yourself — and  at  direct  their  judgment  ;  and  finally, 
one  mighty  stroke  rid  us  of  that  pesti-  that  it  never  thrives  in  the  soil  where 
ferous  race  of  doctors,  who,  while  they  fr/.vfchsis  many  cultivators: — So  may  we 
profess  to  regulate  and  amend  our  taste,  hope  to  see  the  candour  and  good  sense 
deprive  us  both  of  appetite  and  food,  of  the  many  take  their  natural  course, 
In  plain  English,  shew  the  world,  I  men  of  genius,  though  not  of  the  high- 
entreat  you,  by  arguments  worthy  of  est  class,  receive  their  due  proportion 
your  pen,  the  pernicious  tendency  of  of  fame,  and  the  public  at  large,  relie- 
that  hypocritical  spirit,  which,  forever  ved  from  the  bugbear  of  criticism,  al- 
correcting  and  improving,  is  itself  the  lowed  to  be  pleased  with  the  produc- 
enemy  of  all  improvement;  and  which,  tions  of  art,  where,  and  whenever  it 
chilling  with  an  icy  breath  the  free  shall  be  so  disposed  ;  and  also  to  ex- 
current  of  public  feeling,  deprives  the  press  that  pleasure  in  simplicity  and 
arts  of  genius  of  their  best  nourishment  truth. 

and  most  honourable  reward.  Confute  CANDIDUS. 

by  facts  the  too  prevalent  opinion,  that 


Al  Signore  I'Editore. 
SIGNORE, 

PRENDO  la  liberta  di  mandarle  un  Sonetto  da  me  composto  allorche  io  stava 
per  partire  d'  Italia.  VE  il  primo,  per  quanto  che  io  sappia,  che  e  stato  com- 
posto,— o  almeno,  dato  alia  luce  da  un  Britanno,*  dal  tempo  felice  in  cui  fiori 
la  Poesia  Inglese  e  scrisse  il  divinissimo  Milton.  Egli  ci  ha  lasciati  parecchi 
Sonnetti  in  lingua  Italiana.  Forse  ve  ne  sieno  altri  da  altri  poeti,  ma  adesso  non 
mene  ricordo.  Bisogna  che  si  scusino  le  imperfezioni  del  mio  Sonnctto  ;  e  cio 
si  fara  considerando  che  1'  impresa  e  assai  ardua  e  difficile  per  uno  Scozzese. 

J\Ii  credera, 

Con  tutto  rispetto, 

Suo  divotiss0  servitore, 

r 

SONETTO* 

AL  bel  soggiorno  in  cui  sorride  Am  ore— 
Pargoletto  padron  del  mondo  intero — 
Al  bel  paese  del  suo  dolce  impero 
Si  volgon  gli  occhi  miei,  si  volge  il  core. 

De'  passati  miei  di  rammento  Tore  ; — 
S'  abbassa  il  ciglio,  ed  il  mesto  pensiero 
Nel  Futuro  si  svia  torbido  e  nero  ; 
Provando  del  Destin  tutto  il  rigore. 

Qui  sorgon, — tra  tempeste  e  nebbia  in  volte, — 
tL'eterne  mura  dell'  Ausonia  amata, 
U'  le  speranze  mie  lascio  sepolte. 

Declina  il  sol : — la  Xatura  creata 

S'  imbruna ;  e  colla  Notte  ancor  piii  folte 

Divengon  le  ombre  dell'  alma  aflamiata. 

r 

Italia,  1818. 

*  Eccettuato  semprc  1*  Orhatlssimo  Sijuora  Mattliia*. 
•f  "  I/eterne  mura" — ck.6,  le  Alpi. 


Captain  Parry' t  Voyage. 


360 


CAPTAIN  PAURY'B  VOYAGE.* 


CAPTAIN  PARRY'S  voyage  has  been 
far  more  successful  than  Captain  Ross's, 
and  his  book  is  proportionally  more  in- 
teresting and  satisfactory  ;  both  cir- 
cumstances, however,  we  cannot  help 
thinking,  in  some  degree  attributable 
to  the  diversity  of  situation  in  which 
these  officers  have  been  placed.  To 
this  diversity,  therefore,  we  shall  beg 
to  call  the  attention  of  our  readers  a 
moment,  before  proceeding  to  the  ana- 
lysis of  the  work  before  us ;  convinced, 
as  we  are,  on  the  one  hand,  that  the 
surge  has  already  broken  somewhat 
heavily  on  Captain  Ross's  head,  and 
may,  for  aught  we  know,  be  now  again 
gathering  against  him ;  while,  on  the 
other,  that  Captain  Parry's  merits  re- 
quire no  bolstering  up  at  another's  ex- 
pence,  that,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  both 
his  wish,  repeatedly  implied  in  his 
work,  and  his  interest,  to  stand  upon 
his  own  ground  only,  and  have  ample 
justice  done  to  his  less  fortunate  fore- 
runner in  the  career  of  Northern  Dis- 
covery. 

In  that  career  Captain  Ross  was  the 
first  to  be  employed  in  modern  times ; 
and  on  his  appointment  two  several 
objects  must  have  presented  themselves 
to  his  mind  as  points  of  pursuit.  The 
one  was,  to  get  into  Baffin's  Bay  at  any 
rate,  an  object  only  once  achieved  be- 
fore, by  Baffin  himself,  and  which  had 
subsequently,  for  a  period  of  two  hun- 
dred years,  foiled  all  the  attempts,  and 
there  had  been  many,  which  had  been 
made  to  compass  it.  The  next  was,  to 
see  what  he  could  find  when  he  was 
there.  Now,  of  these,  the  first  he  most 
successfully  attained ;  and  first  and  in 
safety,  without  the  assistance  of  expe- 
rience or  previous  example,  penetrated 
that  barrier  of  ice  which  seems  almost 
permanently  fixed  in  a  diagonal  across 
and  along  Davis's  Straits ;  in  following 
his  track  through  which,  the  following 


year,  no  fewer  than  fourteen  Green- 
land ships,  with  all  the  skill  which  we 
have  heard  boasted  of  a«  possessed  by 
their  masters,  were  wrecked.  And  the 
second  he  thus  far  accomplished ;— he 
narrowed  materially  the  field  of  fur- 
ther investigation,  shewed  expressly 
where  a  passage  could  not  be,  where 
possibly  it  might  yet  be  found,  where 
after  all  he  certainly  ought  himself  to 
have  found  it,  where  no  difficulty  or 
danger  opposed  the  discovery,  but  ap- 
parently a  want  of  sufficient  interest 
in  the  investigation,  to  bear  him  with 
undiminished  ardour  through  a  series 
of  previous  disappoin  tmen  ts  to  ultimate 
success. 

Captain  Parry's  situation  when  he  left 
England  in  1819,  was  essentially  dif- 
ferent from  all  this.  He  had  once  alrea- 
dy penetrated  the  ice  in  Davis'  Straits, 
he  felt  confident,  accordingly,  that  he 
could  do  it  again ;  and  the  benefit 
which,  in  doing  it,  he  derived  from  his 
past  experience,  he  takes  an  early  oppor- 
tunity in  his  narrative  of  expressing 
in  the  termswhich  will  be  found  in  the 
note,  t  This,  therefore,  was  no  object 
of  his  solicitude,  it  did  not  fill  his 
mind  at  all,  it  ranked  merely  among 
the  specialties  of  his  undertaking.  But 
besides  this,  when  beyond  this  obstacle, 
he  was  not,  like  Captain  Ross,  adrift, 
as  it  were,  in  an  unknown  sea,  where 
a  passage  might  equally  be  found  in 
one  place  as  in  another;  he  had  not 
only  a  specific  object  of  pursuit,  and 
that  raised  in  his  estimation  by  be- 
coming a  first  object,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  additional  importance  it  must  have 
acquired  from  the  disappointment,  and 
even  indignation,  expressed  in  Eng- 
land at  the  previous  failure  in  ascer- 
taining it,  but  also  specific  points  on 
which  to  look  for  it.  Add  to  all  which, 
he  found  it  at  the  first  search,  and 
tasted  of  none  of  that  "  hope  deferred," 


*  Journal  of  a  Voyage  for  the  discovery  of  a  North-West  Passage  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific,  performed  in  the  Years  1819 — 20,  in  His  Majesty's  Ships,  Hecla  and 
Griper,  under  the  orders  of  William  Edward  Parry,  R.N.  F.R.S.  and  Commander  of 
the  Expedition.  With  an  Appendix.  4to.  London,  Murray,  1821. 

•)•  "  If  any  proof  were  wanting  of  the  value  of  local  knowledge  in  the  navigation  of  the 
Polar  Seas,  it  would  be  amply  furnished  by  the  fact  of  our  having  now  reached  the  en- 
trance of  Lancaster  Sound  a  month  earlier  than  we  had  done  in  1818,  although 
we  had  then  sailed  a  fortnight  sooner.  This  difference  is  to  be  attributed  entirely  to  the 
confidence  which  1  felt  from  the  experience  gained  on  the  former  voyage,  that  an  open 
sea  would  be  found  to  the  westward  of  the  barrier  of  ice  which  occupies  the  middle  of 
Baffin's  Bay.  Without  that  confidence,  it  would  have  been  little  better  than  madness 
to  have  attempted  a  passage  through  so  compact  a  body  of  ice,  when  no  indication  o£a 
clear  sea  appeared  beyond  it."  P.  24. 

VOL.  IX.  2  N 


990 

which  makes  the  heart  sick  and  the 
spirits  impatient,  in  discovery  as  in 
every  thing  else. 

The  merits  of  the  two  officers  in 
question  must  not  then  be  too  hastily 
appreciated,  from  their  different  suc- 
cess ;  neither  also  ought  their  respec- 
tive books  to  be  estimated  without  re- 
ference to  a  similar  diversity  in  the  si- 
tuation in  which  each  was  composed. 
Captain  Ross  knew  that  his  conduct 
was  censured  by  his  superiors  and  the 
public ;   his   tone,   therefore,   almost 
throughout,  is  apologetical,  and  many 
of  his  details  are  lumbering,  egotisti- 
cal, and  heavy.  But  when  a  man  feels 
that  he  is  likely  to  be  defrauded  of 
what  is  strictly  his  due  on  one  point, 
he  naturally  swells  on  all ;  and  he 
were  a  harsh  judge  of  human  nature 
who  would  too  rigidly  scan  the  infir- 
mity.    Captain  Parry,  on  the  other 
hand,  returned  to  reap  the  well-earned 
rewards  of  success,  with  incidents  to 
tell  of  a  romantic  and  unusual  charac- 
ter, and  talents  for  telling  them,  which, 
in  despite  of  his  modest  excuses  about 
his  education,  it  is  difficult  to  imagine 
that  he  should  not  suspect  were  re- 
spectable, for,  in  truth,  they  seem  to 
us  first-rate.  Without  a  care  or  a  fear, 
therefore,  he  seems  to  have  written, 
with  singular  facility  and  precision, 
whatever  came  in  order,  and  to  have 
thus  given  the  world  a  volume  consi- 
derably larger  than  Captain  Ross's,  yet 
replete  with  interest  almost  through- 
out. 

And  in  making  these  observations,  let 
it  not  be  supposed  that  we  are  seeking  to 
make  out  a  case  for  Captain  Ross,  and 
for  this  purpose  are  desirous  of  depre- 
ciating Captain  Parry.  The  truth  is, 
we  know  very  little  of  either  officer ; 
and  if  we  have  any  prejudices  at  all, 
they  run  in  the  opposite  direction,  for 
we  think  very  highly  of  Captain  Parry, 
and  are  even  eager  to  add  to  what  we 
have  said,  that  by  his  conduct  through- 
out, but  chiefly  subsequent  to  the  dis- 
covery of  a  passage  through  Lancaster 
Sound,  he  amply  deserved  the  success 
which  had  in  the  first  instance  attend- 
ed him  in  making  it.  Perhaps  indeed 
we  may  recur  to  this  subject,  for  it  is 
a  favourite  one  with  us.  But  mean- 
while, we  love  fair  play,  however  it 
cut,  and  have  an  old-fashioned  school 
injunction,  suum  cuique  tribuito,  still 
ringing  in  our  ears ;  with  which,  how- 
ever, having  thus  complied,  we  pro- 
ceed now  to  our  principal  task. 


Captain  Parry's  Voyage. 


£June, 


In  analyzing  the  present  work,  it 
will  be  difficult  for  us  to  avoid  some 
repetitions ;  for  throughout  the  whole 
time  that  these  northern  voyages  have 
occupied  public  attention,  we  have 
been  so  assiduous  in  picking  up  recent 
information  respecting  their  progress, 
for  the  benefit  of  our  readers,  and  so 
fortunate  in  obtaining  it  accurate  and 
minute,  we  find  ourselves  now  precise- 
ly in  the  situation  which  deterred  us 
from  examining  Captain  Ross's  work 
when  it  appeared — forestalled  of  our 
matter  out  of  our  own  mouth.  Refer- 
ring, however,  to  our  44th  Number 
for  a  more  regular  narrative  than  we 
shall  now  offer,  and  to  the  chart  pub- 
lished in  it  for  illustration,  we  shall 
merely  connect  the  parts  of  the  whole 
which  seem  to  us  the  most  interest- 
ing, and  conclude  with  a  brief  and  po- 
pular notice  of  the  scientific  results  of 
this  very  remarkable  voyage. 

The  expedition  arrived  in  Sir  James 
Lancaster's  Sound,  or  rather  at  the 
mouth  of  Barrow's  Straits,  on  the  30th 
July,  1819,  and  the  recognition  of  the 
shore,  and  still  more  of  their  own  foot- 
steps on  that  shore,  which  had  survi- 
ved the  winter,  and  remained  to  tes- 
tify that  that  year,  at  least,  but  little 
snow  had  fallen,  seems  to  have  excited 
the  feelings,  and  animated  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  gallant  little  band  compo- 
sing it,  in  no  ordinary  degree.  Their 
patience  was  for  some  days  exercised 
by  contrary  winds;  but  on  the  3d 
August,  a  fresh  breeze  sprung  up  from 
the  eastward,  and  the  great  discovery 
was  achieved.  From  the  5th  to  the 
19th,  during  all  which  time  farther 
passage  to  the  westward  was  barred  by 
continuous  Ice,  they  were  employed  in 
exploring  Prince  Regent's  Inlet;  from 
the  mouth  of  which,  on  the  20th,  they 
again  made  a  start  westerly  along  and 
through  the  ice,  which,  both  now  and 
the  following  year,  they  found  packed 
on  its  western  side.  On  the  22d  they 
opened  two  fine  channels,  one  named 
after  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  trend- 
ing N.N.W.  between  Cornwallis  Island 
and  North  Devon  of  the  chart,  and 
quite  clear  of  ice  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  both  in  1819  and  1820;  the 
other  nearly  west,  not  so  open,  nor  in 
that  respect  so  promising,  but  more 
directly  in  the  course  which  it  was 
their  object  to  pursue.  The  last  ac- 
cordingly was  preferred  by  Captain 
Parry  ;  and  although  detained  almost 
a  whole  day  at  its  mouth,  by  the  25th 


1821-3 


Captain  Parry's  Voyage. 


he  had  reached  99°  west  longitude, 
almost  20°  beyond  Lancaster's  Sound, 
and  near  the  longitude,  as  he  concei- 
ved from  the  phenomena  of  variation, 
of  one  of  the  magnetic  poles.  Imme- 
diately about  him,  in  this  run,  was 
thickly  studded  with  islands,  on  seve- 
ral of  which  he  landed ;  and  far  to  the 
southward  were  descried  occasional 
patches  of  land,  but  whether  also 
islands,  or  points  in  the  adjoining  con- 
tinent, it  was  impossible  to  determine. 
On  the  30th,  they  made  the  S.E.  point 
of  Melville  Island,  with  which  they 
were  destined  to  become  afterwards 
better  acquainted ;  and  on  its  southern 
shore,  on  the  4th  September,  the  name 
of  Bounty  Cape  was  given  to  a  point 
of  land  situate  in  longitude  110°  W., 
latitude  74°  44'  N.,  the  first  in  the 
scale  of  parliamentary  rewards  for  dis- 
coveries within  the  Arctic  Circle  being 
here  earned.  On  the  6th,  they  an- 
chored, for  the  first  time  since  leaving 
England,  in  a  bay  even  then  called 
the  Bay  of  the  Hecla  and  Griper,  but 
which  subsequently  acquired  an  addi- 
tional claim  to  that  appellation,  the 
harbour_in  which  they  passed  the  win- 
ter, being  a  cove  within  it. 

Some  time  before  this  period,  the 
idea  had  occurred  to  Captain  Parry  of 
making  his  way  to  the  westward, when 
the  ice  was  nearly  close  out  to  sea,  by 
creeping  along  shore  within  the  main 
body,  which  was  generally  found  to 
take  the  ground  some  little  way  off. 
They  were  now  obliged  to  adopt  this 
method  exclusively,  and  during  the 
remainder  of  the  season  of  1819,  a 
span,  however,  of  only  twenty  more 
days,  their  perils  and  anxieties  in  the 
prosecution  of  it  were  excessive,  and 
their  success  at  the  same  time  very 
small;  the  utmost  distance  to  which 
they  attained  that  year  not  exceeding 
forty  miles  from  this  point.  To  add 
to  their  perplexities,  a  party  consisting 
of  an  officer  and  six  men  were  missing, 
amid  the  desoktion  of  the  surrounding 
scenery,  for  the  greater  part  of  three 
days  and  nights  ;  the  Griper,  to  which 
they  belonged,  and  which  seems 
throughout  to  have  had  the  luck  to 
get  constantly  a  worse  birth  than  the 
Hecla,  was  repeatedly  caught  by  the 
ice,  and  heeled  over  nearly  to  upset- 
ting ;  and  the  young  ice  seemed  evi- 
dently kept  from  forming  only  by  the 
tempestuous  state  of  the  weather.  On 
the  21st,  Captain  Parry  gave  up  the 
point,  and  returned  to  the  Bay  of  the 


801 

Hecla  and  Griper  to  look  out  for  win- 
ter quarters.  These  he  was  fortunate 
enough  to  find  of  excellent  quality, 
and  by  the  26th  he  was  snug ;  all 
hands,  however,  being  previously  ex- 
posed to  severe  fatigue  in  cutting  a 
canal  4080  yards,  or  nearly  two  miles 
and  a  third  long,  through  the  young 
ice,  now,  on  an  average,  seven  inches 
thick,  by  which  the  ships  entered  Win- 
ter harbour. 

Here  they  lay  ten  whole  months,  a 
part  of  each  individually  of  the  whole 
year ;  and  the  five  most  interesting 
chapters,  to  the  general  reader,  of  Cap- 
tain Parry's  narrative  are  devoted  to 
this  period.  We  wish  it  were  possible 
indeed  to  extract  the  spirit  of  the 
whole  for  his  sake ;  for  really  this  gal- 
lant young  officer  loses  half  his  fame, 
when  his  exertions,  guided  by  good 
sense  and  good  feeling,  on  this  trying 
occasion,  are  not  distinctly  appreciated. 
But  we  can  only  select,  which  we  shall 
do  in  .his  own  words. 

"  Having  now  reached  the  station, 
where  in  all  probability  we  were  des- 
tined to  remain  eight  or  nine  months, 
during  three  of  which  we  were  not 
to  see  the  face  of  the  sun,  my  atten- 
tion was  immediately  and  imperiously 
called  to  various  important  duties, 
many  of  them  of  a  singular  nature, 
such  as  had  for  the  first  time  devolved 
on  any  officer  in  his  Majesty's  navy, 
and  might  indeed  be  considered  of  rare 
occurrence  in  the  whole  history  of  na- 
vigation. The  security  of  the  ships, 
and  the  preservation  of  the  various 
stores,  were  objects  of  immediate  con- 
cern. A  regular  system  of  good  order 
and  cleanliness,  as  most  conducive  to 
the  health  of  the  crews  during  the 
long,  dark,  and  dreary  winter,  equally 
demanded  my  attention. 

"  Not  a  moment  was  lost,  there- 
fore, in  the  commencement  of  our  ope- 
rations. The  whole  of  the  masts  were 
dismantled,  except  the  lower  ones,  and 
the  Hecla's  main-topmast,  which  was 
kept  fidded  for  the  purpose  of  occa- 
sionally hoisting  up  the  electrometer 
chain,  to  try  the  effect  of  atmospheri- 
cal electricity.  The  lower  yards  were 
lashed  fore  and  aft  amidships,  at  a 
sufficient  height  to  support  the  planks 
of  the  housing  intended  to  be  erected 
over  the  ships,  the  lower  ends  of 
which  rested  on  the  gunwale ;  and  the 
whole  of  this  frame- work  was  after- 
wards roofed  over  with  a  cloth  com- 
posed of  wadding- tilt,  with  which 


292 

waggons  arc  usually  covered.  The 
boats,  spars,  running-rigging,  and  sails, 
were  removed  on  shore,  in  order  to 
give  as  much  room  as  possible  on  our 
upper  deck,  to  enable  the  people  to 
take  exercise  on  board,  whenever  the 
weather  should  be  too  inclement  for 
walking  on  shore. — 

"  As  soon  as  the  ships  were  secured 
and  housed  over,  my  undivided  atten- 
tion was,  in  the  next  place,  directed  to 
the  comfort  of  the  officers  and  men, 
and  to  the  preservation  of  that  extra- 
ordinary degree  of  health,  which  we 
had  hitherto  enjoyed  in  both  ships. 
A  few  brief  remarks  on  this  subject  by 
Mr  Edwards,  to  whose  skill  and  ad- 
vice, as  well  as  humane  and  unremit- 
ting attention  to  the  few  sick  on  all 
occasions,  I  am  much  indebted,  I  need 
make  no  apology  for  inserting." — We 
cannot,  however,  enter  on  this  subject 
at  length ;  suffice  it  to  observe,  that 
Captain  Parry  thus  omits  no  opportu- 
nity of  bringing  his  officers  into  notice, 
thereby  honouring  himself  as  well  as 
them ;  and  that  their  united  exertions 
on  this  point  were  crowned  with  such 
success,  that,  of  ninety-four  persons 
absent  eighteen  months  under  the 
most  trying  circumstances,  only  one 
died,  and  he  of  a  previously  formed 
internal  complaint,  the  particulars  of 
which  are  given  at  length  in  corrobo- 
ration  of  the  fact. 

The  next  cares  were  to  construct  an 
observatory  ashore,  a  work  of  great  la- 
bour, the  ground  having  become  by 
this  time  extremely  hard  and  the 
cold  intense,  to  land  the  instruments, 
and  finally  rig  a  temporary  theatre  on 
board  the  Hecla,  in  which  the  officers 
exhibited  at  intervals,  throughout  the 
winter,  their  scenic  powers.  The  pro- 
posal to  do  this  was  Captain  Parry's, 
and  he  adds,  *'  I  was  readily  seconded 
in  it  by  the  officers  of  both  ships,  and 
our  first  performance  was  fixed  for  the 
6th  November,  to  the  great  delight  of 
the  ship's  companies.  In  these  amuse- 
ments, I  gladly  took  a  part  myself, 
considering  that  an  example  of  cheer- 
fulness, by  giving'  a  direct  countenance 
to  every  thing  that  could  contribute  to 
it,  was  not  the  least  essential  part  of  my 
duty,  tinder  the  peculiar  circumstances 
in  which  we  were  placed." 

On  the  4th  November,  the  sun  de- 
scended below  their  horizon,  not  again 
to  rise  till  the  8th  of  February,  al- 
though visible  for  some  days  after  and 
before,  through  the  effect  of  refrac-, 


Captain  Parry' t  Voyage. 


tion.  The  weatlier  was  unfortunately 
too  cloudy  to  admit  of  observations 
for  determining  the  amount  of  this,  at 
the  then  temperature  of  6°  ;  but  they 
were  more  successful  on  this  head  in 
spring,  when  the  thermometer  stood 
considerably  lower.  The  following  de- 
scription of  occupation  and  scenery 
about  this  time,  or  a  little  later,  will 
be  perused,  we  think,  with  interest  by 
all  classes  of  readers. — 

"  The  officers  and  quarter-masters 
were  divided  into  four  watches,  which 
were  regularly  kept  as  at  sea,  while 
the  remainder  of  the  ships'-  com- 
panies were  allowed  to  enjoy  their 
night's  rest  undisturbed.  The  hands 
were  turned  up  at  a  quarter  before  six, 
and  both  decks  were  well  rubbed  with 
stones  and  warm  sand  before  eight 
o'clock,  at  which  time,  as  usual  at  sea, 
both  officers  and  men  went  to  break- 
fast. Three  quarters  of  an  hour  be- 
ing allowed  after  breakfast  for  the  men 
to  prepare  themselves  for  muster,  we 
beat  to  divisions  punctually  at  a  quar- 
ter past  nine,  when  every  person  on 
board  attended  on  the  quarter-deck, 
and  a  strict  inspection  of  the  men  took 
place,  as  to  their  personal  cleanliness, 
and  the  good  condition  as  well  as  suffi- 
cient warmth  of  their  clothing.  The 
reports  of  the  officers  being  made  to 
me,  the  people  were  then  allowed  to 
walk  about,  or  more  usually  to  run 
round  the  upper  deck,  while  I  went 
down  to  examine  the  state  of  that  be- 
low, accompanied  by  Lieut.  Beechey, 
and  Mr  Edwards.  The  state  of  this 
deck  may  be  said,  indeed,  to  have 
constituted  the  chief  source  of  our 
anxiety,  and  to  have  occupied  by  far 
the  greater  part  of  our  attention  at  this 
period.  Whenever  any  dampness  ap- 
peared, or,  what  more  frequently  hap- 
pened, any  accumulation  of  ice  had  ta- 
ken place  during  the  preceding  night, 
the  necessary  means  were  immediate- 
ly adopted  for  removing  it ;  in  the 
fonner  case,  usually  by  rubbing  the 
wood  with  cloths,  and  then  directing 
the  warm  air-pipe  towards  the  place  : 
in  the  latter,  by  scraping  off  the  ice, 
so  as  to  prevent  its  wetting  the  deck  by 
any  accidental  increase  of  temperature. 
In  this  respect,  the  bed-places  were 
particularly  troublesome ;  the  inner 
partition,  or  that  next  the  ship's  side, 
being  almost  unavoidably  covered 
with  more  or  less  dampness  or  ice,  ac- 
cording to  the  temperature  of  the  deck 
during  the  preceding  night.  This  in- 


18210 


Cuptain  Parry's  Voyage. 


convenience  might  to  a  great  degree 
have  been  avoided,  by  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  fuel  to  keep  up  two  good 
fires  on  the  lower  deck,  throughout 
the  twenty  four  hours.  But  our  stock 
of  coals  would  by  no  means  permit 
this,  bearing  in  mind  the  possibility 
of  our  spending  a  second  winter  with- 
in the  Arctic  Circle ;  and  this  comfort 
could  only  therefore  be  allowed  on  a 
few  occasions,  during  the  most  severe 
part  of  the  winter. 

"  In  the  course  of  my  examination 
of  the  lower  deck,  I  had  always  an  op- 
portunity of  seeing  those  few  men  who 
were  in  the  sick  list,  and  of  receiving 
from  Mr  Edwards,  a  report  of  their 
respective  cases ;  as  also  of  consulting 
that  gentleman  as  to  the  means  of  im- 
proving the  warmth,  ventilation,  and 
general  comfort  of  the  inhabited  parts 
of  the  ship.  Having  performed  this 
duty,  we  returned  to  the  upper  deck, 
where  I  personally  inspected  the  men  ; 
after  which,  they  were  sent  to  walk 
on  shore,  when  the  weather  would 
permit,  till  noon,  when  they  return- 
ed on  board  to  dinner.  When  the  day 
was  too  inclement  for  them  to  take 
this  exercice,  they  were  ordered  to  run 
round  and  round  the  deck,  keeping 
step  to  a  tune  on  a  barrel  organ,  or, 
not  unfrequently,  to  a  song  of  their 
own  singing.  Among  the  men,  were 
a  few  who  did  not  at  first  quite  like 
this  systematic  mode  of  taking  exer- 
cise ;  but  when  they  found  that  no 
plea,  except  that  of  illness,  was  ad- 
mitted as  an  excuse,  they  not  only 
willingly  ami  cheerfully  complied,  but 
made  it  the  occasion  of  much  humour 
and  frolic  among  themselves. 

"  The  officers  who  dined  at  two  o'- 
clock, were  also  in  the  habit  of  occu- 
pying one  or  two  hours  in  the  middle 
of  the  day  in  rambling  on  shore,  even 
in  our  darkest  period,  except  when  a 
fresh  wind  and  snow-drift  confined 
them  within  the  housing  of  the  ships. 
It  may  be  well  imagined  that  at  this 
period,  there  was  but  little  to  be  met 
with  in  our  walks  on  shore,  which 
could  either  amuse  or  interest  us.  The 
necessity  of  not  exceeding  the  limited 
distance  of  one  or  two  miles,  lest  a 
snow-drift,  which  often  rises  very  sud- 
denly, should  prevent  our  return,  add- 
ed considerably  to  the  dull  and  tedi- 
ous monotony,  which  day  after  day 
presented  itself.  To  the  northward 
was  the  sea,  covered  with  an  unbro- 
ken surface  of  ice,  uniform  in  its  daz- 
zling whiteness,  except  that  in  some 


203 

parts  a  few  hummocks  were  seen 
thrown  up,  somewhat  above  the  ge- 
neral level  ;  nor  did  the  land  offer 
much  greater  variety,  being  almost 
entirely  covered  with  snow  except 
here  and  there  a  patch  of  bare  ground 
in  some  exposed  situation,  where  the 
wind  had  not  allowed  the  snow  to  re- 
main. When  viewed  from  the  sum- 
mits of  the  neighbouring  hills,  on  one 
of  those  calm  and  clear  days  which 
not  unfrequently  occurred  during  the 
winter,  the  scene  was  such  as  to  in- 
duce contemplations,  which  had,  per- 
haps, more  of  melancholy  than  of  any 
other  feeling.  Not  an  object  was  to 
be  seen,  on  which  the  eye  could  long 
rest  with  pleasure,  unless  when  direc- 
ted to  the  spot  where  the  ships  lay, 
and  where  our  little  colony  was  plant- 
ed. The  smoke  which  there  issued 
from  the  several  fires,  affording  a  cer- 
tain indication  of  the  presence  of  man, 
gave  a  partial  cheerfulness  to  this  part 
of  the  prospect ;  and  the  sound  of 
voices,  which,  during  the  cold  wea- 
ther, could  be  heard  at  a  much  greater 
distance  than  usual,  served  now  and 
then  to  break  the  silence  which  reign- 
ed around  us,  a  silence  far  different 
from  that  peaceable  composure,  which 
charactdHzes  the  landscape  of  a  culti- 
vated country  ;  it  was  the  death-like 
stillness  of  the  most  dreary  desola- 
tion, and  the  total  absence  of  animated 
existence.  Such,  indeed,  was  the  want 
of  objects  to  afford  relief  to  the  eye, 
or  amusement  to  the  mind,  that  a 
stone  of  more  than  usual  size,  appear- 
ing above  the  snow  in  the  direction 
in  which  we  were  going,  immediately 
became  a  mark,  on  which  our  eyes 
were  unconsciously  fixed,  and  towards 
which  we  mechanically  advanced. 

"  Dreary  as  such  a  scene  must  ne- 
cessarily be,  it  c  mid  not,  however,  be 
said  to  be  wholly  wanting  in  interest, 
especially  when  associated  in  the  mind 
with  the  peculiarity  of  our  situation ; 
the  object  which  had  brought  us  hi- 
ther, and  the  hopes  which  the  least 
sanguine  among  us  sometimes  enter- 
tained, of  spending  a  part  of  our  next 
winter  in  the  more  genial  climate  of 
the  South  Sea  Islands.  Perhaps,  too, 
though  none  of  us  ventured  to  confess 
it,  our  thoughts  would  sometimes  in- 
voluntarily wander  homewards,  and 
institute  a  comparison  between  the 
rugged  face  of  nature  in  this  desolate 
region,  and  the  livelier  aspect  of  the 
happy  land  which  we  had  left  behind 


294  Captain  Parry's 

"  We  had  frequent  occasion,  in  our 
walks  on  shore,  to  remark  the  decep- 
tion which  takes  place  in  estimating 
the  distance  and  magnitude  of  objects, 
when  viewed  under  an  unvaried  sur- 
face of  snow.  It  was  not  uncommon 
for  us  to  direct  our  steps  towards  what 
we  took  to  be  a  large  mass  of  stone,  at 
the  distance  of  half  a  mile  from  us, 
but  which  we  were  able  to  take  up  in 
our  hands  after  one  minute's  walk. 
This  was  more  particularly  the  case, 
when  ascending  the  brow  of  a  hill, 
nor  did  we  find  that  the  deception  be- 
came less  on  account  of  the  frequency 
with  which  we  experienced  its  effects." 
Pp.  123—125. 

On  the  3d  of  February,  the  refrac- 
tion of  the  atmosphere  again  brought 
the  sun  in  sight,  not  thus  so  soon, 
however,  by  a  day  or  two,  as  had  been 
expected ;  nor  although  it  very  much 
distorted  the  outline,  particularly  the 
following  day,  did  the  observations 
give  it  above  1°  24"  04',  at  the  altitude 
of  20',  the  thermometer  at  the  time 
standing  38J  below  zero,  and  the  ba- 
rometer at  29.96  inches.  The  mean 
refraction,  per  table,  at  the  same  alti- 
tude, and  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, is  about  30'.  From  this  time 
the  days  lengthened  so  rapidly,  that, 
on  the  7th  of  April,  it  was  light  enough 
at  midnight  to  read  off  the  thermome- 
ter with  ease.  A  variety  of  optical 
and  meteorological  phenomena  now 
engaged  their  attention,  particularly 
halos  and  parhelia  of  great  beauty. 
But  the  weather  still  continued  in- 
tensely cold,  and  although  such  had 
been  the  influence  of  the  sun  when  it 
nad  only  one  degree  of  meridian  alti- 
tude, the  thermometer  in  the  shade 
rose  from  40°  to  35°  below  zero,  when 
it  remained  17  hours  above  the  hori- 
zon it  still  fell  occasionally  to  31°. 
Marks  of  thawing  on  the  shore  conti- 
nuing rare  and  indistinct. 

About  the  middle  of  May,  Captain 
Parry  caused  the  ice  to  be  cut  imme- 
diately round  the  ships,  when  its  ave- 
rage thickness  throughout  the  harbour 
was  determined  to  be  between  seven 
and  eight  feet ;  and  having  thus  got 
them  again  afloat,  the  housings  were 
removed,  and  preparations  made  to 
take  in  the  requisite  quantity  of  bal- 
last, to  make  up  for  stores  expended, 
and  to  rig  them  out  again.  On  the 
24th  of  the  same  month,  a  few  drops 
of  rain  fell,  or  were  said  to  have  fallen, 
on  the  Greenland  master's  face,  while 
walking  out ;  and  the  report  was  hail- 


£June, 

ed  with  a  satisfaction  of  which  it  is 
easy  to  conceive  the  amount.  On  the 
1st  of  June,  Captain  Parry  set  off  with 
a  party  of  volunteers,  to  explore  the 
interior  of  the  island. 

The  narrative  of  this  excursion  is 
not  very  interesting.  The  snow  still 
lay  for  the  most  part  thick  upon  the 
ground ;  and  although  here  and  there 
cleared  away,  and  a  little  vegetation 
commenced,  the  tew  geographical,  mi- 
neralogical,  and  botanical  observations, 
which  could  be  made  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, cast  but  a  meagre  interest 
over  the  monotonous  transactions  of 
such  a  journey.  The  portion  of  the 
whole,  we  readily  own,  which  we  our- 
selves regard  with  most  pleasure,  is 
the  account  given  of  the  good-hu- 
moured inventiveness  of  the  seamen, 
who  spread  a  blanket  upon  their  cart 
as  a  sail,  to  lighten  its  drag,  when  the 
wind  was  in  their  favour.  When  cut- 
ting the  canal  for  the  ships  to  enter 
Winter  Harbour,  they  had  had  re- 
course to  a  similar  contrivance,  to  as- 
sist them  in  floating  out  of  the  passage 
the  blocks  of  ice  cut  away  ;  and  Cap- 
tain Parry,  who  lias  the  rare  felicity 
not  to  be  above  laughing  when  he  is 
amused,  records  both  circumstances, 
and  introduces  the  latter  into  one  of 
those  beautiful  plates,  with  which  he 
has  at  once  embellished  and  illustrated 
his  work.  They  are  little  vagaries  like 
these,  generally  promoting,  always  ex- 
hilarating, the  service  in  which  they  are 
engaged,  which  distinguish  British  sea- 
men when  well  treated  and  conducted, 
and  repaying,  as  they  always  do,  such 
treatment  and  conduct,  with  confi- 
dence, attachment,  and  good  humour ; 
— and  long,  very  long  may  they  be 
thus  their  general  characteristics ! 

During  the  whole  spring,  hunting 
parties  were  kept  constantly  out,  with 
various  success,  musk  oxen,  deer, 
hares,  brent-geefce,  (Anas  bernicla), 
ptarmigan,  and  a  few  plover,  consti- 
tuting the  chief  returns.  These  fresh 
stores  were  distributed  with  the  most 
rigorous  impartiality,  according  to  re- 
gulations facetiously  called  the  "Game 
laws."  Great  quantities  of  a  species  of 
sorrel,  (Rumex  digi/nits,)  found  in  this 
country  only  on  the  summits  of  the 
highest  mountains,  were  gathered  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  ships, 
and  its  use  was  encouraged  as  much  as 
possible.  On  the  whole,  as  we  have 
said,  nothing  could  be  more  satisfac- 
tory than  the  general  health  of  all,  and 
their  spirits  bounded  to  the  prospect 


1821.^1 


Captain  Parry's  Voyage. 


of  a  speedy  release  from  inactivity,  and 
resumption  of  their  perilous  exertions. 
That  period  at  last  arrived.  The 
latter  end  of  July  was  signalized  by 
daily  encroachments  made  by  the  sea 
on  the  barrier  of  ice  which  locked  up 
the  mouth  of  the  harbour,  for  some 
time  after  the  outside  was  clear.  On 
the  1st  of  August  they  started,  and 
again  stood  to  the  westward.  The 
prospect  for  some  time  was  tolerably 
fair,  and  they  got  to  the  west  end  of 
Melville  Island  ;  but  deprived  there 
of  their  painful  and  perilous  but  ne- 
ver-failing resource  of  creeping  along 
shore,  Captain  Parry  was  soon  further 
convinced,  that  somewhere  to  the 
south-west  of  this  an  immoveable  ob- 
stacle must  intervene,  to  prevent  the 
dispersion  of  the  ice  in  that  direction. 
With  that  promptitude,  therefore, 
which  seems  one  of  the  most  promi- 
nent and  valuable  parts  of  his  charac- 
ter, he  bore  up  on  the  10th  to  the 
eastward,  determined  to  push  to  the 
southward  if  he  could  find  an  opening. 
In  this,  however,  he  was  not  success- 
ful, and  in  his  progress  to  the  eastward 
fepassed  Barrow's  Straits  on  the  31st. 
With  eyes  still  lingering  after  further 
discoveries,  he  coasted  thence  to  the 
southward  along  the  west  side  of  Baf- 
fin's Bay,  sufficiently  near  to  come 
away  with  the  impression  that  there 
are  other  passages  into  Prince  Regent's 
Inlet,  besides  that  by  Lancaster's 
Sound ;  and  returned  home  full  of 
that  ardour  to  renew  his  investiga- 
tions, which  has  since  met  with  its 
just  and  only  appropriate  rewards,  pro- 
motion in  his  profession  and  the  com- 
mand of  a  new  expedition. 

We  wish  that  Captain  Parry  on  his 
way  back  had  examined  Wellington 
Channel,  at  least  till  the  ice  was  seen 
at  the  bottom  of  it ;  but  still,  notwith- 
standing this,  the  only  omission  which 
even  the  most  jealous  eye  can  detect 
in  the  conduct  of  this  expedition,  geo- 
graphical science  stands  more  indebted 
to  it  than  to  any  other  since  the  days 
of  Vancouver  and  Broughton.  And 
most  earnestly  do  we  wish  that  Mr 
Barrow,  to  whom  so  much  of  its  suc- 
cess is  owing,  may  yet  be  as  successful 
in  the  interior  of  Africa,  as  he  has  thus 
at  length  been  on  the  exterior  of  North 
America.  It  is  now  demonstrated  that 
the  north-east  point  of  this  continent 
is  neither  so  far  north,  nor  probably  so 
inaccessible  as  has  been  supposed ;  and 
that  the  lands  which  have  hitherto 
been  considered  a  prolongation  of  it, 


295 

are  in  truth  islands  over  against  it,  pla- 
ced in  an  Arctic,  if  not  a  Polar  Sea,  for 
it  is  unnecessary  to  quarrel  about  mere 
names.     Of  the  general  structure  and 
productions  of  these  islands  itisimpos- 
sible  but  tlvat  much  also  should  have 
been  learnt  on  this  occasion,  for  not  a 
little  may  be  gleaned  from  an  attentive 
perusal  even  of  the  narrative,  on  those 
points.     But  it  is  very  extraordinary 
that  although  frequent  allusions  are 
made  throughout,  to  articles  in  the 
Appendix  expressly  devoted  to  such 
subjects,  no  such  articles  are  to  be 
found  there.    This  cannot  be  inad- 
vertence, it  must  be  intended  to  give 
these  to  the  public  through  some  other 
channel ;  at  all  events,  the  information 
contained    in    them   cannot   be  lost. 
Meanwhile  it  may  be  observed,  that 
although,  according  to  the  specimens 
of  minerals  brought  home  the  prece- 
ding voyage  by  Captain  Ross,  it  would 
appear  that  the  western  shores  of  Baf- 
fin's Bay  are  chiefly  of  primitive  forma- 
tion, and  from  some  fragments  of  gra- 
nite mentioned  among  Captain  Parry's 
collections,  the  neighbourhood  of  such 
formations  may  be  inferred  also  to 
the  westward  ;  yet  beyond  Lancaster 
Sound  the  basis  is  chiefly  sand-stone, 
intermixed  with  other  secondary  ma- 
terials, limestone,  madreporite,  flints, 
feldspar,  &c.  Many  of  these  were  found 
to  abound  in  fossil  organic  remains, 
and  we  have  seen  specimens  from  Mel- 
ville Island  and  Barrow's  Straits,  of 
pu trifled  palm,  corals,  and  shells,  all 
of  which  had  a  tropical  aspect.   This 
is  certainly  a  striking  fact,  when  it  is 
recollected  that  they  occur  in  a  country 
where  the  mean  temperature  of  the  at- 
mosphere is  about  zero  of  Fahrenheit. 
The  sandstone  on  both  sides  of  Barrow's 
Straits  is  stratified  horizontally  in  a 
very  peculiar  manner,  illustrated  in 
a  series  of  sketches   by  Lieutenant 
Beechy ;  and  in  the  larger  islands  is 
furrowed  into  deep  ravines  by  the 
spring-torrents.  An  interesting  obser- 
vation, for  his  own  purpose,  is  made 
by  Captain  Parry  with  relation  to  these 
ravines,  viz.  that  wherever  they  occur 
a  small  spit  of  shoal,  or  dryland,  is  uni- 
formly found  to  project  into  the  sea, 
behind  which,  on  either  side  as  it  hap- 
pened, he  was  always  certain  of  shelter 
from  the  ice.  In  the  interior,  wherever 
there  was  a  little  soil  and  shelter,  a 
brief  but  vigorous  vegetation  shewed 
itself  in  summer  :  the  plants  named  in 
the  narrative  are,   besides    common 
grass  and  moss  in  great  abundance, 


Captain  Parry  t  Voyage. 


296 

the  dwarf-willow,  mxlfraga  nppositi- 
I'lilin,  first  seen  in  flower  on  the  2d 
June,  rnincx  digymtx,  poppy,  scurvy- 
grass,  and  draba  or  whetlow-grass.  A 
large  pine-tree  was  found  buried  in  the 
sand  near  the  south  end  of  Melville 
Island,  about  300  yards  from  the 
beach ;  another  smaller  one  on  the  west 
coast ;  along  which  also  several  pieces 
of  drift-wood  were  found  scattered.  No 
resident  inhabitants  were  any  where 
met  with  west  of  Lancaster  Sound,  but 
both  in  Byam  Martin  and  Melville 
Island  remains  of  Esquimaux  huts 
wore  discovered.  These  consisted  of 
"  stones  rudely  placed  in  a  circular  or 
rather  elliptical  form ;  were  from  seven 
to  ten  feet  diameter;  the  broad  flat 
sides  of  the  stones  standing  vertically, 
and  in  all  respects  resembled  those 
seen  at  Hare  Island  the  preceding  voy- 
age." Except  wolves,  white  foxes,  on 
which  the  former  from  some  circum- 
stances were  concluded  to  prey,  and  the 
M us  Hudaonius,  no  animals  were  seen 
throughout  the  winter  at  Melville 
Island.  The  return  of  spring  brought 
over  from  the  continent  musk-oxen  in 
considerable  droves,  rein-deer,  and 
hares.  Only  one  white  bear  was  seen 
the  whole  year.  The  catalogue  of  birds 
is  numerous,  including  grouse,  (ptar- 
migans,) first  appearing  on  the  12th 
May,  plovers,  brent-geese,  eider  and 
king-ducks,  bank- swallows,  (Hirundo 
Ripariu)  red  phalarope,  the  first  of 
which  was  seen  on  the  2d  June,  boat- 
swains, {Lestris  Parasiticus)  ravens, 
one  swan,  together  with  gulls,  kitti- 
wakes,  and  other  sea-fowl,  among  the 
ice.  A  number  of  shells  of  the  Venus 
tribe  was  found  in  a  ravine  in  Byam 
Martin  Island ;  and  a  hawl  of  the  trawl 
off  the  mouth  of  an  inlet,  south  of  Lan- 
caster Sound,  called  the  Clyde,  brought 
up  some  marine  insects,  which  are  pro- 
bably quite  new.  Only  one  whale,  and 
as  it  was  supposed,  one  seal,  one  at  a 
time  at  least,  were  seen  about  Melville 
Island — a  bad  augury  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  an  open  sea. 

The  theory  of  magnetism  is  still  a 
secret,  but  this  voyage  has  added  not 
a  little  to  the  previous  stock  of  facts  on 
this  interesting  subject,  and  has  the 
merit  besides  of  suggesting  some  prac- 
tical hints  in  its  employment.  It  was 
originally  a  suggestion  of  the  late  Cap- 
tain Flinders,  that  it  was  desirable  in 
all  ships  to  have  some  place  selected 
where  the  same  compass  should  be  con- 
stantly kept,  and  all  others  used  on 
board  referred  to  it.  The  object  of  this 


QJunc, 


is  to  obtain  a  certain  quantity  or  rate 
of  correction  for  the  attraction  of  the 
ship's  hull,  applicable  to  all  cases  in  a 


rent  circumstances  ;  but  then  this  ra- 
tio was  to  seek,  and  it  has  since  been 
ascertained  that  it  is  different  in  diffe- 
rent ships.  Numerous  observations 
were  however  made  on  board  the  Hecla 
with  a  view  to  this  object,  compared 
with  others  on  the  shore  and  on  the  ice, 
and  again  connected  with  others  on  the 
Dip,  all  made  at  the  same  time  ;  and 
although  some  of  the  results  may  want 
corroboration,  they  are  all  very  inte- 
resting to  nautical  men.  First,  by  a 
great  many  experiments  it  was  proved 
that  the  centre  of  attraction  in  the 
Hecla,  and  probably  in  all  ships,  was 
forward  and  amid-ships ;  that  accord- 
ingly, when  her  head  was  due  north  or 
south,  there  was  no  deviation,  but  that 
this  was  at  its  maximum  when  the 
head  was  east  or  west.  Secondly,  Cap- 
tain Ross  had  said,  "  that  when  the 
variation  was  considerable,  the  devia- 
tion increases  in  no  settled  propor- 
tion ;"  but  this  appears  to  be  a  mis- 
take, probably  arising  from  his  not 
using  a  standard  compass.  Captain 
Parry  says,  "from  the  time  we  entered 
Lancaster  Sound  the  sluggishness  of 
the  compasses,  as  well  as  the  amount 
of  their  irregularity,  produced  by  the 
attraction  of  the  ship,  had  been  found 
rapidly,  but  uniformly  to  increase;" 
and  Captain  Sabine  adds  in  the  Ap- 
pendix, "  whenever  it  could  be  done, 
the  variation  on  a  particular  course 
steered  was  ascertained  by  actual  ob- 
servation ;  but  when  the  courses  were 
many  in  the  twenty-four  hours,  one 
set  of  azimuths  with  the  ship's  head 
north  or  south  to  shew  the  true  vari- 
ation, and  a  second  set  with  head  east 
or  west  to  shew  the  maximum  of  dis- 
turbance, were  sufficient,  with  a  very 
little  practice,  to  enable  the  variation 
to  be  assigned  for  every  point" — both 
demonstrating  that  the  deviation  was 
not  capricious.  And  lastly,  numerous 
observations  were  made  both  with  the 
dipping  and  horizontal  needle,  with  a 
view  to  prove  the  theory  respecting  the 
intensity  of  magnetic  attraction  at  dif- 
ferent dips,  and  it  was  found  to  agree 
very  nearly  indeed  with  the  fact ;  on 
which  Captain  Sabine  adds,  "  It  may 
perhaps  be  useful  to  remark,  that 
when  the  ratio  of  the  variation  of  the 
magnetic  force  to  the  dip  shall  be 


1821.J 


Captain  Parry's  Voyage. 


thoroughly  ascertained  by  experiment, 
it  may  become  a  measure  of  difference 
in  the  dip  far  more  accurate  in  high 
latitudes  than  actual  observation  by 
the  dipping  needle." 

Two  clocks  belonging  to  the  Royal 
Society  of  London,  and  which  had  ori- 
ginally gone  round  the  world  with 
Captain  Cook,  accompanied  this  expe- 
dition, together  with  a  pendulum  pre- 
pared by  Captain  Kater,  similar  to  that 
he  employed  in  his  own  experiments 
along  our  coast.  With  these  in  the 
former  and  late  voyage,  four  sets  of 
observations  have  been  taken  at  dif- 
ferent high  latitudes,  with  a  view  to 
determine  the  ellipticity  of  the  earth, 
and  their  comparison  with  each  other 
is  stated  by  Captain  Sabine,  as  giving 
respectively  ^  -^  ^  ^of 
the  equatorial  radius  for  the  com- 
pression at  the  poles.  In  the  Con- 
noissance  de.i  Terns,  (French  Nauti- 
cal Almanack)  for  1810,  the  mean  of  a 
great  many  previous  observations  of 
the  same  nature  is  stated  at  -_—  for  the 

Northern  Hemisphere,   and  ^-^  for 

the  Southern.  And  in  like  manner,  of 
four  considerable  arcs,  measured  at 
different  times  in  Peru,  France,  Lap- 
land, and  India,  a  comparison  between 
the  first  and  second  gives  3^-g-  be- 
tween the  first  and  third,  ^lu'  Be- 
tween the  second  and  third,  §y^\  and 
between  the  second  and  fourth,  3-5^7 ; 
while,  from  the  lunar  motions,  preces- 
sion of  the  equinoxes,  and  other  as- 
tronomical data,  it  is  computed  by 
La  Place  and  others,  variously,  at  -—^ 

fifct  and  ^.  The  near  agreement  of 
these  results  may  perhaps  be  better 
appreciated  by  some  readers,  when 
they  are  told  that  the  most  remote  of 
them  do  not  involve  a  doubt  even  of  a 
single  mile,  in  the  relative  lengths  of 
the  polar  and  equatorial  diameters  of 
the  earth.  And  their  differences  seem 
inseparable  from  the  nature  of  the  ob- 
servations on  which  they  are  founded, 
which  are  liable  to  be  affected  by  a 
variety  of  minute  circumstances,  even 
the  nature  of  the  soil,  and  situation  in 


which  they  are  taken,  for  which  only 
arbitrary  allowances  can  be  made. 

The  range  of  the  thermometer  du- 
ring the  time  the  expedition  was  west 
of  Lancaster  Sound,  and  between  74° 
and  75°  north  latitude,  Was  on  board 
110°,  the  maximum  being  -{-GO0,  and 
the  minimum  — 50°.  On  shore,  and  on 
theice,theminimumwas  — 55°.  At  the 
temperature  of  — 24°,  the  smoke  from 
the  funnels  was  observed  scarcely  at  all 
to  ascend,  but  to  escape  in  a  horizon- 
tal direction ;  *  and  such  difficulty  had 
it  at  this  time  to  blend  with  the  at- 
mosphere, it  was  once  distinctly  smelt 
in  a  current  two  miles  distant  from  the 
ship.  The  severe  cold  here  quoted  was 
not  particularly  disagreeable  in  calm 
weather ;  but  although  the  thermometer 
uniformly  rose  with  wind,  even  many 
degrees  in  a  gale  from  the  S.S.E.,  the 
effect  produced  by  this  agitation  of  the 
atmosphere  was  quite  overpowering. 
A  few  individuals  had  their  hands 
frost-bitten,  particularly  on  one  occa- 
sion, when  the  observatory  on  shore 
caught  fire,  and  was  witn  difficulty 
saved.  One  sailor's  hands  were  then 
so  thoroughly  penetrated  with  cold, 
when  they  were  immersed  in  water  for 
the  purpose  of  being  thawed,  a  film  of 
ice  was  formed  on  the  surface.  A  fact 
which  we  have  before  seen  stated  on  the 
authority  of  M.Larrey,  surgeon-general 
to  the  French  army  in  the  Moscow  cam- 
paign, respecting  the  influence  of  se- 
vere cold  on  the  mental  faculties,  is 
corroborated  by  Captain  Parry,  p.  108. 
"  They,"  says  he,  alluding  to  some 
men  who  had  been  accidentally  expo- 
sed to  it,  "  looked  wild,  spoke  thick 
and  indistinctly ;  and  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  draw  from  them  a  rational  an- 
swer to  any  of  our  questions.  After 
being  on  board  for  a  short  time,  the 
mental  faculties  appeared  gradually  to 
return,"  &c.  The  only  other  affection 
besides  these,  which  was  induced  by 
the  weather,  was  snow-blindness, 
which  on  all  occasions  readily  yielded 
to  the  remedies  applied. 

The  mean  of  the  barometer  through- 
out the  same  period  was  29.874  inches, 
the  maximum  30.86,  the  minimum 
29.00.  It  would  appear,  that  as  a 
weather  glass,  this  instrument  is  only 
useful  in  medium  temperatures.  It 


*  Captain  Parry  acquaints  us  in  a  note,  that  a  similar  observation  was  made  at  York 
Fort,  Hudson's  Bay,  in  the  year  1795,  but  not  till  the  thermometer  fell  to  —36°;  and 
in  spring,  even  at  MelviUe  Island,  when  the  air  was  probably  already  somewhat  tainted 
by  exhalations,  the  smoke  ascended  perpendicularly  at  — 'M°. 

VOL.  IX.  2  O 


Captain  Parry's  Voyage. 


298 

is  wdl  known  that  in  tropical  climates 
its  indications  arc  very  uncertain,  and 
Captain  Parry  remarks,  that  at  Mel- 
ville Island  it  rather  accompanied  than 
predicted  changes  of  weather.  Not- 
withstanding Captain  Ross's  favour- 
able report  of  Adyes  Sympiesometer, 
it  docs  not  appear  that  one  accompa- 
nied this  expedition. 

Similar  anomalies  in  kind,  although 
less  in  degree,  were  observed  in  the 
temperature  of  the  sea  at  different 
depths,  this  voyage  as  the  last.  In 
Winter  Harbour,  at  the  depth  of  five 
fathoms,  the  thermometer  stood  at 
-J-310,  and  very  near  the  superficial 
ice  at  -f-28°,  while  in  the  open  air  it 
was  at  — 160;  and  as  summer  advan- 
ced in  1820,  the  shallow  bank  which 
immediately  skirted  the  shore,  could 
every  where  be  traced  by  the  greater 
progress  of  the  ice  towards  dissolution. 
In  Baffin's  Bay,  in  like  manner,  the 
temperature  for  the  first  100  fathoms 
was  generally  about  30°,  and  lower 
clown  it  commonly  fell,  as  far  as  27° ; 
but  on  one  occasion,  two  different  ex- 
periments gave  33°  at  320  fathoms, 
while  the  first  100  stood  as  usual  about 
30°.  In  high  latitudes  it  would  ap- 
pear probable,  that  the  temperatures 
depend  so  much  on  local  circumstances 
of  uncertain  existence  and  very  diffi- 
cult investigation,  that  no  theory  will 
be  found  uniformly  to  apply. 

In  one  of  our  quotations  we  have  al- 
ready adverted  to  the  great  distance  at 
which  sounds  were  heard  in  the  open 
air,  during  the  intense  cold.  This  is 
more  particularly  noticed,  however,  in 
the  following  passage :  "  We  have  of- 
ten heard  the  people  distinctly  conver- 
sing, in  a  common  tone  of  voice,  at  the 
distance  of  a  mile  ;  and  to-day,  (llth 
February)  I  heard  a  man  singing  to 
himself  as  he  walked  along  the  beach, 
at  even  a  greater  distance  than  this." 
—P.  143.  This  apparently  singular 
effect  was  owing  to  the  uniform  density 
which  the  air  maintained  during  the 
long  night  of  this  region ;  the  same 
principle  on  which  Humboldt,  in  his 
beautiful  Essay  on  the  cataracts  of  the 
Orinoco,  explains  the  increase  of  their 
noise  during  the  night,  and  whose  con- 
verse, in  like  manner,  accounts  for  that 
remarkable  deadncss  of  all  sounds, 
which,  it  is  said,  accompanies  the  first 
streamings  of  the  Sirocco,  or  Harmat- 
tan  wind,  and  augments  the  terrors  of 
an  impending  hurricane,  or  earth- 
quake. 


[Yfune, 


The  halos,  with  their  accompanying 
parhelia  and  paraselenes,  seen  at  Mel- 
ville Island,  were,  as  usual  in  such 
latitudes,  exceedingly  brilliant ;  but, 
for  the  most  part,  they  were  regular, 
and  not  unusual  in  their  forms.  The 
Aurora  Boreales  were  faint,  generally 
seen  in  the  south-west  quarter,  and 
never  affected  either  the  electrometer 
or  the  compasses. 

Captain  Parry,  in  the  expedition 
which  he  is  now  conducting,  is  under- 
stood to  intend  to  push  through  Hud- 
son's or  Cumberland  Straits,  and  try 
his  fortune  in  Repulse  Bay,  or  Sir 
Thomas  Roe's  Welcome ;  purposing,  if 
he  can  find  a  passage  in  either  of  them, 
to  draw  to  the  westward  along  the 
main-land  of  America,  and  between  it 
and  the  ice.  In  doing  this  he  antici- 
pates some  difficulties  ;  and  before 
leaving  England,  he  is  said  to  have  ex- 
pressed, like  a  wise  man,  his  desire 
that  the  public  should  be  prepared  to 
hear  of  them.  Yet  we  think  that  he 
will  ultimately  succeed ;  and  having 
attempted,  in  the  beginning  of  this 
article,  to  rob  him  of  the  vulgar  me- 
rit of  his  past  success,  which  by  no 
vulgar  claim,  however,  seems  to  us,  as 
we  have  already  intimated,  to  belong 
to  Mr  Barrow  more  than  to  any  one, 
we  are  most  willing  to  say,  now  at  the 
conclusion  of  it,  that  our  hopes  of  his 
future  success  are  chiefly  founded  on 
himself.  His  plan  seems  an  excellent 
one,  it  is  comparatively  safe,  it  is  his 
own,  and  a  man  is  never  so  zealous  and 
clear-sighted,  as  when  following  out 
his  own  plans.  He  has  now  had  abun- 
dant experience,  his  courage  is  un- 
questionable, and  his  tact  in  main- 
taining the  discipline,  health,  spirits, 
unanimity,  and  general  efficiency  of 
his  crews,  in  very  trying  circumstan- 
ces, is  demonstrated.  But  more  than 
all  these  we  gather  from  a  little  anec- 
dote thrust  into  a  corner  of  his  narra- 
tive, and  which  we  take  the  liberty  of 
particularizing,  because  its  value  is  not 
likely  to  be  appreciated  by  the  general 
reader.  The  Griper  at  one  time  pro- 
voked him  with  her  bad  sailing,  and 
he  entertained  serious  thoughts  of  re- 
moving her  ship's  company,  abandon- 
ing her,  and  proceeding  on  his  mission 
in  the  Hecla  alone.  As  it  happened, 
it  proved  unnecessary  to  act  on  this 
idea ;  and  perhaps,  in  the  particular 
case,  it  was  somewhat  hastily  concei- 
ved. But  it  would  never  have  been 
seriously  deliberated  on,  unless  by 


1821/3 


one  thoroughly  intent  on  his  object, 
full   of    zeal    and    perseverance  and 


Captain  Parry's  Voyage.  299 

other,  as  they  often  must  in  such  a 
service,  may  well  be  expected  to  pos- 


daring,  penetrated  with  the  spirit  of    sessthathappyindependenceof thought 


his  orders,  not  solicitous  about  their 

letter,    or    the    responsibility   under 

which  they  were  to  be  attended  to ; 

and  who,  whenever  the  extremes  of    fettered,  might  possibly  succumb. 

prudence  and  rashness  approach  each 


and  action,  which  may  enable  him  to 
unite  them  and  succeed,  where  equal 
or  even  superior  talents,  a  little  more 


ON  THE  CHEETHAM  LIBRARY. 


THE  causes  which  give  us  pleasure 
in  visiting  any  particular  place,  are 
various,  and  sometimes  very  opposite. 
We  do  not  exactly  mean  that  pleasure 
produced  by  association  of  ideas,  by 
the  connection  or  relationship  of  the 
scenes  we  are  entering  upon  to  former 
times,  persons,  or  events,  but  that  sa- 
tisfaction, which  arises  from  other 
trains  of  thought,  more  immediate  and 
less  abstracted  in  their  deduction.  Is 
there  not,  for  instance,  in  the  first 
sight  of  St  Peter's  at  Home,  apart 
from  the  effect  produced  by  its  stri- 
king magnificence,  a  delightful  thrill 
of  pleasure  to  meet  with  such  an  edi- 
fice, in  such  a  situation  ?  Yet,  what 
affinity  has  St  Peter's  to  the  temples  or 
the  Colisieum,  or  what  has  the  dome 
of  a  Christian  church  to  do  near  the 
Columna  Trajana,  or  the  Arch  of  Con- 
stuntine  ?  It  is  manifestly  out  of  place, 
it  awakes  no  ideas  assimilating  to  those 
connected  with  the  absorbing  interest 
of  its  city  ;  yet  still,  its  effect  is  un- 
diminished,  in  communicating  to  the 
mind  of  the  beholder,  a  throbbing 
sensation  of  delig]it.  There  is  some- 
thing, in  fact,  of  surprise  and  unex- 
pectedness, in  the  sudden  change  of 
objects,  a  surprise  gradually  converted 
in  to  pleasure  as  we  trace  more  intimate* 
ly  the  relation  between  them,  which 
rouses,  quickens,  and  cheers  us.  A  new 
vein  of  thought  unexpectedly  crosses 
and  intermingles  with  the  old  one, 
and  introduces  with  it,  fresh  subjects 
for  contemplation,  and  new  sources  of 
entertainment.  The  mind  cannot  dwell 
long  on  any  particular  train  of  thought, 
without  experiencing  somewhat  of  ja- 
ded satiety,  and  therefore  it  is  refresh- 
ed and  invigorated  by  approaching 
some  sparkling  and  unhoped  for  foun- 
tain of  joy.  Who  is  not  delighted  to 
meet  in  a  place  utterly  barren  and  un- 
promising, with  something  akin  to 
his  habits,  and  congenial  to  his  pur- 
suits ?  We  well  remember  one  of  the 
most  pleasureablc  moments  of  our  life, 
was  in  a  sudden  rencontre  we  once 


met  with  in  London — the  remains  of 
King  Kichard's  Chapel,  in  Crosby 
Court.  Surrounded  by  warehouses, 
and  counting  houses,  itself  now  conT 
verted  into  a  packing  room ;  this  ve- 
nerable relic  of  antiquity,  with  its 
stone  stairs  and  Gothic  window,  struck 
us  with  a  force  we  shall  never  forget. 
We  seemed  in  a  second  to  have  slip- 
ped from  modern  times,  to  the  days 
of  him,  at  whose  birth  "  the  owl 
shrieked,  the  night-crow  cried,  a  bod- 
ing luckless  time."  And  the  satisfac- 
tion we  felt,  was  raised  in  proportion 
to  our  surprise.  Such  a  revulsion  in 
the  current  of  our  ideas  always  carries 
with  it  poignancy  and  relish.  We  lose 
the  pleasure  of  expectation  in  instan- 
taneous enjoyment,  which  that  very 
loss  makes  more  keen.  In  short,  to 
know  what  pleasure  is,  we  ought  to 
meet  with  the  thing,  which,  of  all 
others,  we  most  want,  in  the  place, 
where,  of  all  others,  we  least  expect  to 
find  it.  The  man,  who  after  journey- 
ing over  the  desart,  finds  at  last,  in 
its  most  arid  track,  a  spring  of  fresh 
water,  and  our  great  Moralist,  after 
meeting  in  an  Highland  cottage  with 
Gataker's  Treatise  on  Lots,  would  both 
concur  in  assuring  us,  that  life  has  few 
greater  sweetners,  than  the  sudden 
and  unannounced  possession  of  that 
which  is  least  expected,  though  most 
desired. 

We  were  led  into  these  speculations 
by  a  late  visit  to  the  library,  founded 
by  Humphrey  Cheetham,  in  Manches- 
ter ;  a  venerable  and  praiseworthy  in- 
stitution, which  is  rendered  more  stri- 
king, by  its  presenting  somewhat  of 
the  appearance  of  a  college,  amidst 
the  hurry  and  business  which  are  al- 
ways visible  in  a  large  manufacturing 
town.  It  is  pleasing  to  pass  from  the 
noise  and  dissonance  of  a  crowded 
street,  into  the  comparatively  still  and 
silent  court,  of  a  spacious  antique 
mansion,  with  low-browed  roofs,  and 
narrow  windows,  apparently  of  the 
architecture  of  the  time  of  James  the 


300 


Tte  Cl 


Library. 


£June, 


First,  where  the  only  habitants  seem 
to  be  a  little  population  of  boys,  in 
their  grotesque  liveries,  according  well 
with  their  ancient  domicile.    To  feel 
that  there  is  such  a  place  amidst  ware- 
houses, factories,  and  shops,  is  some 
satisfaction,  as  it  shews  you  are  not 
completely  immersed  in  trade  and  cal- 
culation, but  that  there  is  still  amidst 
wool  shops,  and  cotton  rooms,  a  little 
zoar  set  apart  for  better  things.     As 
you  enter  the  door  leading  towards  the 
library,  from  the  court  ou  the  left, 
you  are  struck  with  a  spacious  and 
lofty  hall — whose  appearance  reminds 
you  of  ancient  feasts,  and  old  English 
hospitality — which  is  now  appropriated 
as  the  dining  room  of  the  children, 
who  are  educated  by  the  bounty  of 
the  founder.  You  proceed  up  a  flight 
of  stone  stairs  to  the  library,  where  the 
books  are  disposed  in  compartments, 
secured  by  wires  from  the  encroach- 
ments  of  the   profane ;    above  and 
around  which  grin  crocodiles,  "Har- 
pies, and  Chimseras  dire,"  assimila- 
ting wonderfully  with  the  other  furni- 
ture of  the  place.     If  you  be  anxious 
to  learn  what  these  portentous  things 
are,  and  to  be  made  acquainted  with 
the  various  curiosities  of  the  place, 
you  must  be  content  to  listen  < '  auribus 
patulis,"  to  the  dulcet  modulation  of 
one  of  the  children  aforesaid  ;  though 
we  should  ourselves  advise  other  visit- 
ants, so  far  from  employing  these  ju- 
venile nomenclators,  to  make  use  of 
the  precautions  of  Ulysses  on  enter- 
ing the  place,  but  not  exactly  for  the 
same  reason.     Dr  Ferriar,  however, 
used,  we  believe,  to  recommend  the 
song  of  these  young  sirens  in  certain 
disorders  of  the  tympanum.     As  you 
pass  along  the  two  galleries,  plentiful- 
ly stored  with  the  physic  of  the  soul, 
to  the  reading  room,  you  cannot  but 
perceive,  that  their  contents  are  not 
much  similar  to  those  of  a  modern 
circulating  library.    Dapper  duodeci- 
mos give  place  to  the  venerable  ma- 
jesty of  the  folio.    If  you  look  among 
the  shelves,  you  will  find,  instead  of 
the  Scotch  novels,  or  Anastasius,  Wa- 

f;nsal's  Tela  Ignea,  or  the  works  of 
rasmus.  It  is  not  the  library  of  a 
modern  dilitanti,  but  of  an  English 
scholar  of  the  old  school,  in  which, 
Aquinas,  and  Duns  Scotus,  may  yet 
be  seen,  and  by  them  their  worthy 
brother  Durandus  Bradwardiuc  and 
Bonaventuro, 


"  De  Lyra  here  a  dreadful  front  extends, 
And  there  the  groaning  shelves  Philemon 
bends. " 


Mr  Urban,  the  venerable  father  of 
Magazines,  here  still  retains  his  place 
from  prescription,  as  alone  worthy 
amongst  periodicals  to  enter  into  such 
society.  We  do  not  wish  to  dispossess 
him,  but  we  really  think  that  Black- 
wood  should  take  his  station  by  the 
Fathers.  We  admit  he  isbut  a  Neoteric, 
and  totally  unworthy  of  such  worship- 
ful neighbours ;  yet  surely  the  perspi- 
cuous visage  of  "  Georgy  Buchanan'* 
should,  of  itself,  secure  him  admit- 
tance amongst  his  compeers.  It  con- 
stitutes a  talisman,  which,  we  are  sure, 
a  scholar  like  Mr  Allen  will  have  re- 
spect to. 

There  is  something  very  substan- 
tial in   the  appearance  of  a  library 
of  this  description.     Every  thing  evi- 
dently shews  that  its  contents  are  more 
for  use  than  show.     No  flaunting  and 
gaudy-coloured  bindings  appear  among 
the  plain,  brown,  and  quaker-like  con- 
tents of  its  shelves.  The  Platonic  lover 
of  books,  the  admirer  of  exteriors,  must 
go  else  where  for  his  gratification.  There 
is  too  a  pleasing  consonancy  between 
the  place  and  its  furniture.  The  oaken 
pannels,  and  plain  wood- work,  would 
ill  assort  with  morocco  backs,  and  gilt 
edo;es,  and  all  those  outward  vanities, 
which  make  the  books  of  the  present 
time  appear  like  painted  sepulchres, 
from  the  glitter  without,  and  the  emp- 
tiness within.  Equality  reigns  amongst 
the  folios  and  duodecimos,  and  has 
clad  the  books  with  the  same  impar- 
tiality that  death  has  levelled  the  au- 
thors.    Nothing  interposes  to  weaken 
or  destroy  the  general  effect  of  the  place. 
All  within  it  contributes  to  withdraw 
us  to  the  past.    The  mind  is  left  here 
to  resign  itself  to  its  own  fancies  with- 
out being  recalled  by  some  startling 
incongruity  to  the  recollections  of  the 
present ;  and  for  aught  which  strikes 
us  in  the  rapidity  of  a  first  impression, 
we  might  imagine  it  the  spot  where 
Bacon  was  accustomed  to  study,  and 
Raleigh  delighted  to  muse. 

It  is  impossible  to  enter  a  large  li- 
brary, especially  when  in  appearance 
so  antique  as  the  one  of  which  we  are 
now  writing,  without  feeling  an  inward 
sensation  of  reverence,  and  without 
catching  some  sparks  of  noble  emula- 
tion, from  the  mass  of  mind  which  is 
scattered  around  you.  The  very  dull- 


TJie  Cheetham  Library, 


301 


est,  and  least  intellectual  of  the  sons  of 
earth,  must  be  conscious  of  the  high 
and  lofty  society  into  which  he  is  in- 
truding ;  a  society  which  no  combina- 
tion of  living  talent  can  ever  hope  to 
parallel.  Before  such  a  tribunal,  be- 
fore such  a  galaxy  of  'intellect  and  learn- 
ing, the  haughty  Aristareh  himself 
might  have  doffed  without  degradation 
"  the  hat  which  never  vailed  to  human 
pride."  We  feel,  as  we  reverence  the 
mighty  spirits  around  us,  that  we  are 
in  some  sort  their  brothers  ;  and  the 
very  homage  which  we  pay  to  their 
majesty  is  itself  the  bond  of  our  alli- 
ance. What  spectacle  besides  can  be 
more  wonderful  ?  We  are  then  where 
the  human  mind  is  displayed  in  its 
highest  flights,  and  in  its  weakest  ina- 
nity ;  now  in  all  its  shades  and  varia- 
tions of  feeling  or  of  subtilty  ;  in  all 
its  walks  through  science,  and  the  cy- 
cle of  its  thousand  intelligences  ;  and 
in  all  its  wide  diffusion  over  the  pro- 
vinces and  principalities  of  its  empire, 
calling  into  action,  and  bringing  forth 
its  power,  like  the  unsheathing  of  wea- 
pons from  their  scabbards ;  in  its  acute- 
ness,  subtleizing  to  infinity ;  in  its  soli- 
dity, laying  foundations  of  induring 
and  immoveable  strength ;  in  its  appre- 
hension, receiving  all  the  stores  of 
learning  and  knowledge ;  in  its  pene- 
tration, pervading  with  a  glance  the 
worlds  of  thought  and  science ;  in  its 
profundity,  diving  into  depths  forbid- 
den, and  denied  to  its  nature  ;  and  in 
its  imagination,  creating,  inventing, 
and  producing  in  measure  inexhausti- 
ble and  unspent ;  now  marching  on- 
ward with  proud  and  triumphant  step, 
— now  halting  in  its  course  with  feeble 
tardiness — novvdeviatingintobyeroads 
struck  out  by  its  own  admirable  inge- 
nuity, yet  still  ever  great  in  its  extra- 
vagancies, dignified  in  its  perversions, 
memorable  in  its  debasement.  Others 
may  delightedly  visit  in  veneration  the 
tombs  of  authors,  but  to  us  their  no- 
blest mausoleum  appears  to  be  in  a  li- 
brary where  they  are  inshrined  amongst 
a  company  of  kindred  and  congenial 
souls.  The  one  can  but  testify  their 
mortality,  but  he  who  meets  them  in 
the  other,  will  know  they  are  immor- 
tal. Westminster  Abbey  can  present  no- 
thing so  touching,  yet  so  elevating — so 
inspiring,  yet  so  sad,  as  the  Bodleian. 
There  we  see  works  which  have  out- 
lived monuments  and  pyramids,  still 
surviving  to  the  glory  of  their  authors 
in  unspent  and  iindiminished  youth. 


Others  we  see,  fbr  which  their  writers, 
the  martyrs  of  fame,  have  suffered 
mental  torment,  and  bodily  macera- 
tion, and  all  to  subsist  "  like  Hippo- 
crates's  patients,  and  Achilles's  horses 
in  Homer,  under  naked  nominations," 
and  occupy,  untouched  and  unregard- 
ed, a  corner  in  a  library.  Others  which, 
after  experiencing  in  their  time  a  meed 
of  rigid  indifference  and  neglect,  have 
now  obtained  KTI^O.  a  an  in  the  rolls 
of  Fame  ;  and  others  the  delight  and 
admiration  of  their  contemporaries, 
which  now  remain  but  to  teach  us  the 
instructive  lesson,  that 
"  When  Fame's  loud  trump  hath  blown  her 

deepest  blast, 
Though  loud  the  sound,  the  echo  dies  at 

last; 

And  Glory,  like  the  phoenix  midst  her  fires, 
Exhales  her  odours,  blazes,  and  expires." 

Many  are  the  lofty  and  gratifying 
thoughts  and  contemplations  which  a 
visit  to  a  library  will  give  rise  to.  It 
is  there  where  the  mind  wakes  into  a 
consciousness  of  its  own  powers  and 
capabilities,  and  burns  to  measure  its 
strength  with  the  heroes  of  literature, 
the  mighty  masters  of  science.  It  is 
there  that  the  appetite  for  knowledge, 
which,  however  it  may  lie  dormant 
a-rwhile,  can  never  be  entirely  extin- 
guished, sharpens  and  increases  in  be- 
holding the  food  for  which  it  longs, 
and  prepares  for  a  full  and  pleasing 
enjoyment  of  the  exhaustless  banquet 
before  it.  It  is  there  that  the  soul  ex- 
pands with  a  consciousness  of  the  task 
it  has  to  overcome,  and  the  matter  it 
has  to  grapple  with ;  and  rises  with 
proud  and  confident  superiority  to  the 
mastery  of  knowledge  in  all  her  cells. 
It  is  there  that  one  feels  a  desire  to  shut 
out  the  world  and  its  concerns,  and  live 
like  Alagliabecchi  in  the  Vatican,buried 
in  books,  to  contract  an  intimacy  with 
every  one  of  the  thousands  of  writers 
deposited  in  its  shelves, — poets,  ora- 
tors, historians,  philosophers,  and  di- 
vines, and  receive  all  their  stores  of 
thought  and  science,  though  but  as  the 
water  which  passes  through  the  urns  of 
the  Danaides.  It  is  there  that  the  pain- 
ful feeling  of  the  impossibility  of  sa- 
tisfying the  wishes  of  the  soul  is  late- 
ly and  reluctantly  acknowledged ;  and 
it  is  there  we  should  be  almost  led, 
were  it  not  for  the  hope  of  the  fruition 
of  our  desires  in  a  future  state,  to  deem 
that  inexplicable  and  unassuageable 
craving  after  knowledge,  which  is  im- 
planted in  our  natures,  to  be  given  us 
13 


302 

hut  as  a  cruel  mockery,  and  tantalizing 
delusion. 

But  to  return  to  our  subject  matter. 
From  the  library  you  pass  into  the 
reading-room,  not,  however,  without 
having  to  encounter  a  formidable  array 
of  sights  and  monsters,  more  grotesque 
even  than  those  which  appalled  the 
stout  heart  of  the  Trojan  prince  in  his 
descent  to  hell.  There  are  seals  and 
hairy  men,  speaking  trumpets  and 
snakes,  and  fishes  and  alligators,  and 
"  such  small  deer,"  not  forgetting  ske- 
letons preserved  in  bottles,  and  Oliver 
Cromwell's  sword.  This  last  great  ac- 
quisition, now  laid  up  in  peace,  may, 
indeed,  exclaim  that  Time  has  made  it 
acquainted  with  strange  bed-fellows. 
Yet  it  is  considered  a  trophy  of  no 
small  consequence  in  the  place.  Many 
a  stare  of  vacant  wonderment  has  been 
directed  to  it  by  the  rustics,  in  their 
holiday  visitations,  and  even  the  juve- 
nile stentors  before  alluded  to,  in  do- 
ling out  the  bead-roll  of  their  calami- 
ties, attest  its  high  importance,  by 
a  proportionate  exaltation  of  voice. 
Through  a  door  studded  with  nails  in 
the  ancient  fashion,  you  pass  into  the 
reading-room,  an  antique  apartment, 
with  oaken  casements,  massive  chairs 
of  such  heaviness  and  contexture,  as 
utterly  to  defy  all  muscular  power,  and 
tables  of  make  and  workmanship  truly 
patriarchal,  one  of  which  you  are  in- 
formed by  your  guide,  is  composed  of 
as  many  pieces  as  there  are  days  in  a 
year,  3(i5.  Around  are  disposed  dusky 
looking  portraits  of  eminent  divines, 
who  have  been  born  in  or  near  Man- 
chester, Whitaker,  Howell,*  Latimer, 
and  Bradford,  of  the  latter  of  whom 
the  facetious  Fuller  saith,  "  He  was  a 
most  holy  and  mortified  man,  who  se- 
cretly in  his  closet  would  so  weep  for 
his  sins,  one  would  have  thought  he 
would  never  have  smiled  again,  and 
then  appearing  in  public,  he  would  be 
so  harmlessly  pleasant,  one  would  think 
he  had  never  wept  before."  No  such 
marks  of  celestial  benignity  are  here 
visible  in  his  countenance  ;  he  looks 
truly  as  grim-visaged  as  Herod  him- 
self in  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents. 


The  Chcctham  Librart/. 


[[June, 


Over  the  fire-place,  surmounted  by  his 
coat  of  nrnis,  is  the  portrait  of  Hum- 
phrey Cheetham  himself,  the  chari- 
table "  dealer  in  Manchester  commo- 
dities," as  he  has  been  called,  to  whose 
beneficence  this  excellent  institution  is 
owing.  Fashions  and  manners  have 
wonderfully  changed.  What  would 
the  spruce  and  dapper  warehousemen 
of  the  present  day  think  of  such  an 
apparition,  were  they  to  see  him  pass-! 
ing  down  Cannon-Street ;  or  what 
would  their  masters,  to  hear  of  a  Man- 
chester merchant,  who  exercised  him- 
self in  the  reading  of  godly  divines  ? 
He  appears,  indeed,  a  marvellous  staid 
personage,  somewhat  like  the  old  man 
in  Terence, — 

Confident,  cat/in — 

Trlsils  scvcritux  incst  in  vitltu — 

The  windows  of  this  room  are  in 
unison  with  the  rest  of  its  structure, 
and  though  they  do  not  absolutely  "ex-i 
elude  the  light,"  yet  there  is  a  certain 
degree  of  dimness  in  it,  which  does  not 
ill  agree  with  the  dark  pannels  and 
beams  by  which  it  is  incased  and  over- 
hung. At  the  farther  end  is  a  recess, 
which  being  almost  windowed  round, 
is  rendered  a  little  lightsomer  than  the 
other  parts  of  the  room.  It  is  plea- 
sant to  sit  in  this  sequestered  nook., 
the  locus  lenedictus  of  this  ancient 
place,  and  view  from  thence  the  gal- 
lery with  its  shelves  of  books,  sinking 
by  degrees  into  duskiness,  or  to  watch 
from  the  window  the  little  crowd  be- 
low, performing  their  evolutions  in  no 
very  silent  key,  and  to  listen  while  the 
hour  strikes  on  the  oaken  table  before 
you  to  the  chimes  of  the  Collegiate 
Church,  falling  full  and  audible  on 
the  ear.  Still  pleasanter  is  it  to  resign 
the  mind  to  those  fantasies,  which,  in 
a  place  like  this,  are  wont  to  rise  and 
steal  upon  it  with  a  soft  but  potent 
fascination — and  to  suffer  the  imagi- 
nation to  raise  up  its  visions  of  the 
worthies  of  olden  time.  To  embody 
and  impersonate  our  forefathers,  while 
we  are  tarrying  in  their  edifice,  and 
while  we  are  drinking  "  at  the  pure 
wells  of  English  undefiled/'  to  picture 


*  It  is  not,  perhaps,  generally  known,  that  we  owe  the  original  of  bottled  ale  to  the 
person  who  compiled  the  famous  catechism.  Thus,  however,  relateth  one  of  his  biogra- 
phers :  "  Without  offence,  it  may  be  remembered,  that  leaving  a  bottle  of  ale,  when 
fishing,  in  the  grass,  lie  found  it  some  days  afterwards  no  bottle  but  a  gun,  such  the 
sound  at  the  opening  thereof."  And  this  is  believed  (Casualty  is  mother  of  more  inven- 
tions than  Industry,)  the  origin  of  bottled  ale  in  England. 


1821.3 


The  Cheetham  library. 


to  ourselves  the  worthies  who  stood 
and  guarded  at  its  fountain.  To  create 
and  call  forth  figures  for  our  sport, 
like  those  in  the  Tempest,  airy  and 
unsubstantial,  clad  in  ruffs  and  dou- 
blets, and  passing  hy  us  with  stiff 
mien  and  haughty  statelincss  ;  intro- 
ducing to  our  eyes  a  succession  of 
"  masking*,  mmmneries,  entertain- 
ments, jubilees,  tilts  and  tournaments, 
trophies,  triumphs,  and  plays,"  till 
we  can  see  the  whole  court  of  Eliza- 
beth, and  the  great  master  of  the 
dance,  the  graceful  Sir  Christopher 
Hatton, 

"  Lead  the  brawls, 
While  seals  and  maces  dance  before  him." 

We  are  transported  visibly  to  the 
times  when  the  Euphues  and  the  Ar- 
cadia were  the  light  reading  of  maids 
of  honour,  when  queens  harangued 
universities  in  Latin,  and  kings  amu- 
sed themselves  by  writing  of  demono- 
logy  and  tobacco.  The  theological 
tomes  around  us  seem  to  communicate 
something  of  their  influence  to  us,  and 
to  dip  us  "  five  fathom  deep"  in  the 
controversies  of  the  times.  We  can 
almost  join  in  alacrity  in  the  crusade 
.against  the  Beast  "  who  had  filled  the 
world  with  her  abominations,"  and 
sally  out  with  bishops  for  our  leaders, 
and  a  ponderous  folio  for  our  armour 
of  proof.  The  works  around  us  natu- 
rally bring  their  authors  before  our 
eye.  We  can  see  Hooker  in  his  quiet 
country  parsonage,  beholding  "  God's 
blessings  spring  out  of  his  mother 
earth,  and  eating  his  own  bread  in 
peace  and  privacy."  We  can  see  Sid- 
ney amongst  the  shades  of  Penshurst 
writing  on  poetry,  with  all  the  enthu- 
siasm of  a  pout,  and  proving,  that 
"  poesie  is  full  of  virtue,  breeding  de- 
lightfulness,  and  void  of  no  gift  that 
ought  to  be  in  the  noble  name  of 
learning."  We  can  see  Bacon  in  his 
closet,  conceiving  in  his  mighty  mind 
the  greatest  birth  of  time,  and  unbent 
by  misfortune,  and  undejtcted  by  dis- 
grace, illuminating  philosophy  "  with 
all  the  weight  of  matter,  worth  of  sub- 
ject, soundness  of  argument,  life  of 
invention,  and  depth  of  judgment." 
We  can  see  Selden  amidst  bulls,  bre- 
viuts,  antiphoners,  and  monkish  ma- 
nuscripts, laying  up  the  stores  of  his 
vast  learning,  and  awaiting  from  pos- 
terity the  rewards  which  were  denied 
him  by  a  prejudiced  clergy.  We  can 
be  present  with  Burton,  whilst  enjoy- 


303 

ing  the  delights  of  voluntary  solitari- 
ness, and  walking  alone  in  some  gfove, 
betwixt  wood  and  water,  by  a  brook 
side,  to  meditate  upon  some  delight- 
some and  pleasant  subject,  and  hear 
him  declaring  in  ecstacy,  "  what  an  in- 
comparable delight  it  is  so  to  melan- 
cholize  and  build  castles  in  the  air." 
And  last,  though'  second  to  none  of  his 
contemporaries,  we  can  be  witness  to 
the  lonely  musings  of  him,  "  who  un- 
tamed in  war,  and  indefatigable  in  li- 
terature, as  inexhaustible  in  ideas  as 
exploits,  after  having  brought  a  new 
world  to  light,  wrote  the  history  of 
the  old  in  a  prison." 

Of  all  human  enjoyments,  the  plea- 
sure of  intercourse  with  antiquity  is 
the  most  complete.  The  past  is  in  it- 
self a  treasure.  The  same  feeling  which 
leads  us  back  to  the  pleasing  recollec- 
tions of  infancy,  carries  us  still  further 
along  the  mighty  waste  of  time.  The 
intenseness  of  personal  acquaintance 
can  hardly  exceed  that  vivid  reality 
which  is  produced  by  the  combination 
of  history  and  fancy.  Like  young 
Harry  Bertram,  breathing  the  air  of 
Ellangowan,  we  seem  in  our  inter- 
course with  ancient  times  and  person- 
ages, to  be  entering  upon  a  theatre 
known  to  us  in  some  former  stage  of 
existence,  and  it  dawns  upon  us  with 
the  dim,  but  delightful  shadowinass  of 
a  long  interposed  acquaintance.  The 
readiness  with  which  we  array  and 
furnish,  with  the  incidents  of  living 
beings,  the  inhabitants  of  the  silent 
grave,  and  the  scarcely  questionable 
air  of  life  and  existence,  which  we  can 
throw  around  their  appearance,  would 
almost  induce  us  to  believe  that  our 
imaginations  can  hardly  be  baseless 
and  empty,  and  that  the  forms  which 
are  suggested  by  our  fancy,  must  have 
been  cast  originally  in  the  moulds  of 
memory.  Our  knowledge,  in  truth, 
seems,  according  to  the  Platonic  doc- 
trine, but  remembrance,  and  our  new 
impressions  but  "  the  colourishing  of 
old  stamps,  which  stood  pale  in  the 
soul  before."  There  is  something  in 
"  hoar  antiquity"  itself  wonderfully 
striking.  Much  it  has  of  mild  inter- 
est, but  more  of  awe  and  sublimity. 
The  alternation  of  light  and  shade  by 
which  it  is  chequered,  like  a  plain, 
which  in  one  part  glows  with  the 
beams  of  the  sun,  and  in  another  is 
darkened  by  an  interposed  cloud ;  the 
rolling  of  the  mighty  current  of  years, 
mouldering  and  destroying  empires 


301                                       The  Cteetltctm  Library.  £June, 

and  citadels  ;  "  the  dim  indistinction  intense,   in   contemplation  most  su- 

with  which  all  things  arc  lapt  in  the  blime  ?  There  is  a  pleasure,  an  intel- 

hundle  of  time ;"   the  vast  distance  lectual  zest,  a  high  and  genial  delight 

which  the  eye  aches  to  measure;  the  and  enjoyment  in  such  ascene>  which 

memorable  actions,  achievements,  per-  once  conceived,  we  cannot  ever  permit 

sons,  and  places,  which  it  has  covered  to  be  forgotten.  What  are  the  visions 

as  if  with  a  shroud ;  the  wonderful  of  the  future  to  meditations  so  produ- 

intermixture  it  presents  of  suvagenoss  ced  ?     They  may  interest  our  human 

and  refinement,  of  brutality  and  vvis-  feelings  more,  but  can  they  fill,  occu- 

cloin,  of  atrocity  and  magnanimity,  of  py,  and  expand  the  mind  like  those  of 

poverty  and  splendour,  of  high  aspira-  the  past  ?  The  prospective  creatures 

tion  and  grovelling  debasement,  must  of  fancy  may  for  a  while  float  before 

contribute  to  make  it  a  pageant  varied,  our  eyes,   and  dazzle  us  with  their 

magnificent,  and  imposing.  *    Is  there  glittering  hues  and  glowing  brilliancy ; 

not  something  in  the  very  names  of  but  they  all  die  away,  decay  and  va- 

Nimrod  and  Cambyses,  of  Babylon,  nish  before  that  deeper,  grander,  most 

Tyre,   and  Carthage,   of   Sidon   and  potent  and  efficacious  spirit  of  imagi- 

Thebes,    of   Assaracus,    Herostratus,  nation,  which  broods  over  the  magni- 

and  Achilles,  which  strikes  the  mind  ficenceof  thepast,  which  resides  amidst 

with  a  sensation  which  no  words  can  the  marble  wastes  of  Tadmor,  and  the 

explain  ?  Do  we  not  feel,  on  seeing  the  "  mighty  nations  of  the  dead,"  which 

pyramids,  arches,  obelisks,  and  monu-  gives  even  to  the  future  a  more  vivid 

ments  of  other  times,  a  something  lustre  from  its  reflection,  and  which  is, 

which  is  inexplicable  and  inconimuni-  in  fine,  that  eternal  and  inexhaustible 

cable,  but  composed,  nevertheless,  of  fountain,  from  which  History  catches 

all  the  noblest  elements  of  the  soul,  of  her  colouring,  and  Poetry  lights  her 

what  in  admiration  is  most  fervent,  in  flame, 

pity  most  deep,  in  imagination  most  But  we  have  involuntarily  strayed 


*  The  following  curious  recapitulation  of  the  events  of  ancient  history  is  taken  from 
Richard  Carpenter's  "Experience,  History,  and  Divinitie."  It  is  very  striking,  and  not, 
perhaps,  generally  known.  The  author  was  twice  a  protestant,  and  twice  a  papist,  and 
ended,  we  believe,  like  Gibbon,  with  being  nothing  at  all : — "  This  world  hath  bin  al- 
wayes  a  passenger ;  for,  it  hath  passed  from  age  to  age,  through  so  many  hundred  ge- 
nerations, by  them,  and  from  them  to  us.  Adam  lived  a  while,  to  eat  an  apple,  and  to 
teach  his  posterity  to  sinne  and  to  dye  ;  and  the  world  passed  by  him.  Caine  lived  a 
while,  to  kill  his  honest  brother  Abel,  and  to  bury  him  in  the  sands,  as  if  God  could  not 
have  found  him,  or  the  winde  have  discovered  what  was  done,  and  afterwards  to  be 
haunted  with  frightfull  apparitions  ,  and  to  be  the  first  vagabond  ;  and  the  world  passed 
by  him.  Noah  lived  a  while,  to  see  a  great  floud,  and  the  whole  world  sinke  under 
water  ;  to  see  the  weary  birds  drop  amongst  the  waves,  and  men  stifled  on  the  tops  of 
trees  and  mountaines  ;  and  the  world  passed  by  him.  David  lived  a  while,  to  be  caught 
with  a  vaine  representation,  and  to  commit  adultery ;  to  command  murther,  and  after- 
wards to  lament,  and  call  himselfe  sinner  ;  and  when  he  had  done  so,  the  world  shuffed 
him  off,  and  passed  by  him.  Solomon  lived  awhile,  to  sit  like  a  man  upon  his  royall 
throne,  as  it  were  guarded  with  lyons ;  and  to  love  counterfeit  pictures  in  the  faces  of 
strange  women  ;  and  while  he  was  looking  babies  in  their  eyes,  the  world  stole  away, 
and  passed  by  King  Solomon,  ami  all  his  glory.  Judas  lived  awhile,  to  handle  a  purse  ; 
and,  as  an  old  author  writes,  to  kill  his  father,  to  marry  his  mother,  to  betray  his  master, 
and  to  hang  himself;  and  the  world  turned  round  as  wel  as  he,  and  passed  by  the  tray- 
tor.  The  Jews  lived  awhile,  to  crucifie  him  who  had  chosen  them  for  his  onely  people 
out  of  all  the  world  ;  and  quickly  after  the  world,  weary  of  them,  passed  by  them  and 
their  common-wealth.  The  old  Romanes  lived  awhile,  to  worship  wood  and  stones;  to 
talk  a  little  of  lupiter,  Apollo,  Venus,  Mercury,  and  to  gaze  upon  a  great  statue  of 
Hercules,  and  cry,  hee  was  a  mighty  man  ;  and  while  they  stood  gazing  and  looking 
another  way,  the  world  passed  by  them  and  their  great  empire.  The  papists  live  awhile, 
to  keepe  time  with  dropping  beads,  or,  rather  to  lose  it ;  to  cloath  images,  and  keepe 
them  warm  ;  and  to  tell  most  wonderfull  stories  of  miracles,  which  God  never  thought 
of,  but  as  he  foresaw,  and  found  them  in  their  fancies,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  story,  be- 
fore it  is  made  a  compleat  lye,  the  world  passes  by  them,  and  turnes  them  into  a  story. 
The  Jesuits  live  awhile,  to  be  called  religious  men,  and  holy  fathers  ;  to  frame  a  face, 
to  be  very  good  and  godly  in  the  out-side  ;  to  vex  and  disquiet  princes  ;  to  slander  all 
those  whom  they  cannot,  or  gaine,  or  recover  to  their  faction  ;  and  the  world  at  length 
finding  them  to  be  dissemblers,  dissembles  with  them  al;<o,  and  looking  friendly  upon 
them,  passes  by  them." 


Cheetkam's  Library. 


from  our  subject,  and  it  is  now  time 
For  us  to  conclude.  If  thy  footsteps 
lead  thee,  good  reader,  to  the  vener- 
able place  which  has  suggested  these 
speculations,  letusadvise  thee  to  amuse 
thyself  with  something  suitable,  and 
not  incongruous  with  its  character. 
There  is  a  fitness  in  all  things.  There 
are  other  places  for  perusing  the  ephe- 
meral productions  of  the  day,  circula- 
ting libraries  for  novels,  and  commer- 
cial rooms  for  newspapers.  If  these 
be  the  food  for  which  thy  mind  is 
most  disposed,  to  such  places  be  thy 
walks  confined.  But  go  not  to  the  li- 
brary of  Humphrey  Cheetham,without 
opening  one  of  the  "  time-honoured 
guests. '  If  classical  learning  be  the 
study  most  gratifying  to  thy  palate, 
take  down  the  Basil  edition  of  Ho- 
race, with  the  notes  of  eighty  commen- 
tators, and  read  through  the  commen- 
taries on  the  first  ode,  thou  wilt  find 
it  no  very  easy  or  dispatchable  matter. 
If  divinity  be  thy  pursuit,  let  one  of 
the  compendious  folios  of  Caryl  on 
Job  minister  to  thy  amusement,  and 
thus  conduce  to  thy  attainment  of  that 
virtue  of  which  Job  was  so  eminently 
the  possessor.  If  Natural  History  pre- 
sent more  attractions  to  thee  than  clas- 
sical learning  or  divinity,  Ulysses  Al- 
drovandus  will  find  thee  employment 
enough,  without  resorting  to  the  later 
publications  of  Pennant  or  Button. 
But  should  thy  thoughts,  good  reader, 
have  a  different  direction,  and  all  these 
studies  be  less  agreeable  to  thee  than 
the  study  of  light  reading,  take  with 


305 

thee  Pharamond  to  thy  corner,  or  that 
edifying  and  moral  work,  Mat.  Inge- 
lo's  Bentivoglio  and  Urania ;  and  so 
needest  thou  have  no  fear  of  being  too 
violently  interested  in  thy  subject  to 
leave  off  with  pleasure.   What  is  that 
deep  and  forcible  interest  which  chains 
you  to  a  book,  to  the  delightful  equa- 
bility to  be  enjoyed  in  the  perusal  of 
works  like  these  ?  There  is,  too,  an- 
other advantage.     You  cannot    get 
through  them  too  soon.     How  often 
do  we  feel,  in  perusing  the  Scotch  no- 
vels, the  unpleasant  reflection  that  \ve 
are  getting  nearer  and  nearer  the  end— 
the  end  of  our  book,  and  the  end  of 
our  pleasure.      Here,   however,   the 
reader  may  range  secure,  undisturbed 
by  any  such  unpleasant  anticipations. 
But  if,  on  v  the  contrary,  thou  visitest 
the  Cheetham  Library  as  a  menagerie, 
spectacle,  and  show,  as  a  collection  of 
snakes,  skeletons,  porpoises,  and  cro- 
codiles ;  or  if  thou  enterest  it  in  the 
same  manner,  and  for  the  same  pur- 
poses, as  thou  wouldst  enter  a  loun- 
ging-room,  or  a  fashionable  booksel- 
ler's shop,  then,  though  we  will  not 
wish  unto  thee  the  ass's  ears  of  Midas, 
or  those  other  calamities  which  are 
mentioned  by  the  eloquent  defender 
of  poetry,  yet  "  thus  much  curse" 
must  we  send  thee  on  behalf  of  the 
founder,  that  thou  mayst  be  confined 
amongst  the  productions  of  the  Mi- 
nerva Press,  and  be  kept  on  prison 
allowance  till  thou  hast  read  them 
through. 

T. 


ADVENTURE  IN   HAVANA. 


I  HAD  riot  spent  more  than  a  fortnight 
in  Havana,  when  I  was  seized  with 
the  yellow  fever.  This  disease  prevails 
there,  to  a  great  degree,  during  sum- 
mer and  autumn,  and  makes  dreadful 
ravages  among  foreigners  of  every  de- 
scription. It  sometimes  attacks  people 
very  suddenly,  and  almost  without  any 
previous  warning. 

When  first  taken  ill,  I  was  in  a  mer- 
chant's warehouse,  making  inquiries 
about  a  vessel  in  which  I  proposed  go- 
ing to  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  island. 
As  the  owner  was  out,  I  determined  to 
waituntil  he  came  home,  andaccording- 
ly  seated  myself  on  a  bale  of  goods.  I 
gradually  sunk  into  a  state  of  feverish 
torpidity,  during  which  I  had  an  indis- 
tinct conception  of  where  I  was,  but 
could  not  rouse  mvoelf,  or  make  anyre- 

VOL.  IX. 


sistance  whatever.  At  last,  I  lost  all 
sense  of  external  objects.  I  dreamed 
that  I  went  on  board  the  vessel  I  had 
been  inquiring  about,  and  that  we  sail- 
ed down  the  harbour  with  a  fair  wind. 
Suddenly,  from  some  cause  or  other, 
I  fell  overboard,  and  sunk  to  a  consi- 
derable depth.  When  I  regained  the 
surface,  I  saw  the  vessel  a  little  way 
before  me,  and  called  loudly  for  help, 
but  she  swept  along,  under  a  press  of 
carivass,  and  no  one  in  her  seemed  to 
hear,  or  pay  the  least  attention  to  my 
cries.  I  looked  behind  me  in  despair, 
to  discover  if  any  boat  was  approach- 
ing to  afford  assistance,  but,  to  my  hor- 
ror, saw  the  whole  surface  of  the  har- 
bour covered  with  the  floating  bodies 
of  dead  seamen  tied  upon  planks.  The 
vessels  around  seemed  deserted,  rotten, 


308 


Adventure  in  Havana, 


and  falling  to  pieces,  and  the  most  aw- 
ful stillness  prevailed  in  every  direc- 
tion. In  my  agonies  I  caught  hold  of 
one  of  the  corpses,  and  seated  myself 
upon  it.  The  limbs  and  muscles  of  the 
dead  man  were  instantaneously  relax- 
ed— he  uttered  a  horrible  shout,  burst 
the  cords  that  tied  him,  and  caught  me 
firmly  in  his  arms.  We  immediately 
began  to  sink,  and  the  struggles  I  made 
to  extricate  myself  from  his  grasp  awa- 
kened me. 

I  continued  for  some  time  in  a  state 
of  overpowering  agitation  and  giddi- 
ness ;  and  on  recovering  a  little,  per- 
ceived that  there  was  no  one  in  the 
warehouse  but  an  old  Spaniard,  to 
whom  I  could  not  explain  my  situa- 
tion, as  he  did  not  understand  a  word 
of  English.  I  therefore  walked  out, 
and  endeavoured  to  make  my  way  to 
the  boarding-house  where  I  lodged ; 
but  my  confusion  was  such,  that  in 
spite  of  all  my  efforts  at  recollection,  I 
got  bewildered,  and  at  the  same  time 
so  fatigued,  that  I  was  obliged  to  take 
refuge  in  a  coffee-house  near  the  church 
of  St  Domingo. 

Here  I  sat  upon  a  bench,  stun- 
ned by  the  rattling  of  billiards,  and 
unheeded  by  the  crowds  of  Spaniards 
that  bustled  around.  I  knew  that 
I  was  attacked  by  the  yellow  fever, 
and  I  also  knew  that  few  of  my  age 
or  temperament  ever  recovered  from 
it.  I  was  a  friendless  stranger  in  a 
foreign  land.  But  the  thoughts  of 
all  this  did  not  depress  me.  I  felt  as 
if  I  could  die  more  calmly  in  a  coun- 
try, and  among  a  people,  whose  lan- 
guage I  did  not  even  understand,  than 
at  home,  in  the  midst  of  friends  and  as- 
sociates. The  presence  of  the  latter 
would  endear  life,  and  their  grief  would 
embitter  its  termination; — but  when 
every  thing  around  was  revolting,  af- 
fectionless,  and  gloomy,  the  world  had 
no  hold  upon  the  heart,  and  could  be 
relinquished  without  regret. 

Though  excessively  weak,  I  imme- 
diately left  the  coffee-room,  and  soon 
reached  my  lodgings,  which  fortunate- 
ly were  not  far  distant ;  and  from  them 
I  was  removed,  by  the  advice  of  a  me- 
dical man,  to  a  sick -house. 

The  establishment  which  is  known 
by  this  name  in  Havana,  resembles  a 
private  hospital,  it  being  intended  for 
the  accommodation  of  strangers  and  fo- 
reigners who  are  seized  with  the  fever, 
and  who  have  no  one  to  take  charge  of 
them  during  their  illness.  The  .sick 


person  is  provided  with  an  apartment, 
attendance,  medicines,  and  diet,  and 
may  send  for  any  physician  he  chooses. 
In  summer,  houses  of  this  kind  are 
full  of  Europeans,  who  die  very  sud- 
denly,- and  in  great  numbers. 

One  night  during  my  convalescence, 
I  was  disturbed,  after  I  had  gone  to 
bed,  by  repeated  groans  and  the  sound 
of  hard  breathing,  which  proceeded 
from  the  chamber  below  mine.  I  next 
heard  some  person  walking  quickly 
backwards  and  forwards,  and  then  a 
noise  of  a  heary  body  falling  on  the 
floor. 

As  the  people  of  the  house  were  in 
bed,  1  got  up,  that  I  might  inquire  if 
any  one  wanted  assistance,  and  went 
down  to  the  door  of  the  apartment, 
which  was  half  open.  On  looking  in, 
I  saw  a  man  dressed  in  a  bed-gown, 
pacing  hurriedly  about,  and  sometimes 
muttering  a  few  words.  A  lamp  stood 
upon  the  table,  and  when  the  light  fell 
upon  his  countenance,  I  perceived  it 
to  be  much  flushed  and  agitated. 

I  entered  the  room,  saying  I  feared 
he  was  ill,  and  would  call  up  a  nurse 
to  attend  him.  "  Ay,  ay  !"  cried  he, 
"  all  a  damned  imposition.  They're 
got  me  here  hard  and  fast,  and  don't 
care  how  it  goes  with  me — But  they 
won't  make  much  more  out  of  me, 
that's  one  comfort.  Oh,  sir !  I'm  a 
miserable  man — I  want  to  write  a  let- 
ter— I  want  pen,  ink,  and  paper — A 
small  sheet  will  do." 

"  I  entreat  you  to  return  to  bed," 
said  I ;  "  you  shall  have  all  these  ar- 
ticles to-morrow  morning." — 

"  To-morrow  morning !"  cried  he 
with  vehemence.  "  You  don't  know 
what  you're  talking  about.  The  doc- 
tor told  me  to-day — yes  he  did — that 
I  would'nt  live  till  then — May  God 
Almighty  prove  him  a  liar  ! — I  ve  got 
into  a  wrong  port  here — Why  the  hell 
didn't  we  all  go  to  the  bottom  last  voy- 
age ! — This  is  a  dreadful  place  to  die 
in  'Five  dollars  a-day,"  continued 
he,  raising  his  voice ;  "  What  con- 
founded sharks  they  are  ! — My  birth 
here  an't  worth  the  tenth  of  that — 
Well,  well,  when  I'm  dead  I  hope  my 
corpse  will  bring  a  plague  upon  the 
house,  and  infect  every  one  that  comes 
near  it — May  every  Spaniard  that 
meets  my  burial  in  the  street  drop 
down  dead,  and  be  eternally  damned ! — 
I  was  at  Ramsay's  funeral  the  other 
day — The  coffin  was  hardly  big  enough 
to  "hold  him— and  what  a  burying- 


18210 


Adventure  in  Havana. 


307 


place  ! — The  coffins  are  piled  above 
one  another,  and  their  corners  stick 
through  the  ground — The  carrion- 
crows'flew  about,  as  if  they  were  glad 
to  see  us  in  our  black  clothes — I'll  be 
laid  there  by  and  bye. — Lord  help 
me  ! — But  I  must  write  that  letter."  ' 

Perceiving  that  it  would  be  in  vain 
to  attempt  to  compose  him,  I  went  up 
to  my  own  room,  and  brought  down 
writing  materials.  "Ay,  that's  right/' 
said  he ;  "  thank  you.  I  must  write 
to  my  wife— Poor  young  creature, 
she's  in  the  Orkneys  now — We  could 
live  there  for  two  weeks  on  the  money 
I'm  now  paying  for  a  day's  board  and 
lodging.  I  will  tell  her  that  I  am  well, 
and  corning  home  soon ;  for  if  she 
knew  I  was  dying,  she  would  break 
her  heart — Two  three  days  ago,  I  ho- 
ped to  have  seen  her  again,  but  this 
infernal  fever  has  taken  me  aback  with 
a  vengeance." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  master  of  some 
vessel  in  the  port,"  said  I. — 

"  No,  no,  not  master,"  returned 
he ;  "  my  days  of  being  master  were 
over  long  ago,  though  I  once  com- 
manded as  nice  a  sea-boat  as  ever  went 
before  the  wind— howsomever,  that's 
neither  here  nor  there  now.  But  I'll 
tell  you  the  whole.  About  two  years 
since,  I  sailed  a  small  vessel,  and  own- 
ed a  part  of  her.  Our  trade  lay  chief- 
ly in  contraband  goods ;  and  well  was 
she  fitted  for  it,  for  nothing  on  the  seas 
could  keep  up  with  her.  Ay,  many  a 
time,  when  chased  by  a  king's  cutter, 
we  thought  it  no  more  than  play,  be- 
cause we  knew  we  could  get  clear  of 
her  the  moment  we  had  a  mind. 

"  Well,  one  day  as  we  were  hauling 
out  of  a  French  port,  a  young  man  came 
alongside  in  a  boat,  and  entreated  hard 
to  be  taken  on  board.  Now,  you  know 
smugglers  never  like  to  take  passen- 
gers ;  so  I  flatly  refused  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  him.  However,  he 
told  a  rigmarole  story  about  his  being 
so  short  of  money,  that  if  he  was  ob- 
liged to  remain  any  longer  in  France, 
he  would  not  have  enough  to  pay  his 
passage  home,  and  said  I  might  land 
him  in  whatever  British  port  I  chose. 
Well,  I  took  him  on  board,  and  we 
set  sail.  At  first,  things  went  plea- 
santly enough  between  us ;  for  he  was 
a  clever  young  man,  and  had  a  world 
of  knowledge.  I  used  often  to  talk 
to  him  of  the  Orkney  Islands,  of  which 
I  was  a  native,  and  always  spoke  of 
them  as  partially,  as  every  one  must 


do,  who  has  enjoyed  their  delightful 
climate,  and  all  the  good  things  which 
they  abundantly  afford.  He  at  last 
began  to  joke  with  me  about  my  fond- 
ness for  my  native  place,  which,  he 
said,  was  only  fit  for  the  habitation  of 
bears  'and  seals.  Now  it's  so  natural 
for  a  man  to  love  his  country,  that 
none  but  a  wretch  would  try  to  put 
him  out  of  conceit  with  it ;  and  I 
should  not  be  surprised  to  hear  even 
one  of  these  Spaniards  say,  that  this 
infernal  hole  of  a  town  was  the  finest 
place  in  the  world. 

"  Well,  this  young  fellow's  raillery 
went  farther  every  day,  and  began  to 
cut  me  to  the  heart.  I  often  tossed 
about  in  my  birth  for  hours  together, 
thinking  on  his  sharp  jokes,  and  wish- 
ing to  death  that  I  had  the  power  of 
answering  them  with  effect,  and  hand- 
ling him  as  severely  as  he  did  me ;  for 
he  was  easy  of  speech,  and  had  a  cool 
temper ;  but  I  was  not  gifted  in  either 
of  these  ways. 

"  One  day  at  dinner,  when  he  was 
going  on  in  his  usual  style,  I  lost  patience 
altogether,  and  called  him  a  liar,  and 
threw  my  fork  at  his  head.  He  turned 
as  white  as  that  sheet  of  paper  for  a 
moment,  but  soon  recovered  himself, 
and  did  not  offer  to  touch  me.  I  grew 
more  and  more  provoked ;  for  I  had 
hoped  that  he  would  strike  me,  and  so 
give  me  a  fair  reason  for  closing  upon 
him,  and  choking  him,  or  beating  his 
life  out.  But  as  I  could  not  do  this 
with  any  show  of  justice,  I  ordered 
him  forward  among  the  seamen,  for- 
bidding him,  at  the  same  time,  ever  to 
enter  the  cabin  again. 

"He  obeyed  so  quietly,  thatmymind 
quite  misgave  me  about  what  would  be 
the  end  of  the  business  ;  for  I  knew  he 
was  a  lad  of  spirit,  and  never  would  for- 
give the  disgraceful  insult  I  had  put  up- 
on him.  That  afternoon  I  sent  him  his 
trunk,  and  he  never  afterwards  came 
farther  aft  than  the  main-mast.  He  used 
to  remain  below  all  day ;  but  generally 
made  his  appearance  upon  deck  when 
it  got  dark,  and  sat  there  in  deep 
thought.  Often  at  night,  when  all 
were  in  their  births,  except  myself 
and  the  helmsman,  and  other  two 
hands,  I  have  observed  him  gazing 
stedfastly  upon  me  for  hours  together. 
This  behaviour  would  fill  my  mind 
with  such  fearful  forebodings,  as  kept 
me  from  sleeping  when  my  watch  was 
over. 

"  We  got  into  port  after  a  tolera- 


308 


Adventure  in  Havana, 


bly  fair  passage.  We  had  scarcely 
dropped  anchor  before  he  came  to  me, 
as  I  stood  by  the  cabin-door,  and  re- 
quested to  know  how  much  he  owed 
me  for  his  passage ;  adding,  that  I 
had  used  him  very  ill,  since  he  had 
never  yet  said  any  thing  with  the  in- 
tention of  hurting  my  feelings  in  the 
least  degree.  These  fair  words  threw 
me  off'  my  guard ;  for  after  having 
received  from  him  the  sum  due  me,  I 
foolishly  allowed  him  to  go  on  shore. 
He  went  direct  to  the  Custom-house, 
and  informed  against  me.  Whether 
he  really  knew,  or  only  suspected,  that 
I  had  prohibited  articles  on  board,  the 
devil  perhaps  knows  best ;  but  be  that 
as  it  may,  the  officers  were  alongside 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour.  The 
short  and  the  long  of  it  was  this — • 
both  the  vessel  and  cargo  were  seized. 
"This  was  a  terrible  blow.  The  own- 
ers owed  me  a  good  round  sum  of  mo- 
ney ;  but  so  far  from  expecting  them  to 
pay  it,  I  felt  convinced  that  they  would 
throw  me  into  jail,  whenever  they  got 
hold  of  me.  I  had  settled  my  wife  on 


[[June, 

repenting  that  I  had  taken  such  a  poor 
revenge.  He  has  only  been  choaked 
with  water,  thought  I,  and  the  liko 
happens  to  many  an  honest  seaman. 

"  Next  morning,  on  going  to  my 
window,  which  looked  to  the  harbour, 
I  observed  a  great  crowd  of  people  ga- 
thered round  something,  but  could  not 
see  what  it  was  for  their  heads.  I 
grew  quite  dizzy,  and  began  to  trem- 
ble all  over.  They  soon  began  to  move 
along  the  street  below  me.  I  ran  back 
from  the  window,  and  then  to  it  again, 
four  or  five  times,  impelled  by  a  dread- 
ful curiosity,  which  I  feared  equally 
to  resist,  and  to  yield  to.  However,  I 
got  a  glimpse  as  they  passed  along. 
His  head  was  sadly  mangled ;  but  I 
didn't  do  that,  you  know. 

"  I  was  well  convinced,  that  my 
only  safety  lay  in  making  off  as  fast  as 
possible ;  afcd  I  embarked  that  very 
day  in  a  sloop  bound  for  the  north  of 
Scotland.  We  had  a  most  baffling  time 
of  it,  and  it  appeared  doubly  so  to  me, 
because  I  was  continually  thinking 
what  terrible  tidings  I  would  bring  to 


a  small  place  in  the  Orkneys.    Part  of   my  wife  and  children,  and  how  desti- 
its  price  was  paid,  and  the  remainder    tute  we  would  all  be. 

From  the  sloop,  I  went  on  board 


had  now  become  due  ;  but  the  seizure 
of  the  vessel  at  once  deprived  me  of 
those  means  of  making  up  the  sum 
that  I  had  counted  upon.  It  was  some 
time  before  I  quite  knew  the  terrible- 
ness  of  my  misfortune  ;  but  at  last  it 
burst  upon  me  like  a  hurricane — as- 
sailing me  first  in  one  quarter,  and 
then  in  another. 

"  At  night  I  wandered  about  the 
streets,  not  knowing  what  to  do.  It 
was  dark,  and  rained,  and  blew  hard  ; 
but  I  did  not  mind  the  weather.  In 
passing  a  door,  where  there  was  a  light, 
I  saw  the  young  man  who  had  betray- 
ed me,  walking  along  the  opposite  side 
of  the  way.  I  followed  him,  and  many 
a  time  could  have  knocked  him  over, 
without  being  seen  by  any  one ;  but 
I  desisted,  for  I  had  not  resolved  upon 
what  sort  of  revenge  I  was  to  take. 
Revenge  I  determined  to  have,  and 
that  very  night  too.  At  last  he  went 
along  the  pier — I  looked  round  a  mo- 
ment— every  thing  seemed  quiet — I 
slipped  behind  him,  and  pushed  him 
over.  The  tide  was  just  coining  in, 
and  the  dashing  of  the  sea,  and  the 
noise  of  the  wind,  drowned  his  cries, 
if  lie  uttered  any.  I*  heard  him  plunge 
• — that  was  enough  for  me. 

"  That  night  I  slept  at  a  mean  ta- 
vern. I  did  not  sleep.  I  lay  in  bed, 


another  vessel,  which  carriedme  to  that 
part  of  the  Orkneys,  where  my  fami- 
ly were.  Notwithstanding  the  dark 
weight  that  lay  upon  my  mind,  I  felt 
a  pleasantness  of  heart,  when  I  saw  my 
native  place  again.  It  almost  set  me  a 
crying,  and  I  thought  more  of  my 
country  than  ever,  when  I  reflected 
upon  what  I  had  brought  myself  to, 
by  standing  up  in  its  defence. 

"  I  soon  broke  the  disastrous  intelli- 
gence to  my  wife.  As  we  were  in  ab- 
solute poverty,  I  found  it  necessary  to 
ask  relief  from  my  father-in-law.  This 
was  a  trying  business,  for  he  was  ;i 
hard  tyrannical  man,  and  had  just 
married  a  second  wife ;  however,  af- 
ter a  deal  of  parleying  and  abuse,  he- 
consented  to  take  my  family  into  his 
own  house,  provided  they  would  make 
themselves  useful.  As  for  me,  he  said, 
I  must  shift  for  myself.  By  his  re- 
commendation, I  soon  got  a  birth  ou 
board  a  small  vessel  bound  for  New 
York.  From  that  port,  I  sailed  in  a 
ship  to  this  here  Havana.  A  mercan- 
tile house  lately  offered  me  the  charge 
of  a  vessel,  destined  for  a  very  un- 
healthy part  of  the  West  Indies,  which 
I  immediately  accepted,  for  I  knew  I 
could  make  a  good  voyage  of  it.  But 
this  accursed  fever  has  moored  me  fast. 


Adventure  in  Havana. 


309 


and  death  will  soon  make  all  things 
square.  Now  I  have  told  you  all  this 
black  story  ;  I  would  rather  the  whole 
world  should  know  it,  than  that  I 
should  die.  Is  there  no  help  ?  Is  there 
no  power  in  physic  ? — Oh,  it  would  be 
nothing  to  tbunder  at  sea ! — Nothing 
compared  with  dying  in  this  gloomy 
deliberate  way.  But  I  must  begin 
writing,  only  I'm  afraid  I'll  not  be 
able  to  make  out  a  connected  letter.' 

"  If  you  insist  upon  writing  to  your 
.wife,"  said  I,  "  let  me  persuade  you 
to  tell  her  truly  in  what  state  you 
are." 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,"  cried  he, 
I'm  not  such  a  wretch.     I  suppose 


Early  next  morning,  the  superin- 
tendant  of  the  house  came  into  my 
room,  and  informed  me,  that  a  sick 
gentleman  below  wished  anxiously  to 
speak  with  me.  I  immediately  ac- 
companied him  to  the  apartment  of 
the  stranger,  who  took  no  notice  of  us 
when  we  entered,  for  he  had  sunk  in- 
to a  sort  of  lethargic  slumber.  His 
face  was  deadly  pale,  and  the  sharp- 
ness of  his  features  indicated  approach- 
ing death.  My  attendanthaving  roused 
him,  and  mentioned  the  cause  of  my 
visit,  left  us  together. 

"  I  am  informed,"  said  he,  endea- 
vouring to  raise  himself  up  in  his  bed, 

that  you  are  of  the  medical  profes- 


you  think,  because  I  pushed  a  devil    sion,  and  I  wish  to  ask  one  question 


into  the  sea,  I  have  no  mercy  about 
me  at  all.  Revenge  is  sweet,  you  know. 
I  like  to  give  every  man  his  own  again, 
be  it  good  or  evil;  but  I  would  not 
harm  a  fly,  if  it  had  not  injured  me. 
I  don't  want  to  kill  my  wife.  I  dare- 
say, poor  girl,  her  stepmother  makes 
things  go  hard  enough  with  her  al- 
ready. I  will  tell  her  I  am  very  well, 
and  the  hope  of  seeing  me  again  will 
fceep  alive  her  spirits.  You  had  bet- 
ter go  away  now — I'll  write  best  alone." 
After  in  vain  endeavouring  to  per- 
suade him  to  defer  his  purpose  till 
morning,  I  returned  to  my  own  apart- 
ment. 

My  first  thought,  when  I  awakened 
next  day,  was  about  this  unfortunate 
seaman,  and  I  called  up  a  negro  man, 
who  belonged  to  the  house,  aud  in- 
quired if  he  was  still  in  life. 

"  No,"  returned  the  negro,  "  he's 
dead — dead  sure  enough ;  I've  just 
come  from  telling  them  to  make  his 
coffin.  The  coffin-makers  like  to  see 
me — I  go  to  them  often,  for  white 
massns  die  very  fast  now.  They  die 
so  soon,  that  my  niassa  can't  make 
any  thing  of  them.  If  they  would  all 
get  better,  and  stay  long  like  you,  it 
would  answer  very  fine."  I  asked  at 
what  hour  he  died. 

"  Me  no  know  that,"  answered  the 
negro.  "  Nobody  was  beside  him  ; 
but  it  could  not  be  long  time  since, 
for  I  heard  him  fighting  hard  with 
death,  and  wished  him  far  enough,  for 
breaking  my  sleep.  I  found  him  quite 
stiff  this  morning,  with  a  sheet  of  pa- 
per held  so  strong  in  his  hand,  that  I 
had  some  ado  to  pull  it  out.  He  be  bu- 
ried this  afternoon  ;  but  we  no  know 
where  his  friends  are ;  so  massa  will 
just  take  him  out  to  the  grave  in  a 
volant  alone  by  himself." 


which,  for  the  sake  of  a  dying  man,  I 
conjure  you  to  answer  truly — Is  the 
fever  under  which  I  now  labour  infec- 
tious ?" 

"  Assuredly  not,"  returned  I ;  "  I 
never  supposed  it  to  be  so." 

"  Thank  God !"  exclaimed  he  ; 
"  then  I  shall  yet  enjoy  a  few  mo- 
ments of  comfort  before  I  die.  What 
a  relief  this  information  is !  Poor  Ma- 
ria, you  will  still" Here  he  shook 

with  agitation,  and  tears  began  to  roll 
down  his  cheeks. 

"  I  owe  you  an  explanation  of  this 
behaviour,'  said  he,  recovering  him- 
self a  little ;  "  since  you  have  removed 
an  uncertainty  which  has  hitherto  in- 
creased the  disquiets  of  my  deathbed. 
I  arrived  here  a  few  days  ago,  from 
Baltimore.  I  intended  to  have  com- 
menced business  in  this  town  as  a 
merchant,  and  accordingly  brought 
along  with  me  a  daughter — an  only 
daughter.  Being  attacked  with  the 
fever  almost  immediately,  I  was  con- 
veyed to  this  house,  for  I  had  not  pro- 
vided any  place  of  my  own.  My 
daughter  lives  at  present  with  an 
American  lady.  She  has  come  to  see 
me  twice,  against  my  express  com- 
mands; and  I  have  ever  since  been 
full  of  terror,  lest  she  should  have  re- 
ceived infection  in  the  course  of  her 
visits.  But  you  tell  me  this  cannot 
be; — trusting  in  such  an  assurance,  I 
will  send  for  her — that  I  may  see  her 
again  before  I  die." 

"  That  you  can  do  without  risk," 
said  I ;  "  but  are  you  not  too  ready  to 
yield  to  desponding  thoughts  ?" 

"  No,  no,  no,  I  feel  something 
here,"  returned  he,  laying  his  hand  on 
his  breast ;  "  I  know  it  is — it  must 
be  death.  Oh,  that  the  Almighty  would 
yet  grant  me  a  little  time !  I  do  not 


310 


Adventure  in  Havana* 


ask  it  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  hers. 
— 'Tis  hard  to  be  denied,  since  there 
is  no  selfishness  in  my  petition ; — but 
perhaps  I'm  mistaken.  Oh,  beware 
how  you  contract  any  ties  that  will 
bind  your  heart  to  this  earth; — our 
parting  is  severe  enough  without 
them." 

He  turned  his  face  from  me.  In  a 
little  time  I  addressed  him,  but  recei- 
ved no  reply — for  he  was  dead. 

One  afternoon,  while  taking  my 
usual  walk  round  the  court,  my  at- 
tention was  arrested  by  the  sound  of 
persons  speaking  in  a  tone  of  alterca- 
tion and  entreaty.  In  a  little  time, 
the  superintendant  of  the  house  look- 
ed from  the  door  of  one  of  the  apart- 
ments, and  asked  me  to  come  in. 

On  entering,  I  perceived  a  young 
man,  seated  on  a  bed,  half-dressed, 
and  in  the  act  of  putting  on  the  re- 
mainder of  his  clothes.  He  was  much 
emaciated,  and  so  weak,  that  he  trem- 
bled excessively ;  but  his  manner 
evinced  a  degree  of  resolution  and  im- 
patience, which  seemed  to  supply  the 
place  of  strength.  A  mulatto  woman 
stood  looking  at  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  astonishment  and  unconcern. 

"  No  person  in  his  senses  would 
think  of  leaving  my  house,  when  in 
such  a  state,"  said  the  superintendant 
to  me. 

I  inquired  if  the  young  man  was 
not  delirious.  He  overheard  me,  and 
called  out  fiercely,  "  No,  sir,  I  am 
not  delirious — I  know  what  I'm  about, 
and  am  determined  to  do  as  I  please. 
I  have  given  reasons  for  my  conduct 
already." 

"  Kather  strange  ones,  though," 
said  the  superintendant  to  me. — 
"  This  morning  he  asked  how  much 
he  owed  me  for  the  time  he  had 
been  in  this  house.  When  I  satis- 
fied him  on  this  point,  he  said  he 
must  go  away,  as  he  had  scarcely  mo- 
ney enough  to  pay  what  was  already 
due;  now  I've  just  been  telling  him" 
"  Say  no  more,"  interrupted  the 
young  man ;  "  I  will  not  contract 
debts,  when  I  have  no  possible  means 
of  paying  them.  A  friend  of  mine 
has  a  ship  in  the  harbour — I  will  go 
on  board  of  her,  and  die  there." 

"  Why,  it's  not  worth  while  mo- 
ving," said  the  mulatto  woman,  "  for 
the  doctor  told  me  you  could  not  live 
two  days.  Mymasterwon'tmind  the  ex- 
pence  of  keeping  you  that  time,  if  you 
can  secure  him  against  the  charges  of 
your  funeral." 


"  Peace,"  cried  the  Buperintend- 
ant;  "Sir,  I  entreat  you  to  remain 
here  for  my  sake,  if  you  will  not  for 
your  own.  The  credit  of  this  house 
would  be  injured,  if  any  sick  person 
left  it  before  he  had  perfectly  recover- 
ed." 

"  I  am  of  that  opinion  too,"  said  I 
to  the  young  man;  "but  you  shall 
never  be  under  obligations  you  can- 
not cancel,  while  it  is  in  my  power  to 
assist  you.  Allow  me  to  otter  my  ser- 
vices in  extricating  you  from  your  dif- 
ficulties." 

The  superintendant  and  nurse,  per- 
ceiving that  he  had  abandoned  his  in- 
tention of  immediately  removing,  left 
the  room,  and  I  again  asked  if  i  could 
be  useful  to  him  in  any  way. 

"  A  few  days  ago,"  said  he,  "  your 
generous  offers  would  have  proved  va- 
luable beyond  all  description ;  and  I 
would  instantly  have  accepted  of  them. 
But  now  they  are  of  no  avail,  unless 
they  could  be  made  the  means  of  pur- 
chasing life.  Were  that  granted  me, 
I  would  soon  have  it  in  my  power  to 
step  into  the  enjoyment  of  perfect 
happiness.  But  I  will  tell  you  my 
unfortunate  story. 

"  I  arrived  in  this  town  about 
three  weeks  ago,  from  Philadelphia, 
where  I  have  hitherto  resided.  I  was 
bred  to  the  mercantile  business;  but  as, 
owing  to  the  depressed  state  of  com- 
merce that  has  lately  existed  through- 
out America,  I  could  not  procure 
either  a  situation,  or  any  employ- 
ment, I  spent  my  time  in  idleness, 
and  at  last  fell  in  love  with  a  young 
lady,  who  also  became  attached  to 
me.  We  wasted  away  our  hours  in 
each  others  company,  without  ever 
thinking  seriously  of  the  future.  When 
my  destitute  state  happened  to  force 
itself  upon  my  mind,  1  smothered  the 
recollection  of  it,  by  building  castles 
in  the  air,  and  trying  to  believe  that 
some  piece  of  good  fortune  awaited 
me. 

"  However,  I  was  eventually  rou- 
sed to  exertion,  by  the  death  of  my 
dear  one's  mother.  In  consequence  of 
this  event,  she  was  obliged  to  leave 
Philadelphia,  and  reside  with  a  rich 
brother,  who  lived  in  the  country. 
We  had  no  longer  any  opportunity  of 
seeing  each  other ;  and  the  distress  I 
suffered  on  this  account,  and  the 
thoughts  of  the  misery  which  my  su- 
pineness  would  be  the  means  of  inflict- 
ing upon  her,  made  me  determine  to 
push  my  fortune  somewhere  abroad. 


18210 

As  I  understood  some  Spanish,  and 
could  procure  a  few  letters  of  recom- 
mendation to  persons  in  Havana,  I 
soon  decided  upon  coming  here. 

"  Whenever  I  arrived,  I  hastened  to 
call  upon  those  people  to  whom  I  had 
introductions.  They  received  me  po- 
litely enough,  and  promised  to  forward 
my  views  as  much  as  possible,  at  the 
same  time  encouraging  me  with  flat- 
tering hopes.  My  finances  were  low 
when  I  reached  this  city,  and  the  bril- 
liant prospects  in  which  I  foolishly  in- 
dulged, did  not  tend  to  make  me  eco- 
nomical. At  last,  I  began  to  perceive 
the  necessity  of  limiting  my  expences, 
and  retired  to  obscure  lodgings,  where 
I  lived  in  the  narrowest  manner  pos- 
sible. 

"  I  had  made  several  agreeable  ac- 
quaintances, though  the  suspense  and 
anxiety  I  suffered,  made  me  indiffer- 
ent about  having  much  intercourse 
with  them.  However,  there  was  a 
young  Spaniard,  for  whom  I  felt  a 
particular  regard.  One  evening,  he 
called  at  my  rooms,  and  requested  me 
to  accompany  him  to  his  aunt's,  that 
he  might  introduce  me  to  some  of  his 
countrywomen.  We  went  and  took 
coffee  with  the  ladies,  and  it  being  a 
festival  of  the  church,  it  was  agreed 
that  we  should  go  to  the  public  ball, 
that  takes  place  on  such  occasions. 

"  It  was  late  when  we  left  the  ball- 
room, and  my  friend  and  I  accom- 
panied the  ladies  home.  Contrary  to 
my  expectation,  they  requested  us  to 
enter  the  house,  and  pressed  the  mat- 
ter so  strongly  that  we  complied.  We 
had  not  sat  long,  when  cards  were 
proposed ;  but  I  took  alarm  at  this, 
being  well  aware  of  the  expertness  of 
the  Spaniards  in  playing  games  of 
chance,  and  of  my  own  inability  to 
cope  with  them,  on  account,  of  my 
imperfect  acquaintance  with  their  lan- 
guage. I  therefore  protested  against 
remaining  any  longer,  but  without 
avail,  for  my  friend  and  the  ladies  op- 
posed every  thing  I  said.  I  would 
have  departed  notwithstanding  all 
this,  but  I  did  not  know  the  way 
home,  and  feared  to  risk  my  life  by 
wandering  alone  through  the  streets  of 
Havana  at  midnight. 

"  We  accordingly  sat  down-to  cards, 
and  I  lost  so  fast  that  I  began  to  have 
suspicions  of  unfair  play.  I  was  soon 
stripped  of  all  the  money.  I  had  about 
me,  but  n?y  friend  offered  to  be  secu- 
rity for  whatever  the  ladies  should  win 


Adventure  in  Havana. 


311 


from  me.  When  I  had  lost  to  a  large 
amount,  we  rose  and  took  leave,  but 
not  before  some  warm  words  that  pass- 
ed between  us,  made  me  give  him,  in 
disdain,  a  promissory  note  for  the  sum 
I  had  borrowed. 

"Next  morning,  my  reflections  were 
not  of  the  most  agreeable  kind,  for  my 
finances  could  ill  support  the  encroach- 
ments which  the  preceding  night's  play 
had  made  upon  them.  After  breakfast, 
I  went  to  the  coffee-house,  and  there 
met  a  gentleman  whom  I  had  seen  at 
the  ball.  He  inquired  in  a  very  signi- 
ficant manner  for  the  ladies  I  had  es- 
corted there.  On  my  requesting  an 
explanation,  he  informed  me  that  they 
were  women  of  no  reputation,  and  that 
the  young  Spaniard,  whom  I  called 
my  friend,  was  employed  by  them  to 
entrap  strangers,  and  bring  his  dupes 
to  their  house,  that  they  might  have 
an  opportunity  of  cheating  them  at 
cards,  or  obtaining  money  from  them 
in  a  more  licentious  way. 

"  This  information  wounded  my 
pride  as  deeply  as  my  losses  at  cards  had 
drained  my  purse ;  and  I  could  not  but 
bitterly  repent  that  I  had  given  a  pro- 
missory note  to  one  who  so  little  de- 
served my  confidence.  However,  as 
things  could  not  be  retrieved,  I  endea- 
voured to  forget  my  misfortunes,  and 
went  to  the  post-office  to  inqxxire  if 
there  were  any  letter  for  me.  I  got 
one,  which  I  knew  from  the  super- 
scription to  be  from  my  beloved.  She 
informed  me,  that  her  brother  having 
died  suddenly,  had  left  her  thirty 
thousand  dollars,  and  concluded  by 
requesting,  that  I  would  return  to 
Philadelphia  immediately,  as  her  for- 
tune and  herself  were  now  at  my  dis- 
posal. 

"  The  perusal  of  this  letter  made  me 
tremble  with  joy.  Every  thing  around 
me  seemed  delightful,  and  I  even  be- 
gan to  regard,  with  some  degree  of 
complacency,  my  perfidious  compa- 
nion, and  his  female  associates.  Ha- 
ving learned  from  the  coffee-house 
books  that  a  vessel  had  just  cleared 
out  for  New  York,  I  immediately 
went  on  board  of  her,  and  agreed  with 
the  captain  for  a  passage,  which  was 
to  cost  me  nearly  the  whole  sum  I  had 
in  my  possession. 

"  On  my  return  home,  after  having 
made  these  arrangements,  I  suddenly 
recollected  that  the  young  Spaniard 
had  a  bill  upon  me  for  such  an  amount, 
that,  if  I  paid  him,  it  would  be  im- 


312 


Adventure  in  Havana. 


possible  for  me  to  go  to  New  York. 
The  agonies  I  felt,  on  recalling  this 
circumstance,  were  succeeded  by  a  se- 
vere struggle  between  love  and  honour. 
If  I  left  Havana,  without  dischar- 
ging my  debt,  my  unprincipled  asso- 
ciate would  proclaim  and  prove  me  a 
villain  and  a  fugitive ;  but  if  I  remain- 
ed and  answered  his  demands,  I  would 
not  have  it  in  my  power  to  sail  for  the 
United  States,  until  I  received  remit- 
tances from  my  friends  there  ;  and  I 
knew  that  I  could  honourably  dis- 
charge the  bond  I  had  given,  by  send- 
ing him  the  sum  when  I  reached  Phi- 
ladelphia. 

"  You  may  easily  suppose  how  this 
conflict  ended.  I  went  on  board  the 
vessel,  which  was  to  sail  that  after- 
noon, and  endeavoured  to  find  a  jus- 
tification of  my  conduct,  in  the  reflec- 
tion, that  almost  no  person  in  similar 
circumstances  would  have  acted  other- 
wise. The  thoughts  of  the  happiness 
that  awaited  me,  had  little  eifect  in, 
shortening  the  hours  that  were  to 
elapse  before  we  set  sail.  At  last,  to 
my  great  joy,  the  seamen  began  to 
heave  up  the  anchor.  I  sat  in  the  ca- 
bin, counting  the  turns  of  the  wind- 
lass, and  inhaling  with  delight  the  fa- 
vourable breeze  that  blew  through  the 
•windows. 

"  In  the  midst  of  all  this,  the  cap- 
tain called  me  upon  deck.  When  I 
got  there,  I  saw  the  custom-house 
boat  lying  alongside,  and  the  har- 
bour-master, who  stood  in  her,  im- 
mediately demanded  my  passport. — I 
attempted  to  answer,  but  my  alarm 
was  such,  that  I  could  not  speak.  He 
then  addressed  me  in  English,  and  I 
so  far  recovered  myself  as  to  tell  him, 
that  I  had  no  passport,  being  ignorant 
that  such  a  thing  was  necessary.  "  You 
must  return  ashore  then,"  said  he,  "  I 
must  do  my  duty."  I  pleaded  against 
this,  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  He  pro- 
bably considered  my  agitation  and  dis- 
tress as  proofs  of  guilt  and  terror,  and 
the  captain  himself  seemed  anxious  to 
get  rid  of  me.  My  trunks  being  low- 
ered into  the  boat,  I  was  obliged  to 
follow,  and  the  harbour-master  order- 
ed his  men  to  row  to  the  wharf. 

"  On  reaching  it,  we  found  a  crowd 
of  people  talking  together,  and  among 
them  I  recognized  the  young  Spaniard. 
He  was  telling  the  others,  in  Spanish, 


what  a  villain  I  was,  and  how  I  had 
attempted  to  run  away  without  paying 
my  debts.  As  the  harbour-master  had 
no  accusation  against  me,  he  merely 
bade  his  men  put  my  trunks  on  the 
wharf,  and  went  away.  When  my 
treacherous  associate  perceived  this, 
he  advanced  towards  me,  and  after 
using  some  very  insulting  language, 
demanded  payment  of  his  note.  My 
feelings  were  at  that  time  too  deep  to 
shew  themselves  externally.  I  opened 
my  portmanteau,  and  counted  out  the 
sum  into  his  hands,  and  having  call- 
ed a  volanto,  drove  to  the  lodgings 
which  I  had  formerly  occupied. 

"At  first,  the  violence  of  my  resent- 
ment against  the  author  of  my  cala- 
mities in  some  degree  prevented  the 
invasions  of  grief ;  and  the  cruel  ex- 
posure of  my  conduct,  which  he  had 
made  to  persons  who  were  ignorant  of 
my  peculiar  situation,  and  who  would 
of  course  put  the  worst  constructions 
uprtn  every  thing,  stung  me  even  more 
than  the  disappointment  I  had  suffered. 
"  Next  morning  I  made  inquiry  at 
the  coffee-house,  and  at  several  other 
places,  if  any  vessel  was  soon  expect- 
ed to  sail  for  the  United  States,  and 
learned  that  there  would  be  one  in  less 
than  a  week.  My  next  business  was 
to  raise  money  to  pay  my  passage.  I 
tried  various  plans  without  success, 
till  at  last,  overcome  with  fatigue  and 
misery,  I  fell  sick,  and  having  no  one 
to  attend  me  at  my  lodgings,  was  con- 
veyed to  this  house  of  disease.  I  am 
aware,  that  death  will  soon  put  a  pe- 
riod to  my  agonizing  regrets,  but  you 
may  well  suppose,  that  I  am  little 
prepared  to  meet  it ;  for  the  happi- 
ness, which  the  fatal  incidents  just 
related  have  bereft  me  of,  appears  to 
grow  more  and  more  desirable  as  life 
ebbs  away,  and  I  would  prefer  the 
possession  of  her,  whom  I  shall  never 
see  again,  to  an  assurance  that  I  should 
henceforth  abide  in  the  company  of 
blessed  angels." 

My  health  being  now  re-establish- 
ed, I  left  the  sick-house  the  following 
day.  However,  previous  to  my  de- 
parture, I  was  informed  of  the  death 
of  this  young  American,  and  could  not 
but  reflect,  with  gratitude,  upon  my 
preservation  from  the  fatal  effects  of  a 
pestilence,  which  daily  made  so  many 
persons  its  victims. 

U 


18210 


On  Hakewill's  Apology. 


3  IS 


ON  HAKEWILL  S  APOLOGY. 


THAT  the  world  is  in  its  dotage,  we 
are  told  by  that  respectable  son  of 
Autolycus,  the  worthy  old  philoso- 
pher in  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  and 
an  axiom  proceeding  from  such  autho- 
rity, one  would  think,  could  hardly  be 
destitute  of  foundation.  Yet,  with  all 
due  deference  to  that  excellent  charac- 
ter, we  must  say  we  are  rather  unwil- 
ling to  believe  it,  and  so  we  suppose 
wilj  all  those  be  who  have  been  in  the 
habit  of  constantly  reading  our  Maga- 
zine. We  might  indeed  say,  and  we 
should  say,  were  we  not  restrained  by 
our  invincible  modesty,  that  our  work 
itself  presents  an  incontestible  proof, 
that  the  world  is  as  wise,  and  as  witty, 
and  as  learned,  and  as  poetical,  as  ever 
its  annals  exhibit  it.  If  it  have,  like 
other  bodies,  and  we  believe  this  is 
the  most  likely  state  of  the  law,  felt 
in  its  time  the  infirmities  of  old  age,  it 
is  now,  however,  marvellously  recruit- 
ed ;  and,  like  Jisop,  after  the  decre- 
pitude of  dotage,  has  attained  a  magi- 
cal rejuvenescence.  It  has  now  cer- 
tainly all  the  frolicsome  mirth  and 
animal  spirits  of  youth  ;  it  has  cast  its 
slough,  and  a  second  spring  is  gladden- 
ing and  inspiriting  literature.  Poetry 
has  received  a  new  impulse ;  another 
America  has  been  discovered,  and  add- 
ed to  its  dominions;  and  the  genius 
of  the  drama  is  now  rousing  itself  like 
a  giant  from  its  slumber.  Not  a  year 
passes  without  bringing  with  it  new 
novels  from  the  incomparable  pen  of 
the  Author  of  Waverley,  whose  in- 
vention seems  as  inexhaustible  as  na- 
ture itself.  Such  is  the  ardour  of  in- 
quiry, that  nothing  can  daunt  or  dis- 
spirit  it ;  and  we  may  expect  in  a  few 
years  to  be  as  well  acquainted  with  the 
Arctic  Regions,  as  we  now  are  with 
the  road  from  Edinburgh  to  Glasgow. 
Nor  is  this  all.  The  great  idol  of  the 
Whigs,  the  Edinburgh  Review,  has  at 
length  been  cast  from  its  base,  like 
Belial  and  Ashtaroth,  the  gods  of  the 
Gentiles,  before  the  Might  of  Truth, 
and  of  Christopher  North.  Education 
is  dispelling  everywhere  the  mists  of 
ignorance  ;  and  the  Bible  Society  and 
Blackwood's  Magazine  are  going  about 
hand  in  hand  civilizing  and  Christiani- 
zing nations.  We  are  every  day  ex- 
emplifying the  doctrine  of  perfectibi- 
lity; and  advancing,  where  further  ad- 
VOT,  IX. 


vance  was  thought  impossible.  Consi- 
der, for  instance,  our  own  publications, 
and  ab  Jioc  disce  omnia.  Who  did  not 
believe  it,  even  in  its  very  infancy,  as 
having  attained  to  perfection,  as  being 
the  best  possible  Magazine  in  this  best 
of  all  possible  worlds,  beyond  which 
progression  or  improvement  could  not 
go  ?  Who  did  not  feel  convinced,  that 
the  Star  of  Blackwood  had  reached  its 
zenith,  and  must  of  necessity  for  the 
future  wane  and  decline  ?  And  yet 
how  agreeably,  delightfully,  and  en- 
chantingly,  have  all  such  expectations 
been  disappointed.  We  appeal  to  thy 
own  good  sense  and  good  humour, 
gentle  reader,  whether  thou  hast  not 
been  astonished,  and,  in  fact,  we  have 
been  astonished  ourselves,  at  the  still 
increasing  lustre  of  the  dazzling  "  Star 
of  Edina."  Like  Aladdin  in  the  cave, 
who  found  the  contents  of  each  apart- 
ment to  be  succeeded  by  others  more 
precious  in  the  next,  silver,  gold,  and 
jewels,  in  interminable  progression, 
thou  hast  discovered  in  our  Magazine 
a  continual  source  of  heightening  trans- 
port and  admiration.  Each  new  Num- 
ber has  eclipsed  the  former,  and  rises 
above  its  predecessors,  like  the  steps 
in  Jacob's  ladder,  till  the  world  has  at 
length  set  it  down  as  an  acknowledged 
axiom,  that  Blackwood's  Magazine 
must  of  necessity  for  ever  improve ; 
and  is  so  satisfied  with  respect  to  this 
point,  that,  should  that  far-famed  pub- 
lication, (which  of  course  it  never  can 
do,)  ever  deteriorate,  we  are  confident 
that  the  public  would  shut  their  eyes 
to  the  conviction.  Such  is  the  fate  of 
our  work,  and  what  will  be  the  end, 
God  only  knows.  From  this  instance, 
though  questionless  in  an  inferior  de- 
gree, the  gradual  improvement  and 
progression  in  all  other  departments 
and  sciences  may  be  judged  of.  In 
fact,  with  the  exceptions  of  the  Scots- 
man, which,  like  a  dead  pool,  offensive 
at  once  to  the  eyes  and  the  nostrils, 
eternally  stagnates,  and  of  the  Edin- 
burgh Review,  which  improves  the 
wrong  way, — Hibernice,  grows  down- 
ward,— and  has  now  become  as  dull 
and  stupid  as  "  my  grandmother,"  we 
scarcely  know  any  thing  not  improva- 
ble, or  likely  to  improve.  The  reader 
will  at  once  ask,  Who  is  this  great 
master  that  hath  done  these  things  j 
2Q 


On  HakewilFs  Apology. 


314 

that  hath  infused  this  spirit  of  new 
life  and  vigour  through  all  the  intel- 
lectual world  ;  that  has  communicated 
new  impulses  to  science,  mind,  and 
matter,  and  sown  the  seeds  from  which 
the  harvest  now  is  rising ;  that  has 
given  to  the  exhausted  and  plough- 
worn  fields  of  literature,  like  the  in- 
cursions of  the  Nile,  new  powers, 
richness,  and  fecundity,  and  thrown 
out  lights  which  have  guided  so  many 
discoverers  on  their  way  ?  Laudahle 
curiosity  ought  to  be  gratified,  and  as 
we  apprehend  few  besides  ourselves 
are  in  possession  of  the  secret,  we  will 
tell  him.  This  new  Medea — this 
mighty  Magician— let  him  give  due 
credit  to  our  generosity — was  no  other 
than  Constable's  Magazine ! 

After  having  made  this  exhibition 
of  our  candour,  by  bringing  modesty 
into  notice  a  thing  we  always  delight 
in,  we  will  now  address  ourselves  to 
the  matter  in  hand.  The  work  which 
we  purpose  to  introduce  to  our  read- 
ers, by  the  few  extracts  which  follow, 
is  entitled  "  An  Apologie  of  the  Power 
and  Providence  of  God  in  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  World,  or  an  Examination 
and  Censure  of  the  common  Errour 
touching  Nature's  perpetual  Decay ; 
by  George  Hakewill.  Lond.  1627, 
folio."  It  is  written,  as  the  title  shews, 
to  confute  the  principle  of  the  world's 
decay,  and  is  one  of  the  most  elaborate 
works  of  a  most  elaborate  time.  The 
e*  'ent  of  the  ground  which  the  author 
passes  over,  his  arguments  embracing 
not  only  the  decay  in  the  elemental 
matter,  but  also  in  manners  and  mind, 
and  the  industry  and  impartiality  he 
exhibits,  are  truly  extraordinary  and 
uncommon.  The  time  he  lived  in 
was  not  one  for  superficial  disquisitions 
or  flimsy  treatises.  He  who  then  took 
a  subject  in  hand,  took  up  the  matter 
in  good  earnest ;  and  whatever  might 
be  his  success  in  his  examination,  the 
reader  might  be  sure  that  it  would 
not  be  unconcocted  for  want  of  consi- 
deration, or  unsubstantial  for  want  of 
learning.  To  this  is  owing  that  satis- 
fying effect,  that  appearance  of  solidi- 
ty, which  is  remarkable  in  the  works 
of  Hakewill  and  his  contemporaries  ; 
and  though  much  of  their  materials 
may  at  the  present  time  appear  unne- 
cessary and  useless,  and  much  of  their 
argumentjby  the  improvementsof  their 
successors,  or  the  changes  in  subjects 
of  disquisition,mayhave  been  falsified, 
or  be  no  longer  interesting,  yet  it  is 


[\June, 


impossible  not  to  respect  them  as  mo- 
numents of  zeal,  assiduity,  and  know- 
ledge, which  modern  writers  have  had 
the  sense  to  make  use  of,  if  not  the  ge- 
nerosity to  praise. 

The  present  work  is  one  of  the  most 
readable  of  its  class  ;  and  those  of 
our  readers,  who  were  before  unac- 
quainted with  it,  will,  we  are  sure, 
owe  us  thanks  for  the  introduction. 
It  is  unnecessary,  and  perhaps  would 
not  be  interesting,  to  give  a  minute 
and  particular  account  of  the  con- 
tents of  so  elaborate  a  work.  It  is 
divided  into  four  books  ;  the  first 
treats  of  the  "  Pretended  Decay  in 
general,  together  with  some  prepara- 
tives thereunto."  The  second,  of  the 
"  Decay  in  the  Heavens  and  Elemen- 
tary Bodies."  The  third  and  fourth, 
of  the  "  Decay  in  the  Age,  Stature, 
Mind,  Manners,  and  Virtue  of  Man- 
kind." The  author  dedicates  his  work 
"  To  his  amiable  Mother,  the  famous 
and  flourishing  Universi tie  of  Oxford," 
and  observes,  "  Were  I  destitute  of 
all  other  arguments  to  prove  that  the 
world  doth  not  universally  and  perpe- 
tually decline,  this  one  might  fully 
suffice  for  all,  that  thou,  my  venerable 
mother,  though  thou  wax  old  in  regard 
of  years,  yet  in  this  latter  age,  in  re- 
gard of  strength  and  beauty,  waxeth 
young  againe  ;"  and  that  "  so  far  art 
thou  from  withering  and  wrinkles, 
that  thou  art  rather  become  fairer  and 
fresher,  and,  in  these  times,  no  less 
happy  than  heretofore."  Before  he 
enters  upon  his  subject,  he  considers 
it  necessary  to  prove,  that,  taking  the 
world's  supposed  decay  as  a  principle 
of  general  belief,  there  are  many  other 
opinions  equally  current  with  the  mul- 
titude, "  which  have  been  by  others 
manifestly  convinced,  or  at  least  were 
justly  suspected  of  falsehood."  This 
he  does  to  the  length  of  several  pages, 
enough  certainly  to  demonstrate  that 
he  is  by  no  means  a  man  who  takes 
things  for  granted.  He  then  endea- 
vours to  shew,  how  discouraging  to 
"  virtuous  endeavours,"  is  the  opinion 
of  the  inequality  of  modern  power. 
The  following  passage  will  serve  as  a 
specimen  of  his  style. 

"  When  our  ancestors  are  painted  forth 
as  gyants,  not  onely  in  stature  and  strength, 
but  in  wit  and  vertue,  though  the  acts  wee 
find  recorded  of  them,  please  vs  marvell- 
ous well,  yet  wee  durst  not  venture,  or  so 
much  as  once  thinke  vpon  the  matching  of 
themr  because  we  are  taught  and  made  to 


1821. 


On  Hakewilts  Apology. 


beleeue,  that  wee  reooth  are  but  as  pig- 
mies, and  dwarfes  regard  of  them  ;  and 
that  it  were  as  posmc  to  n't  a  child's  shooe 
to  Hercules  foote,  .  lor  vs  any  way  to 
come  neere  them,  "to  trace  their  stepps, 
poxsiiiit,  quiti  y«w.  v  ui'i/tiir.  They  can, 
because  they  seemt'.cy  can. 

"  Certainely  tliti  ive  of  imagination  is 
wonderfull,  either  :v;a;et  in  vs  an  abilitie 
for  the  doing  of  in  v  viicli  we  apprehend 
we  can  do,  or  a  duality  for  the  not  doing 
of  that  which  we  cuu-iue  we  cannot  do  : 
which  was  the  retwi  -.  ;at  the  wisards  and 
oracles  of  the  (in:  as  being  consulted, 
they  ever  returned  ir.er  an  hopefull  an- 
swer, or  an  ambitus,  such  as  by  a  fa- 
vourable constructor  ,>  ight  either  include 
or  at  leastwise  n-  '  \  -:tly  exclude  hope. 
Agesilaus  (as  1  remober)  clapping  his 
hand  vpon  the  ait-,  and  taking  it  off 
againe,  by  a  ciumii  £  vice  shewed  to  his 
souldiers,  victory  M;-. --.cid  vpon  it,  where- 
by they  were  so  eiicov.rrwi,  and  grew  so 
confident,  that,  bey  m  <„  i  expectation,  they 
indeed  effected  tluu.  ••  -rot'  by  this  sleight 
they  were  formerly  awed.  Prognostica- 
tions and  prophesi. :,  ;-:n  helpe  to  further 
that  which  they  f'oreti,  .jnd  to  make  men 
such  as  they  beare  lin:  m  hand  they  shall 
be  ;  nay,  by  an  vnavnvible  destinie  must 
bee.  Francis,  Ma  iu/:ze,yeeldes 

vs  a  memorable  exiir.  IP  in  this  kind,  who 
being  lieutenant-gem::;  Ui  Francis  the  first 
king  of  France,  ovr  I  liis  forces  which 
hee  then  had  be  ountaines  in 

Italy,  a  man  highly  vcwred  in  all  the 
court,  and  infinitly  uluud  to  the  king  for 
his  marquesite,  whir;)  s  brother  had  for- 
feited, suffered  him ><:>.  a  n  ;  so  f'arr  afright- 
ed  and  deluded,  as  it.  in,  since  been  ma- 
nifestly proued,  bvprnuis-tications,  (which 
then  throughout  all  L'.vpe  were  giuen  out 
to  the  advantage  of  tl  \»  mperour  Charles 
theFifth,  andtotheprt:|iu;e  of  the  French,) 
that  hauing  no  occasii  uifered,  yea  his 
owne  affections  contnuuing  the  same,  hee 
first  began  in  secret  tuoniplaine  to  his 
private  friends  of  U ••;  wi table  miseries 
which  he  foresawprepan  o  'thefates  against 
the  crowne  of  France,  o.i  within  a  while 
after  (this  impress:  ng  into  him) 

he  most  vnkindly  revom  tinm  liis  master, 
and  became  a  turne-coa<t>>  the  emperour's 
side,  to  the  astonishum.  tf  all  men,  his 
owne  greate  disgrace,  ui  ?.:io  no  lesse  dis- 
advantage to  the  Fn.-'.ii  i  iterprize  ;  on 
the  other  side  I  doubt  IN  but  that  the  pro- 
phesies of  Sauanarol.-i  .  -,  mch  assisted 
Charles  the  Eight  to  th<  inquest  of  Na- 
ples, which  he  perfornn  .» .  speedily  and 
happily,  as  he  M  with  chalke 

to  marke  out  his  lodgim,  then  with  his 
sword  to  winne  them." 

After  proving  th::  a  decay  has 
taken  place  in  the  Juvons  and  ele- 
mentary bodies,  or  in  u:  earth  or  its 
productions,  he  proms  to  examine 


315 

the  inferiority  of  the  moderns,  in  re- 
gard of  strength  and  stature,  to  the 
mighty  men  of  old,  and  adduces, 
amongst  other  arguments  to  the  con- 
trary, the  following  relations  from 
Camerarius. 

"  Francis  the  first,  King  of  France,  who 
reigned  about  an  hundred  years  since,  being 
desirous  to  know  the  truth  of  those  things, 
which  were  commonly  spread  touching  the 
strength  and  stature  of  Rouland,  nephew 
of  Charlemaine,  caused  his  sepulchre  to  be 
opened,  wherein  his  bones  and  bow  were 
found  rotten,  but  his  armour  sound,  though 
couered  with  rust,  which  the  king  com- 
maunding  to  bee  scoured  off,  and  putting 
it  vpon  his  owne  body,  found  it  so  fit  for 
him,  as  thereby  it  appeared  that  Rouland 
exceeded  him  little  in  bignesse  and  stature 
of  bodie,  though  himselfe  were  not  exces- 
siue  tall  or  bigge." 

In  a  curious  chapter  on  "  the  sun- 
dry fabulous  formations  of  the  bones 
of  giant-like  bodies  digged  up  or  found 
in  caves,"  he  gives  us  the  following 
stories  from  different  authors  : — 

"  Our  Malmesburiensis  likewise  in  his 
second  booke  and ,  thirteenth  chapter  dc 
gcstis  Rerum  Anglorum  mentioneth  the 
same,  story  shall  I  call  it,  or  fable,  telling 
vs,  that  in  the  yeare  of  grace  1042,  and  in 
the  reigne  of  S.  Edward,  the  body  of  Pal- 
las the  sonne  of  Euander,  of  whom  Virgill 
speakes,  Roma;  repcrtum  cst  illibatum  in- 
gcnti  stuporc  omnium  quod  tot  scecula  in- 
corrnptioncm  sni  superavit,  was  found  at 
Rome  intire  and  sound,  to  the  great  asto- 
nishment of  all  men,  that  by  the  space  of 
so  many  ages  it  had  triumphed  ouer  cor- 
ruption ;  and  farther  to  confirme  the  trueth 
thereof,  he  assures  vs,  that  the  gaping 
widenesse  of  the  wound  which  Turnus 
made  in  the  midst  of  his  breast,  was  found 
by  measure  to  be  foure  foote  and  an  halfe, 
a  large  wound,  and  the  weapon  which 
made  it,  we  cannot  but  conceiue  as  large  ; 
and  by  the  appearance  of  it  at  full,  not 
onely  the  bones  and  skinne  and  sinewes, 
but  the  flesh  to  remaine  incorrupt ;  a  mat- 
ter altogether  incredible.  Besides,  he  sets 
vs  downe  his  epitath  found  at  the  same 
time, 
FiliusEvandriPallans  quern  lancea  Turni 

Militis  occidit  more  suo  iacct  Aic, 
"Which  himselfe  knowes  not  well  how  to 
giue  credit  too,  quod  nan  tune  crediderim 
fact  urn,  (sayth  he,)  which  I  cannot  beleeue 
was  then  made,  but  by  Ennius,  or  some 
other  of  latter  ages  :  Jiut  I  proceede. 

"  Herodotus  in  his  first  booke  tels  vs, 
that  the  body  of  Orestes  being  taken  up, 
was  found  to  be  seaven  cubits ;  but  Gellius 
is  bold  to  bestow  vpon  him  for  his  labour 
the  title  of  Homo  Fabulator,  a  forger  of 
tables,  rather  inclining  to  the  opinion  of 


On  Hakewitt's  Apology.  [[June, 

the  delusions  of  these  spirits  haue  vanish- 
ed  as  a  mist  before  the  sun  ;  though  their 
kingdome  be  not  at  an  end,  yet  is  their 
malice  much  restrained  and  their  power 
abated." 


Amongst  the  instances  of  moderns 


Varro,  who  held  the  vtmost  period  of  a 

man's  growth  to  be  seaven  foote.     What 

would  he  then  haue  said  to  the  body  of 

Oryon,  which  Pliny  makes  forty-six  cubits, 

or  of  Macrosyris,  which  Trallianus  makes 

an  hundred  cubits,  or  of  that  body  disco- 

uered  in  a  vast  caue  ncere  Drepanum  in         -^...^.go*  mt  itiauiu^ca  «/<.  muuciua 

Siciiie,  three  of  whose  teeth,  if  we  may  be-  who   have   equalled  the   ancients   in 

leeue  Boccace,  weighed  an  hundred  ounces,  strength,  if  modern  he  can  be  called, 

and  the  leadde  of  his  staffe,  a  thousand  and  our  author  tells  us 

fiue  hundred  pounds.     And  the  body  it 

selfe,  by  the  proportion  of  some  of  the  bones,  "  Was  the  g7ant  Another,  borne  in  Tur- 

was  estimated  to  no  lesse  than  two  hundred  gaw?  a  village  in  Sweuia,  who  bore  armes 

cubits,  which  makes  three  hundred  feete,  vnder  Charlemaigne ;  he  felled  men  as  one 

somewhat,  I  thinke,  beyond  Paul's  steeple.  w°uld  mow  hay,  and  sometimes  broached 

The  more  I  wonder  at  S.  Augustin,  who  a  great  number  of  them  vpon  his  pike,  and 

confidently  assures  vs,  that  himselfe  with  so  carried  them  all  vpon  his  shoulder,  as 

others  being  on  the  sea-shore  at  Vtica,  he  one  would  carry  little  birds  spitted  vpon  a 

there  saw  a  mans  iaw-tooth  so  bigge,  that  sticke." 

being  cut  into  small  peeces,  it  would  haue        This  was  a  man  of  power  indeed. 

made  an  hundred  such  as  the  men  liuing  The  Ogres  of  our  infancy  would  hard- 

m  his  age  commonly  had,  by  which  com-  ty  be  more  formidable.     For  our  own 

Lutatl°^the  ™7_  !l  f.lfe  mu5  llk^.ise  in  part,  we  hope  to  see  no  such  manifest- 


with  a  body  of  six  foote,  and  exceeding  it 
one  hundred  times,  it  will  be  found  six 
hundred  foote  high,  which  is  the  just  dou- 
ble to  Boccace  his  gyant." 

After  attempting  on  different  grounds 
to  account  for  these  extraordinary  ap- 
pearances, he  resolves  the  problem  in 
the  true  spirit  of  his  age. 

"  But  that  which  I  rather  choose  to  in- 
sist vpon,  is,  that  the  bodies  of  such  men 
were  begotten  by  devills,  who  that  they  haue 
had  carnall  familiarity  with  women,  is  the 
consent  of  all  antiquity.  And  that  the  births 
of  such  monstrous  mixtures  must  needes  be 
monstrous,  Tostatus  truely  observeth :  Ta* 
Itbus  conceptibus  robustissimi  homines  et 
proccrissimi  nasci  solent,  '  of  such  concep- 
tions are  wont  to  be  borne  the  strongest  and 
tallest  of  men.'  And  Vallesius  hauing  given 
the  reason  heereof  at  large,  (which,  for 
feare  of  offending  chast  eares,  I  list  not 
heere  to  repeate)  at  last  concludes,  Robusti 
ergo  et  grandes  i<t  nascerentur,  poterant 
itcc  dcemones  procurarc  ;  Thus  then  the 
devills  might  procure  that  mighty  huge 
gyants  should  be  borne,  whose  both  opinion 
and  reasons  heerein  are  both  approued  and 
farther  proued  by  Delrio  in  his  Magicall 
Disquisitions.     The  euidence  heereof  will 
yet  farther  appeare,  if  wee  consider,  that 
where  God  was  least  known  and  the  devill 
most  powerfully  reigned,  there  these  im- 
pure acts  were  most  frequently  practised, 
which  is  the  reason,  as  I  conceiue,  that 
among  the  Hebrewes,  the  chosen  people  of 
God,  wee  reade  of  no  such  matter :  nay 
those  gyants  we  find  mentioned  in  holy 
writ  were  for  the  most  part  of  other  na- 
tions.    But  since  the  incarnation  of  the 
Sonne  of  God  our  blessed  Saviour,  who 
came  to  dissolue  the  workes  of  the  devill, 


Our  author  next  examines  the  pre- 
tended superiority  of  the  ancients  in 
arts  and  sciences.  He  gives  us  the 
following  specimens  of  the  barbarism 
of  the  middle  ages. 

"  It  appeares,  by  the  rescript  of  Pope 
Zacharie  to  Boniface,  a  German  bishop, 
that  a  priest  in  those  parts  baptized  in  this 
forme,  Baptizo  te  in  nomine  Patria,  et 
Filia,  et  Spiritua  Sancta  ;  and  by  Eras- 
mus, that  some  divines  in  his  time  would 
take  vpon  them  to  prooue,  that  heretiques 
were  to  be  put  to  death,  because  the  apostle 
saith,  Hcereticum  hornincm  devita,  which 
it  seemes  they  vnderstood  as  if  he  had 
said  de  vita  tolle.  I  haue  somewhere  read, 
that  two  fryars,  disputing  whether  God 
made  any  more  worlds  then  one,  the  one 
wisely  alleadging  that  passage  of  the  gos- 
pell  touching  the  ten  lepers  which  were 
cleansed,  Annon  decem  facti  sunt  mundi, 
as  if  God  had  made  tenne  worlds ;  the 
other  looking  into  the  text,  replies  as  wise- 
ly, with  the  words  immediately  following, 
Sed  vbi  sunt  novem  $  but  what  is  become 
of  the  nine  ?  so  as  from  thence  hee  would 
prooue  but  one  to  be  left.    He  that  is  dis- 
posed  to  make  himselfe  merry   in   this 
kinde,  may  finde  in  Henry  Stevens  nis 
Apologie  of  Herodotus,  a  number  of  like 
stuffe ;  I  will  only  touch  one  or  two  of  the 
choisest     Du  Prat,  a  bishop  and  chaun- 
cellour  of  France,  hauing  receiued  a  letter 
from  Henry  the  eight  king  of  England,  to 
Francis  the  first  of  France,  wherein  among 
other  things  he  wrote,  mitfo  t'/bi  duodcccm 
•molossos,  'I  send  you  twelue  mastiffe  dogs,' 
the  chauncellor,  taking  mohtsos  to  signifie 
mules,  made  a  journey  of  purpose  to  the 
court,  to  begge  them  of  the  king ;  who, 
wondring  at  such  a  present  to  be  sent  him 
from  England,  demaunded  the  sight  of  the 
10 


18S1/3 


On  HakewiU's  Apology, 


letter,  and  smiling  thereat,  the  chauncellour 
finding  himselfe  to  be  deceiued,  told  him 
that  hee  mistooke  molossos  for  muletos, 
and  so  hoping  to  mend  the  matter,  made 
it  worse.  Another  tale  he  tels  of  a  parish 
priest  in  Artois,  who  had  his  parishioners 
in  sute  for  not  paving  the  church,  and  that 
the  charge  thereof  lay  vpon  them,  and  not 
vpon  him,  he  would  proue  out  of  the  17  of 
the  prophet  leremie,  Paveant  illi,  non  pa- 
veam  ego.  I  remember  Archbishop  Parker, 
somewhere  in  his  Antiquates  Britannica:, 
makes  relation  of  a  French  bishop,  who 
being  to  take  his  oath  to  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterburie,  and  finding  the  word  metro, 
foliticae  therein,  being  not  able  to  pro- 
nounce it,  he  passed  it  ouer  with  soit  pour 
diet,  '  let  it  be  as  spoken ;'  and  when  they 
had  most  grossely  broken  Priscian's  head, 
being  taken  in  the  fact,  their  common  de- 
fence was  those  words  of  S.  Gregorie,  Non 
dcbent  verba  ccelestis  oraculi  subessc  regu- 
lif  Donati,  '  the  words  of  the  heavenly 
oracles  ought  not  to  be  subject  to  the  rules 
of  Donatus.' " 

In  comparing  the  ancient  and  mo- 
dern poets,  he  says  of  Virgil,  "  If  I 
should  match  him  with  Ariosto  or 
Torquato  Tasso  in  Italian,  Bartas  in 
French,  or  Spencer  in  English,  I  think 
I  should  not  much  wrong  him."  Our 
good  author's  zeal  has  carried  him  ra- 
ther too  far.  Du  Bartas's  tedious  poem 
has  about  the  same  relation  to  the 
-<Eneid  that  Blackmore's  Prince  Ar- 
thur has  to  Paradise  Lost.  It  is,  how- 
ever, an  epic,  and  all  epics  might  per- 
haps to  our  theological  doctor  be  alike. 
Equally  extravagant  is  his  judgment 
of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia, '  'which," 
he  observes,  "  is  in  my  opinion  no- 
thing inferior  to  the  choicest  piece 
amongst  the  ancients."  Of  these  mat- 
ters our  author  was  ill  calculated  to 
judge.  When  he  comes  to  logic  he 
seems  much  more  on  his  own  ground. 

"  Logicke  indeed  is  it,  wherein  we  are 
thought  to  be  most  defectiue  in  regard  of 
former  ages ;  and  it  is  true,  that  the 
schoole-men  had  set  their  stocke,  the  vt- 
most  of  their  endeavours  vpon  this  part  of 
learning,  their  whole  life  being  in  a  man- 
ner little  else  but  a  perpetual!  wrangling 
and  altercation,  and  that  many  times  ra- 
ther for  victory  and  ostentation  of  wit,  then 
a  sober  and  serious  search  of  truth :  so  as 
their  entrance  being  vaine,  their  end  was 
likewise  fruitlesse.  What  huge  volumes 
haue  they  compiled  of  the  predicables  and 
predicaments,  as  if  in  them  consisted  the 
very  spirit  and  soule  of  logicke  ;  whereas 
in  truth  they  are  rather  an  appendix  or 


317 

preparatiue  unto  it,  then  part  of  it.  By 
which  meanes  they  kept  men  so  long  in 
the  porch,  that  they  entred  not  into  the 
house  till  it  was  more  then  time  to  goe  out 
of  it." 

Of  alchymy  he  observes,  with  some 
degree  of  justice, 

"  We  finde  little  mention  thereof  in  an- 
tiquity,  not  suspected  of  forgery :  but  for 
mine  own  part,  I  much  doubt  whether  any 
such  experiment  be  yet  really  found  or  no : 
and  if  it  be,  whether  the  operation  of  it  be 
not  more  daugerous  and  difficult  then  the 
effect  arising  from  it  is  or  can  be  advanta- 
gious.  But  of  this  I  am  well  assured, 
that  as  he  who  digged  in  his  vineyard  for 
gold  missed  it,  but  by  opening  the  rootes  of 
the  vines  thereby,  found  their  fruite  the 
next  yeare  worth  more  vnto  him  then  gold, 
so  whiles  men  haue  laboured  by  transmu- 
tation of  mettals  from  one  species  to  ano- 
ther to  make  gold,  they  haue  fallen  vpon 
the  distillation  of  waters,  extractions  of 
oyles,  and  such  like  rare  experiments  vn- 
known  to  the  ancients,  which  are  vndoubt- 
edly  more  pretious  for  the  vse  of  man  then 
all  the  gold  of  both  the  Indies." 

After  going  through  the  circle  of 
arts  and  sciences,  he  dilates  upon  the 
modern  inventions  of  printing,  guns, 
and  the  mariner's  compass.  He  then 
proceeds  to  disprove  the  pretended  de- 
cay in  the  virtue  and  morals  of  men ; 
and  shews  in  the  course  of  his  reason- 
ing a  thorough  knowledge  of  antiquity. 
He  examines  the  kws  of  Solon,  Ly- 
curgus,  Plato,  and  Aristotle,  and 
proves  the  greatest  part  of  them  to  be 
irrational,  useless,  and  absurd.  The 
vices  of  the  ancients  come  next  before 
him,  and  he  exposes,  in  all  their  hi- 
deous colours,  their  avarice,  cruelty, 
luxury,  prodigality,  and  corruption. 
His  thesis  being  thus  demonstrated, 
he  concludes  by  a  "  pious  exhortation 
to  all  manner  of  persons." 

The  extracts  we  have  given  from 
this  production  can  give  our  readers 
no  idea  of  the  extent  of  learning,  co- 
gency of  reasoning,  and  general  good 
sense  which  it  displays.  The  subject 
itself  is  too  hacknied  to  allow  us  to 
enter  into  the  discussion  of  it.  Besides, 
we  believe  the  world  has  long  since 
made  up  its  mind  about  it.  Element- 
ary decay,  philosophy  has  long  taught 
us  it  is  ridiculous  to  dread ;  and  the 
fear  of  intellectual  decay  would  be 
equally  childish  in  the  contemporaries 
of  WALTER  SCOTT. 


318  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character,  No.  VII.  £June, 

SKETCHES  OF  SCOTTISH  CHARACTER. 

No.  VII. 
"  Harvest  Home." 

Assist  me  now,  thou  Coila-christen'd  muse, 

Who  could'st  o'er  rustic  board  a  charm  diffuse 

Assign  to  chieftain  worth  a  chieftain  place, 

And  raise  to  honour  meet  the  "  Pudding  race" 

Assist  the  bard,  who  ne'er  invoked  before, 
Nor  ever  shall  again — "  this  effort  o'er." 

THE  ripen'd  grain  invites  the  Reaper's  hand, 

The  Master  musters  forth  his  harvest  band  ; 

A  joyous,  frisky,  wit-attempting  choir, 

Stands,  rank  and  file,  around  the  Farmer's  door. 

With  shining  sickle  o'er  their  shoulders  laid, 

Come  stripling  youth,  and  three-score  years  old  maid. 

The  cottar  Widow  with  her  youngest  son, 

Most  useful  he  on  messages  to  run — 

Pipe-lighting — coal  to  bring — the  bog  to  scan — 

And  drain  the  cooling  crystal  in  a  pan, — 

His  mother's  Rig  to  "hole"  with  onward  haste, 

That  she  may  smoke,  at  intervals,  and  rest. 

The  merry  Sutor  tucks  his  apron  by, ' 

The  Tailor's  implements  unnoticed  ly, 

The  Wright  his  wimbles  and  his  planes  foregoes, 

The  Ditcher  drops  his  "  mattocks  and  his  hose," — 

The  Smith  his  bellows  and  his  anvil-blows — 

Each  wife  or  daughter — partner'd,  seeks  the  field, 

Prepared  till  latest  dusk  the  hook  to  wield. 

Nor  long  the  space,  when  hand  with  heart  combines, 
And  o'er  the  partner'd  task  contentment  shines- 
Bids  Lad  and  Lass  the  Rig  together  drive, 
And  keeps  with  country  clash  the  boon  alive  ; 
Affords  a  breathing  time  at  dinner-hour, 
Beyond  the  Bandsman's,  or  the  Master's  power. 

"  Peat-time"  is  cheerful ;  then  the  barrow  plies 
The  frequent  lift,  and  far  the  fuel  lies 
O'er  dry,  and  heathy  tuft ;  and  lad  with  lass 
Enjoy  the  mid-day  pastime  on  the  grass. 
'Twas  merry-making  once  in  days  of  old, 
When  all  the  ewes  were  pent  up  in  the  fold, 
And  kilted  maiden  came,  her  cog  to  fill, 
And  lambs,  spread  motherless  along  the  hill, 
In  plaint  responsive  spread,  and  Shepherd  jeer, 
And  bark  of  dog,  and  song  of  maid  were  near. 
It  still  is  pleasant  revel,  once  a-year, 
When  all  the  household  meet  the  "  sheep  to  shear" — 
And  stools  are  set,  and  sharpen'd  scissars  fly 
Along  the  shaggy  fleece,  with  sounding  ply  ; 
Till  peel'd  to  perfect  nakedness,  each  "  wether" 
Resumes  his  legs,  bounds  off,  and  seeks  the  heather — 
With  shout,  and  fruitless  speed,  pursues  the  boy, 
Till  every  smutted  feature  swell  with  joy. 
E'en  "  hay-stack"  building  is  a  joyous  work, 
When  hand  with  heart  combines,  and  fork  with  fork, 
And  many  a  female  foot  along  the  stack 
Backwards  and  forwards  plies,  the  hay  to  pack, 
And  squall  and  scream,  with  mimic  scold  unite, 
To  check  impertinence,  they  but  invite. 


18210  Harvest  Home.  319 

But  I  have  seen  such  frolic,  harmless,  free- 
Such  breadth  of  wit,  extravagance  of  glee— 
On  harvest  field,  so  much  of  limb  and  tongue, 
Till  dogs  have  bark'd,  and  to  the  skirts  have  clung 
Of  romping  matron,  whose  ungainly  mirth, 
To  clap  of  hands,  and  screaming  shout  gave  birth. 
Yes !   I  have  seen  the  merry-hearted  Lass 
Beneath  the  plaid,  with  favour'd  Partner  pass  ; 
Whilst  round  the  waist  the  mutual  arm  was  flung, 
And  breast  to  breast  in  beating  transport  clung. 
Nor  smile,  ye  proud — nor  frown,  ye  polish'd  fair, 
As  if  ought  else  save  decency  were  there — 
You  have  your  stolen  glance,  your  pouting  airs, 
Sincerity  and  warmth  of  heart  is  theirs — 
You  have  your  evening  party,  ball,  or  play  ; 
Their  harvest  romp,  and  "  Harvest  Home"  have  they. 

And  "  Harvest  Home"  arrives,  all  labour  o'er, 
And  every  "  hook"  suspended  by  the  door, 
The  sore  contested  "  Handful"  fix'd  on  high, 
Deck'd  out  in  all  the  grace  of  knot  and  tie, 
To  female  form  adjusted,  trim  and  small, 
And  spreading  all  her  pomp  against  the  wall ; 
The  whiten Jd  barn-wall,  whence  she  witness  may, 
The  evening  pastime  of  this  festive  day — 
Nod  to  the  fiddle's  ear-assailing  note, 
And  spread,  in  mimic  dance,  the  straw-made  petticoat. 

The  "  Harvest  Moon"  has  brighten'd  in  the  east — 
That  Moon,  which  keeps  her  hour,  nine  nights  at  least — 
Of  labouring  Farmer  mindful  in  her  sphere, 
She  lends  her  light,  the  stacA>yard-work  to  cheer. 
Around  her  congregate  the  silver  clouds, 
Which  else  had  slept,  the  night  in  sable  shrouds, 
To  sickly  radiance,  lesser  stars  decline, 
And  Jove  himself  less  splendid  seems  to  shine — 
The  mountains  press  their  outlines  on  the  sky, 
And  far  o'er  "  stouk-cl&d."  fields  the  shadows  ly, 
Whilst  deep-engulph'd  within  each  gloomy  dell, 
Full  on  the  ear,  the  struggling  waters  swell. 
Now  Cow-herd  boy,  beside  his  creaking  wain, 
Deep  labouring  with  a  load  of  season'd  grain, 
Eyes  every  lengthen'd  shadow  in  his  way, 
And  takes  the  bogle  glen  with  sad  dismay — 
Holds  conversation  with  the  straining  Brute, 
And  cracks  his  whip,  and  plies  his  stackward  rout. 
Anon — nor  Cowherd-boy,  nor  servant-lass, 
Have  bogle  glen,  or  haunted  ford,  to  pass. 
The  well-built  stack,  beat  in,  with  fork,  around, 
And  snodded  down,  from  top-shave,  to  the  ground — 
Relieves  the  labouring  crew,  and  bids  prepare, 
For  evening  frolic,  and  for  Maiden  Fare.* 

Now  preparation  sits  on  every  face, 
And  bustling  movements — bustling  movements  chace. 
A  prime  fat  "  wether"  seethes  in  yonder  pot, 
Here  roasts  the  quarter  of  a  Highland  stot ; 
Above  that  foam,  the  bobbing  h  aggies  rises, 
Whilst  puddings  play  around  of  various  sizes ; 

*  If  the  kirn  is  win  before."  Michaelmas"  it  is  called  "  A  Maiden ;"  if  not  till  later, 
it  is  termed  a  "  Cat-line" — (not  Caroline.) 


320  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character,  No.  VII.  £Juue, 

The  horny  sheep-head,  arm'd  on  either  side, 
Drives,  like  a  sword-fish,  through  the  briny  tide, 
With  blustering  haggies  wields  unequal  strife, 
And  cuts  him  up — and  that  without  a  knife.* 
Within  that  jolly  "  Cask,"  the  feast  to  crown — 
Sleeps  what  will  rouse  to  energy  anon— 
Give  wit  to  dotage,  heels  to  bed-rid  years — 
To  silence  give  loquacity,  to  virtue  leers — 
Religion  strip  of  half  her  sacred  creed, 
And  make  the  only  foolish,  fools  indeed. 

The  barn  is  clear'd,  the  table-bench  is  placed 
With  pail,  and  pot,  and  knifeless  trencher  graced. 
Here  shines  the  haggies  in  a  cloud  of  steam, 
Around  his  orb  the  planet  puddings  gleam — 
The  sheep-head  grins  defiance  by  his  side, 
Through  whiten  d  teeth,  and  jaws  extended  wide. 
Along  the  bench,  as  if  at  random  toss'd, 
Lie  lumbering  fragments  of  the  boil  and  roast ; 
And  stew'd  potatoes,  here  and  there  prevail, 
Still  partner  d  by  a  brimming  cog  of  "  kail," 
Old  Scotia's  barky-broth,  commix'd  with  "  greens," 
And  lithed  into  consistency  with  "  beans" — 
Thus  fared  King  Bruce,  and  saw  his  cpuntry  free, 
And  thus  fare  freemen  still,  our  Scottish  peasantry  ! 
Thus  fare  the  lads  to  Albin's  honour  true, 
Whose  valour  stood  the  test  at  Waterloo, 
Far  o'er  the  hostile  fields  destruction  sped, 
And  fought  like  Heroes, — for  a  Hero  led. 

Now  comes  the  "  grace"  anon — "  Old  Francie's"  task 
Has  been  from  ancient  times  the  grace  to  ask  ; 
An  aged  servant  he — long  kept  at  ease, 
Allow'd  to  work,  or  idle,  if  he  please. 
The  servant  lads  to  scold,  the  maids  to  ban, 
Or  scorn  them,  when  in  humour,  with  "  a  Man  ;"t 
See  all  things  right  attended  to,  and  then, 
Before  and  after  meal-time,  say  th'  "  Amen ;" 
Give  prayers  at  night  and  morning  through  the  year  ; 
Keep  all  the  neighbouring  boys  in  constant  fear  ;! 

*  In  illustration  of  this,  the  following  anecdote,  somewhat  descriptive  as  it  is  of  coun- 
try manners,  may  be  adduced  : — "An  honest  woman  was  favoured  by  Providence  with 
an  ideot  son — for  such  unfortunate  individuals  are  accounted  by  the  peasantry  of  Scot- 
land a  blessing — whose  name,  according  to  immemorial  use  and  wont,  must  of  course 
have  been  *  Jock.'  To  Jock,  then,  on  a  Sabbath-day,  during  her  absence  at  church,  she 
had  committed  the  superintendance  of  a  boiling  broth-pot — in  which  had  been  compa- 
nioned a  horny  sheep-head  with  a  haggies.  Jock,  who  was  quite  equal  to  the  task  on 
ordinary  occasions,  was  not  a  little  astonished  and  nonplussed,  when,  in  the  progress  of 
ebullition,  he  discovered  that  the  "  head,"  which  by  this  time  had  begun  to  shew  teeth, 
as  well  as  horns,  was  in  the  act  of  making  rather  an  unhandsome  attack  upon  his  unre- 
sisting companion.  Having  no  means  of  stemming  the  wound,  which,  judging  from  the 
discharge,  seemed  to  be  considerable,  Jock  hastened  in  utter  dismay  to  the  church,  where 
he  knew  his  mother  was  of  course  to  be  found,  with  the  view  of  giving  her,  at  all  hazards, 
information  of  the  late  catastrophe.  After  some  fruitless  staring  along  the  areas,  and 
over  the  seats,  he  at  length  caught  his  mother's  eye,  which  was  eagerly  and  anxiously 
employed  in  winking  him  into  silence.  But  Jock  was  too  much  possessed  with  the  idea  of 
the  unequal  warfare  he  had  just  witnessed,  and  with  the  attitude  and  demonstration  of 
offence  assumed  by  the  head,  in  particular,  to  be  kept  long  in  check — 'Na,  mither,  na,' 
says  he,  in  a  tone  of  voice  loud  enough  to  arrest  the  attention  of  Minister  and  congrega- 
tion— '  Ye  need  na  sit,  winking,  an'  nodding,  an'  glunching  there — Ye  had  muckle  bet- 
ter be  athame,  for  Horny -face  has  stickit  bobbing-Bess,  an'  they  hae'  ajf  their  jackits, 
an'  at  it,  an'  at  it.'" 
•f-  "  A  Husband." — Vide  Jameson. 


1821.3  Harvest  Home.  321 

Announce  the  weather  with  prophetic  eye, 
And  in  the  evening  read  the  morning  sky  ; 
Assist  the  "  Mistress/'  when  in  need  of  help, 
The  milk  to  churn,  the  wayward  Imps  to  skelp ; 
Build  up  the  peat-stacks,  if  in  winter  shot, 
And  cool  with  ready  care  th'  o'erboiling  pot ; 
Survey  the  liggets,  keep  the  snecks  in  order, 
Denouncing  still  all  manner  of  disorder; 
The  Doctor  act,  in  case  of  inward  pains — 
Most  skilful  he  in  boils  and  ankle  sprains — 
The  bats  to  cure,  the  ring-worm,  and  the  spavie, 
And  even,  in  case  that  need  were,  he  can  shave  ye. 
For  these,  and  twenty  other  things  of  use, 
"  Old  Francie"  has  his  livery  and  a  house  ; 
His  elding  led — a  bed  of  freshest  chaff — 
A  "  Doddy  Cow,"  each  season  brings  a  calf — 
A  cast-off  coat — a  half- worn  pair  of  shoes, 
With  all  the  chancy  windfalls  of  the  house, 
Besides  a  Beast  to  market  twice  a  year — 
No  skittish  colt — the  master's  saddle  mare. 

To  Francie  now  the  Master  turn'd  his  face, 
And  sudden  silence  usher 'd  in  the  "  Grace." 
The  banquet  orison  of  tedious  drawl, 
Which  proved,  in  fact,  to  be  no  "  Grace"  at  all— 
A  scriptural  debate,  an  argued  "  cause," 
About  or  broken  or  neglected  laws  ; 
This  way  or  that  the  sinner  needs  must  fall, 
As  man  is  nothingness,  or  man  is  all. 
Divine  and  human,  in  an  equal  share, 
1"He  sinks  a  toad,  or  soars  an  angel  fair. 
"  Amen,"  that  long  had  near'd,  and  then  had  been 
Far  through  the  prayer-expostulation  seen ; 
Like  "  Country  seat,"  to  which  we  journey  up, 
In  all  the  impatient  drive  of  dinner  hope 
Through  serpentine  approaches ; — now  'tis  nigh, 
And  now  appears  receding  from  the  eye — 
From  side  to  side  coquetting. — Thus  th'  "  Amen" 
Comes  close  within  their  grasp,  and  flies  again. 
Till  all  at  once  entrapp'd  in  leading  phrase, 
Amidst  the  entanglements  of  "  Power  and  Praise," 
The  coy  deceiver  yields  ;  and  jaws  amain, 
And  hands  and  teeth,  their  privilege  regain. 

Hast  thou,  good  reader,  ever  seen  a  Horse, 
As  Homer  paints  him,  fretting  for  the  course  j 
With  frequent  hoof  the  turf  incessant  tearing, 
Already  in  his  heart  the  contest  sharing — 
Till  launch'd  at  once  into  his  utmost  speed, 
Forth  starts  at  "  tuck  of  drum"  the  generous  steed  ? 
Or  hast  thou  seen,  mayhap,  in  Boyish  day, 
The  summer  pool  where  watchful  minnows  play, 
Winnowing  with  silver  glance  the  viewless  tide, 
And  through  the  liquid  radiance  darting  wide  ; 
Whilst  not  a  curl  the  pausing  waters  knew, 
Nor  curved  one  waving  pebble  to  the  view. 

t  See  Ralph  Erskine. 

"  And  with  less  equals  to  compare, 
An  ugly  toad — an  angel  fair." 

Gospel  Sonnett. 
VOL  IX.  2  R 


332  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character,  No.  VII. 

And  having  dropt  a  Worm  amidst  the  fry, 

Hast  seen  them  all  in  one  thick  cluster  fly, 

To  catch  their  dinner,  emulous  of  feeding, 

And  all  unmark'd  by  courtesy  or  breeding. 

Then  canst  thou  image  forth  this  Harvest  band, 

Each  with  a  "  Ram-horn"  brandish'd  in  his  hand, 

Impatient  for  the  signal — now  descending 

In  one  vast  plunge,  and  horn  with  horn  contending. 

Then  canst  thou  image  forth  each  banqueteer 

Proclaiming  'gainst  "  Sir  Loin"  incessant  wier, 

Cutting,  and  slashing,  tearing,  rending,  riving, 

And  Maid  with  Hynd,  and  Hynd  with  Maiden  striving. 

No  servants  lounge  behind  their  masters'  chair, 

For  dogs,  expectant  of  the  bones,  are  there , 

Here  is  no  need  of  "  cloths"  the  crumbs  to  catch. 

The  hungry  Curs  are  ever  on  the  snatch  ; 

Whate'er  you  drop,  they  snap,  with  eager  jaws, 

Remind  you  of  their  presence  by  their  paws ; — 

From  face  to  face  revolve  with  watchful  eye, 

And  challenge  every  "  bit"  that  passes  by  ;— 

"Tis  silence  all — e'en  Tibby's  tongue  is  still, 

And  Jenny's  too,  though  sore  against  her  will. 

Amidst  this  pause— expressive  of  dispatch, 
The  creeking  barn-door  opens  by  a  latch  ; 
And,  elbow'd  in,  by  arms  of  rosy  hue — 
Such  Doric  arms  as  Willy  Wattle  knew  !  * 
Comes  there  a  "  Pail"  upborne  in  steady  state, 
Copartner 'd  by  an  earthen  satellite. 
The  shield  of  Ajax  ?  No. — Don  Quixote's  basin  ? 
(We  waste  our  time  similitudes  a-chasing.) 
In  sober  phrase,  for  figures  much  we  hate, 
It  was,  good  reader,  an  enormous  "  Plate," 
Or  "  milk-Cog,"  rather,  varnish'd  deep  with  brown, 
And  striped  with  white  alternate  up  and  down. 
This  vast  "  Tureen"  such  partner  might  beseem, 
And  both  besuited  well  the  "  Curds  and  cream" — 
The  season's  wholesome  beverage,  rich  and  broken, 
Each  into  other  jumbled  by  the  rocking. 

Let  Maro  praise  his  "  Copia  pressi  Lactis," — 
Dry  musty  cneese-curd  merely  !— Let  the  practice 
Of  supping  half-boil'd  "  Sowens"  still  prevail 
Through  Esk,  through  Annan,  and  through  Niddisdale. 
Let  Galovidian  wives  their  stomachs  cram 
With  eggs  well  scollop'd  up  with  bacon  ham,— 
Whilst  Ayrshire  men,  to  taste  and  nature  true, 
Prefer  to  ham  and  eggs  the  "  Irish  stew." 
Let  Braxy  through  the  Highland  glens  prevail, 
Far-noted  "  Fife-folk"  still  delight  in  "  kail ;" 
Let  "  hotch-potch"  reek  on  every  Lothian  board, 
And  brose  with  Lennox  stomachs  well  accord ; 
Let  BamfFand  Fruchy  live  on  salted  herring, 
Such  sapless  diet  to  the  best  preferring  ; 
But  o'er  them  all  a  "  feast"  of  loftier  name 
Let  latest  times  record — "  the  curds  and  cream." 
The  festal  banquet  "  Druids"  deign 'd  to  share, 
May  well  with  every  modern  dish  compare. 


•  "  Her  waly  nievcs  like 'midden  creels." — BURNS. 
"  Cceterit  paribus" — what  must  not  the  arms  have  been  ? 


Harvest  Home.  328 

Some  brew  their  drink  in  jugs,  with  forward  scoup, 
And  pour  the  reeking  beverage  through  a  stroup ; 
A  ready  "  Shelty"  stands  in  waiting  by, 
Around  the  board  distributive  to  fly. 
A  painted  bowl  we've  seen  of  China  ware, 
The  size  uncommon,  and  the  pattern  rare — 
An  heir-loom  of  the  house,  whose  fretted  edge 
Of  high  antiquity  aflFords  a  pledge. 
The  well-worn  spoon-mouth  still  retam'd  the  M  *fl. 
To  speak  of  all  our  drouthy  fathers  drank. 
Around  the  parent  bowl,  expectant  still, 
The  empty  glasses  crowded  in  "  to  Jill." 
And  tumblers  too  in  modern  days  appear, 
Our  brewing  skill  to  prove,  our  board  to  cheer ; 
Each  to  his  taste  commixes  up  his  toddy, 
Nor  pins  his  taste  to  sleeve  of  any  body. 
Old  maids  are  fond  of  glasses  long  and  narrow, 
Like  sheep-shank  bone  divested  of  the  marrow ; 
And  "  Fleur-de-lis-mouth'd"  well  spread  jelly  glasses 
Do  well  enough  for  clowns  and  country  lasses. 
A  Pot  there  is  of  noted  size  and  fame, 
Capacious,  vast,  the  "  mickle  Pot"  by  name. 
And  where  the  true-born,  home-bred  brother  Scot, 
Who  does  not  recognize  the  "  mickle  Pat  ?" 
Amidst  the  brotherhood  he  holds  his  place, 
Vast  Moderator  of  the  boiling  race. 
Wide  o'er  his  mouth  an  iron  rainbow  bends, 
And  fasten'd  to  each  ear  the  bowl  extends ; 
No  housemaid-plaything  this,  to  lift,  and  hang 
Upon  the  ' '  bleezing  ingle,"  with  a  bang ; 
But  ready,  ballasted,  with  seething  store, 
Two  Hynds  can  scarcely  poise  him  from  the  floor. 
And  see  he  comes ! — amidst  each  speaking  eye 
Anticipation  beams  in  ecstacy — 
With  back  sore  bent,  and  shoulders  on  the  spring, 
Two  brawny  youths  this  ample  "  Punch-bowl"  bring, 
In  which  each  drouthy  Wight  may  steep  his  soul, 
Scorning  the  competence  of  jug  or  bowl. 
And  sweet  the  flavour  which  exhales  around, 
As  down  the  ladle  sinks,  the  depths  to  sound  ; 
That  broth  pot  ladle,  sorely  lipped,  and  riven, 
Serves  yet  to  send  full  many  a  soul  to  Heaven. 
Trips  up  the  consonants  in  Geordy's  prose, 
Relumes  the  carbuncles  on  Tibby  s  nose, 
Cheers  up  the  fiddler  on  the  Girnel  lid, 
And  makes  the  only  cheerful,  blest  indeed  ! — 
Gives  honest,  homely  hearts  to  shew  themselves, 
And  teaches  more  than  all  the  Parson's  shelves. 

Ye  men  of  books — ye  absent,  thoughtful  men, 
Oh,  would  you  drop  one  little  hour  the  pen ; 
And,  'stead  of  bothering  your  sicken'd  brain, 
Idea  catching,  with  incessant  pain 
Compelling  still  "  reluctancies"  to  rise, 
Which  fancy,  not  experience,  supplies. 
Oh  ! — but  I  "  oh"  in  vain  away  my  time, 
Wasting  on  you  admonitory  rhyme  ; 
Else  I  had  bid  you  join  a  "  Village  wedding," — 
Or,  say  you  like  my  present  theme, — a  "  Maiden." 
There  you  might  see,  what  books  may  not  contain, 
Nor  second-hand  Reporter  can  explain, 


324  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character,  No.  VII.  £June, 

The  human  character,  distinct  and  free, 
From  uniform,  well-bred  monotony. 
Then  might  you  melt  your  thought  fulness  away, 
And  be  as  happy  and  as  wise  as  they. 

Contrast  with  this  the  polish'd  social  state, 
The  dull  gentility  that  marks  the  great. — 
"  This  room  is  hot — how  very  hot  it  is, 
"  My  Lady  Lobster's  rout  was  nought  to  this." 
"  Indeed,'  responds  my  lady,  in  his  arm, 
"  It  is,  my  dear,  insufferably  warm." 
"  Pray,  madam,  don't  you  think  the  stage  a  bore  ?" 
"  How  very  loud  these  horrid  creatures  roar !" 
And  thus  Sir  Simeon,  and  his  lady  still 
Their  fashionable  part  in  life  fulfil. 
From  play  to  rout,  from  rout  to  ball  they  go, 
Dress'd  in  one  everlasting  Domino. 

But  tumbling,  rolling,  sprawling  on  his  way, 
Comes  in  the  straw-clad  masker,  "  Auld  Glenae ;" 
A  lengthen'd  pole  adorns  his  better  paw, 
Well  swathed  with  ribbons,  and  well  wrapp'd  with  straw, 
Like  shaggy  bear  he  heaves  his  limbs  along, 
And  drives,  and  leaps,  and  bustles  through  the  throng ; 
Tries  every  art  the  younger  folks  to  ee  scar," 
And  only  joins  the  reel,  the  sport  to  mar  ; 
Trips  up  the  dancer  in  his  figure  pace, 
And  thrusts  his  stubble  presence  in  each  face  ; 
With  Lizy  foots  the  droll  duett  away, 
And  capers  to  the  tune  of  "  Auld  Glense." 
Then  winds  his  bunchy  arms  her  waist  about, 
And  bears  aloft  the  farmer's  daughter  out ; 
"  And  wha  can  this  be  now  ?"  each  damsel  cries  ; 
"  What  can  he  want  wi'  Lizy  ?"  each  replies. 
"  Atweel,"  rejoins  a  third,  "  she's  nae  great  prize !" — 

But  round  the  stack-yard  ricks  has  Tibby  gone, 
To  watch  the  absent  lovers,  all  alone, 
To  spy  the  lovers,  or  as  "  spite"  might  say, 
To  wile  from  out  the  barn  her  "  Tarn"  away. 
But  Tarn  has  other  fish  this  night  to  fry — 
The  "  Village  Toast"  has  early  caught  his  eye ; 
With  her  he  dances,  and  with  her  he  drinks. 
Nor  heeds  full  many  coughs  and  knowing  winks 
From  jealous  Tib,  who  bridles  up  her  head, 
And  sits  and  sulks  upon  the  girnel  lid — 
Tossing  her  heels  in  anguish  to  and  fro, 
To  every  proffering  partner,  saying,  No — 
Then  hurrying  to  the  door,  with  backward  glance 
Design'd  to  pierce  her  lover  like  a  lance. 
The  "  Village  Beauty"  chuckles  in  her  heart, 
Essays  with  double  care  the  winning  part ; 
Her  pretty  little  dimples  play  the  while, 
And  point  with  certain  destiny  her  smile. 
The  opening  napkin  half  her  breast  reveals, 
And  half  from  raptured  gaze  the  snow  conceals  ; 
Whilst  bitten  into  scarlet— soft  and  pouting, 
Her  parted  lips,  like  Charon-buds,  are  sprouting; 
And  round  her  plump  and  Venus-moulded  frame, 
There  hangs  a  witchery  that  wants  a  name. 


1821. 3  Harvest  Home.  323 

Her  tale-tell  eyes,  amidst  their  swimming  pride, 
O'er  all  this  armoury  of  love  preside ; 
Till  crimson'd  o'er,  the  lily  of  her  cheeks 
'  At  once  her  innocence  and  triumph  speaks ! 

The  Fiddler  now  has  had  his  "  quantum  suff." 
In  plain  good  English,  he  has  had  "  enough." 
Or,  if  in  Scotch,  his  present  state  I  drew, 
I'd  say  at  once,  the  Fiddler  he  was  "  fou." 
A  tankard  still  replenish'd  from  the  store, 
And  emptied  still,  had  still  made  way  for  more ; 
Till  all  his  senses  melted  into  one, 
He  sat  a  musical  "  Automaton." 
From  girnel-lid  unpausing  music  threw, 
And  aye  the  bow  to  "  Dainty  Davie"  drew ; 
Within  their  lids  his  eyes  delight  to  dwell, 
Or  only  peep,  like  oyster,  from  its  shell — 
Those  maudlin  light  grey  eyes,  that  now  are  moister 
Than  any  Pandore  or  Newhaven  oyster. 

There  is  no  pause,  no  respite  from  the  reel, 
Still  round  and  round  the  Lads  and  Lasses  wheel — 
Clap  with  their  hands  and  loudly  scream,  and  shout, 
Beat  with  their  heels,' and  leap  and  spin  about. 
E'en  "  Aunty  Ann"  her  cleeky  staff  foregoes, 
Forgets  her  asthma,  and  her  corny  toes ; 
Spreads  out  her  petticoat,  like  peacock  tail, 
And  up  the  dance  begins  to  set  her  sail. 
Old  "  Aunty  Ann"  has  seen  the  "  Forty-five," 
And  e'en  to  recollect ' '  the  Forty"  can  contrive ; 
And  yet  so  hard  the  fate  of  "  Aunty  Ann," 
She  never  yet  has  partner 'd  been  to  "  man." 
Report,  indeed — but  one  can  not  receive 
One  quarter  of  the  worlds'  "  make  believe" — 
Report  said  something  once  of  lover  bold, 
Who  dared  his  passion,  and  his  hope  unfold, 
Address'd  a  maiden  heart  at  "  forty-two" — 
Address'd,  assail'd,  secured,  and  broke  it  too — 
One  year  was  spent,  the  dismal  "  Forty-three," 
In  all  the  anguish-dream  of  misery  ; 
But  Time  resumed  his  tear-repressing  power, 
As  tender  Ann  commenced  her  "  forty-four ;" 
And  now  the  case  she  reasons  as  it  stood, 
"  /  ne'er  was  married,  but  was  once  as  good." 
Her  language  since,  is  full  of  moral  worth, 
She  sighs  at  marriages,  laments  a  birth ; 
Wonders  full  oft  how  folks  can  merry  be, 
Amidst  a  world  of  sin  and  treachery  ; 
Pities  the  fool,  who  laughs  for  laughing-sake  ; 
Above  all  computation  hates  a  rake ; 
Yet,  at  a  bridal,  or  a  maiden  pot, 
Can  play  a  part,  look  cadgy,  and  what  not ; 
Immerge  the  world's  ingratitude  in  punch, 
And  festal  cates  with  toothless  jaw-bone  munch ; 
With  Francie  eye  the  merry  hearted  Rout, 
And  sometimes  too  with  Francie  "  shake  her  foot." 

But  Francie  takes  the  floor  with  widow  Watson, 
For  Francie  now  has  got  his  shoes  and  "  spats"  on — 
The  decent  Widow  modestly  refuses— 
But  Aunty's  glee  a  confidence  infuses  ; 


326  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character,  No.  VII.  £June, 

And  Archy  Tait  forgets  his  goblin  story, 

And  foots  it  through  the  floor  in  all  his  glory, 

Sets  to  the  Widow  first,  a  wary  man — 

Then  wheels,  and  breasts  it  up,  with  "  Aunty  Ann"— 

So  on  they  bob,  and  hob,  and  nob  away— 

And  who  so  fit  to  reel  and  set  as  they  ? 

A  beam  the  rafters  binds  from  side  to  side, 
And  there  "  Rob  Paton,"  figures,  leg  astride, 
In  all  the  topmost  pitch  of  festive  glory, 
Hitching  along  his  strange  observatory  ; 
Eying  with  rapture  meet  this  scene  of  joy, 
And  playing  off,  by  many  a  trick,  "  the  Boy  ;" 
Till,  sad  mischance  !  to  fate  or  whisky  due, 
Plump  from  the  "  joist,"  he  tumbles  like  a  clue ; 
And  following  fast,  come  closely  at  his  back 
A  brace  of  flails,  and  many  a  dusty  sack. 
To  fall  is  nothing — any  one  may  fall, 
And  never  rue  the  tumble  after  all ; 
But  then  to  stir,  to  look  unmoved  around, 
Your  lubber  limbs  still  squatting  on  the  ground, 
Upon  a  sneering,  mischief-loving  band, 
Requires,  to  say  the  least,  some  self-command : 
This  felt  Rob  Paton  keenly,  up  he  started 
And  quickly  through  the  stack- ward  postern  darted, 
Plotting  some  mischief  still,  by  method  strange, 
Position  only  alter'd  by  the  change. 

Nor  long  the  plot,  till  shouldering,  grunting  on, 
Straight  through  the  bobbing  crew  has  Grumphy  gone 
In  reckless  speed.    Midst  screaming  and  dismay, 
She  fairly  carries  "  Aunty  Ann"  away. — 
As  rode  Europa,  so  did  Aunty  ride, 
And  each  did  sit  their  palfrey,  "  leg  astride ;"  * 
The  one,  Bull-mounted,  sought  the  western  shore, 
The  other,  Sow-supported,  sought  the  door — 
Nor  door,  alas  !  nor  outlet  found  the  brute, 
By  which  to  bear  her  maiden  rider  out ; 
So  round  and  round  the  barn  old  Aunty  drives, 
With  hand  and  heel  to  keep  her  seat  contrives, 
Plays  off  her  sowmanship  to  shaking  sides, 
And  through  a  very  stream  of  laughter  rides ; 

But  Francie  has  slipt  out,  amidst  the  fray, 
Resolved  to  drag  a  culprit  from  his  play  ; 
And  this  the  full  extent  of  "  Paton's"  sin, 
'Twas  he  that  drove  the  furious  stranger  in — 
One  shake  is  lent  him,  Rob  maintain'd  his  look, 
And  halflins  smiled, — again  old  Francie  shook 
The  helpless  victim ;  dure  as  whinstone  rock, 
Rob  still  remain'd,  at  each  successive  shock ; 
Till  shooting  like  a  pebble  from  a  sling, 
Rob  feels  the  force  of  Francie's  parting  swing — 
Unseats  the  widow  in  his  wareless  speed, 
And  all  inconscious  proves  "  a  Friend  in  need."— 

The  music  now  is  mute,  the  minstrel  low, 
Lies  stretch'd  at  length  amidst  the  barley  mow  ; 


•  Though  some  painters  have  given  Europa  a  different  and  more  modernized  position, 
it  u  all  a  hoax  ? 


1881/3  Harvest  Home.  327 

In  noise  and  clamour's  spite  he  seeks  repose, 
And  only  breathes  "  discordance"  from  his  nose ; 
Yet  by  his  motions  still,  in  mimic  guise, 
The  tune  he  humours,  and  the  bow  he  plies.* 
Whilst  sides  and  arms  the  giggling  limmers  nip, 
Or  draw  the  tickling  corn-straw  o  er  his  lip ; 
Till  roused  into  perception,  up  he  springs, 
And  wakes  with  fitful  energy  the  strings. 

Now  all  the  drouthy  Dons  have  gather'd  round 
The  mystic  Pot,  in  wonderment  profound  ; 
Tale  after  tale  succeeds  of  marvels  past, 
And  still  the  next  more  marvellous  than  the  last. 
Of  elf-shot  cows  they  talk,  and  loss  of  grain, 
By  shaking  winds,  or  long-continued  rain ; 
Or  storms  of  drifted  snow  that  heap'd  the  "  slack," 
Till  some  mischancy  packman  with  his  pack 
Bung'd  up  old  Granny's  "  LUM  t,"  her  only  light, 
And  shut  the  view  of  heaven  from  her  sight. 

The  ranks  are  thinning  fast,  as  two  by  two 
The  lovers  rush,  the  "  northern  lights"  to  view ; 
And  wives  and  widows  urge  the  homeward  rout. 
And  coax,  and  drag,  and  push  their  partners  out.f 


*  This  is  no  unusual  occurrence. — An  old  woman  who  occupies  a  seat  immediately 
under  the  pulpit,  and  opposite  to  my  pew  in  the  church,  is  regularly  employed,  during 
the  latter  part  of  the  minister's  sermon,  which,  to  say  the  truth,  is  sometimes  not  a  lit- 
tle soporific,  in— 

"  Drawing  out  a  thread  wi'  little  din." 

•f  The  story  of  the  Packman  is  this — During  the  severe  winter,  1739-40,  a  poor  old 
woman's  cottage,  which  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  narrow  glen  or  slack,  had  been  com- 
pletely  drifted  up,  even  to  the  upper  extremity  or  head  of  the  "  Lum."  A  packman 
happening  to  be  travelling  in  the  course  of  a  day  or  two,  and  after  the  snow  had  consoli- 
dated, in  the  direction  of  the  said  lum,  was  suddenly  engulphed,  and  suspended  from 
his  pack  by  the  shoulders,  with  his  feet  playing  in  full  swing  over  the  sooty  mysteries 
of  the  old  woman's  "  rannel  tree."  Their  mutual  terror  and  astonishment  may  be 
more  easily  conceived  than  described. 

J  In  illustration  of  the  state  to  which  this  Scottish  carnival,  now,  happily  for  the  mo- 
rals of  the  people,  fast  falling  into  disuse,  frequently  reduced  those  who  were  engaged 
in  it,  the  following  anecdotes  are  related : — "  Tak  aff,  my  guidwife  there,"  said  the 
gudeman  of  Burniwhistle,  who,  along  with  his  better  half,  had  been  enjoying,  to  a  late 
hour,  a  neighbouring  fanner's  Harvest  Home — "  Kep  down  ye're  mistress,  man  ;  an' 
lay  a  sheaf  o'  corn  afore  the  auld  mare  or  ye  gang  to  your  bed." — Upon  investigation, 
however,  it  was  found  that  the  gudewife  of  Burniwhistle,  who,  along  with  her  spouse, 
had  improved  her  time  during  the  evening,  was  amissing.  She  had,  in  fact,  slipt  off 
from  behind  her  husband,  unperceived  by  him  ;  and,  as  their  homeward  road  lay  for  a 
considerable  way  within  sea  mark,  there  was  nothing  but  "  ride  and  run"  amongst  all 
the  numerous  domestics  of  Burniwhistle.  The  gudewife  was  happily  found  at  last,  lying 
precisely  where  she  had  fallen,  upon  the  soft  beach,  and  up  to  the  very  mouth  in  salt 
water.  "  Na,"  were  the  words  of  her  soliloquy,  as  each  succeeding  wave  urged  its  way 
more  and  more  forcibly  into  her  mouth,  "  Na,  sirs,  saw  ony  body  ever  the  like  o'  that, 
to  gang  an'  change  the  drink  upon  us  at  this  time  o'  the  night — Na,  no  anither  drap,  I 
tell  ye,  gudeman,  though  the  house  war  fu' — Snuff  that  candle  there" — a  cloud  having 
at  this  instant  passed  betwixt  her  vision  and  the  full  moon — "  Snuff  that  candle  there; 
can  na  ye  snuff  it,  callant,  an  no  stan'  gauping  in  my  face  like  a  gled  o'er  gone  !" 

A  servant  lad  was  returning  in  pretty  good  case  from  one  of  these  late  orgies,  when 
having  to  pilot  his  course  amongst  a  number  of  old,  and  in  many  instances,  deep  coal 
pits,  to  his  utter  horror,  and  immediate  restoration  to  his  senses,  he  found  himself  sud- 
denly suspended  by  the  fingers  and  nails,  over,  as  he  conceived  it,  an  unfathomable 
abyss.  Here  he  hung  for  hours,  roaring  lustily,  but  in  vain,  for  assistance,  and  expect- 


328  Sketches  of  Scottish  Character,  No.  VII.  £June, 

Confusion  now  usurps  the  seat  of  Fun, 
As  round  the  floor  in  tipsy  squads  they  run, 
Disorder'd  dress,  and  faces  all  on  fire ; — 
The  very  walls  with/evelment  perspire. 

At  last  arrive  it  must,  the  parting  hour — 
At  two,  or  half-past  two,  or  three,  or  four, 
No  matter  when — the  joyous  minutes  speed 
On  swallow  wing,  the  sad  are  slow  indeed ; 
So  Shakespeare  said,  and  so  said  "  the  Gudeman," 
Who  now  to  smell  the  morning  air  began — 
Scoup'd  from  the  hollow  pot  one  tankard  more, 
Drank  health  and  thanks  to  all,  and  "  lock'd  the  door." 

•  JuvJtNALis,  Junior. 


ing  every  instant,  upon  the  giving  way  of  his  very  insecure  hold,  to  be  precipitated  to  the 
bottom.  The  very  nails  were  pulled  from  his  fingers,  and  the  tops  were  worn  from  his 
shoes,  by  frequent  and  ineffectual  efforts  to  relieve,  in  some  measure,  his  hands  by 
means  of  his  feet.  Day -light,  however,  after  a  most  dismal  interval,  appeared  at  last, 
and  discovered  to  him  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  within  an  inch  or  two  of  his  feet, 

A  friend  of  mine,  still  alive,  and  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  an  estimable  and  respect- 
able member  of  society,  being  upon  his  way  to  visit  an  old  acquaintance,  had  fallen  in 
with  a  inerry-making  of  the  description  I  have  endeavoured  to  sketch.  Entering  at 
once  into  the  humour  and  the  spirit  of  the  meeting,  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours  he  be- 
came as  foolish  and  as  happy  as  any  one  of  the  company ;  and  when  he  took  his  de- 
parture under  the  darkness  of  a  cloudy  night,  there  were  some  hints  given  by  the  gude- 
man,  respecting  the  propriety  of  his  lodging  where  he  was.  However,  no  fools  are  so 
positive  and  headstrong  as  those  who  are  so,  not  by  nature,  but  by  art ;  and  on  towards 
the  termination  of  his  journey  rny  friend  •would  pass,  in  spite  of  all  the  deep  mosses,  and 
kittle  steps,  and  narrow  planks,  which  lay  in  his  way.  In  fact,  the  more  difficulties  and 
dangers  were  conjured  up  to  dissuade  him,  the  more  resolved  was  he  to  meet  and  sur- 
mount them  all — a  circumstance  not  at  all  unusual  in  his  situation.  A  calf  had  that 
very  evening  been  lost  at  the  farm-town,  towards  which,  though  entirely  without  the 
knowledge  of  any  one  there,  he  was  journeying.  The  whole  family  had  turned  out  with 
lantern  and  with  torch,  in  quest  of  the  stray  beast ;  and  after  various  unsuccessful  ef- 
forts, had  bent  their  steps  towards  what  was  called  the  "  Dominie's  Puddle,"  a  deep 
ditch,  or  stank,  filled  with  mud,  over  which  a  narrow  and  elastic  foot-path  deal  was  laid. 
As  they  approached  this  suspicious  spot,  a  sudden  and  heavy  plash  was  heard,  followed 
up  by  a  suitable  accompaniment  of  flouncing  and  floundering  amidst  the  mud.  The 
light  which  they  bore  being  immediately  turned  upon  the  quarter  whence  the  noise  pro- 
ceeded, they  discovered  with  joy  what  they  conceived  to  be  the  object  of  their  search ; 
and  proceeded,  without  loss  of  time,  to  lend  the  necessary  aid,  in  extricating  the  help- 
less brute  from  instant  suffocation.  Again  and  again  was  the  shapeless  lump  of  defile- 
ment rolled  over,  amidst  the  long  and  meadow  grass,  ere  the  unlooked-for  discovery  of 
a  human  countenance  and  form  was  made.  To  set  up  a  scream  of  the  wildest  dismay, 
to  dash  down  and  extinguish  the  lights,  and  to  escape  homewards  with  the  speed  of 
thought,  was,  to  the  terror-struck  and  half-distracted  party,  only  the  work  of  an  instant. 
In  vain  did  the  object  of  alarm  gain  his  feet,  and  let  loose  his  tongue,  which  the  mud 
had  for  some  time  silenced.  The  faster  he  ran,  and  the  louder  he  shouted,  the  more 
convinced  were  the  pursued,  that  the  "  Enemy"  himself  had  a  plot  upon  them,  and  was 
extremely  solicitous  to  decoy  them  into  his  purpose.  Against  his  entry  into  the  house 
every  door  was  barred,  and  every  window  secured  ;  and  it  was  not  till  after  repeated  as- 
surances of  bis  personal  identity,  assurances  of  his  being  really  and  truly  a  man,  and 
neither  boast  nor  hobgoblin,  that  he  was  permitted,  amidst  laughter  inextinguishable,  to 
enter.  The  gudewife,  however,  had  taken  to  her  bed ;  and  the  gudeman  became,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  hours,  the  father  of  his  seventh  child,  a  month  too  soon. 


1831/3  Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbus  Secundut.  329 

To  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH,  Esq. 

RESPECTED  SIR, — As  I  am  almost  teazed  to  death  by  the  impertinencies  of 
people  inquiring  when  the  second  edition  of  the  TRANSACTIONS  OF  THE  WIG- 
WAM SOCIETY  is  to  appear  ;  and  as  I  am  so  much  taken  up  otherwise,  that  it 
is  impossible  for  me  to  correct  the  press  in  sufficient  haste  to  satisfy  their  im- 
patience, I  send  you,  for  interim  publication  in  your  next  Magazine,  three 
chapters  of  the  second  book  of  the  Voyages  and  Travels  of  my  friend  Colum- 
bus Secundus — the  whole  of  which  interesting  work  will  appear  in  that  edi- 
tion. Be  so  good,  at  same  time,  as  request  Mr  Blackwood  to  advertise  it  on 
the  cover  next  month,  for  which  purpose  I  inclose  title-page.  Your  diploma 
as  honorary  member  will  be  delivered  you  by  a  deputation  of  the  Society, 
lam, 

RESPECTED  SIR, 

Your  very  humble  servant, 
Edinburgh,  4>th  June,  1821.  THOMAS  THUMB,  Sec. 

THE  VOYAGES  AND  TRAVELS  OF  COLUMBUS  SECUNDUS. — PART  II. 

Edina  !  Scotia's  darling  seat ! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs, 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 
Sat  Legislation's  sovereign  powers  ! 

BJRHS. 

While  I  retain  reminiscence  of  smells, 
Or  cogitation  of  unpleasant  odours, 
I'll  ne'er  forget  thee,  Canongatian  Inn. 

Da  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

Introduction. 

I  HAD  no  sooner  recovered  from  the  on  the  west,  to  the  closes  of  the  Abbey- 
fatigues  of  my  last  voyage,  than,  like  hill  cow-keepers  on  the  east — from  the 
Sinbad  the  Sailor,  I  began  to  think  of  Grange  Toll  to  Stockbridge.  Unlike 
new  adventures :  and  considering  that  the  hasty  tourists  from  the  south  who 
the  metropolis  of  Scotland,  for  all  the  occasionally  visit  us,  I  have,  not  with- 
learned  men  it  contains,  has  never  yet  out  considerable  risk  to  my  clothes, 
occupied  the  attention  of  any  very  and  often  to  the  manifest  offence  of 
philosophical  traveller,  I  determined  my  organs  of  smell  and  sight,  traced 
that  my  next  tour  should  be  through  the  curves  of  almost  every  close,  the 
the  streets  and  lanes  of  this  ancient  wavings  of  every  bow,  and  penetrated 
capital.  In  pursuance  of  this  design,  the  inlets  and  outlets  of  every  wynd, 
I  have  perambulated  from  the  Water-  in  this  seat  of  science  and  of  art,  for 
House  to  the  World's-end  Close — from  my  own  information,  and  that  of  my 
the  Nether  Bow  to  the  Watergate —  fellow-citizens, 
from  the  Cowfeeders'  lanes  at  Lochrin, 

CHAPTER  I. 

It  may  naturally  be  expected  that  I  comparative  merits  of  Old  Town  or 

should  commence  this  chapter  of  my  New  Town,  streets  easterly  or  wes- 

Travellings  with  a  detail  of  the  longi-  terly,  to  those  who  may  find  interest 

tude  and  latitude,  the  bearings  of  the  in  such  pursuits,  honestly  declaring, 

streets,  and  so  forth ;  and  that  I  should  that  I  have  no  intention  of  setting  my 

then  go  on  to  particularize  all  the  pub-  fellow-citizens  by  the  ears,  by  praising 

lie  edifices,  erected  for  this  purpose  or  or  blaming  either  at  the  expence  ojf 

that  purpose,  in  due  order,  and  with  the  other. 

due  encomiums  on  the  present  and         In    my    perambulations    through 

former  guardians  of  the  city  purse. —  "  mine  own  romantic  town,"  the  first 

But  I  leave  the   task  of  moralizing  thing  that  struck  me  was  the  diversity 

on    stone   and   mortar,    and  on  the  of  names  on  the  sign-boards  as  I  pasv» 

VOL.  IX.  2  S 


Voyages  and  Travels  ofColumlnts  Secundus; 


3.10 

ed  along.  It  may  be  a  very  proper 
thing,  for  ought  I  know,  for  the  own- 
er of  every  particular  face  to  have 
}iis  appropriate  denomination ;  and, 
provided  the  said  denominations  do 
not  interfere  with  privileged  associ- 
ations, let  them  wear  them  in  peace 
for  me.  I  have  no  particular  objection, 
for  instance,  to  John  Glasgow  dealing 
in  groceries  and  spirits  at  the  Main 
Point, — or  Jlubrrt  Paisley  keeping  the 
West  Kirk  Session  records  of  births, 
marriages,  and  deaths;— to  Peter 
Stirling  letting  horses  to  hire  in  Hose 
Street, — or  Robert  Lithffoiv  dealing  in 
sugars  and  teas  in  Thistle  Street.  Let 
the  magistrates  and  councils  of  these 
royal  burghs,  if  they  see  meet,  assert 
in  their  own  way  the  honour  of  their 
respective  corporations.  But  when  I 
find  the  name  of  John  Dryden  attach- 
ed to  the  sign -board  of  a  block  and 
pump  maker  in  Leith,  I  cannot  think 
of  the  heterogeneous  combination  with 
patience ;  and  I  have  often  been  tempt- 
ed to  tear  down  the  board  which  sug- 
gests associations  so  contrary  to  those 
which  every  reader  of  English  poetry 
feels  passing  through  his  mind  on  the 
sight  or  mention  of  this  honoured 
name.  But  this  is  not  all.  One  can- 
not walk  the  streets  with  their  eyes 
open  without  meeting  with  some  such 
incongruity  of  name  and  profession ; 
and  were  it  not  for  the  carts  and  car- 
riages, porters,  chairmen,  dogs,  and 
puppies,  which  interrupt  one's  way,  I 
solemnly  protest,  that  I  should  rather 
prefer  walking  with  a  bandage  over  my 
visual  organs,  than  have  my  early  as- 
sociations so  rudely  dispelled,  and  the 
names  of  the  departed  great  brought 
down  to  the  level  of  ordinary  life.  Gri- 
maldi  may  practise  clock  and  watch- 
making in  Prince's  Street,  if  he  chooses, 
though  I  should  rather  prefer  his  ex- 
ertions on  the  stage, — and  even  Mrs 
Mary  Ifolstonecroft  may  keep  an  eat- 
ing-house at  the  bottom  of  Leith  Walk, 
if  she  feel  so  inclined  ;  but  I  can  never 
be  brought  to  think  that  it  is  proper 
or  becoming  in  a  Joseph  Addi.ion  to  sell 
meal  and  barley, — for  a  Mi/ton  to  de- 
vote his  time  to  the  hanging  of  bells, — 
for  a  A'ewfon  to  degrade  himself  by 
the  making  of  shoes,  or  baking  bread 
for  the  lieges, — or  for  a  Locke  to  sell 
apples  in  Leith  Walk. 

What  must  an  admirer  of  tho  novels 
of  Tom  Jones,  Amelia,  or  Joseph 
Andrews  feel,  if  he  chances  to  walk 
glong  our  street  called  the  Cowpifo. 


and  perceive  the  name  of  Fielding  over 
a  shop  where  second-hand  furniture  is 
sold, — or  the  lover  of  histrionic  talent 
to  see  Edward  Quin  designate  a  re- 
tailer of  old  clothes  in  St  Mary's 
Wynd;  and  how  must  the  pride  of 
a  native  of  Scotland  be  humbled,  when 
he  rinds  the  honoured  name  of  Qtvcffe 
Buchanan  prefacing  the  sign-board  of 
a  stocking-maker  in  the  Cowgate, — 
and  the  revered  one  of  John  Knox  ap- 
propriated by  a  coach-hirer  in  Thistle 
Street. 

Tliomas  the  Rhymer  may  indeed 
find  the  law  a  more  profitable  employ- 
ment than  the  making  of  verses  ;  and 
Mr  Robert  Hood,  and  Little  John,  may 
deserve  some  credit,  the  one  for  con- 
fining himself  to  the  sale  of  British 
spirits,  and  the  other  to  the  manufac- 
ture of  gingerbread  and  muffins ;  but 
no  change  of  circumstances  can  recon- 
cile us  to  the  idea  of  Solomon  dealing 
in  jewellery  in  Rose  Street, — or  Moses 
and  Aaron  repairing  umbrellas  and 
making  shoe-black  in  the  West  Port 
of  Edinburgh.  Nor  do  we  think  it  is 
very  beseeming  in  Matthew  to  occupy 
himself  in  the  sale  of  stone- ware  in 
Hanover  Street, — or  that  the  profes- 
sion of  a  spirit  dealer  is  becoming  in 
Paul;  and  Mark  can  never  hope  to 
reconcile  us  to  his  letting  of  furnished 
lodgings  in  Lady  Lawson's  Wvnd, — 
or  Mr  Luke  excuse  himself  f'or  ex- 
posing woollen-drapery  to  sale  on  the 
North  Bridge. 

Menelaus  may  be  so  humble  as  not 
much  to  value  himself  on  the  circum- 
stance of  his  ancestor  being  a  King  of 
Sparta,  and  brother  to  Agamemnon, 
and,  for  aught  we  know,  he  may  judge 
well.  The  ministry  in  the  present  de- 
pressed state  of  the  country  will  cer- 
tainly not  adventure  another  Trojan 
war,  on  account  of  any  thing  that  may 
happen  to  the  spouse  of  an  upholsterer, 
even  though  John  Paris,  the  shoema- 
ker in  the  Kirkgate,  were  a  lineal  de- 
scendant of  the  ruvisher  of  Helen,  and 
though  the  upholsterer  himself  repre- 
sented in  his  person  all  the  royalty  of 
ancient  Greece. 

In  addition  to  these,  we  have  I. 
Reynolds,  instead  of  painting  for  mo- 
ney, or  fame,  or  both,  keeping  stables 
in  the  Candlemaksr-row  ; — Gay  ma- 
king boots  and  shoes  in  Rose  Street ; — 
James  Thomson  betaking  himself  to 
the  splitting  of  lath  in  New  Street, 
instead  of  "  singing  the  Seasons  as 
they  roll ;" — Collins  soiling  silk-mer- 


1 82 I/]  Voyages  and  Travels 

eery,  in  place  of  writing  Odes ; — S,i- 
iMge  fabricating  breeches  in  Rose 
Street ; — Swift  teaching  vocal  music, 
• — and,  above  all,  the  renowned  Wil- 
liam Wallace  retailing  spirits  in  the 
Canongate. 

But  it  would  be  tiresome  to  enume- 
rate the  splendid  constellation  of  cele- 
brated names  now  to  be  found  in  the 
capital  of  Scotland;  and  it  must  be 


of  Columbus  MecunduSi  331 

quite  evident  to  the  most  casual  pas- 
senger, that  if  the  customers  of  those 
gentlemen  would  be  content  to  go 
without  bread,  clothes,  and  a  few  other 
articles,  which,  after  all,  are  only  little 
temporary  conveniences,  and  the  gen- 
tlemen themselves  turn  their  talents 
to  writing,  there  would  be  an  end,  as 
to  other  nations,  of  all  competition  in 
arts,  sciences,  and  literature. 


CHAPTER  II. 


This  is  the  wonderful  lion  from  the  wiles  of  Africa — the  king  of  all  handymals — ten 
feet  five  inches  from  the  point  of  the  nose  to  the  tip  of  the  tail,  and  ten  feet  five  inches 
from  the  tail  to  the  nose — only  five  years  old — the  most  finest  handymal  ever  travelled. 
He  can  carry  off  a  bullock  in  his  mouth,  as  thof  it  wur  a  lamb,  and  are  as  gentle  as  a 
lady's  lap-dog — Greet  oop,  my  fine  fellor.  Show  man. 


Having  demonstrated,  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  that  our  native  city  is 
not  destitute  of  names  celebrated  in 
literature  and  science,  (and  the  intims 
in  most  instances  are  every  thing,)  I 
proceed  to  show,  that  in  other  respects 
we  have  no  reason  to  complain.  We 
have  Lambs  and  Lions  in  considerable 
numbers;  Smiths,  Cooks,  Wehsters, 
Tailors,  Clerks,  and  Colliers,  in  great 
quantities  indeed ;  and  as,  in  every 
populous  city,  a  multifarious  assort- 
ment of  Blacks  as  well  as  Whites.  The 
prismatic  colours  of  the  celestial  bow 
give  name  to  many  respectable  indivi- 
duals ;  Young  and  Old  are  in  the  usual 
proportions  ;  but  few  Gentles,  and  only 
one  Gentleman,  are  to  be  found  here, 
although  the  rents  of  the  greater  pro- 
portion of  Scotland  pass  through  the 
hands  of  the  professional  inhabitants. 
A  number  of  Hopes  there  are,  but  not 
one  is  to  be  found  who  owns  the  name 
of  Fear  in  this  ancient  capital.  Law 
is  prevalent  every  where  ;  but  Justice 
is  confined  to  the  manufacture  of  hats 
in  the  Pleasance ;  and  Virtue,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  it,  I  have  only  found  in 
the  humble  dwelling  of  a  stabler  in 
the  Grassmarket,  and  in  a  worsted 
shop  in  Union  Place. 

It  may  startle  the  friends  of  Pres- 
byterian church  government,  when  I 
mention  that  Edinburgh  supports  no 
less  than  eight  Bishops,  independent 
of  those  of  the  Episcopalian  and  Ro- 
mish churches ;  but  to  calm  their  fears 
regarding  the  danger  of  the  establish- 
ment, or  the  necessity  of  another  na- 
tional league  and  covenant,  I  beg  to 
mention,  that  of  these  dignitaries  two 
keep  stables,  and  feed  cows, — two  ac- 
commodate strangers  with  furnished 
lodgings, — two  are  tobacconists, — one 


is  a  book-binder,  and  the  other  fills  the 
office  of  surveyor  of  excise. 

Of  Kings,  (I  mean  no  treason)  We 
can  boast  of  a  good  manyinEdinburgh, 
but  none,  I  am  sorry  for  their  king- 
ships, wielding  a  higher  sceptre  than 
the  peel  of  the  baker,  or  the  dung-fork 
of  the  stabler.  A  very  respectable  fa- 
mily of  Earls,  and  a  Marquis,  who  is 
assistant  port-surveyor  at  Leith,  com- 
pletes the  catalogue  of  titled  names; 
though  a  good  many  individuals  are 
found,  notwithstanding,  Avho  call  them- 
selves Noble. 

There  are  not  many  indigenous 
Birds  in  the  capital  of  Scotland  ;  but 
specimens  occur  of  Swans,  Doves,  and 
Craws,  though  not  very  plentifully. 
Peacocks,  though  ornithologists  may 
stare  at  the  assertion,  I  am  disposed  to 
consider  astruly  nativeanimals.  Though 
there  are  numerous  Roses,  our  south- 
ern neighbours  will  be  surprised  to 
learn  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  de- 
tect a  single  Thistle  in  Edinburgh ; 
and  notwithstanding  the  long  period 
Christianity  has  been  the  religion  of 
our  island — notwithstanding  the  in- 
dustry of  our  clergy,  and  the  existence 
of  numerous  Bible  and  Missionary  So- 
cieties, I  am  afraid  I  shall  scarcely  be 
believed  when  I  say,  that  in  the  Scot- 
tish Athens  there  still  exists  a  family 
of  very  amiable  Pagans. 

Being  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
sea,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  there 
should  be  a  good  many  Fishers  in 
Edinburgh  ;  but  what  would  Lin- 
naeus have  said,  if  he  had  been  told  of 
a  Salmon  living  in  Hanover  Street, — 
of  a  Haddow  being  a  manufacturer  in 
the  Lawnmarket, — or  heard  of  Flound" 
ers  who  were  able  to  guard  a  mail- 
coach, 'and  let  lodgings  in  Canal  Street? 


Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbut  Secundus. 


332 

Edinburgh  has  long  been  justly  ce- 
lebrated for  Bells  ;  of  Horns  there  are 
as  few  as  can  reasonably  be  expected 
among  so  many  married  people ;  Hun- 
ters are  very  numerous  ;  and  though 
we  have  no  English  Foxes,  yet  the 
ancient  capital  of  Scotland  affords  co- 
vers for  a  good  many  Tods,  who,  more- 
over, may  even  be  seen  walking  in  the 
streets  at  noon-day  without  molesta- 
tion. Bulls  there  are  none ;  though 
Bullocks  are  occasionally  met  with, 
and  plenty  of  Hogs.  Of  Guns  there 
are  a  few  ;  but  the  most  timorous  need 
not  be  afraid  of  them  ;  as,  to  instance 
no  more,  one  feeds  cows  in  Thistle 
Street,  in  place  of  exploding  powder  ; 
and  another,  having  bid  adieu  to  his 
murderous  profession,  fits  the  lieges 
of  the  Canongate  with  the  necessary 
articles  of  clothing. 

Though  the  Moon  daily  meets  the 
eye  of  the  passenger  in  the  great  tho- 
roughfare of  Hanover  Street,  shining 
over  the  door  of  a  china-merchant, 
yet  it  has  not  been  observed  by  our 
medical  people,  that  the  residents  in 
that  street,  either  south  or  north,  are 
less  sane  than  in  other  streets,  where 
it  may  be  supposed  the  influence  of 
that  luminary  does  not  reach.  And 
though  another  Moon  lights  the  shop 
of  a  grocer  in  Nelson  Street,  it  has  not 
been  stated  on  any  good  authority, 


£June, 


that  the  inhabitants  of  that  quarter  of 
the  city  indulge  more  in  reveries  than 
those  of  other  districts.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  Astronomical  Institution 
will  probably  be  able -to  give  a  very 
good  reason  for  two  Moons  appearing 
in  the  same  hemisphere  at  the  same 
time. 

It  sounds  something  like  a  truism 
to  say,  that  there  are  many  Scotts  in 
Edinburgh ;  and  it  would  savour  of 
national  vanity  to  boast  much  either 
of  the  former  or  present  achievements 
of  Scotsmen ;  yet  I  hope  I  shall  be 
pardoned  for  remarking,  that  the  ca- 
pital of  Scotland  now  possesses  one 
Scott,  with  whom  none  of  the  knights 
of  England  are  able  to  break  a  lance, 
or  all  of  them  put  together  to  equal  in 
the  open  field. 

I  conclude  this  chapter  with  men- 
tioning for  the  information  of  my  ju- 
nior readers,  that  if  they  feel  any  pre- 
dilection for  the  tender  passion,  they 
may  have  their  stomachs  filled  at  Love  s 
tavern  on  the  South  Bridge  ;  and  if 
it  be  convenient  for  them  to  know 
more,  I  will  not  withhold  the  neces- 
sary and  consequent  notice,  that  an- 
other Love  deals  in  little  Graces  and 
Cupids,  under  the  appropriate  deno- 
mination of  midwife,  in  Carrubber's 
Close. 


CHAPTER  III. 


O  may  I, 


When  life'«  last  prayer  trembles  on  my  lips, 

Sink  to  repose  in  calm  unruffled  peace, 

Like  the  mild  glory  of  the  setting  sun ; 

And  when  the  great  change  comes,  may  I  awake 

Bright  as  the  orb  of  day,  when  from  the  east 

He  rises  in  his  strength. 

Christian  Hope,  a  Poem. 


The  next  object  which  attracted  my 
attention,  was  the  state  of  the  Edin- 
burgh churchyards.  After  hearing  a 
very  worthy  gentleman  read  half  an 
hour  from  a  paper  one  Sunday  forenoon, 
(I  make  a  point  of  attending  church 
regularly,) — how  good  we  all  ought  to 
be  here,  if  we  wish  to  be  happy  here- 
after— in  the  interval  of  the  service,  I 
took  a  walk  through  the  burying- 
ground  which  surrounds  the  churches 
of  the  Grey  Friars.  From  the  monu- 
mental stones  which  rose  up  in  a  thou- 
sand fantastic  shapes  on  every  side,  it 
was  my  intention  to  have  made  a  se- 
lection of  inscriptions,  to  improve  my 
own  taste  in  epitaph-making,  and  per- 


haps that  of  the  public ;  but  unfortu- 
nately my  pocket-book  and  pencil  had 
been  left  at  home  in  my  travelling- 
jacket,  and  I  had  no  other  resource,  in 
these  circumstances,  but  to  put  my 
hands  in  my  breeches-pockets,  and 
saunter  along  in  deep  and  serious 

MEDITATION  AMONG  THE  TOMBS. 

There  is  nothing  more  solemn  than 
a  walk  in  a  church-yard,  and  did  the 
good  people  of  Edinburgh,  who  ma- 
nage the  public  affairs  of  their  fellow- 
citizens,  think  it  expedient,  medita- 
tions among  the  tombs  might  not  be 
unpleasing.  But  as  things  are  at  pre- 
sent arranged,  no  one  who  has  not 


1821.3 


Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbus  Secundus. 


learnt  to  look  upon  the  most  disgust- 
ing and  repulsive  objects  in  nature 
with  indifference,  will,  as  a  matter  of 
choice,  visit  any  of  the  Edinburgh 
repositories  of  the  dead.  A  late  tra- 
veller, Mr  Williams,  from  an  inspec- 
tion of  the  cemeteries  of  other  coun- 
tries, has  suggested  the  propriety  of 
some  improvements  in  our  own  ;  and 
I  am  happy  to  observe,  that  several 
individuals,  who  think  shrubs  and 
flowers  are  fully  as  ornamental  as  rank 
grass,  nettles,  and  hemlock,  have  dress- 
ed up  the  little  spots  intended  for  their 
last  repose  in  a  very  becoming  man- 
ner. I  would  therefore  suggest,  for 
the  consideration  of  those  who  have 
the  power  of  carrying  improvements 
into  execution,  that  all  the  church- 
yards should  be  carefully  levelled,  and 
divided  by  walks  into  long  dormitories 
of  six  or  eight  feet  in  breadth,  edged 
with  box  or  other  ornamental  border ; 
and  that  the  friends  of  the  deceased 
should,  for  so  many  years,  have  the  li- 
berty of  planting  such  shrubs  or  flow- 
ers over  the  little  spots  where  their 
friends  were  interred,  as  they  should 
judge  proper. 

Were  this  plan  to  be  carried  into  ex- 
ecution, instead  of  hillocks  formed  of 
human  bones  and  fragments  of  coffins, 
our  cemeteries  would  present  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  large  garden,  in  which 
the  contemplative  might  walk  and  pe- 
ruse the  lettered  monuments  with  some 
degree  of  comfort.  A  laurel  bush  might 
then  mark  to  the  eye  of  the  passenger 
the  last  resting-place  of  a  celebrated 
character ;  a  none-so-pretty  might  be- 
token that  the  inhabitant  below  was 
not  deficient  in  personal  charms ;  a 
noli  me  tangere,  indicate  that  the  little 
spot  was  sacred  to  a  maiden  lady ;  and 
a  lily  or  narcissus  tell,  more  eloquent- 
ly than  a  thousand  words,  that  inno- 
cence and  virtue  reposed  there  in  peace. 
Forget  me  not  might  mark  the  graves 
of  the  most  intimate  and  dear  friends 
—the  primrose  or  the  snow-drop,  the 
earthy  cradles  of  infancy  and  childhood 
— while  a  red  and  white  roue  might 
pleasingly  recal  to  the  memory  of  chil- 
dren, the  virtues,  or  the  tender  ties 
which  had  united  the  hearts  and  the 
hands  of  their  parents. 

Farther ;  might  not  the  regal  corolla 
of  an  ins  point  out  the  last  bed  of  a 
noble  personage — a  cluster  of  tulips 
perpetuate  the  remembrance  of  the 
scarlet  and  ermine  of  official  characters 
— and  the  ivy  mark  to  the  mind  the 


333 

accommodating  manners  of  a  courtier  ? 
Might  not  a  cabbage  or  a  cauliflower 
raise  an  appropriate  vegetable  urn  over 
the  grave  of  an  alderman — a  bush  of 
holly,  or furze,  betoken  the  unapproach- 
able dormitory  of  a  lawyer — and  a 
plant  of  hellebore,  or  rhubarb,  point  out 
the  remains  of  a  professor  of  the  heal- 
ing art?  The  distinctions  of  nations 
might  even  be  perpetuated  after  death ; 
and  those  who  attached  value  to  such 
distinctions,  could  easily  be  gratified. 
The  shamrock  might  flourish  over  the 
grave  of  an  Irishman — the  thistle  rear 
its  head  over  the  remains  of  a  native  of 
Scotland — and  the  leek  raise  its  green 
pillar  over  the  sleeping-place  of  a 
Welshman.  The  dreams  of  the  poets 
would  thus  be  converted  into  reality  ; 
and  the  fabled  transformations  of  mor- 
tals into  flowers,  be  made  evident  to 
the  most  unlettered  imagination.  The 
roses  and  the  lilies  of  beauty,  prema- 
turely snatched  away,  would,  in  this 
manner,  bloom  afresh  in  the  lilies  and 
the  roses  which  decorated  the  graves  of 
the  fair  ;  and  the  reputation  of  virtues 
or  talents,  expand  in  perennial  luxu- 
riance over  the  silent  beds  of  those  who 
were  distinguished  for  wisdom  or  be- 
neficence. 

I  am  aware  that  the  space  necessary 
for  the  comfortable  accommodation  of 
the  dead  would  require  the  providing 
of  additional  ground ;  but  as  this  is  al- 
ready imperiously  required  for  the 
present  population,  and  must  be  spee- 
dily procured  in  some  shape  or  other, 
this  objection  to  the  proposed  plan  is 
easily  got  over.  Besides,  I  see  no 
great  harm,  in  the  present  poverty  of 
the  city  funds,  in  making  the  over- 
crowded population  of  our  church- 
yards pay  the  necessary  expences  of 
the  new  arrangement.  The  sale  of  the 
soil,  to  the  depth  of  seven  or  eight 
feet,  for  the  purposes  of  the  farmer, 
would,  at  the  same  time  that  it  remo- 
ved a  serious  and  alarming  nuisance, 
increase  the  agricultural  produce  of 
the  county  for  many  years  to  come ; 
and  the  indecency  or  the  violation  of 
feeling  which  such  a  measure  might 
be  thought  to  involve,  vanishes  at  once, 
when  it  is  considered  how  often  the  soil 
is  dug  over,  that  the  ashes  of  one  indi- 
vidual may  cover  the  body  of  another. 
To  the  patriotic  and  public  spirited, 
moreover,  such  violation  of  sepulchral 
repose  comes  recommended  by  many 
powerful  considerations.  The  spend- 
thrift and  the  miser  would  thus  be- 


Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbus  Secundus. 


334 

come  equally  useful,  in  increasing  the 
supply  of  bread-corn ;  and  many  a  one, 
who  in  his  life  never  did  one  charita- 
ble deed,  would  be  forced  to  contri- 
bute his  mite  to  the  raising  of  potatoes 
or  oats  for  the  poor.  Public  depreda- 
tors would  be  made  to  refund  some  of 
their  ill-acquired  gains ;  and  the  circle 
of  humanity  would  be  extended,  and 
the  duty  of  charity  practically  incul- 
cated, by  the  indiscriminate  combina- 
tion of  all  to  the  common  welfare. 

This  violation,  besides,  can  make 
but  little  difference  to  those  good  peo- 
ple in  Edinburgh,  who  have  been  ac- 
customed to  eat  the  mutton  fattened 
on  the  graves  of  their  fathers,  or  to  be 
served  with  the  milk  of  cattle,  for 
whom,  with  greater  decency,  the  grass 
of  the  church-yards  is  periodically  cut. 
A  spike  of  corn  is  certainly  a  more  de- 
licate medium  for  the  transformation 
of  animal  matter  than  the  stomach  of 
a  sheep ;  and  it  strikes  me  as  less  re- 
volting, to  reap  the  virtues  of  our  an- 
cestors in  a  field  of  corn,  than  to 
swallow  them  in  the  shape  of  fat  mut- 
ton. The  opposition  of  the  clergy  to 
the  measure,  which  the  loss  of  the 
pasturage  would  be  sure  to  induce, 
might  be  compromised  by  an  annual 
payment  in  money ;  or  the  reverend 
gentlemen  might  be  allowed  to  expose 


to  sale  the  superabundant  flowers 
which  decked  the  graves  of  their  pa- 
rishioners. 

Finally,  if  a  majority  of  my  fellow 
citizens  approve  of  the  plan  for  ma- 
king our  churchyards  a  more  becom- 
ing place  for  their  last  repose,  they 
can  very  easily  bring  about  its  execu- 
tion. They  have  only  to  meet,  and 
unanimously  resolve,  neither  to  die 
nor  to  be  buried,  till  a  place  be  pre- 
pared for  their  reception,  which  may 
indicate,  by  its  more  decent  appear- 
ance, and  modest  ornament,  that  the 
grave  is  not  the  final,  but  only  the 
temporary  abode  of  human  beings. 
The  want  of  the  necessary  profits, 
made  by  the  kirk-sessions,  and  the 
undertakers,  on  the  rites  of  sepulture, 
would  soon  bring  these  commercial 
bodies  to  reason.  And,  even  though 
a  sufficient  number  of  citizens  should 
not  be  found,  who  were  inclined  to 
live  longer  on  this  account,  the  mana- 
gers of  some  of  the  dissenting  chapels 
need  only  to  purchase  apiece  of  ground, 
and  lay  it  out  in  the  manner  proposed, 
to  break  the  monopoly — secure  to 
themselves  a  sure  and  increasing  fund, 
for  the  purposes  of  charity, — and,  by 
lessening  the  absurd  expence,  make  it 
not  so  serious  a  matter  for  a  poor  man 
to  die. 


SICILY. 


Edinburgh,  June  6,  1821. 
MR  EDITOU, 

AMID  the  various  accounts  which 
have  been  given  to  the  world,  on  the 
late  events  at  Naples,  I  do  not  remem- 
ber to  have  seen,  not  to  say  a  narra- 
tive, far  less  even  an  anecdote,  of  those 
which  occurred  last  summer  in  Sicily, 
and  which  had  their  immediate  origin 
in  the  political  changes  at  the  seat  of 
government.  During  that  period  I  re- 
sided in  the  south  of  Italy,  and  must 
naturally  have  had  many  opportunities 
of  hearing  occurrences,  which  my  coun- 
trymen at  home  could  not  be  supposed 
to  have  the  means  of  being  acquainted 
with.  From  one  gentleman  who  was 
at  Palermo  during  the  horrors  of  the 
revolution,  I  had  many  interesting  de- 
tails of  that  event ;  and  if  you  deem 
the  following  account,  which  is  strict- 
ly conformable  to  his  narrative,  at  all 
worthy  a  corner  in  your  valuable  Ma- 
gazine, it  is  at  your  service.  I  merely 


omit  names — delicacy  to  those  persons 
I  was  acquainted  with,  will  sufficiently 
plead  my  apology. 

The  accounts  of  the  revolution  at 
Naples — the  desertion  of  the  troops 
into  Calabria — the  demand  for  a  con- 
stitution— the  proclamation  of  one — 
and  the  King's  ratification,  reached  the 
capital  of  Sicily  at  a  time  when  every 
body's  attention  was  taken  up  with 
the  festivities  attendant  on  the  cele- 
bration of  their  national  saint's  festi- 
val (St  Rosalia).  The  great  changes 
on  the  Continent  appeared  in  no  way 
whatever  to  diminish  the  general  joy, 
or  restrain  the  populace  from  paying 
due  respect  on  the  succeeding  Sunday, 
which  was  to  be  the  day  when  the 
statue  of  their  protectress  would  be 
borne  through  the  streets  with  wont- 
ed pomp.  Foreigners  of  all  classes, 
but  more  especially  Englishmen,  were 
astonished  at  this  apparent  apathy,  and 
ridiculed,  with  seemingly  just  severi- 


1821/3 


Sicily. 


335 


ty,  the  miserable  listlessness  of  this 
enervated  people.  They  were,  how- 
ever, deceived.  This  apparent  calm 
was  but  the  prelude  to  an  unexpected 
storm  ;  and  that  storm  burst  forth  on 
the  very  day  dedicate  d  to  the  most  im- 
posing spectacles  of  religion. 

My  friend,  his  wife,  and  daughter, 
had  been  invited  by  a  gentleman  of 
their  acquaintance  to  his  house,  in  the 
morning  of  Sunday,  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  a  better  view  of  the  proces- 
sion in  honour  of  the  saint,  than  they 
could  do  elsewhere.  They  had  sat  a 
considerable  time,  indeed  nearly  to  the 
end  of  it,  when  their  host,  from  cer- 
tain indications  in  the  mob,  and  his 
local  knowledge  of  the  people,  added 
to  some  rumours  whispered  about  at 
the  beginning  of  the  parade,  of  an  un- 
expected tumult,  pulled  my  friend  by 
the  arm,  and  begged  him,  for  any 
sake,  to  retreat  to  his  hotel,  and  pro- 
vide for  the  security  of  the  ladies.  For 
some  time  his  anxiety  to  behold  the 
continuance  of  the  pageant,  made  him 
slight  his  friend's  entreaties,  till  this 
often-xirged  solicitude,  confirmed  par- 
tially by  hisown  observations,  hastened 
him  from  the  room.  They  had  but  lit- 
tle way  to  go,  and  although  encountered 
by  suspicious-looking  ruffians  in  their 
road,  entered  their  hotel,  which  was 
in  the  Great  Square,  in  safety.  Scarce- 
ly had  they  effected  this,  when  a  shout 
from  the  populace,  and  a  discharge  of 
fire-arms,  told  that  the  religious  cere- 
monies were  over.  It  was  the  signal 
for  their  cessation,  and  the  commence- 
ment of  the  rioting.  A  wild  cry  di- 
rected my  friend's  regards  to  the 
Square,  where  he  observed  a  parcel  of 
soldiers  flying  before  the  multitude. 
They  made  several  attempts  to  stand, 
and  were  joined  by  others,  but  always 
beaten  off.  The  first  attack  by  the 
rioters  was  on  the  jail.  This  they 
succeeded  in  breaking  open,  and  libe- 
rating all  the  felons.  These  wretches, 
covered  with  their  red  and  yellow  rags, 
cut  a  sorry  figure,  and  hastened  either 
to  hide  themselves  among  the  mob, 
who  had  now  increased  to  immense 
numbers,  or  to  disencumber  them- 
selves of  their  insignia  in  the  gar- 
ments of  those  who  lay  dead  about 
them,  from  the  fire  of  the  soldiery. 
One  monk,  in  the  garb  of  his  order, 
came  forth  with  this  respectable  crew, 
bearing  his  mattras  very  coolly  on  his 
shoulders.  Though  bsaten  back,  the  mi- 
litary still  continued  their  fire,  which 


their  adversaries  returned ;  and  my 
friend  observed,  that  every  time  One 
of  the  latter  fell,  he  was,  if  wounded, 
borne  to  the  rear — if  killed,  had  part 
of  the  regimentals  of  the  next  dead 
soldier  thrown  over  him,  in  order  to 
encourage  the  idea,  that  the  latter 
were  suffering  the  most  from  the  con- 
flict. In  fact,  they  were  finally  obli- 
ged to  fly.  Every  check  to  their  de- 
sires now  removed,  the  mob  proceeded 
to  the  main  object  of  their  mission. 
This  was  to  pillage  the  hotel  of  Gene- 
ral Church,  immediately  opposite  my 
friend's,  like  so  many  locusts,  entering 
at  all  quarters,  rifling,  plundering, 
burning,  and  not  hesitating  to  ex- 
claim, "  If  they  found  the  General, 
they  would  kill  him !"  Luckily  for 
him,  he  effected  his  escape ;  but  a 
number  of  gentlemen,  who  were  chief- 
ly foreigners,  lost  their  all  by  the 
dreadful  rapacity  of  the  mob.  They 
threw  furniture,  clothes,  money,  every 
thing  out  of  the  windows ;  dashed  the 
superb  mirrors  and  glasses  to  pieces ; 
with  the  most  infatuated  cruelty,  strip- 
ped many  of  the  persons  they  found  in 
the  house  of  the  essential  articles  of 
common  clothing,  scarcely  being  pre- 
vailed upon  to  spare  them  their  lives. 
Having  consummated  their  triumph, 
they  attacked  the  buildings  where  all 
the  public  archives  and  valuable  docu- 
ments of  state  were  preserved.  These 
they  collected  into  the  middle  of  the 
square,  and  forming  them  into  a  huge 
pyramid,  set  the  whole  mass  on  fire. 
All  this  while  the  alarm  of  the  numer- 
ous inhabitants  of  the  square  may  be 
easily  conceived.  The  uncertainty  of 
the  views  of  the  rioters,  and  the  little 
hope  of  the  military  being  able  to  re- 
store tranquillity,  added  to  their  em- 
barrassment. They  dared  not  stir  out 
for  fear  of  being  murdered,  and  to 
remain  within  seemed  equally  bad. 
As  the  most  probable  way  of  turning 
the  enraged  multitude,  (from  whom 
they  every  moment  dreaded  an  attack,) 
my  friend  and  the  other  Englishman 
in  his  hotel  collected  all  their  trunks 
and  valuables,  and  having  emptied 
their  contents  on  the  floor,  indulged  the 
hope  that  the  semblance  of  submission 
might  be  of  avail.  The  ladies  in  the 
house  then  removed  to  an  inner  apart- 
ment, as  remote  as  possible  from  dan- 
ger, and  the  sight  of  what  was  going 
on.  Their  policy  was  not  tried :  with 
the  expiring  flames  of  the  consuming 
archives  the  mob  retired.  The  sue- 


336  Sicily. 

ceeding  night  was  dreadful :  no  sleep ; 
but  no  attack.  Monday  passed  tran- 
quilly :  the  mob  went  about,  but  com- 
mitted no  excesses;  several  of  the  lead- 
ing authorities  of  the  town  thinking 
the  whole  but  the  effect  of  a  popular 
feeling  against  General  Church,  were 
in  hopes  that  peace  and  order  would 
be  again  restored. 

My  friend,  however,  determined 
to  leave  a  city  which  was  in  such 
an  unsettled  condition.  Two  days 
before  the  tumults,  he  had  intended 
to  sail  by  the  Neapolitan  packet  to 
Naples,  and  had,  fortunately,  at  that 
time  procured  his  passport  and  passage. 
A  young  Englishman,  who  was  to  have 
been  his  companion,  but  who  forbore, 
from  negligence  or  some  other  cause, 
to  take  out  his,  bitterly  repented  his 
folly,  and  wished  to  bribe  somebody 
to  make  an  attempt  to  get  him  one 
now;  but  no  one  could  be  found  to 
undertake  the  office.  With  the  hopes, 
therefore,  of  getting  on  board  the  pack- 
et, he  sallied  out  to  the  water-side ;  but, 
to  his  inexpressible  disappointment, 
not  a  boat  could  be  got  hold  of,  and 
the  packet  had  put  out  to  sea,  to  be 
without  the  reach  of  the  batteries.  He 
returned  to  his  hotel — his  only  hope 
of  relief,  in  succeeding  tranquillity.  In 
the  meanwhile,  the  great  body  of  the 
troops  had  shut  themselves  within  the 
barracks,  and  closed  the  gates,  having 
as  yet  taken  no  part  against  the  people; 
but,  to  the  terror  of  every  one,  on 
Tuesday  morning  they  made  a  sally, 
and  commenced  an  attack  on  them. 
The  people  had  evidently  been  aware 
of  their  intention,  for,  instead  of  flying, 
they  resisted,  and  a  regular  action  com- 
menced. It  raged  long  and  bloody;  but 
by  degrees  waxing  fainter  in  the  im- 
mediate neighbourhood  of  my  friend's 
residence,  he  deemed  it  his  duty,  at  all 
perils,  to  make  another  attempt  to  get 
his  wife  and  daughter  on  board  the 
packet.  He  sent  his  servant  to  one 
quarter,  while  he  went  in  another  di- 
rection. His  own  attempt  was  unsuc- 
cessful ;  but  his  servant  had  the  luck 
to  espy  an  English  gentleman  just 
leaving  the  beach,  in  his  boat,  for  the 
same  purpose.  He  told  his  tale ;  and 


£June, 

on  mentioning  that  ladies  were  in  dis- 
tress, the  gallant  man  rowed  back,  and 
bade  him  tell  his  master  he  was  at  his 
service.  To  get  the  ladies  secretly  and 
securely  to  the  boat  was  now  the  point: 
it  was  no  time  for  compliments.  This 
they  happily  effected  by  keeping  close 
to  the  walls  of  the  houses,  under  shelter 
of  the  broad  extending  roofs ;  though 
they  ran  imminent  danger  twice  or 
thrice,  from  the  crossing  shots  of  the 
skirmishers,  pursuing  each  other  from 
street  to  street.  Their  brave  pilot,  Mr 

D ,  was  very  near  losing  his  life 

for  his  humanity ;  for,  having  pulled 
his  boat  ashore  to  await  their  coming, 
a  flying  troop  of  vagabonds  rushed 
down  upon  him,  and  mistaking  him 
for  an  Italian,  from  his  dark  com- 
plexion, held  their  daggers  to  his 
throat.  His  presence  of  mind  saved 
him.  He  saw  their  mistake,  and  as  a 
last  resource,  pronounced  the  word 
"  Inglese."  It  was  enough  ;  the  crowd 
re-echoed  it  with  "  Vivas,"  and  passed 
on  their  way.  My  friend  and  his  party 
got  on  board :  they  pushed  off,  and 
thought  themselves  secure  from  dan- 
ger ;  but  they  perceived,  with  dread, 
the  ramparts  in  the  possession  of  the 
populace,  and  men  standing  at  the 
guns  with  matches  in  their  hands. 
Whether  they  omitted  firing  on  them 
for  humanity's  sake,  or  whether  they 
were  not  observed,  is  uncertain :  they 
reached  the  Neapolitan  frigate  in  safe- 
ty. They  found  her  decks  crowded 
with  refugees  of  every  description : — 
Princes,  lawyers,  divines, — in  short, 
every  one  who,  dreading  the  popular 
resentment,  had  been  fortunate  enough 
to  escape  to  this  vessel.  Among  others, 
I  believe,  was  the  commander-in-chief. 

The   Duchess  of  ,   who  would 

scarcely  have  condescended  a  few  weeks 

before  to  have  cast  eyes  on  Mrs  B , 

was  now  most  humbly  thankful  for  the 
loan  of  a  few  of  the  meanest  articles  of 
dress.  The  heat  was  very  great,  and 
their  decks  extremely  crowded ;  but 
every  body  suffered  with  a  good  grace, 
thankful  to  Providence  they  had  esca- 
ped the  horrors  of  a  revolutionary  ban- 
ditti. 

VIATOR. 


The  Coronation. 


337 


THE  CORONATION. 


NOTHING  could  have  occurred  more 
in  the  shape  of  good  fortune,  for  that 
vast  crowd  of  the  well-dressed  and 
well-bred,  whose  life  and  breath  is  in 
talking  and  Bond-Street,  than  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  coronation.  All 
the  usual  topics  had  failed,  or  were  on 
the  point  of  failing.  The  impeach- 
ment of  John  Bull  before  the  Com- 
mons hud  served  its  day,  and  the  glory 
of  Mr  Kcnnett.  But  the  subject,  plea- 
sant as  it  was  to  the  gossipry  of  the 
West  End,  and  perplexing  as  it  might 
be  to  the  honourable  individual  in 
question,  notwithstanding  the  fresh 
laurels  which  it  had  twined  round  his 
impartial  brow,  was  no  longer  talka- 
ble.  Mr  Hume's  speeches,  too,  had 
run  their  course,  and,  amusing  as  it 
was,  to  see  Lord  Palmerston  forced 
out  of  his  taciturnity,  and  tortured 
into  perpetual  reply,  even  this  pastime 
had  perished.  The  crowning  of  the 
King  has  come  to  interpose  between 
those  conversationists  and  annihilation, 
and  every  mouth  is  now  tilled  with 
inquiry,  and  every  brain  on  the  stretch 
to  compass  a  ticket  for  Westminster- 
Hall  or  the  Abbey. 

There  are  those,  however,  who, 
without  necessity  or  appetite  for  news, 
are  glad  that  this  great  ceremony  is 
about  to  take  place,  and  who  look  up- 
on it  as  among  the  evidences  that  quiet 
times  have  come,  and  the  assurances 
that  such  will  continue ;  they  feel 
that  though  the  placing  of  the  diadem 
on  the  monarch's  head,  is  not  essen- 
tial to  his  sovereignty,  it  is  valuable 
to  the  national  respect  for  the  throne ; 
and,  without  any  of  the  factitious  de- 
light of  courtiers,  they  rejoice,  for  the 
sake  of  general  tranquillity,  that  the 
good  times  have  come  again,  when  the 
men  of  England,  freed  from  hostility 
abroad,  and  disturbance  at  home,  may 
celebrate  the  ancient  ceremonies  of 
their  glorious  and  flourishing  land, 
and  cry  from  their  hearts,  "  GOD  SAVE 
THE  KING." 

It  is  said,  that  at  present  there 
is  no  crowned  king  in  Europe.  I 
have  not  leisure  to  look  into  the  ac- 
curacy of  this  statement,  but  I  can  re- 
collect no  regular  coronation  since  the 
beginning  of  the  century ;  and  this  is 
of  itself  one  of  the  striking  proofs  of 
the  boundless  confusion  and  distress 
of  the  times  through  which  Europe 
has  struggled.  Napoleon's  coronation 
VOL.  IX. 


was  merely  the  pageant  of  a  military 
triumph,  and  an  infraction  of  the  Eu- 
ropean law  of  states  ;  it  was  the  pro- 
claiming of  a  rebel  Imperalor,  by  a 
revolted  army.  But  the  universal 
eclipse  has  passed  oft',  and  men  may 
nowpursue  their  old  occupations,  with- 
out being  perplexed  by  darkness,  and 
worse  perplexed  by  those  blinding  and 
fierce  lights  of  fanaticism  and  passion 
which  Regicide  and  Ambition  waved 
over  every  land  but  our  own. 

The  coronation  is  now  fixed  for  the 
19th  of  July,  and  extensive  prepara- 
tions are  being  urged  in  every  depart- 
ment connected  with  the  ceremony. 
Westminster  Hall  will  form  an  exhi- 
bition   of   singular    and    picturesque 
splendour.  It  is  the  intention  to  make 
a  complete  representation,  of  the  ut- 
most magnificence,   of  the  Halls  of 
Chivalry — a  realization   of  the   beau 
ideal  of  Gothic  grandeur.  Imagination 
is  of  course  not  easily  satisfied ;  but 
all  that  can  be  done  by  a  profusion  of 
pompous  decoration,  guided  by  consi- 
derable taste  and  knowledge,  will  un- 
doubtedly be  done.     The  day  will  be 
one  of  no  slight  toil  to  all  the  parties, 
for  they  will  probably  be   occupied 
from  daylight  till  midnight.    But  the 
King  will  have  the  heaviest  share  of 
the  fatigue;  for,  as  the  principal,  he 
will  have  no  relaxation  of  ceremony. 
He  is,  however,  in  excellent  health. 

It  is  understood  that  this  stately  dis- 
play will  bein  close  conformity  to  the  co- 
ronation of  his  late  Majesty,  which  was 
arranged  on  the  precedent  of  that  of 
JamesII.  We  may  thus  conceive  the  fu- 
ture from  the  past.  In  1761,  the  first 
symptoms  were  advertisements  in  the 
newspapers  forthe  hire  of  windows,  and 
seats  on  scaffolds,  in  view  of  the  pro- 
cession. There  is  generally  a  clause 
in  the  leases  of  the  houses  in  view,  en- 
titling the  landlord  to  their  use  at  the 
coronation.  In  1761,  some  of  these 
houses  cleared  from  L.700  to  L.1000. 
Ground  for  the  scaffolds  was  let,  in 
some  situations,  at  three  and  four  gui- 
neas a  foot.  A  list  of  the  prices  of 
former  times  has  been  published, 
which  may  lead  us  either  to  the  value 
of  their  money,  or  the  quantity  of 
their  curiosity.  At  Edward  I.'s  coro- 
nation, the  demand  for  a  seat  was  half- 
a-farthing.  At  Edward  I  I.'s  the  peo- 
ple had  doubled  either  their  wealth  or 
their  passion  for  royal  shows ;  for  the 
2T 


338 


The  Coronation. 


price  had  risen  to  an  entire  farthing. 
At  Edward  Ill's  it  was  a  halfpenny. 
At  Richard  II.'s  it  was  a  penny  ;  and 
the  Chronicler  seems  to  think  that  the 
show  was  not  worth  the  money.  At 
Henry  IV.'s  it  was  still  a  penny.  Hen- 
ry V.  was  popular,  and  the  people  paid 
down  to  the  extent  of  twopence,  in  tes- 
timony of  their  admiration.  Henry 
VI.  of  whom  Shakespeare  says,  "  that 
he  could  neither  fight  nor  fly,"  was  no 
favourite,  yet  old  English  liberality 
prevailed,  and  gave  twopence  to  see 
him  crowned.  But  coronations  became 
more  frequent  in  his  time  than  was 
good  for  the  setters  of  windows ;  the 
market  was  choaked,  and  the  prices 
dropped  from  their  original  loyal  ele- 
vation of  twopence  to  a  penny,  thence 
to  a  halfpenny,  and,  in  some  disas- 
trous instances,  the  "  glory  of  regali- 
ty" might  be  seen  for  nothing.  Better 
times  then  came  round,  and  Edward 
IV.  saw  the  price  of  a  seat  twopence 
once  more.  Here  it  seemed  to  have  gra- 
vitated, and  twopence  was  the  price 
at  the  coronations  of  Richard  III.  and 
Henry  VII.  But  those  were  days  of 
trouble,  and  the  wisdom  of  English- 
men was  better  occupied  in  preserving 
the  few  pence  left  to  them  by  the 
York  and  Lancaster  plunderings.  The 
country  grew  opulent  and  curious 
again,  and  allowed  fovrpence  for  a  view 
of  Henry  VIII.  *  coronation.  The 
same  amount  was  upheld  in  the  days 
of  Edward  VI.,  and  even  in  those  of 
bloody  Queen  Mary,  who  had,  how- 
ever, been  popular,  and  had  ascended 
her  throne  with  an  oath  to  preserve 
protestantism.  The  nation  exulted  in 
Elizabeth's  appearance,  and,  in  their 
joy,  disbursed  a  sixpence.  The  pro- 
gress of  liberality  and  loyalty  were 
thenceforth  rapid ;  for  James  I.  and 
Charles  1.  each  brought  a  shilling. 
Charles  II.  found  the  nation  in  a  pa- 
roxysm of  absurd  joy,  and  was  beheld 
at  the  expence  of  half-a-crown,  the 
most  rapid  advance  on  record,  and  to 
be  altogether  attributed  to  the  rapture 
of  gettipg  rid  of  the  Roundheads. 
James  II.  obtained  the  same  price ; 
for  it  is  observable,  that,  but  in  the 
single  instance  of  Henry  VI.'s  tumul- 
tuous and  overwhelmed  time,  the 
prices  once  raised  on  popular  folly 
have  never  fallen.  William  and  Queen 
Anne  saw  the  advance  hnlj'-a-crown 
more,  and  they  were  worth  it.  The 
House  of  Brunswick  came  among  us 
when  we  were  a  divided  nation,  and 
it  was  thought  too  formidable  an  expe- 


riment by  the  scaffold-makers  to  raise 
their  prices,  while  the  Jacobites  were  so 
fully  determined  not  to  see  ;  the  seats 
thus  continued  at  a  crown.  Jacohitism 
was  gradually  giving  way  during  the 
reign  of  George  I.,  under  a  process  of 
exile,  starving  among  the  Highlands, 
or  chains  in  the  English  castles  ;  and 
at  George  II.'s  coronation,  loyalty 
spoke  out,  and  bid  up  to  hnlf-a-guinea. 
The  coronation  of  the  late  king  found 
England  without  a  disturber  at  home, 
and  with  nothing  but  triumphs  abroad; 
the  prices  accordingly  sprung  up  to 
an  extravagance  unparalleled.  The 
front- seats  in  the  galleries  in  West- 
minster Abbey  were  let  at  ten  guineas 
and  upwards  each.  Seats  in  the  street 
were  from  one  guinea  to  ten  ;  and 
every  tile,  from  which  a  glimpse  of 
the  procession  could  be  had,  was  a 
place  of  eager  canvassingand  exorbi- 
tant demand. 

Whether  the  custom  of  seeing  the 
military  shows,  which  occurred  among 
us  while  we  were  a  nation  of  soldiers, 
may  not  have  deadened  the  general 
curiosity,  is  only  to  be  decided  by  the 
event ;  but  large  speculations  are  ra- 
pidly being  entered  into  in  this  traffic 
of  seats  ;  and  if  the  weather  is  tolera- 
ble, the  conflux  of  the  multitude  will 
probably  exceed  all  that  has  ever  crowd- 
ed and  crushed  in  England.  The  pe- 
riod of  the  year  is  favourable.  The 
last  coronation  was  on  the  22d  of  Sep- 
tember ;  and  in  consequence,  the  re- 
turn of  the  procession  from  the  Abbey 
was  nearly  in  the  dark,  and  the  luck- 
less persons  who  had  remained  in 
Westminster  Hall,  had  been  for  an 
hour  before  in  absolute  night,  from  the 
dimness  of  the  building.  It  is  expect- 
ed that  the  entire  ceremony  will  now 
be  concluded  in  daylight.  But  it  must 
be  hoped,  that  this  will  not  preclude 
the  illumination  of  Westminster  Hall ; 
for  nothing  can  bring  out  its  magni- 
ficence but  artificial  light.  It  would 
look  comparatively  meagre  even  in  full 
sunshine. 

By  an  order  in  Council  of  the  17th  of 
September,  1761,  the  Peers  and  Peer- 
esses, were  summoned  to  attend  at 
Westminster  in  their  robes,  by  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  a  vast  quan- 
tity of  further  regulation  was  detailed 
for  the  different  public  bodies.  But 
there  was  cue  body  which  defied  the 
fulminaticn  of  the  order  in  Council. 
The  hackney  chairmen  and  coachmen 
had  framed  a  /«rj//"for  their  services 
during  the  day,  which  the  Lords  of 


The  Coronation. 


339 


the  Privy  Council  thought  exorbitant. 
A  mandate  was  accordingly  issued, 
enjoining  their  attendance  on  the  pub- 
lic by  four  in  the  morning,  without 
any  rise  in  their  fares,  under  threat 
of  exemplary  punishment.  The  cul- 
prits were  stubborn,  and  hostility 
would  have  shewn  itself  in  some  for- 
midable shape,  but  for  the  interference 
of  a  patriotic  chair-master,  who  did 
what  the  Lords  could  not  do,  and 
quieted  the  repugnants  by  advising 
them  to  trust  to  the  public  generosity. 
This  they  did,  and  made  large  sums, 
frequently  receiving  a  guinea  for  a 
shilling  tare.  To  obviate  riot,  some 
regiments  of  horse  paraded  the  town, 
and  as  a  final  provision  the  nearest 
hospitals  were  prepared  for  the  recep- 
tion of  those  who  might  suffer  by  ac- 
cidents in  the  crowd.  The  arrange- 
ments appear  to  have  been  altogether 
made,  with  much  good  sense  and  hu- 
manity. If  they  had  been  adopted  at 
the  marriage  of  the  late  King  of  France, 
the  horrible  catastrophe  of  that  day 
would  have  been  escaped.  On  the  22d 
of  September,  at  nine,  the  King  and 
Queen  came  in  their  chairs,  through 
the  park  to  Westminster  Hall.  The 
Peers  and  Peeresses  had  been  by  that 
hour  ranged  in  order.  The  King  and 
Queen  entered  the  Hall,  and  took 
their  seats  at  eleven.  The  forms  of 
bringing  forward  the  Regalia  to  the 
front  of  the  throne  followed ;  and  the 
grand  procession  to  the  Abbey  was  ar- 
ranged, the  thirty-two  barons  of  the 
Cinque  ports  bearing  the  canopies  over 
their  Majesties.  The  platform,  on 
which  this  splendid  train  marched, 
was  four  feet  from  the  ground,  and 
nearly  two  thousand  feet  long.  Every 
one  was  struck  with  astonishment 
when  the  great  entrance  of  the  Abbey 
shewed  them  the  magnificence  within, 
a  grand  vista  of  tapestried  walls,  and 
scaffolds  covered  with  scarlet,  and  gal- 
leries filled  to  the  roof  with  the  first 
families  of  the  land,  in  the  rich  dresses 
of  that  dav  of  silk  and  embroidery. 

After  the  placing  of  the  Peers  and 
Peeresses,  their  Majesties  entered  the 
Abbey  at  half  pastone,  the  Westminster 
choir  singing  Purcell's  Anthem,  from 
Psalm  cxxii,  verse  1,  &c.  "  I  was  glad 
when  they  said  unto  me,  Let  us  go 
in  to  the  House  of  the  Lord."  On  the 
King's  being  seated,  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  pronounced  the  "  Recog- 
nition," turning  to  the  assembly, 

"  Sirs,  I  here  present  to  you  King 
George  the  Third,  the  undoubted  king 
of  this  realm ;  wherefore,  all  you  who 


are  come  this  day  to  do  your  homage, 
are  you  willing  to  do  the  same  ?" 

This  was  answered  by  the  universal 
cry  of  "  God  save  the  King."  Divine  ser- 
vice followed — the  sermon  was  preach- 
ed by  Doctor  Drummond,  Bishop  of 
Salisbury,  and  soon  after  Archbishop  of 
York,  from  1  Kings,  x.  9.  "  Because 
the  Lord  loved  Israel  for  ever,  there- 
fore made  he  thee  king,  to  do  judg- 
ment and  justice."  At  half  past  three, 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  placed 
King  Edward's  crown  upon  the  King's 
head, — the  assembly  cried  out,  "  God 
save  the  King,"  and  the  Park  and 
Tower  guns  were  fired.  The  nobility 
then  put  on  their  coronets ;  and  their 
different  classes  did  homage  in  succes- 
sion, beginning  with  the  archbishop 
and  the  bishops.  The  Queen's  corona- 
tion was  then  commenced,  and  con- 
ducted in  a  similar  manner.  The  de- 
tail closed  with  the  throwing  of  gold 
and  silver  medals  among  the  specta- 
tors, within  and  without  the  Abbey. 
This  ceremony  occupied  six  hours, 
and  it  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  when 
the  procession  re-entered  Westminster 
Hall.  All  there  was  costliness  and 
state.  Earl  Talbot,  as  steward  of  the 
household,  rode  on  his  charger  up  the 
hall,  at  the  head  of  the  servitors,  with 
the  first  course ;  and  the  dexterity  of 
his  horsemanship  was  for  a  long  time 
the  subject  of  conversation.  The  Cham- 
pion Dymoke  rode  up  in  the  inter- 
val of  the  first  and  second  courses, 
and  challenged  all  disputers  of  the 
King's  title.  On  the  champion's  throw- 
ing down  the  gauntlet,  a  white  glove 
was  flung  from  one  of  the  galleries. 
The  incident  was  trivial,  but  it  was 
subsequently  rumoured  that  the  Young 
Pretender  had  been  in  London  at  the 
time,  and  even  present  at  the  corona- 
tion, in  a  female  dress.  On  the  cham- 
pion's return,  the  King's  titles  were 
proclaimed  in  Latin,  French,  and 
English.  Thus  closed  the  ceremony. 
About  ten  their  Majesties  had  retired, 
the  peers,  &c.  followed  soon  after,  and 
at  midnight  the  doors  were,  by  a  cus- 
tom much  more  "  honoured  in  the 
breach  than  the  observance,"  thrown 
open  to  the  multitude,  who  filled  the 
place  with  riot,  and  tore  away  every 
thing  that  came  within  their  reach. 
It  is  to  be  presumed,  that  a  more  con- 
siderate plan  will  be  adopted  on  the 
present  occasion  ;  and  that,  instead  of 
suffering  the  people  to  brutalize  them- 
selves, and  trample  on  each  other  in  a 
midnight  tumult,  the  doors  will  be 
closed,  and  the  Hall  and  the  Abbey 


340 

kept  in  the  order  of  the  coronation, 
for  the  indulgence  of  the  public  curi- 
osity for  a  month  to  come.  There  will 
be  a  more  genuine  and  general  grati- 
fication in  this  mode  of  admission, 


The  Coronation.  £June, 

than  in  suffering  the  licence  of  the 
giddy  and  drunken  rabble,  and  that, 
too,  at  an  hour  when  riot  might  be 
the  most  unmanageable  and  the  most 
extensive. 


THE   BRITISH    GALLERY. 


London,  June  12,  1821. 
MR  EDITOR, 

IN  a  former  number  of  your  Maga- 
zine, I  took  the  opportunity  of  send- 
ing you  a  few  remarks  upon  the  pro- 
ductions of  some  of  our  modern  Artists, 
then  exhibiting  at  the  above  National 
Institution,  which  has  subsequently 
re-opened  with  a  collection  of  admira- 
ble paintings,  from  the  pencils  of  ma- 
ny of  the  most  celebrated  of  the  old 
Masters,  the  consideration  of  which 
forms  the  principal  subject  of  my  pre- 
sent letter.  With  respect  to  the  pe- 
riod annually  chosen  by  the  directors 
of  the  Institution,  for  an  exhibition  of 
this  nature,  a  considerable  difference 
of  opinion  exists  among  the  public  and 
the  great  body  of  the  Art ;  many  per- 
sons imagining  that  it  is  somewhat 
invidious  towards  modern  artists  to 
open  a  Gallery,  containing  the  choicest 
specimens  of  ancient  art,  precisely  at 
the  period  when  the  exhibition  of  the 
Royal  Academy  is  open  to  the  public; 
while  others,  and  perhaps  with  more 
reason,  believe  that  the  selection  of 
the  present  period,  by  bringing  the 
works  of  the  ancient  and  modern  Ar- 
tists into  immediate  comparison,  may 
have  a  beneficial  effect  upon  the  latter, 
by  stimulating  them  to  make  those 
efforts  which  are  the  uniform  result  of 
a  competition  with  great  and  acknow- 
ledged excellence.  I  say  acknowledged, 
though  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  there 
are  some  professional  men,  it  is  to  be 
hoped  for  the  credit  of  the  art  that  the 
number  is  trifling,  who  from  motives 
upon  which  it  is  not  necessary  to  dwell, 
affect  to  deny  the  superiority  of  the 
old  Masters  over  the  moderns,  and 
who  even  go  so  far  as  to  speak  of  their 
productions  with  apparent  indifference 
and  contempt.  It  is  indeed  lament- 
able, that  any  individuals  can  be  so 
stupidly  blind,  or  so  maliciously  en- 
vious, as  to  maintain  such  doctrines, 
and  still  more  so,  that  they  should 
number  in  their  ranks,  not  only  men 
of  considerable  acquirements  in  the 
Art,  but  also  some  of  its  professors  at 
our  great  National  Establishment. 
With  such  persons  it  is  quite  useless 
to  argue.  If  they  speak  their  real  sen- 
timents, they  merit  pity  much  more 


than  anger  ;  if  otherwise,  they  are  still 
mere  entitled  to  compassion  ;  nor 
would  their  opinions  be  worth  noti- 
cing at  all,  if  it  were  not  for  the  in- 
calculable mischief  they  may  produce 
upon  the  rising  generation  of  artists, 
by  attempting  to  remove  from  their 
view  the  few  land-marks  that  remain, 
to  guide  the  youthful  student  through 
the  intricate  and  perilous  road  to  ex- 
cellence. The  ill  effects  of  such  doc- 
trines are  annually  becoming  more 
and  more  apparent,  in  the  numerous 
exhibitions  with  which  the  metropolis 
is  crowded  at  this  season  of  the  year, 
and  the  evil  will  continue  to  increase 
in  proportion  as  our  rising  painters 
depart,  in  practice,  from  the  examples 
of  the  highest  authorities  in  art.  All 
this  mischief  arises  from  the  pernicious 
habit,  too  prevalent  among  the  artists 
of  the  present  day,  of  servilely  imita- 
ting the  works  of  some  one  of  their 
successful  contemporaries,  instead  of 
applying  themselves  to  the  sources  and 
course  of  study  which  enabled  the  in- 
dividual object  of  their  admiration  to 
obtain  his  celebrity.  The  instance  of 
your  distinguished  countryman,  Mr 
Wilkie,  forms  a  complete  illustration 
of  the  truth  of  the  above  observations. 
His  style  is  founded  on  a  deep  study 
of  nature,  and  some  of  the  eminent 
Masters  of  the  Dutch  and  Flemish 
schools,  and  being  a  man  of  first  rate 
genius  in  his  peculiar  walk  of  the  pro- 
fession, and  of  great  industry,  complete 
success,  at  an  early  period  of  life,  na- 
turally crowned  his  efforts.  The  con- 
sequence is  that  he  has  an  host  of  in- 
different imitators,  who,  without  pos- 
sessing either  his  capacity,  or  perseve- 
rance, copy  the  peculiarities  of  his 
touch  and  manner,  instead  of  adopting 
theprinciples  of  his  study,  and  threaten 
to  overwhelm  us  with  an  inundation 
of  indifferent  pictures,  in  a  line  of  art 
which  derives  its  chief  value  from  its 
fidelity  to  nature,  and  the  mechanical 
graces  of  its  execution  :  So  far  indeed 
is  this  censurable  practice  carried,  that 
I  have  several  times  noticed  the  pecu- 
liar manner  of  Mr  Wilkie  introduced 
into  subjects  requiring  a  totally  oppo- 
site treatment. 

An  artist  desirous  of  obtaining  in- 


18210 


The  British  Gallery, 


struction,  especially  in  the  higher  de- 
partments of  painting,  should  join  to 
the  study  of  nature  and  the  antique,  a 
deep  acquaintance  with  the  works  of 
the  old  Masters  in  that  line  of  art 
which  he  finds  his  genius  and  inclina- 
tion impel  him  to  pursue.  This  has 
been  the  uniform  practice  of  every  art- 
ist who  has  risen  to  great  distinction 
in  this  country,  particularly  of  those 
whose  day  is  closed,  or  whose  suns  are 
setting  amidst  no  inglorious  beams; 
and  perhaps  it  would  be  difficult  to 
produce  brighter  examples  of  the  truth 
of  this  observation,  than  is  afforded  by 
two  historical  pictures  exhibited  this 
year  at  Somerset  House,  by  the  veter- 
an artist  Mr  Northcote.  Painted,  as 
they  have  been,  at  a  period  of  life 
when  the  creeping  "  hand  of  time" 
commonly  enfeebles  the  body,  and  ob- 
scures the  mental  faculties,  they  stand 
alone  in  the  Exhibition,  and  challenge, 
for  vigour  of  conception,  colour,  truth, 
expression,  and  boldness  even  of  exe- 
cution, the  most  daring  efforts  of  more 
youthful  competitors.  It  would  not 
be  difficult  to  adduce,  among  our  best 
living  artists,  other  instances  of  the 
advantages  accruing  from  a  study  of 
the  old  Masters ;  but  it  is  probably 
quite  unnecessary  to  dwell  at  any  great- 
er length  on  a  subject  upon  which  I 
should  have  supposed,  till  very  recent- 
ly, there  could  have  existed  no  differ- 
ence of  opinion  among  conscientious 
and  competent  judges.  Unquestion- 
ably there  is  a  vast  deal  of  trash,  bought 
and  sold  in  this  country,  under  the 
names  of  the  old  Masters,  for  which 
they  are  in  no  respect  responsible ;  but 
speaking  generally  of  the  works  exhi- 
bited at  the  British  Gallery,  very  few 
of  the  above  description  have  crept  in- 
to the  various  collections  hitherto  sub- 
mitted to  the  public.  Most  of  them 
have  consisted  of  well-known  genuine 
productions,  by  the  most  eminent  art- 
ists ;  and  it  therefore  does  appear  to 
require  no  small  portion  of  ignorance 
and  effrontery,  to  speak  of  works,  that 
have  in  different  ages  and  countries 
so  long  stood  the  test  of  time,  with 
disrespect  and  contempt,  or  to  main- 
tain, that  the  frequency  of  access  to 
them,  afforded  by  their  annual  exhi- 
bition, can  have  no  other  effect  than 
to  interfere  with  the  progress  and  en- 
couragement of  modern  art;  which, 
by  the  bye,  if  it  deserves  the  name,  is 
somewhat  a  novel  mode  of  reasoning ; 
for,  if  the  ancient  pictures  are  so  bad 
as  some  persons  affect  to  consider 


341 

them,  of  what  possible  detriment  can 
they  prove  to  the  encouragement  and 
reputation  of  the  modern  performances, 
which  are  said  so  far  to  surpass  them 
in  real  excellence  ?  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  their  merits  are  superior  to 
the  productions  of  the  present  day, 
how  can  it  be  injurious  to  the  practi- 
cal skill  of  our  rising,  or  even  esta- 
blished artists,  to  have  yearly  placed 
before  them  such  a  large  collection  of 
specimens  in  art,  in  every  respect  so 
worthy  of  their  study  and  imitation  ? 
If  blame  attaches  at  all  to  the  Institu- 
tion, it  probably  arises  from  its  afford- 
ing artists  a  too  difficult,  rather  than 
too  easy  an  access  to  its  exhibitions, 
by  not  allowing  gratuitous  admission 
to  all  the  students  and  members  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  or  at  any  rate,  to 
those  artists  who  have  contributed, 
and  are  contributing,  to  the  exhibi- 
tions of  modern  art  at  the  Gallery ; 
many  of  whom,  and  particularly  those 
who  are  merely  beginning  their  pro- 
fessional career,  may  be  in  circum- 
stances that  render  it  inconvenient  for 
them  to  visit  the  collection  so  fre- 
quently as  would  enable  them  to  reap 
all  the  advantages  they  might  desire, 
from  its  study,  were  the  present  re- 
strictions removed.  To  those  farther 
advanced  in  their  profession,  it  would 
probably  be  a  matter  of  comparative 
indifference;  still,  however,  it  might 
appear  more  liberal  in  the  directors, 
and  more  consonant  with  their  decla- 
red views,  if  the  privilege  were  ex- 
tended to  the  whole  class  of  artists 
we  have  above  mentioned.  In  short, 
Mr  Editor,  I  am  confident  that  the 
more  the  genuine  works  of  the  old  Mas- 
ters can  be  brought  into  the  notice  of 
painters,  and  the  public  at  large,  the 
better  chance  there  Avill  be  for  the 
production  of  good  original  pictures  in 
this  country  ;  and  Consequently,  from 
the  general  improvement  of  the  na- 
tional taste,  the  greater  will  be  the 
encouragement  afforded  to  the  efforts 
of  native  genius.  In  saying  this,  how- 
ever, I  would  not  be  understood  as 
recommending  the  mere  copying  of  the 
works  of  the  old,  or  any  other  Masters ; 
for  copying,  in  the  right  sense  of  the 
word,  can  be  of  little  service  to  any 
one,  except  the  student  anxious  to  ac- 
quire the  very  first  rudiments  of  his 
art ;  and  even  he  should  avoid,  as 
much  as  possible,  choosing  any  indi- 
vidual master  for  his  guide,  however 
great  his  excellence.  The  power  of 
copying  a  picture  well,  is  a  totally  dis- 


349 

tinct  thing   from   studying  it  well. 
The  former  is  probably  within  the 
reach  of  any  one  possessed  with  in- 
dustry, a  correct  eye,  and  an  obedient 
hand  ;     but    to  discover  the  subtle 
principles  upon  which  first-rate  pic- 
tures have  been  formed,  and  to  incor- 
porate them  with  the  result  of  our  own 
observations  and  reflections,  is  a  talent 
of  an  infinitely  higher  and  more  use- 
ful class,  and  is  commonly  attendant 
upon  first-rate  genius  alone.     One  of 
the  greatest  prerogatives  of  man,  and 
which  distinguishes  him  above  the  rest 
of  the  creation,  is  the  power  that  has 
been  bestowed  upon  him,  of  making 
use,  in  all  human  pursuits,  of  the  la- 
bours and  discoveries  of  preceding  ge- 
nerations.    It  is  chiefly  to  this  quality 
thatman  is  indebted  for  his  superiority 
over  the  rest  of  the  animal  creation ; 
and  let  not  the  young  painter  suppose, 
that  his  art  forms  an  exception  to  this 
grand  general  rule.     The  more  he  is 
able,  if  the  expression  be  allowable,  to 
look  out  of  himself,  the  greater  will  be 
his  progress ;  and,  however  paradoxi- 
cal it  may  at  first  sight  appear,  the 
more  original  will  his  productions  be- 
come.    It  is  to  this  mode  of  consider- 
ing the  great  monuments  of  art,  that 
have  been  achieved  by  preceding  mas- 
ters, that  I  would  anxiously  direct  the 
attention  of  our  rising  artists.     Let 
them  not  be  afraid  of  fettering  their 
genius  by  an  attention  to  the  rules 
drawn  from  the  highest  authorities  in 
their  art ;  for  "  Rules,"  as  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  well  observes,  and  he  was 
himself  a  good  instance  of  the  truth  of 
his  own  position,  "  are  fetters  to  men 
only  of  no  genius ;  as  that  armour, 
which  upon  the  strong  is  an  ornament 
and  a  defence,  upon  the    weak  and 
mis-shapen  becomes  a  load,  and  crip- 
ples the  body  which  it  was  made  to 
protect."     If  such  were  the  opinions 
of  this  eminent  man,    and  they  are 
opinions  which  he  has  uniformly  in- 
forced  throughout  the  whole  of  his 
invaluable  Lectures,  it  would  appear 
there  can  be  no  great  degree  of  dan- 
ger likely  to  arise  to  the  present  gene- 
ration of  artists,  from  a  judicious  study 
of  the  works  of  the  great   masters, 
which  are  annually  so  liberally  lent  to 
the  public  by   the   directors  of  the 
British  Gallery ;  and  it  is,  therefore, 
fondly  to  be  hoped  that  the  senseless 
clamour,  raised  by  a  few  interested 
individuals,  who  appear  to  think  there 
can  be  no  gain  that  does  not  conduce 
to  their  own  immediate  profit,  will 


The  British  Gallery. 


QJune, 


have  no  effect  on  the  Patrons  of  the 
Institution,  by  inducing  them,  in  dis- 
gust, to  withhold  from  public  obser- 
vation these  invaluable  remains  of  de- 
parted genius. 

With  respect  to  the  species  of  en- 
couragement hitherto  afforded  to  mo- 
dern art  by  the  Governors  of  the  Bri- 
tish Institution,  it  certainly  appears 
inconsistent  with  their  own  declared 
views  on  its  first  establishment,  and 
is  by  no  means  calculated  to  produce 
those  beneficial  effects  upon  the  mo- 
dern school,  which  were  so  anxiously 
anticipated.  But  having  dwelt  upon 
this  topic  in  a  former  letter,  I  should 
not  again  have  alluded  to  it,  if  I  had 
not  lately  viewed  the  singular  phe- 
nomenon in  art,  now  exhibiting  in 
this  metropolis,  from  the  pencil  of  Mr 
James  Ward,  representing  an  allegori- 
cal commemoration  of  the  triumphs  of 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  at  Waterloo. 
Into  the  merits  of  the  picture,  it  is  not 
my  purpose  to  enter,  not  only  from  the 
regret  I  feel,  in  common  with  others, 
at  seeing  an  artist  so  unfortunately 
miscalculate  his  powers,  hut  also  from 
the  sincere  respect  which  it  is  impos- 
sible not  to  entertain  for  the  great  and 
varied  talent  which  Mr  Ward  has  so 
frequently  displayed  in  some  branches 
of  the  profession.     The  above  picture 
was  bespoke,  it  is  understood,  by  the 
Directors  of  the  Institution,   at  the 
price  of  a  thousand  guineas,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  sketch  of  the  subject  ex- 
hibited by  Mr  Ward  at  the  Gallery 
two  or  three  years  ago;  being  selected 
from  a  numbers  of  others,  painted  by 
different  artists,  who  were  anxious  to 
obtain  the  commission  that  had  been 
promised  for  a  large  picture,  to  any 
one  who  could  produce  the  best  design 
in  commemoration  of  the  victory  of 
Waterloo.  That  such  a  subject  should 
have  been  proposed  by  the  governors, 
considering  the  general  feelings  of  en- 
thusiasm excited  by  that  great  event, 
is  not   surprising  ;    though,   strictly 
speaking,  it  possesses  no  greater  claims 
to  an  historical  subject,  than  a  news- 
paper to  a  history  ;  but  it  certainly 
does  appear  unaccountable,  that,  out 
of  many  other  sketches  of  merit,  the 
election  should   have  fallen  on  one, 
which  evidently  shewed  its  author's 
incapacity  to  conceive   or   execute  a 
subject  of  this  nature,  even  though  he 
had  confined  himself  to  matters  of  fact, 
instead  of  entering,  as  he  has  done, 
into  the  wide  and  unintelligible  field 
of  allegorical   fiction  and  absurdity. 

1.4 


The  British  Gallery. 


The  result  has  turned  out  exactly  as 
the  great  body  of  artists,  I  believe,  an- 
ticipated, when  they  first  heard  of  the 
injudicious  choice  that  had  been  made ; 
and  which,  it  is  sincerely  to  be  hoped, 
will  render  the  directors  more  cautious, 
on  any  future  occasion,  in  the  subjects 
they  offer,  and  in  the  selection  of  the 
artists  by  whom  they  are  to  be  execu- 
ted. Mr  Ward  is  a  first-rate  painter 
of  animals,  and  has  occasionally  pro- 
duced some  ingenious  landscapes,  after 
the  manner  of  Rubens ;  but  beyond 
this,  it  is  pretty  evident,  from  the  spe- 
cimen afforded  by  his  sketch,  as  well 
as  by  the  picture  now  exhibiting,  nei- 
ther his  powers,  nor  the  limited  nature 
of  his  professional  education,  will  allow 
him  to  proceed. 

With  respect  to  the  collection  of  pic- 
tures at  present  exhibiting  at  the  Gal- 
lery, it  is  scarcely  possible  to  speak  in 
adequate  terms  of  admiration,  whether 
we  consider  the  excellence  of  individual 
pictures,  or  the  various  specimens  it 
affords  in  almost  every  department  of 
the  art ;  indeed  there  is  scarcely  an  in- 
different or  doubtful  painting  in  the 
Gallery. 

In  the  highest  styles  of  art,  how- 
ever, the  collection  is  certainly  more 
defective  than  several  others  that  have 
preceded  it,  as  the  few  historical,  or 
poetical  pictures  it  affords,  are  by  no 
means  of  the  first  description  ;  a  de- 
ficiency, nevertheless,  that  is  some- 
what compensated  by  the  admirable 
landscapes  and  sea-pieces  of  Claude, 
G.  Poussin,  Ruysdael,  Both,  Vande- 
velde,  Backuystom,  and  Vanderhei- 
den.  The  most  remarkable  among 
them,  are  the  story  of  Narcissus,  by 
Claude,  in  the  possession  of  Sir  George 
Beaumont,  and  the  landscape,  by  G. 
Poussin,  in  the  collection  of  his  Ma- 
jesty ;  both  of  which  form  admirable 
examples,  and  particularly  the  latter, 
of  the  possibility  of  uniting  the  quali- 
ties of  colour,  breadth,  effect,  and  even 
spirited  execution,  to  the  highest  fi- 
nishing, and  the  most  elaborate  imita- 
tion of  nature.  The  same  remark  ap- 
plies to  many  of  the  exquisite  portraits, 
with  which  the  Gallery  abounds,  by 
Titian,  Giorgione,  Murillo,  Vandyke, 
and  Rembrandt.  There  is  also  an  un- 
commonly fine  portrait  by  Guido,  of  the 
Cardinal  Ubeldino,  belonging  to  Dr  So- 
merville,  which  rivals  the  best  works 
in  the  Gallery,  in  this  department  of 
the  art.  The  Herodias's  Daughter, 
with  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist,  by 


343 

C.  Dolce,  from  the  collection  of  his 
Majesty,  is  a  very  fine  specimen  of  the 
style  of  this  master.  The  figure,  in- 
deed, has  more  of  the  Saint  Cecilia  in 
it  than  the  character  it  was  intended 
to  represent,  but  the  delicacy  of  the 
expression,  the  beauty  of  the  colour- 
ing, and  the  bland  and  sweet  effect  of 
the  whole,  perhaps,  more  than  com- 
pensate, in  such  a  subject,  any  defi- 
ciency in  the  strength  and  propriety 
of  the  conception.  In  the  lower  and 
amusing  style  of  art,  there  are  several 
excellent  pictures  by  Jan  Steen  and 
Teniers,  particularly  "  The  effects  of 
Intemperance,"  by  the  former,  belong- 
ing to  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  and 
"  The  Interior,  with  figures  at  cards," 
by  the  latter  artist,  from  the  collection 
of  W.  Wells,  Esq.  the  last  of  which  is 
one  of  the  best  productions  of  this 
eminent  painter,  and  a  perfect  model 
in  this  line  of  art,  for  expression,  cha- 
racter, and  felicitous  execution.  Be- 
sides the  foregoing,  many  more  in- 
stances might  be  selected  well  worthy 
of  the  attention  of  painters  and  con- 
noisseurs ;  but  the  detail  would  be  as 
endless,  as  it  would  prove  uninterest- 
ing to  the  generality  of  your  readers,  a 
large  proportion  of  whom  will  pro- 
bably have  no  opportunity  of  seeing 
the  collection.  Nor  should  I  have  par- 
ticularized even  the  above,  if  I  had  not 
felt  it  necessary  to  notice  some  few  of 
the  pictures,  in  justification  of  the 
warm  eulogium  I  have  deemed  it  com- 
mon justice  only  to  pass  on  an  exhi- 
bition, which  appears  to  entitle  its 
liberal  contributors  to  the  grateful 
thanks  of  every  real  admirer  of  the 
art. 

If,  Mr  Editor,  in  the  foregoing 
pages,  I  have  endeavoured  to  point 
out,  somewhat  strongly,  the  errors  of 
individuals,  for  whose  professional  ta- 
lents I  feel  considerable  respect,  or  have 
ventured  to  censure  that  which  ap- 
peared to  me  injudicious  in  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  distinguished  directors 
of  the  Institution,  I  trust  that  their 
candour  will  acquit  me  of  "  setting 
down  aught  in  malice ;"  and  that  they 
will  attribute  my  remarks  to  the  real 
motives  which  called  them  forth, — a 
sincere  love  for  the  art,  and  a  desire 
to  remove  every  impediment  that  may 
arrest  its  progress  towards  perfection 
in  my  native  land. 

I  am,  sir,  yours,  &c. 

A  CONNOISSEUR. 


34*  The  British  Galhry.  QJunc, 

THE  GLOVE. 

Freely  imitated  from  the  German  of  Schiller. 

Rais'd  on  a  throne,  in  feudal  state, 
O'erlooking  his  menagerie, 

King  Francis  sate ; 
His  valiant  peers,  a  space  below, 
Mingled  with  dames  of  high  degree, 
Prank'd  out  in  all  their  bravery ; 

In  sooth,  a  gallant  show, 
Whilst  on  the  foss's  outer  wall 
Stood  many  a  squire  and  yeoman  tall. 

King  Francis  waves  his  silver  wand — 

And  straight, 
The  Beast-ward's  ready  hand 

Unbars  the  grate. — 
Full  leisurely,  from  out  his  cell, 

Stalks  forth  a  lion  fell ! 
The  monster  views,  with  sullen  glare, 
The  gazing  crowd,  and,  yawning  wide,  lays  bare 
His  murderous  fangs,  (which,  midst  their  fright, 
The  ladies  envy,  they're  so  white,) 
Once  more  he  glares  around, 

Yawns  again, 

Stretches  his  limbs,  and  shakes  his  mane, 
Then  slowly  spreads  his  tawny  length  upon  the  ground  ! 

King  Francis  waves  his  wand  anew — 
Into  the  ring, 
With  sudden  spring, 
A  grisly  tyger  bursts  upon  the  view  ! 
His  shaggy  rival  when  the  brute  beheld, 

Right  fearfully  he  yell'd  ; 
His  huge  round  eyes,  like  meteors,  glancing  ! 

Then,  warily  advancing, 
He  drops  his  tail,  and,  like  a  scout, 

Paces  the  lion  round  about ; 
(Who,  all  the  while,  with  stern  composure  ey'd  him, 

Never  stirring.) 

At  length,  he  stops, — and,  hoarsely  purring, 
Crouches  beside  him. 

King  Francis  waves  his  wand  again— 
And  lo,  a  leopard  and  an  ounce, 

Screaming  amain, 
At  once  upon  the  tiger  bounce  ! 
Scorning  their  joint  attack, 
The  tyger,  lazily,  gives  dach  a  pat 

With  his  broad  paw,  (just  as  a  cat 

Would  do  a  rat,) 

And  lays  him  sprawling  on  his  back  ! 

An  angry  scowl  around  the  lion  throws, 

•    And  all  the  four  lie  still  in  grim  repose  ! 

Now,  from  above, 
A  milk-white  hand,  belonging  to  as  white  an  arm, 

Meaning  no  harm, 

All  heedlessly,  I  do  suppose, 

(For  never  shall  a  verse  of  mine 

Dare  hint  it  could  be  by  design,) 

Let  fall  a  glove, 

Which,  fluttering,  settled  on  the  lion's  nose  :— 
And  her  faithful  knight,  Cunigunda  addrest, 
"  Sir  Knight,  I  would  fain  put  your  vows  to  the  test ; 
"  If  ever  you  valued  fair  lady's  love, 


18S1.]  The  Glove. 

Not  a  word  Sir  Gawain  replies, 
But  down  to  the  scarp  he  flies, 
And  entering  the  foss,  by  a  desperate  leap, 
He  approaches  the  lion  with  fearless  step  ; 
Who,  as  the  glove  he  proudly  seizes, 
Lifts  his  enormous  head,  and  sneezes  ! 
In  dumb  amazement  (well  they  might !) 
The  nobles  shudder  at  the  sight : 

And  yet,  I  ween, 

Full  many  a  bosom  with  jealousy  burn'd, 
As,  bearing  his  trophy,  Sir  Gawain  return' d, 

Slow,  and  with  tranquil  mien  ! 
And  now  he  gains  the  ditch's  mound ; 
And,  from  the  glittering  throng  around, 
Loud  peals  of  wild  applause  resound  ! 

The  Lady  Cunigund,  the  while, 
Radiant  with  vain  delight, 

To  receive  her  knight, 
Gets  ready  her  softest,  sweetest  smile ; — 
But  not  to  him  'tis  sweet ! 

So, 

Bowing  low, 
He  lays  the  glove  at  her  feet, 

Then,  bowing  lower, 
Turns  on  his  heel,  and  never  looks  upon  her  more  ! 


345 


R.  T. 


THE   LEG  OF  MUTTON  SCHOOL  OF  POETRV. 


No.  I. 


A  GOOD  article  is  like  a  bowl  of  Glas- 
gow punch — sharp,  sweet,  and  spirit- 
ed.    But  partial  as  we  confess  our- 
selves to  this  delightful  beverage,  no 
man,  we  think,  unfurnished  with  the 
bowels  of  a  Glasgow  magistrate,  would 
stick  eternally  to  the  same  liquor.  For 
our  own  part,  we  covet  variety  in  our 
tippling — a  little  preliminary  Sauterne, 
a  reasonable  suffusion  of  Black-strap, 
and  a  copious  supplement  of  Claret, 
before  we  venture,  without  compass 
or  quadrant,  on   the  magnum  mare 
of  the  punch-bowl.     At  such  times 
•we  derive  considerable  enjoyment  from 
apeppered  spatch-cock,  or  a  devil'd  bis- 
cuit, which  no  one  better  than  our  own 
cook  knows  how  to  prepare.  In  perfect 
unison  with  our  own  physical  taste  is 
the  literary  taste  of  the  public.     No- 
thing delights  our  good-natured  read- 
ers so  much  as  a  devil'd  poet,  or  a 
peppered  political  oeconomist ;  and  ve- 
rily, we  are  too  skilful  restaurateurs 
not  to  understand  how  to  cater  to  their 
taste.     The  truth  is,  that  criticism, 
selon  les  anciens  regies,  is  neither  a 
pleasing  profession  nor  a  thriving  one. 
To  separate  the  faults  and  merits  of  a 
book,  and  administer  to  each  a  well 
proportioned  dose  of  praise  and  cen- 
sure, is  of  all  tasks  the  most  dull.  "  To 
praise  where  we  may,  be  candid  where 
Voi.  IX. 


we  can,"is  a  recipe  from  which  an  amu- 
sing article  was  never  concocted,  and 
from  which  one  never  will  be  concoct- 
ed to  the  end  of  time.     It  is  perfect 
balm  to  our  souls,  therefore,  when,  in 
the  ordinary  discharge  of  our  duties, 
we  chance  to  meet  with  a  work  so  su- 
perlatively worthless  and  absurd,  as  to 
enable  us  to  set  all  discrimination  at 
defiance,  and  conscientiously  to  inflict 
the  severest  punishment  admissible  by 
the  laws  of  our  profession.     Such  a 
work  we  have  fortunately  now  before 
us,  in  the  shape  of  a  goodly  quarto, 
and  under   the   title   of  "  Fleurs,  a 
Poem  in  Four  Books."     The  volume 
purports,  by  the  title-page,  to  be  print- 
ed at  Newcastle,  by  Edward  Walker* 
for  the  author  ;  and  to  be  sold  by  Wil- 
liam Black  wood,  Edinburgh,  and  Bald- 
win and  Co.  London.  We  beg  here,  in 
the  very  threshold  of  our  observations, 
to  correct  an  important  inaccuracy.  It  is 
indeed  very  probably  true  that  the  work 
in  question  was  printed  as  above  stated, 
at  Newcastle,  by  Edward  Walker,  for 
the  author ;  but  we  believe  it  to  be 
contradictory  to  the  fact,  and  know  it 
to  be  most  libellous  to  the  good  sense 
of  the  public,  to  assume  that  even  one 
copy  of  Fleurs  has  been  sold  by  either 
of  the  respectable  bibliopoles  specified 
in  the  title-page.     It  is  unpleasant  to 
9  U 


3*6  Leg  <>f  Mutton  School 

be  compelled  to  commence  our  stric- 
tures thus  early ;  but  we  could  Dot 
bring  ourselves  to  pass  over  so  erro- 
neous a  statement,  without  affixing  to 
it  the  strongest  expression  of  our  de- 
cided and  well-founded  incredulity. 

We  now  go  on  to  the  preface ,  in  which 
the  author  very  candidly  informs  us, 
that  "  as  the  style  and  plan"  of  his 
poem  "  may  be  considered  somewhat 
unusual,  he  has  adopted  them  both 
from  that  justly  celebrated  poem, 
Lewesdon  Hill,  by  Mr  Crowe.'  Of 
Mr  Crowe  or  his  works  we  profess  to 
know  nothing ;  but  this  we  do  know, 
that  if  the  "  style  and  plan"  of  Lewes- 
don Hill  are  at  all  similar  to  the  pre- 
sent volume,  the  application  to  its  me- 
rits of  the  term  "justly  celebrated," 
is  exceedingly  gratuitous.  However, we 
think  it  would  have  required  but  a 
small  portion  of  penetration  in  the 
bard  of  Fleurs,  to  perceive,  that  if  his 
"  style  and  plan"  are  bad,  they  would 
not  be  one  whit  better,  if,  instead 
of  Mr  Crowe,  he  had  adopted  them 
from  Cro«>nonhotonthologos  himself, 
by  much  the  greater  man  of  the  two, 
and  more  worthy  of  such  an  imitator. 
We  trust  this  article  will  be  a  warn- 
ing to  him  in  future,  not  to  Crow  till 
he  is  out  of  the  wood. 

It  is  the  fashion  of  the  present  day 
to  arrange  poets  into  schools ;  and  we 
have  the  Lake  School,  the  Cockney 
School,  the  School  of  Pope,  the  Ballad 
School,  and  a  dozen  others,  well  te- 
nanted with  pupils.  With  either  of 
these,  we  think,  our  author  has  but 
few  claims  to  consanguinity.  We  can- 
not class  him  with  the  Lakers,  for  he 
wants  that  noble  simplicity  of  imagi- 
nation, that  familiar  grandeur  of  con- 
ception, in  which  we  are  tempted 
sometimes  to  overlook  the  sublime,  by 
our  strong  perception  of  the  natural. 
The  Cockneys  will  have  nothing  to  say 
to  him,  in  t\\e  first  place,  Because  his 
work  contains  nothing  in  praise  of  in- 
cest ;  and  secondly,  Because  he  is  too 
stupid  a  man  for  their  purpose.  He  is 
less  philosophical  than  Wordsworth, 
less  imaginative  than  Coleridge,less  true 
and  natural  than  Crabbe, — he  wan  ts  the 
energy  of  Byron,  the  pomp  and  mag- 
nificence of  Southey .  the  beautiful  de- 
licacy of  Wilson,  the  taste  and  tender- 
ness of  Lloyd.  This,  it  is  true,  is  but 
a  negative  definition  of  the  poetical 
v  character  of  the  Bard  of  Fleurs  ;  but  if 
our  readers  already  understand  what  he 
is  nn1,  we  think  we  thall  be  able,  before 


of  Poetry. —No.  I.  £jnne, 

the  conclusion  of  this  article,  to  make 
them  pretty  clearly  understand  what 
he  is.  Widely  differing,  as  he  certain- 
ly docs,  from  all  the  poets  to  whom  we 
have  alluded,  it  must  not  be  supposed 
that  the  author  of  Fleurs  is  a  bard, 
sui  generis,  or  a  rara  avi.t  of  some  un- 
known species,  delighting  the  world 
for  the  first  time  with  the  brilliancy 
of  his  plumage,  and  the  music  ot  his 
song.     He  is  but  one  of  a  very  nume- 
rous and  well-fledged  class  of  authors, 
whose  works  but  seldom  issue  from 
the  press,  and  whose  ambition  is  in 
general  amply  gratified  by  the  praise 
and  the  pudding  conferred  by  a  more 
limited  circulation.     The  chief  con- 
stellations in  this  poetical  firmament, 
consist  of  led   captains  And  clerical 
hangers-on,  whose  pleasure  and  whose 
business  it  is  to  celebrate  in  tuneful 
verse  the  virtues  of  some  angelic  pa- 
tron, who  keeps  a  good  table,  and  has 
interest  with  the  archbishop,  or  the 
India  House.     Verily  they  have  their 
reward.     The  anticipated  living  falls  , 
vacant  in  due  time,  the  son  gets  a  pair 
of  colours,  or  is  sent  out  as  a  cadet,  or 
the  happy  author  succeeds  in  dining 
five  times  a  week  on  hock  and  veni- 
son, at  the  small  expence  of  acting  as 
toad-eater  to  the  whole  family,  from 
my  lord  to  the  butler  inclusive.    It  is 
owing  to  the  modesty — certainly  not 
to  the  numerical  deficiency  of  this  class 
of  writers,  that  they  have  hitherto  ob- 
tained no  specific  distinction  among 
the  authors  of  the  present  day.     We 
think  it  incumbent  on  us  to  remedy 
this  defect,  and,  in  the  baptismal  font 
of  this  our  Magazine,  we  declare,  that 
in  the  poetical  nomenclature,  they  shall 
in  future  be  known  by  the  style  and 
title  of  THELEGOFMUTTON  SCHOOL. 
Although  this  meritorious  body  have 
been  less  distinguished  by  talent,  than 
might  reasonably  have  been  expected 
from  their  numbers,  they  are  not  with- 
out their  advantages.  The  Lakers  may 
sink  amid  their  honours,  and  leave  no 
successors  to  their  fame.     The  tiny 
star  of  the  Cockneys,  obscured  by  the 
cloud   of   infamy,    must  set  in    the 
ocean   of  contempt.     The  school  of 
Pope  may  dwindle  on,  without  even  a 
Hayley  to  support  it.  The  public  taste 
must  change,  as  the  public  taste  has 
changed ;  and  the  Moore  of  this  age 
can  at  best  be  but  the  Waller  of  the 
next.  Even  the  Bard  of  Fleurs,  scouted 
as  he  now  is,  may  become  the  Milton 
of  some  future  and  more  intelligent 
8 


Fleurs,  a  Poem. 


347 


generation.  But  come  what  may,  the 
LEG  OF  MUTTON  SCHOOL  will  be  eter- 
nal. While  the  world  contains  weal- 
thy blockheads,  a  due  proportion  of 
needy  parasites  will  not  be  found  want- 
ing ;  nor  can  their  existence  ever  be 
endangered,  or  their  numbers  mate- 
rially decreased  by  any  revolution  less 
complete  than  the  introduction  of  the 
Parallellograms  of  Mr  Owen,  or  the 
Agrarian  Law  of  the  Spenceans.  With 
such  unquestionable  claims  to  perpe- 
tuity, we  think  their  title  to  public 
notice  much  greater  than  has  yet  been 
acknowledged  by  the  world.  And  we 
now  venture  for  once,  with  gentle  vio- 
lence, to  draw  the  blushing  sycophants 
from  their  comfortable  retreats  in  par- 
sonages and  noblemen's  attic  stories, 
in  order  that,  being  duly  magnified  in 
our  telescope,  their  lineaments  may 
become  visible  for  the  first  time  to  the 
public  at  large.  To  be  received  as  the 
head  of  this  distinguished  body,  we 
think  the  claims  of  the  Bard  of  Fleurs 
stand  pre-eminently  high.  He  is  mark- 
ed by  a  more  than  usual  portion  of  the 
qualities  characteristic  of  the  LEG  OF 
MUTTON  SCHOOL  ;  by  all  their  vul- 
gar ignorance,  by  more  than  all  their 
clumsy  servility,  their  fawning  adula- 
tion of  wealth  and  title,  their  hanker- 
ing after  the  flesh-pots,  and  by  all  the 
symptoms  of  an  utter  incapacity  "  to 
stand  straight  in  the  presence  of  a 
great  man."  With  all  this,  too,  he 
unites  a  boldness  and  an  ambition  al- 
together unknown  among  his  sect. 
Not  contented,  like  them,  to  find  his 
solid  reward  in  the  gratitude  of  his 
patrons,  and  the  admiration  of  "  a  few 
partial  friends,"  he  has  put  forth  his 
shallop  on  the  waters,  to  brave  both 
the  battle  and  the  breeze  on  a  wider 
and  more  tempestuous  ocean.  We  fear 
his  courage  can  only  be  praised  at  the 
expence  of  his  judgment,  and  lament 
that  he  must  now  be  indebted  to  ex- 
perience for  a  conviction  of  the  prover- 
bial truth  of  the  maxim,  that  "  the 
better  part  of  valour  is  discretion." 

Oh  that  the  Bard  of  Fleurs  had  been 
possessed  of  our  knowledge  of  those 
matters ;  that  he  had  consulted  us  be- 
fore he  ventured  on  the  rash  act  of 
publishing !  Then  had  the  occupation 
of  Edward  Walker,  Newcastle,  been 
gone,  and  his  types  had  reverted  to 
their  more  humble  and  profitable  em- 
ployment of  printing  lottery  puffs,  and 
hand-bills  for  the  recovery  of  strayed 
pointers  and  stolen  goods !  Then  had 
the  shelves  of  Blackwood  and  Baldwin 


never  groaned  under  their  present  in- 
tolerable load;  then  had  the  pocket 
of  our  author  never  suffered  by  his 
poetry ;  and  then  had  we  been  spared 
the  cruel  necessity  of  lamenting  his 
imprudence !  In  our  extended  com- 
merce with  the  venders  of  literature, 
we  have  often  remarked  with  wonder, 
the  extraordinary  powers  of  adhesion 
which  some  works  manifest  to  the 
booksellers'  shelves.  We  have  seen 
some  thousands  of  very  tolerable  ser- 
mons so  tenacious  of  their  position, 
as  to  baffle  every  endeavour  to  remove 
them,  and  which  still  remain  in  their 
original  situation,  to  the  great  discom- 
fiture both  of  the  author  and  the  bi- 
bliopole. 

The  Bard  of  Fleurs  is  one  of  those 
obliging  per  sons  whose  pen  is  at  the  ser- 
vice of  any  man  in  his  neighbourhood 
with  a  pipe  in  his  cellar,  and  a  joint  at 
his  fire ;  and  he  makes  it  his  peculiar 
care,  that  those  who  possess  every  other 
luxury  of  life  shall  not  want  for  poetry. 
There  is  a  delightful  singularity  about 
him.  In  his  imagination,  nature  pos- 
sesses nothing  of  sublime  or  beautiful, 
equal  to  a  well  decorated  spit.  The 
God  of  his  inspiration  hangs  suspend- 
ed from  a  hook  in  the  larder;  and 
were  he  to  invoke  a  muse,  he  would 
inevitably  hitch  in  something  about  a 
hind  quarter,  or  a  long  cork.  To  do 
him  justice,  however,  he  is  not  un- 
grateful. A  good  dinner  appears  to 
him  a  benefit  which  he  can  never  suf- 
ficiently repay ;  and  his  imagination 
absolutely  gloats  over  the  memory  of 
the  sumptuous  repasts  of  which  he 
has  partaken  at  Fleurs  Castle,  with  so 
much  satisfaction  to  himself,  and  de- 
light to  his  hospitable  entertainers. 
As  he  v/rites,  the  ghosts  of  digested 
haunches,  in  all  their  pristine  obesity, 
arise  in  his  prolific  fancy;  barons 
now  no  more,  come  forth  at  his  bid- 
ding, from  their  unconsecrated  graves, 
and  smoke  again  upon  the  board.  He 
is  haunted  by  spectres  of  murdered 
turtles,  and  apparitions  of  pheasants, 
John  Dorys,  and  ducks,  and  green 
pease.  His  bowels  tremble  as  he  writes; 
his  gastric  juice  is  in  a  state  of  fer- 
mentation ;  his  liver  ceases  to  be  tor- 
pid ;  his  palatal  glands  redouble  their 
secretions ;  and  the  imagination  of  the 
poet  is  triumphant  over  the  whole 
man. 

We  think  we  have  now  said  quite 
enough  of  the  author  to  excite  some 
interest  in  his  works;  and  we  shall 
accordingly  proceed  to  lay  before  our 


Leg  of  Mutton  tic/tool  of  Poetry. 


348 

readers  a  brief  account  of  Flours,  a 
Poem,  in  Four  Books, — tlie  very  pe- 
destal of  his  fainu,  on  which  it  either 
must  rest,  or  be  crumbled  into  dust. 
The  ostensible  object  of  this  "facile 
princeps"  of  THE  LEG  OF  MUTTON 
SCHOOL — this  Napoleon  of  L'Ecole  dc 
Gigot — in  his  present  work,  is  to  ce- 
lebrate the  beauties  of  Fleurs  Castle, 
the  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Roxburghe. 
Now,  though  Fleurs  Castle  is  un- 
doubtedly a  very  fine  thing,  and  the 
scenery  around  it  much  finer,  yet 
our  author  has  quite  enough  of  me- 
thod in  his  madness,  to  be  well  con- 
vinced that  nobody  would  take  the 
trouble  to  read  an  epic  poem,  in  four 
books,  of  which  the  beauties  of  Fleurs 
were  the  only  topic.  He  was  there- 
fore very  naturaliy  led  to  diversi- 
fy his  description  of  the  beauties  of 
the  place,  by  eulogiums  on  the  virtues 
of  its  possessor.  As  even  these  can 
scarcely  be  supposed  to  afford  sufficient 
matter  for  an  epic  poem  in  four  books, 
the  angelic  qualities  of  the  Duchess, 
and  the  youthful  promise  of  her  son, 
were  found  to  afford  him  matter  equal- 
ly interesting  and  apropos.  In  all  this, 
however,  there  was  rather  too  much 
sameness  and  monotony  ;  and  he  was 
therefore  induced  tastefully  to  varie- 
gate his  poem  with  descriptions  of  the 
neighbouring  gentlemen's  estates,  with 
laudatory  notices  of  the  owners,  and  to 
introduce  a  few  agreeable  digressions 
on  such  taking  subjects  as  the  Queen, 
the  Radicals,  Arthur  Thistlewood, 
Lord  Wellington,  Sir  William  Wal- 
lace, and  the  Gunpowder  Plot.  The 
connection  of  these  subjects,  to  be 
sure,  with  Fleurs  Castle,  is  not  at  first 
sight  very  apparent,  and  were  no  more 
to  be  looked  for  hi  this  work,  than  a 
digression  on  pickled  cabbage  in  a 
treatise  on  ethics,  or  an  eulogium  on 
gin-twist  in  a  volume  of  polemical  di- 
vinity. On  this,  however,  and  on 
several  other  matters  of  equal  import- 
ance, we  have  no  time  to  enforce  our 
opinions,  and  shall  therefore  proceed 
at  once  to  our  extracts,  and  leave  our 
readers  to  judge  what  support  they  af- 
ford to  the  observations  we  have  thus 
hurriedly  thrown  together. 

The  poem  opens  with  a  description 
of  Fleurs,  and  an  etymological  discus- 
sion  on  the  origin  of  the  name,  which, 
however,  like  Hudibras's 

**  Adventure  of  the  bear  and  fiddle, 
Is  sung,  but  broke  off  in  the  middle," 

for  the  Question  is  left  undecided  at 
last.    The  prospect  from  the  castle, 


JVune, 


we  are  told,  is  extremely  enchanting, 
for  from  thence  may  be  descried, 

"  Spring  wood,  and  Stitchel,  Marclimont, 

Newton-Don, 

Makerston,  Henderside,  and  Mellerstain, 
Wooden,  and  Mellenden,  and  Pinnacle, 
Nenthorn,  and  Woodside,  Mertoun,  Dry- 
burgh's  Glade, 

Rose-bank,  and  Edenham,  and  Broomi- 
lands." 

In  the  following  passage,  the  author 
ingeniously  contrives  to  kill  two  birds 
with  one  stone,  and  puffs  with  the 
same  breath  both  the  Duke  and  his 
estate.  Verily,  it  is  well,  as  old  Bur- 
ton hath  it,  to  praise  mine  host  of  the 
Green  Dragon,  for  the  ale  of  the  Green 
Dragon  is  good. 

"  Oh  !  might  my  verse  but  emulate  my 

theme, 

In  richness,  beauty,  and  variety, 
In  choicest  works  of  nature,  and  of  art, 
Then  were  it  such  a  wreath  of  fragrant 

flowers, 
Cull'd  from  his  rich  domain,  as  I  could 

wish 
To  lay  at  Roxburghe's   feet ;   memorial 

meet 

Of  kindness,  and  of  gentlest  courtesy, 
Enjoyed  beneath  his  hospitable  roof. 

Having  duly  bepraised  the  Duke,  the 
Duchess's  turn,  as  might  be  expected, 
comes  next. 

Such  thine, 
O  Roxburghe  !  such  the  heart  and  mind 

that  mark 
Thy  lovely  Duchess, — form'd  to  grace  a 

Court; 
But  form'd  alike  for  higher  aims  ; — to 

spread 
Around    thy   spacious    dwelling    smiling 

peace, 

Content,  and  happiness  ; — to  banish  want, 
And  fell  disease,  and  ignorance,  and  vice ; 
To  sooth  and  tranquillize  thy  years  that 

wain, 

With  steps  so  soft,  so  scarce  perceptible  ; 
And,  while  she  this  life's  every  duty  fills, 
As  wife,  and  mother,  patroness,  and  friend, 
With  faith,  and  hope,  and  love  to  God, 

and  Man, 
To    soar  aloft, — where   virtues    such   as 

hers, — 
Thus   flourishing  beneath   the   Saviour's 

grace, — 

Shall  find  their  permanent — their  sure  re- 
ward. 
Meanwhile,  be  it  ours  to  praise  the  Source 

of  good, 

For  females  placed  in  elevated  rank, 
Like  Roxburghe's  Duchess,  or  Northum- 
berland's ; 
Or    the  benevolent    and   mourn'd   Bue- 

cleuch ; 
Or  Graham,  bordering  near  on  England' 

verge  !" 


! 


18210 


Leg  of  Mutton  School  of  Poetry. 


Their  Graces  being  now  tolerably 
bedaubed,  he  loses  no  time  in  bespat- 
tering the  son  with  the  same  tasty 
materials. 

"  Thus  Roxburghe's  duchess   finds  her 

brightest  gems 

Comprised  within  her  lovely  princely  boy  ; 
Mature  beyond  his  years ;    with  promise 

fraught 

Of  all  that  fondest  parents  most  can  wish 
In  high-born  youth, — if  trained  with  pru- 
dent care 
By  culture's  skill; — quickness  of  parts, 

with  frank 
And   noble  bluntness, — manliness,    with 

sweet 

Hilarity, — firmness,  with  sportiveness 
Combined ;  while  thus  alike  in  infant  years 
The  father's  and  the  mother's  character 
And  features  shine  conspicuous.    Oh  !  'tis 

sweet 

To  view  the  rose-bud  opening  on  its  stalk 
With  charms  peculiar,  while  it  promise 

holds 

Of  all  the  fragrance,  loveliness,  and  grace, 
That  mark  the  full-blown  flower." 

In  introducing  the  subject  of  the 
Queen,  the  Bard  of  Fleurs  is  placed  in 
a  very  unpleasant  dilemma.  In  the 
first  place,  the  Duke  of  Roxburghe  is 
a  Whig,  and  to  abuse  the  Queen  would 
therefore  constitute  matter  of  offence 
in  the  eyes  of  his  patron.  To  praise 
her,  on  the  other  hand,  would  proba- 
bly offend  some  other  noble  person,  or 
the  bishop,  or  the  dean,  or  the  rec- 
tor, or  the  parish  clerk  ;  and  our  au- 
thor is  most  anxious  to  stand  well  with 
the  whole  world.  What  then  does 
he  ?  Mark  with  what  skill  this  inge- 
nious navigator  steers  hisbark  between 
Scylla  and  Charybdis,  avoiding  the 
rocks  of  the  one,  and  the  shoals  of  the 
other, — how  steadily  he  ports  his  helm, 
— how  quickly  he  discerns  the  channel, 
and  scuds  along  with  his  pocket-hand- 
kerchief for  a  main-sail. 

— "  Let  it  not 

Be  thought,  I  would  anticipate  the  event 
Of  the  inquiry  awful,  grave,  and  sage, 
In  Britain's  Senate  now  pursued,  to  wipe 
The  stain,  if  such  there  be,  the  direful 

stain, 

From  Britain's  throne.    Oh  !  in  a  daugh- 
ter's eyes, 
And  such  a  daughter,  pure  in  heart  and 

mind, 

What  daggers  had  it  planted  in  her  soul, 
To  hear  a  mother's  name  bandied  about, 
And  coupled  with  the  charge,  the  odious 

charge, 

Of  vile  adultery, — of  thoughts  impure 
IKsplay'd  in  acts  of  shameless  levity, 
That  cause  the  unbidden  blood  with  sud- 
den flow 
VOL.  IX. 


3*0 

To  rise  in  Virtue's  cheek.   Guilty  or  not, 
Our   Queen, — her  Daughter   mutt   havo 
suffered  much." 

Having  passed  with  flying  colours 
through  this  ticklish  navigation,  he 
soon  gets  upon  a  safer  subject,  that  of 
Arthur  Thistlewood  and  his  plot.  Here 
Whig  and  Tory  are  agreed  ;  this  is, 
indeed,  sailing  on  smooth  waters,  and 
his  cock-boat  is  already  trim  for  the 
occasion.  Mark  how  the  "  Tempestas 
in  matula"  breaks  forth  in  the  follow- 
ing fine  burst  of  indignation. 

—"Oh!  'Twasbase, 
'Twas  horrible,  most  horrible, — to  seek, 
By  one  infernal  direful  blow,  to  plunge 
Our  Sovereign's  Council  in  one  sudden, 

dire, 

And  awful  ruin ; — men  of  carriage  mild, 
Of  principles  averse  to  shed  the  blood 
Even  of  the  blasphemous  and  barbarous 

crew 
Confederate  against  them.     What !  such 

men 

As  Sidmouth,  Harrowby,  Vansittart,  men, 
Who,  howsoe'er  in  politics  opposed 
To  others  ardent  in  their  Country's  cause, 
Have  lived  so  blameless  in  their  several 

high 
And   elevated    spheres,    that    even   their 

foes, — 

Or  rather  their  opposers  in  debate, — 
Could  shed  a  tear  (as  erst  when  Perceval, 
The  upright,  and  the  good,  received  his 

fate) 

At  deed  so  vile,  so  diabolical. 
No  more  repugnant  to  such  deed  accur. 

sed, — 

Nor  more  averse  to  all  the  clamour  wild 
Of  factious  Demagogues,  'midst  Britain's 

Sons, 

Are  any  found,  than  those  who  cultivate 
With  skill  the  fertile  soil  round  Fleurs 

domain." — 

Our  next  extract  is  intended  to  con- 
secrate the  fame  of  Mr  Brown,  the  en- 
gineer, who  erected  the  late  beautiful 
chain-bridge  across  the  Tweed.  We 
presume  Mr  Brown  had  invited  our 
author  to  dinner. 

«  — Oh  !  follow  down 

Tweed's  gentle  course,  'midst  Scotia's  ru- 
ral pride, 

To  where,  as  placed  by  talismanic  art, 

Appears  the  wondrous  bridge, — of  form 
most  strange ; 

An  arch  inverted ; — from  its  airy  top 

Finding  support, — as  though  by  glamour 
art 

And  gramarye.     Had  Brown  but  chanced 
to  live, 

What  time  the  happy  union  erst  was  form'd 

His  bridge  commemorates,  he  had  sure 
been  dubb'd 

Wizard  by  either  border  far  and  near. 
2X 


Leg  of  Mutton  School. 


350 

Had  he  but  flourish'd  in  remoter  times, 
When  Rome's  dread  Pontiff  gave  alike  the 

law 

To  art  and  science,  as  to  rules  of  faith,-— 
A  fate  like  Galileo's  had  been  his  ; — 
Or  either  shore  had  vied  with  pious  zeal, 
To  seize,  if  possible,  the  cunning  wight, 
And  try,  whether  from  fathoms  'neath  the 

flood 
He'd  emulate  his  arch  poised  high  in  air." 

The  following  relates  to  Lord  Na- 
pier, and  the  General  Assembly  ;  but 
who  the  individual  may  be  who  is  dis- 
tinguished by  the  very  vague  appella- 
tion of  "  Eastern  Anderson/'  we  con- 
fess our  inability  to  discover.  Some 
of  our  readers  may  perhaps  be  more 
fortunate. 

"  'Midst  Wilton's  wooded  banks,  and  ver- 
dant lawns— 

With  tasteful  art  combined ;  Napier's  re- 
treat, 

From  representing  England's  absent  King, 
What  tune, — in  sage  assembled  Council 

ranged, 

The  Presbyters  of  Scotia's  Sister  Realm 
Debated  high  of  Discipline, — and  Faith, — 
The  Nation's  piety,  and  morals  pure. — 
Now  Eastern  Anderson  there  lives  retired 
From  sicklier  Climes." 

We  dare  say  our  readers  will  agree 
with  us,  that  we  have  now  exhibited 
quite  samples  enough  of  the  stuff  of 
which  Fleurs  is  composed,  and  that  it 
is  now  full  time  to  draw  our  article  to 
a  conclusion.  But  we  must  really  give 
one  more  extract — if  we  wanted  an  ex- 
cuse, we  would  find  one  in  the  subject 
of  it — it  relates  to  Lord  Buchan.  Who 
is  there  that  has  visited  the  beautiful 
Abbey  of  Dryburgh,  but,  like  our  au- 
thor, has  dwelt  with  admiration  on 
the  fine  taste  of  its  possessor  !  his 
tomb  and  its  inscriptions,  his  busts 
and  his  red  Colossus  of  the  woods ! 
But  it  belongs  to  a  kindred  spirit  to 
sound  his  melodious  praise.  Hear  the 
Bard  of  Fleurs. 

"  —Now-, — keeping  Tweda's  course, — 
We   pass   Makerston,    Littledean's  lone 

'tower, 
And  Mertoun's  amphitheatre  of  woodland 

shade. 
Soon   Dryburgh  rears   her  lovely  ruin'd 

fane 
Embower'd    in    woods, — where    Buchan 

hangs  his  path 

Aloft  in  air,  to  tempt  the  willing  feet 
Of  modern  Pilgrims  to  the  erst  hallow'd 

shrine. 

Lovely  indeed  the  tranquil  ruin  shews, — 
With  many  an  arch,  and  many  a  hall  en- 
tire, 

And  narrow  cell ;— with  much   to   inte- 
rest,— 


£June, 


Partly     indeed     extraneous ;— fruit-trees 

train'd 
Around  the  spacious  walls,  their  clusters 

rich 
By  Buchan  well  preserved ; — while  near  is 

view'd 

Colossal  Wallace,  on  his  airy  height, 
Like  guard  presiding  o'er  the  varied  scene. 
Now,  'midst  the  walls  where  Halibuitons 

rest 

Their  weary  limbs, — is  view'd  with  mourn- 
ful awe 
The   future    tomb    of   their    descendant 

Scott ; — 
While  Buchan's  bust — and  Buchan's  self 

is  seen — 
And  Buchan's  tomb — with  golden  legend 

graced  ; 

And  may  he  long  survive,  with  patient  zeal 
Its  high  mysterious  import  to  expound  ! 
May  he  survive, — his  heroes  to  record, 
Or  literary, — or  political, — 
Or  patriotic, — or  in  science  skill'd ! 
Homer  ;     and  Washington  ;    Thomson  ; 

and  Watt ; 

(Of  spruce  Soho,  in  rural  vicinage 
Of  Birmingham's  aspiring  smoky  clouds  ;) 
Sidney  ;     and   Shakespeare ;     Rumford  ; 

Baillie;  Fox; 

Socrates  ;  Cicero  ;  and  Provost  Creech, 
Of  bibliopolist  fame  ; — the  Ettrick  Swain  ; 
Caesar ;  Mozart ;  with  Franklin ;  Nelson ; 

Knox ; 

While  Angelo,  and  Aristotle,  close 

The  motley  band  ; — thus  aptly  group'd, 

I  ween, 
To  show  what  various  ware  this  world  is 

made  of, — 
And  mark,  that  Buchan  has  a  heart,  and 

mind, 
Its  worthies  to  embrace  of  every  class." 

We  have  now  done  in  good  earnest 
with  Fleurs  and  its  author ;  for  there 
is  too  much  sobriety  in  his  madness, 
to  be  longer  entertaining.  It  is  possi- 
ble, merely  possible,  we  think,  that 
he  may  have  the  "  gumtion"*  to  de- 
rive some  advantage  from  the  present 
article ;  and  we  hope  that  the  good- 
natured  ridicule  with  which  he  has 
been  assailed,  may  teach  him  the  pru- 
dence of  enjoying  the  hospitality  of 
Fleurs  Castle  in  peace  and  quiet- 
ness, and  leaving  the  virtues  of  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Roxburghe  to 
receive  their  best  reward  in  the  love 
and  gratitude  of  their  dependents. 
Above  all,  we  trust  it  may  teach  him 
to  furnish  no  further  occupation  for 
the  types  of  William  Walker,  New- 
castle, and  to  keep  his  poetry,  for  the 
future,  in  its  proper  place.  We  shall 
keep  our  eyeonTuE  LEG  OF  MUTTON 
SCHOOL,  and  take  an  early  opportunity 
of  laying  before  our  readers  some  fur- 
ther specimens  of  their  productions. 


18810 


Works  prej>aring  for  Publication. 


WORKS  PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 
LONDON. 


A  Selection  of  the  Correspondence  of 
Linnaeus,  and  other  Naturalists,  from  the 
original  MSS. ;  by  Sir  J.  E.  Smith,  M.D. 
F.R.S.  &c.  in  2  vols.  8vo. 

The  Second  Volume  of  Mr  Clutter, 
buck's  History  of  Hertfordshire. 

In  4to,  with  thirty  plates  and  maps,  a 
Copious  History  of  Brazil,  including  more 
particularly,  its  Geography  and  Com- 
merce ;  by  Mr  James  Henderson,  recent, 
ly  returned  from  South  America. 

The  Life  and  Remains  of  Mr  Keats. 

Sermons  by  the  late  Frederick  Thrus- 
ton.  With  his  Portrait 

The  Medical  Student's  Vade-Mecum, 
being  a  work  in  the  form  of  Question  and 
Answer ;  comprising  Anatomy,  Physio, 
logy,  Botany,  Pharmacy,  &c. ;  to  which 
will  be  added,  an  abridged  and  correct 
Explanation  of  the  Chemical  Decomposi- 
tions. 

A  Catechism  of  Sacred  History  ;  by  C. 
Irving,  L.L.D.  Holyrood  House  Acade- 
my, Southampton. 

In  one  4to  Volume,  the  History  of  An- 
cient and  Modern  Wines  ;  by  Alexander 
Henderson,  M.D.  This  work  will  em- 
brace the  substance  of  Sir  Edward  Barry's 
observations,  on  the  wines  of  the  ancients ; 
and  will  contain  in  addition,  a  Topogra- 
phical Description  of  all  the  Principal 
Modern  Wines,  and  a  Chronological  His- 
tory of  those  used  in  England,  from  the 
earliest  period  to  the  present  time. 

Mr  Busby,  the  Architect,  is  preparing 
a  Description  of  all  the  Principal  State 
Prisons,  or  Penitentiaries  in  the  United 
States  of  America.  To  be  illustrated  with 
Plans  and  Views  of  those  Establishments 
in  Massachusets,  Connecticut,  New  York, 
New  Jersey,  Pennsylvania,  Maryland,  and 
Virginia,  which  were  visited  by  Mr  B.,  in 
the  years  1818,  1819. 

In  the  press,  a  Small  Collection  of 
Poems,  by  Mr  Cornelius  Webb  ;  consist- 
ing of  Summer,  Fairy  Revels,  &c. 

The  Visitation  of  Middlesex  in  1663. 
By  William  Ryley,  Esq.  Lancaster,  and 
Henry  Dethick,  Esq.  Rouge  Croix. 

A  Work  on  Medical  Jurisprudence ;  by 
Dr  J.  A.  Paris,  and  J.  S.  M.  Fonblanque, 
Esq. 

To  be  Published  by  Subscription,  in  2 
vols.  demy,  f!vo.  The  Royal  Exile,  or 
Poetical  Epistles,  supposed  to  be  written 
by  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  during  the  early 
part  of  her  captivity  in  England  ;  to  which 
will  be  added,  other  Original  Poems.  With 
a  Preface,  Notes,  Plate,  &C. 

In  the  press,  and  shortly  will  be  Pub- 
lished, in  a  4to  volume,  with  Engravings, 
Travels  in  Palestine,  in  1816;  by  S.  S. 
Buckingham,  Esq. 


To  be  Published  by  Subscription,  Le 
Brun's  Passions,  in  Lithography  ;  by  Pe- 
ter Simonau,  Lithographer.  In  Five  Parts, 
at  5s.  each. 

Shortly  will  appear  in  2  volumes,  12mo. 
Practical  Reflections  on  the  Psalms,  with 
a  Prayer  added  to  each  foregoing  Psalm. 

Archdeacon  Daubeny  has  in  the  press, 
Sixteen  Sermons  of  the  learned  Bishop 
Andrews,  modernised  for  the  use  of  gene- 
lal  readers. 

Fashionable  Orthodoxy ;  or,  the  High 
Road  to  Preferment.  Containing  suitable 
directions  for  obtaining  Popularity,  Pa- 
trons, and  Promotion  in  the  Established 
Church  ;  with  Instructions  for  the  Educa- 
tion of  Young  Gentlemen,  intended  for 
the  Ministry ;  and  hints  for  Ordination, 
Preaching,  &c. ;  exemplified  from  the  bast 
living  authorities. 

A  Volume  of  Sermons  on  the  NaturQ 
and  Effects  of  Repentance  and  Faith  ;  by 
Rev.  James  Carlisle,  of  Dublin. 

The  Kit  Cat  Club,  containing  Portraits 
and  Memoirs  of  the  Forty  Eight  Mem- 
bers of  that  Celebrated  Association,  in  one 
small  folio. 

Nearly  ready  for  publication,  An  Edi- 
tion of  Cook's  Three  Voyages,  complete  in 
Seven  volumes  8vo.  With  Thirty  Plates. 

To  be  Published  in  parts,  each  part 
containing  one  entire  order,  general  and 
particular  descriptions  of  the  vertebrated 
Animals,  arranged  conformably  to  the 
Modern  Discoveries  and  Improvements  in 
Zoology.  By  Edward  Griffith  ;  and  illusr 
trated  by  a  great  number  of  Coloured  Im- 
pressions from  Copper-Plate  Engravings 
of  Original  Drawings  after  Nature  ;  by 
Mrs  Griffith. 

In  the  press,  some  Posthumous  Sermons 
of  the  Rev.  Thomas  Harmer,  Author  of 
Observations  on  Scripture ;  together  with 
some  smaller  Pieces  published  during  his 
Life  Time,  and  some  introductory  Re- 
marks on  his  Life  and  Writings  ;  by  Mr 
W.  Youngman,  of  Norwich. 

A  Second  Edition  of  the  Gymnasium  ; 
by  the  Rev.  Dr  Crombie. 

A  New  Edition,  corrected,  of  Bishop 
Watson's  Theological  Tracts. 

Speedily  will  be  published,  A  Plea  for 
the  Nazarenes.  In  a  Letter  to  the  British 
Reviewer;  by  Servetus. 

Shortly  will  be  published,  a  reprint  of 
that  very  rare  and  curious  little  manual, 
Arthur  Warwick's  "  Spare  Minutes,"  or 
Resolved  Meditations  and  Premeditated 
Resolutions.  This  edition  will  be  printed 
in  super  royal  16mo,  with  facsimiles  of 
the  singular  Emblematical  Frontispieces, 
together  with  Explanatory  Poems  of  Fran- 
cis  Quarles  and  George  Withers. 


352 


Works  preparing  for  Publication. 


EDINBURGH. 


A  Treatise  on  the  Law  of  Bills  of  Ex- 
change,  Inland  Bills,  &c.  embracing  a  new 
edition  of  Mr  Glen's  work,  (of  which  the 
publishers  have  acquired  the  copy-right,) 
intended  for  the  use  of  Practitioners,  as 
well  as  Merchants;  with  a  Trader's  Ma- 
nual, or  Digest  of  the  Leading  Doctrines 
and  Peculiarities  of  the  Scotch  Law,  which 
require  to  be  attended  to  by  Merchants, 
Traders,  &c. ;  the  latter  part  of  the  book 
being  entirely  original.  The  whole  inclu- 
ded will  be  a  new  work,  comprised  in  one 
octavo  volume. 

The  Rev.  Dr  M'Leod  of  New  York  is 
about  to  publish,  in  an  octavo  volume  of 
about  450  pages,  awork  entitled,  "  Israel's 
God  shewn  to  be  one  Lord,  the  Father,  the 


Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost ;  being  a  Vindi- 
cation of  the  Christian's  Faith  in  the  Doc- 
trine of  the  Trinity,  and  of  the  Divinity  of 
Jesus  Christ."  It  is  proposed  that  an  edi- 
tion of  the  work  shall  also  be  published  at 
Paisley,  to  be  put  to  press  so  soon  as  suffi- 
cient encouragement  is  obtained. 

In  course  of  this  month  will  be  published, 
A  Catechism  for  the  Instruction  and  Direc- 
tion of  Young  Communicants ;  to  which  is 
added,  a  Compendious  View  of  the  Baptism- 
al Profession  and  Engagement,  which  young 
intending  Communicants  ought  to  renew 
before  their  first  Admission  to  the  Lord's 
Table;  by  John  Colquhoun,  D.D.  Mini- 
ster of  the  Gospel,  Leith. 


MONTHLY  LIST  OF  NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


LONDON. 


ANTIQUITIES. 

Colman's  Architectural  Antiquities  of 
Normandy,  Part  III.  £3,  3s. 

Historic  Notices  in  reference  to  Fother- 
ingay.  By  Rev.  H.  K.  Bonney,  royal  4to 
15s. 

An  Attempt  to  Illustrate  the  Districts 
Described  by  Bede  ;  and  supposed  to  em- 
brace the  Lower  Portions  of  Anedale  and 
Wharfdale,  together  with  the  entire  Vale 
of  Calder,  in  the  county  of  York ;  by  T.  D. 
Whitaker,  L.L.D.  with  Four  Engravings, 
crown  folio.  £'1,  Is. 

ARCHITECTURE. 

The  Architectural  Antiquities  of  Rome : 
Displayed  in  a  Series  of  about  130  En- 
gravings, consisting  of  Views,  Plans,  Ele- 
vations, Sections,  and  Details  of  the  most 
celebrated  Ancient  Edifices  now  remain- 
ing in  that  City,  and  other  parts  of  the 
Roman  Empire  :  carefully  measured  and 
delineated  in  the  Years  1817,  1818, 
1819.  With  Historical,  Descriptive,  and 
Critical  Accounts  of  the  respective  Styles, 
Character,  Construction,  and  Peculiarities 
of  each  Building ;  by  George  L.  Taylor, 
and  Edward  Cresy,  Architects,  and  Fel- 
lows of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries.  No. 
I.  containing,  on  Imperial  Folio,  22  in. 
by  15,  the  Triumphal  Arch  of  Titus,  dis- 
played in  Two  Views,  and  Eight  Outline 
Plates,  with  Three  Sheets  of  Letter-press. 
Price  £1,  lls.  Cd.  India  Paper,  £2,  2s. 

BIBMOGHAl'HY. 

A  Bibliographical,  Antiquarian,  and. 
Picturesque  Tour  in  France  and  Germa- 
ny. By  Rev.  T.  F.  Dibdin,  F.R.S.  S.A. 
3  vols.  imperial  8vo.  with  several  hundred 
Fine  Engravings  and  Wood  Cuts.  £10, 
IP*.  I.arjjt;  Paper.  £21. 


BIOGRAPHY. 

Oliver  Cromwell,  and  His  Times ;  by 
Thomas  Cromwell.  With  a  Portrait  from 
an  original  Painting  in  the  Author's  pos- 
session, a  Facsimile  of  Cromwell's  Signa- 
ture, and  Seal  to  the  Warrant  for  Be- 
heading Charles  I.  Original  Memoirs  of 
his  Descendants,  Letters,  and  other  Inte- 
resting Documents,  8vo.  14s. 

The  Universal  Biographical  Dictionary, 
or,  An  Historical  Account  of  the  Lives, 
Characters,  and  Works,  of  the  most  Emi- 
nent Persons  of  every  age  and  nation  ;  by 
John  Watkins.  L.L.D.  Hvo.  £1,  5s. 

Memoirs  of  James  II.  King  of  England. 
With  a  Portrait,  post  !3vo.  2  vols.  16s. 

The  Annual  Biography  and  Obituary 
for  1821,  «vo.  15s. 

Memoirs  of  Count  Borowlaski,  contain- 
ing a  Sketch  of  his  Travels  ;  with  an  Ac- 
count of  his  Reception  at  the  different 
Courts  of  Europe,  &c.  &c.  Portrait.  8vo. 
12s. 

CHEMISTRY. 

Brande's  Manual  of  Chemistry,  a  New 
Edition.  With  Plates,  Wood  Cuts,  &c. 
3  vols.  8vo.  £2,  5s. 

CLASSICS. 

The  Medea  of  Euripides,  literally  trans- 
lated into  chaste  English  Prose,  with  the 
Greek  Text  of  Person,  the  Metres,  Greek 
Order,  English  Accentuation  and  Notes  ; 
by  T.  W.  C.  Edwards,  M.A. 

Catullus,  translated,  with  a  Preface  and 
Notes;  by  Hon.  George  Lamb,  foolscap, 
8vo.  2  vols.  12s. 

DOMESTIC  ECONOMY. 

Practical  Economy ;  or  the  Application 
of  Modern  Discoveries  to  the  purpose*  of 
Domestic  Life,  12mo.  7»-  Cd. 


18210 


Monthly  List  of  New  Publications. 


3.53 


EDUCATION. 

Germs  of  Thought ;  or  Rudiments  of 
Knowledge  :  intended  to  promote  the  Men- 
tal and  Religious  Improvement  of  Youth; 
by  Thomas  Wood,  12mo.  3s.  Cd. 

A  Compendium  of  the  History  of  the 
Jewish  Kings,  with  18  coloured  Engra- 
vings, 18mo.  3s. 

A  slight  Sketch  of  an  Easy  Method  of 
teaching  Languages,  by  Lieut. -Colonel  A. 
W.  Light,  25th  Regiment  of  Foot.  8vo. 
Is.  Gd. 

ENTOMOLOGY. 

Illustrations  of  the  Linnaean  Genera  of 
Insects;  by  W.  Wood,  F.L.S.  with  14 
coloured  Plates,  Part  I.  5s. 

FltfE  ARTS. 

Novels  and  Talcs  of  the  Author  of  Wa- 
vcrlcy — Part  I.  of  a  Series  of  Portraits, 
illustrative  of  the  Novels  and  Tales  of  the 
Author  of  Waverley  ;  with  Biographical 
Notices.  To  be  completed  in  Six  Parts, 
each  Part  containing  Four  Portraits,  en- 
graved by  Mr  Robert  Cooper,  in  the  most 
highly  finished  manner,  from  drawings 
made  expressly  for  the  Work,  by  Mr 
Thurston,  from  the  most  authentic  origi- 
nals. Price  of  each  Part,  Duodecimo,  8s. 
Octavo,  J.Os.  Proofs  on  India  paper,  14s. 
Cmitcntu  of  Part  I. — Queen  Elizabeth, 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Lord  Burleigh,  Sir 
Francis  Walsingham. 

The  English  Lakes,  with  49  coloured 
Engravings,  demy  4to.  £3,  12s.  6d. 

An  Interesting  Collection  of  Portraits 
from  undoubted  Originals,  engraved  in  the 
line  manner  by  the  most  eminent  English 
Artists,  and  accompanied  by  Biographical 
Notices,  8vo.  containing  10  Portraits. 
£1,  Is. 

Western  Africa ;  being  a  Description 
of  the  Manners,  Customs,  Dresses,  and 
Character  of  its  Inhabitants,  illustrated  by 
47  Engravings,  4  vols.  12mo.  £1,  Is. 

Hogarth  Moralized ;  by  Rev.  John 
Trusler,  a  new  edition.  Part  I.  4to.  3s. 
Proofs,  4s.  To  be  completed  in  40  parts. 

Part  I.  of  a  Series  of  Etchings,  pour- 
traying  the  Physiognomy,  Manners,  and 
Character  of  the  People  of  France  and 
Germany  ;  by  George  Lewis,  8vo.  £1,  Is. 

Magazine  of  the  Fine  Arts,  and  Month- 
ly Review  of  Painting,  Sculpture,  Archi- 
tecture, and  Engraving.  No.  II.  3s. 

Illustrations  of  Shakespeare,  from  the 
Paintings  of  Robert  Smirke,  Esq.  R.A. 
royal  8vo.  No.  I.  14s. 

The  Tour  of  the  Seine  from  Paris  to  the 
Sea,  with  4  coloured  Engravings.  No.  V. 
14s. 

The  Destination  and  Use  of  Words  of 
Art  considered  with  regard  to  their  in- 
fluence on  the  Genius  and  Taste  of  Artists, 
&c.  translated  from  the  French  ;  by  Henry 
Thomson,  R.A.  foolscap.  5s.  6d. 

A  Series  of  Views  in  Savoy,  Switzer- 
land, and  on  the  Rhine,  from  drawings 
made  on  the  Spot ;  by  John  Dennis,  with 
tetter-press  descriptions.  Part  III.  16s. 


HISTOHY. 

Memoir  of  the  Operations  of  the  British 
Army  in  India,  during  the  Mahratta  War 
of  1817,  1818,  1819;  by  Lieut-Colonel 
Valentine  Blacker,  with  Maps  and  Plans, 
4to.  £4,  14s.  6d. 

An  Account  of  the  War  in  Spain,  Por- 
tugal, and  the  South  of  France,  from  1808 
to  1814  ;  by  Lieut-Colonel  J.  T.  Jones, 
Second  Edition,  2  vols.  8vo.     £1,  10s. 
LAW. 

A  Report  on  the  Criminal  Law  at  De- 
merara,  and  in  the  ceded  Dutch  Colonies  ; 
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The  Case  of  the  President  of  Queen's 
College,  Cambridge,  determined  in  the 
High  Court  of  Chancery,  by  the  Right 
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taining the  Petitions,  the  Evidence,  and 
the  Judgment.  Edited  by  C.  Bowdler, 
Esq.  8s. 

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1819  ;  by  George  Price,  Esq.  Barrister  at 
Law,  royal  8vo.  vols.  V.  and  VI. 

Reports  of  Cases  Agreed  and  Deter- 
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1817,  to  Michalmas  Term  181?  ;  by  J.  B. 
Moore,  Esq.  3  vols.  royal  8vo. 

MEDICINE. 

The  History  of  the  Plague,  as  it  has 
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Practical  Observations  on  the  Treat- 
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Plates  ;  by  Sir  Everard  Home,  Bart. 
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Observations  on  the  Digestive  Organs  ; 
by  J.  Thomas,  M.D.  8vo.  Os. 

A  Treatise  on  the  Hydrocephalus  Acu- 
tus  ;  or,  Inflammatory  Water  in  the  Head  ; 
by  L.  A.  Giles  :  Translated  from  the  Ger- 
man, by  Robert  Gooch,  M.D.  8vo.  8s. 

An  Essay  on  the  Diseases  of  the  Skin, 
Containing  Practical  Observations  on  Sul- 
phureous Fumigations,  in  the  Cure  of  Cu- 
taneous Complaints,  with  Several  Remark- 
able Cases  ;  by  Sir  Arthur  Clarke,  M.D. 
5s.  Od. 

MISCELLANIES. 

Letters  of  Mary  Lepel,  Lady  Harvey, 
with  a  Memoir,  and  illustrated  Notes.  8vo. 
12s. 

Knickerbocker's  humorous  Account  of 
New- York.  New  edition.  2  vols.  post 
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Deportment  of  a  Married  Life,  laid  down 
in  a  Series  of  Letters,  written  to  a  Young 
Lady  lately  married.  8vo.  (Is. 

A  Treatise  on  Geodesic  Operations  on 
County  Surveying,  Land  Surveying,  and 
Levelling,  by  Isaac  Robson.  Plates.  8vo. 
18s. 

The  British  Review,  No.  XXIV.     fa. 

The  Recreative  Review,  Part  II.     (fc 


Monthly  List  of  New  Publications. 


354 

The  Secretary's  Assistant,  exhibiting 
the  various  and  most  correct  Modes  of  Su- 
perscription, Commencement  and  Conclu- 
sion "of  Letters,  to  persons  of  every  degree 
of  rank ;  with  lasts  of  the  Foreign  Am- 
bassadors and  Consuls ;  by  the  author  of 
the  Peerage  and  Baronetage  Charts,  12mo. 
5s. 

NOVELS. 

Rank  and  Fashion;  or  the  Mazes  of 
Life;  by  Mr  Frere,  3  vols. 

The  Irish  Necromancer ;  or  Deer  Park; 
by  T.  II.  Marshall,  3  vols.  12mo.  IGs.  Gd. 

The  Sisters  ;  in  4  vols.  8vo.     £1,  8s. 

The  Vicar  of  Iver ;  a  Tale,  12mo.  3s. 
Gd. 

Tales  of  Ton,  (second  series,)  by  Miss 
M'Leod,  4  vols.  12mo.     £1,  4s. 
POETRY. 

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MONTHLY  REGISTER. 

COMMERCIAL  REPORT.— l<2th  June,  1821. 

Sugar. — Notwithstanding  that  there  is  but  very  few  new  sugars  to  shew,  the  market 
continues  in  a  languid  and  inactive  state;  the  prices  remain  without  alteration,  and  the 
buyers  evince  no  v/ish  to  purchase.  The  demand  for  refined  for  exportation  continues 
also  very  languid.  The  stock  on  hand  is  by  no  means  considerable,  as  the  refiners  have 
of  late  been  working  on  a  limited  'scale.  No  general  reduction  of  prices  can  be  stated, 
though  purchases  have  been  made  a  shade  lower.  Brazil  sugars  continue  to  be  offered 
on  very  low  terms,  which,  however,  does  not  facilitate  sales.  From  this  time  forward, 
the  supply  of  sugars  from  the  colonies  of  the  present  crop  will  be  considerable ;  and, 
therefore,  there  is  little  hope  of  any  improvement  in  the  market. 

Cotton Owing  to  the  unfavourable  accounts  from  Liverpool  and  Manchester,  the 

cotton  market  everywhere  has  been  very  heavy.  The  purchases,  however,  for  some 
days  back  have  been  considerable,  and  a  brisker  market  is  confidently  anticipated.  The 
manufacturers  everywhere  are,  we  believe,  in  full  activity. 

Cojf'cc — The  market  for  coffee  has  of  late  been  very  much  depressed.  Prices  have 
lately  declined  considerably.  The  market  continues  very  heavy  ;  but  no  farther  reduc- 
tion for  some  days  has  taken  place.  Jamaica's  may  be  stated  2s.  lower.  St  Domingo 
is  sold  at  lid's.  (Jd.,  and  even  at  115s.  for  good  quality. 

Corn. — The  weather  for  some  time  past  has  been  unusually  backward,  and  severe  all 
over  the  kingdom  ;  yet,  notwithstanding,  the  crops  in  general  look  well,  and  the  mar- 
ket for  grain  may  in  general  be  stated  to  be  on  the  decline.  Wheat  is  abu  ndant,  and 
sale  dull.  Oats  are  heavy  at  market ;  but  no  reduction  in  price.  Beans  and  peas  with- 
out any  material  alteration.  Notwithstanding  the  decline  in  price  in  the  London  mar- 
ket, considerable  quantities  remain  undisposed  of.  In  indigo  the  market  continues 
steady  ;  and  an  improvement  is  expected,  notwithstanding  the  late  arrivals.  There  are 
few  purchases  of  tobacco  ;  for  some  time  past,  what  has  been  sold  is  chiefly  for  home 
consumption.  Spices  remain  without  alteration  in  price,  and  few  purchases  making. 
The  tallow  market  is  in  a  depressed  state,  and  purchases  made  at  lower  rates.  The 
prices  of  tea  remain  at  our  quotations.  Fruit  continues  in  a  very  limited  demand. 

Geneva  remains  without  alteration.  Rum  is  uncommonly  depressed,  and  may  be 
purchased  Id.  lower.  At  the  present  prices,  the  planter  had  better  throw  his  molasses 
into  the  sea.  Brandy  is  rather  looking  up.  The  accounts  from  France  represent  the 
late  severe  frosts  to  have  done  great  damage  to  the  vines.  The  fall  in  cattle  has  of  late 
been  very  considerable  in  every  part  of  the  country. 


182.1]]  Register. — Commercial  Report.  357 

The  manufacturers  and  labourers,  however,  are  all  in  full  employment,  and,  consi- 
dering the  Jow  price  of  provisions,  at  good  wages.  The  renewal  of  hostilities  on  the 
Spanish  Main  will  tend  to  injure  our  trade  to  that  quarter ;  and  the  convulsions  in  Tur- 
key must,  for  the  moment,  have  a  similar  effect.  The  latter,  however,  cannot  be  to  any 
great  extent.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fall  of  Lima,  confidently  anticipated,  may  give  a 
spring  to  trade  for  the  moment,  as  far  as  connected  with  that  quarter  of  the  world.  An 
extension  of  trade  within  the  limits  of  the  East  India  Company's  Charter  is  to  take 
place.  The  silk -trade  of  this  country  continues  to  increase  greatly  ;  and,  according  to 
the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne's  statement  in  the  House  of  Lords  the  other  day,  exceeds 
that  of  France.  The  latter  consumes  only  two  millions  and  half  only  of  the  raw  ma 
terial.  Great  Britain  consumes  annually  two  millions  and  an  half,  which,  when  manu- 
factured, is  raised  to  a  value  equal  to  ten  millions.  ' 


EDINBURGH — JUNE  G. 


Wheat. 

1st, 34s.  Od. 

2d, 32s.  Od. 

3d, 28s.  Od. 


Barley. 

1st, 24s.  Od. 

2d, 22s.  Od. 

3d, 19s.  Od. 


Oats. 

1st, 19s.  Od. 

2d, 17s.  Od. 

3d, 15s.  Od. 


Average  of  Wheat,  £1  :  11  :  10  9-12ths.,  per  boll. 
Tuesday,  June  8. 


Pease  &  Beans. 

1st,. 18s.  Od. 

2d, 16s.  Od. 

3d, 15s.  Od. 


Quartern  Loaf    .     .     Os.    9d.  to     Os.  Od 


Mutton     .     .     .     .     Os.  ?Gd.    to  Os.    ?d. 

Potatoes  (28  Ib.)      .     Os.    8d.  to     Os.  Od 

Veal     Os.   5d.    to  Os.    8d. 

Fresh  Butter,  per  Ib.    Is.    3d.  to     Os.  Od 

Pork     Os.   5d.    to  Os.    6d. 

Salt  ditto,  per  stone    18s.    8d.  to     Os.  Od 

Lamb,  per  quarter  .     3s.   Od.    to  4s.    Gd. 

Ditto,  per  Ib.      .     .     Is.    2d.  to     Is.  3d 

Tallow,  per  stone    .    7s.   6d.    to  9s.    Od. 

Eggs,  per  dozen       .     Os.    8d.  to     Os.  Od 

HADDINGTON  —  JUNE  8. 

Wheat. 

Barley. 

Oats. 

Pease. 

Beans. 

1st,  32s.  6d. 

1st,  22s.  6d. 

1st,  19s.  6d. 

1st,  18s.  Od. 

1st,  17s.  Od. 

2d,  31s.  6d. 

2d,  21s.  Od. 

2d,  17s.  Od. 

2d,  IGs.  Od. 

2d,  15s.  Od. 

3d,  30s.  Gd. 

3d,  19s.  Gd. 

3d,  15s.  Od. 

3d,  14s.  Od. 

3d,  13s.  Od. 

Average,  £1  :  11s.  Od.  l-12th. 

Average  Prices  of  Corn  in  England  and  Wales,  from  the  Returns  received  in  the  Week 

ended  May  26th.  , 

Wheat,  51s.  9d.— Rye,  32s.  Od.— Barley,  23s.  3d — Oats,  17s.  3d.— Beans,  29s.  5d.— Pease,  30s.  4<L 
Beer  or  Big,  Os.  Od.— Oatmeal,  18s.  3d. 


London,  Corn  Exchange,  June  4 


Liverpool,  June  5. 


s.       s.                            s.         s. 

t.    d.    s.  d. 

t.  d.    t.  d. 

Wheat,  red,  new  36  to  4fil  Hog  pease  .     .  2V  to  29 

Wheat,  per  70  Ib. 

Amer.  p.  196  Ib. 

Fine  ditto  .     .   48  to  52 

Maple    .     .     .  29  to  31 

Eng.  Old      8     0  to    8     8 

Sweet,  U.S.  —  0  to  —    0 

Superfine  ditto  53  to  55 

White     .     .     .  50  to  31 

Foreign       —   —      —  — 

Do.  in  bond  21  0  to  22  — 

Ditto,  old  .    .    —  to  — 

Ditto,  boilers.  37  to  3-i 

Waterford  7    5  to    7     6 

Sour  do.  .    30  0  to  32    0 

White,  new    .    40  to  46 

Vew  ditto,  .     .  —  to  — 

Limerick  .7    5  to    7    6 

Oatmeal,  per  240  Ib. 

Fine  ditto  .     .   4S  to  56 

SmallBeans,new50  to  34 

Drogheda    7    3  to    7    6 

English        24  0  to  25    0 

Superfine  ditto   60  to  61 

Ditto,  old  .     .  —  to  — 

Dublin   .    7    0  to    7    2 

Scotch  .  .    i'O  0  to  23    0 

Ditto,  old  .    .    —  to  — 

Tick,  new  .    .  22  to  28 

Scotch    .  .  7    9  to    8    3 

Irish  ...    19  0  to  22    o 

Foreign,  new  .  —  to  — 

Ditto,  old  .     .   —  to  — 

Irish  Old  .  7    2  to    7     4 

Bran,  p.  2  lib.  1  0  to  1    i 

Rye  .     .    .    .    27  to  50 
Fine  ditto,  .     .  —  to  — 

Foreign  .     .     .  —  to  — 
Feed  oats  .    .    14  to  18 

Bonded  .  .  4     0  to    5    0 
Barley,  per  60  Ibs. 

Butter,  Beef,  $c. 

Barley   .     .     .     2  1  to  22 

Fine  .     .     .     .  19  to  20 

5ng.  .  .      3    8  to    3  10  Butter.p.cwt.  ».  d.     s.  d- 

Fine,  new  .     .  V3  to  24 

Poland  ditto  .    16  to  19 

Scotch  .      3    2  to    3    6  Belfast,  new  92  0  to  94  0 

Superfine  .     .    24  to  25 

Fine  .     .     .     .  20  to  21 

Irish  .  .       2  10  to    3     0 

Newry  ...     90  0  to  91  0 

Malt  ....  4i>to  5i 

Potatoe  ditto  .  20  to  22 

Oats,  per    5  Ib. 

Waterford  .  94  0  to  95  0 

Fine  .    .    .    .  54  to  56 

Fine  .    .     .    .  23  to  25 

Eng.  pota    2    6  to    2    8 
Irish  do.      2    7  to    2    8 

Cork,pic.2d,92  0  to  93  0 
3d  dry    80  0  to  — 

Scotch  do    2     7  to    2     8 

Beef,  p.  tierce. 

Seeds,  <£c. 

Malt  per  b. 

—  Mess      llO  0  to  115  0 

—  Fine  .  .  8    6  to    8     6 

—  per  brl.    65  0  to    70  0 

*.      s.  d. 

s.         s. 

3eans,  per  qr. 

Pork,  p.  brl. 

Must.  Brown,  7  to  12  0 

Hempseed  .  .   —  to    — 

English    .31     0  to  34    0 

—  Mess    .   58  0  to    66 

—White   ...  5  to    80 

Linseed,  crush.  44  to    48 

Irish   .  .    31     0  to  33    0 

—  Middl.     54  0  to   55  0 

Tares,  new,  .  36  to  42  0 

New,  for  Seed  —  to    — 

Rapeseed,  p.  1.  £32  to  33 

Bacon,  p.  cwt. 

Turnips,  bsh.  20  to  24  0 

Ryegrass,  .  .     16  to    22 

Pease,grey26    0  to  28    0 

Short  mids.  43  0  to    440 

—  Red  &  green  —  to  —  0 

Clover.redcwt.  54  to    64 

—White  .58    0  to  44    0 

Sides   .    .     38  0  to    40  0 

—Yellow,       —  to  —  0 

—White  ...    66  to  108 

Flour,  English, 

Hams,  dry,  50  0  to    56  0 

Caraway,  cwt.  64  to  72  0 

Coriander  .  .      8  to    14 

p.2401b.fine36    0  to  38    C 

Green    .  .    33  0  to   35  0 

Cunarv,  qr.     42  to  48  0  Trefoil  ....  12  to    20 

Irish   .   .    3.5   0  to  37    f 

Lard,rd.p.c.49  0  to    52  0 

Rape  Seed,  per  last,     .    £30  to  £32. 

VOL.  IX.                                                                         2  Y 

3.53 


SUGAR,  Muse. 

B.  P.  Dry  Brown,  .  cwt. 
Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 

Fine  and  very  fine,     .    . 
Refined  Doub.  Loaves,     . 

Powder  ditto, 

Single  ditto, 

Small  Lumps,   .     .     . 

Large  ditto,  ...         . 

Crushed  Lumpr,    .     . 
MOLASSES,  British,   cwt 
COFFEE,  Jamaica,  .  cwt. 

Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 

Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 
Dutch  Triage  and  very  ord. 

Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 

Mid.  good,    and  fine  mid. 

st  Domingo, 

Pimento  (in  Bond,)   .     .     . 
SPIRITS, 

Jam.  Rum,  16  O.  P.  gall. 

Brandy, 

Geneva,        .        .        • 

Grain  Whisky,        ^ 
WINKS, 

Claret,  1st  Growths,  hhd. 

Portugal  Red,  pipe. 

Spanish  White,         butt. 

Teneriffe,  pipe. 

Madeira 

LOGWOOD,  Jam.         ton. 

Honduras 

Carnpeachy,       .     .    . 
FUSTIC,  Jamaica,   . 

Cuba 

INDIGO,  Caraccas  fine,  Ib. 
TIMBER,  Amer.  Pine,  foot. 

Ditto  Oak,    .    .    . 

Christiansand  (dut.  paid.) 

Honduras  Mahogany,     . 

St  Domingo,  ditto,     .     . 
TAR,  American,  brl. 

Archangel 

PITCH,  Foreign,          cwt. 
TALLOW,  Rus.  Yel.  Cand. 

Home  melted,    .    .     .     . 
HEMP,  Riga  Rhine,     ton. 

Petersburg!!,  Clean,   .     . 
FLAX, 

Riga  Thies.  &  Druj.  Rak. 

Dutch, 

Irish, 

MATS,  Archangel,        100. 
BRISTLES, 

Petersburg!!  Firsts,    cwt. 
ASHES,  Peters.  Pearl,  .    . 

Montreal,  ditto,     . 

Pot, 
OIL,  Whale,        .        tun. 

Cod 

TOBACCO,  Virgin,  fine,  Ib. 

Middling,        . 

Inferior, 
COTTONS,  Bowed  Georg. 

Sea  Island,  fine,        . 
Good,       . 
Middling,       .      . 
Demerara  and  Berbice, 
West  India, 
Pernambuco, 
Maranham, 


Register.— Commercial  Repcrt. 


Q.Tune, 


PRICES  CURRENT  June  9. 


LEITH. 

59      to      65 


76 

80 

130 

106 

102 

94 

91 

44 

24 

116 
124 


86 

8li 

145 

110 

106 

98 

94 

56 

25 

124 

138 


120  135 

135  140 

122  126 

8i  8J 

2slOd  3s  Od 
4043 

1  10  0 

66  68 


35 
.-1 
10 
5.5 

£7 
8 
I 
7 
9 


55 
46 
55 
32 
65 
7  7 


9s  (id  11s  liil 


16 
30 
2 
14 


18 
10 
51 
54 
44 
39 


50 
41 
75 

13  10 

40 
41 
37 

£24 
8  Is  (p. 

6J 
6 
5 


18 
34 


11 

51    6 
55 


90 

46 
80 

14 

46 

38 

brl.)— 

7 

64 

54 


GLASGOW. 
56  60 

60  71 


111  120 

121  134 


7i  7J 

2s  2d      2s  .3d 


7     10     8    0 


'6  10 
8  5 
7  6 


1    2 
1    4 


43 


21 
6i 


7  0 

8  10 
8     6 


1     8 
3    0 


44 

'36 
26 

22 

7i 

6*  7J 

4  4? 

0  94        11J 
1820 

1  6J    1     8 
1416 
1012 
0  10     0     11 
1112 
1011 


LIVERPOOL. 

56  58 

59  69 

70  80 


108 
I'.'O 
95 
115 
122 
110 
7i 


118 
128 
114 
121 
128 
113 
8 


Is9d    Is  lid 


7  15 

8  0 

8  15 
6    6 

9  0 
8    0 


1    0 
1     3 
16 


8    5 

8  10 

9  5 
7    0 
9    5 
9    0 


1     4 
1     9 


0  5J  0  8 
0  4}  0  5 
0  2j  0  3 
0  8J  0  10} 
1518 


1     2 
0  11 

0  9 

1  OJ 
1  0 


1     4 
1     4 

1     2 

0  10J 

1  1} 
1     UJ 


LONDON. 

56  Ii8 

GO  65 

70  77 

90  108 


22s  6d         — 


90 
122 


120 
111 


Is  lOd  -s  t.l 
3036 
17  18 


£50 
35 


£60 
40 


28  40 

£6  10      70 

6   10      7    0 

£7    0  £8     0 
10    0    10    6 


16 

16     6 
8     6 


£42 
38 


£57 
41 


•IS 


40  42 

42  42  fi 

42  43 

22  10  — 


0  6d 
0  2J 


0  9 

1  2 


0  11 


1     1 
11 


6J 
0    3 

0  in. 

1  !>" 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  of  Exni.isn  BAXKIUTTCTES,  announced  between  the  20th 
of  April  and  the  2!)th  of  May,  1821,  extracted  from  the  London  (Jazette. 


Adams,  J.  Stainford,  corn  merchant. 

Allison,  G.  Bishop  Wearmouth,  rope  maker. 

Ambrose,  W.  Clapton,  carpenter. 

Avety,  J.  Bamstaple,  shopkeeper. 

Bailey,  W.  H.  Cheltenham,  banker. 

Barnet,  J.  junior,  West-street,  West  Smithfield, 
victualler 

Baverstock,  R.  Brompton,  plumber. 

Beardmore,  E.  Newcastle  under  Lyme,  shoema- 
ker. 

Blakey,  J.  R.  Liverpool,  vinegar  maker  and  mer- 
chant. 


Blunsum,  W.  B.  Stamford,  grocer. 

Bosher,  T.  of  Slate  End,  near  Wallingford,  dealer 

in  timber. 

Bruton,  G.  N.  Devizes,  coachmaker. 
Buttery,  S.  West  Stoekwith,    Nottinghamshire, 

maltster. 

Cameron,  J.  Suckley,  Worcester,  farmer. 
Clarke,  F.  Gainsborough,  draper. 
Collin,  S.  Woodlesford,  York,  blacksmith. 
Coney,  T.  Sculthorpe,  Norfolk,  miller. 
Copland,  S.  junior,  Blaekheath,  victualler. 
Corri,  N.  Golden-square,  dealer  in  music,  &£• 


1821.3 


Register. — Commercial  Re^mrL 


Crumble,  G.  and  C'arr,  J.  York,  tobacco  manu- 
facturers. 

Curwen,  J.  Great  East  Cheap,  tea-broker. 

Dawson,  R.  Norwich,  linen-draper. 

Dean,  J.  Bingley,  York,  builder. 
"  Demayne,  W.,  Otvidley,  York,  worsted  spinner. 

Devereux,  W.  H.  Calais,  merchant. 

Dicken,  J.  Shrewsbury,  upholsterer. 

Driver,  J.  and  M.  Bristol,  cabinet-makers. 

Essex,  M.  of  Coventry,  and  Wood-street,  Cheap- 
side,  silk  manufacturer. 

Fate,  W.  late  of  Settle,  Yorkshire,  cabinet-maker. 

Fowler,  G.  Collumpton,  Devon,  hosier. 

Franke,  R.  senior,  Newark  upon  Trent,  miller. 

French, R.Wimpole,  Cambridgeshire,  shopkeeper. 

(filbert,  J.  Church-street,  Mile  End,  New  Town, 
victualler. 

Glover,  B.  late  of  Bread-street,  but  now  of  Wat- 
ling  street,  Manchester,  warehouseman. 

Goodair,  J.  late  of  Chorley,  Lancaster,  cotton- 
spinner. 

Gorton,  J.  Henry-street,  Hampstead  Road,  smith. 

Greenwood,  T.  junior,  Preston,  Lancaster,  up- 
holsterer. 

Hall,  H.  and  Hall,  J.  Upper  Thames-street,  and 
Wolverhampton,  iron  merchants. 

Hawkins,  J.  Farncombe,  Surrey,  crape-manufac- 
turer. 

Hannington,  S.  Putney,  ironmonger. 

Hebdin,  W.  Leeds,  Ilebdin,  A.  O.  Parliament- 
street,  and  Brown,  J.  senior,  Leeds,  merchants. 

.Henshaw,  J.  Glocester-place,   Portman  Square, 
bookseller.  ( 

Hulkes,  T.  K.  Rochester,  miller. 

H  union,   G.  Cateaton-street,  linen  and  woollen 
factory  warehouseman. 

Jerry,  J.  Kirkton,  Suffolk,  maltster. 

Kelsey,  B.  Nuneaton,  innkeeper. 

Killick,  W.  Cheam,  Surrey,  coal-merchant 

King,  W.  Worcester,  draper. 

Kyffen,  J.  Lime  House  Hole,  dealer. 

Lighten,  J.  late  of  Arbourn  Square  Commercial 
Road,  mariner. 

I-awledce,  M.  Harley-street,  Cavendish  Square, 
upholsterer. 

Lawton,  R.  Bottoms  Within  Stayley,  Cheshire, 
clothier. 

Lee,  J.  Sunderland,  grocer. 

Lyon,  J.  Marsham-street,  Westminster,  cooper. 

Lubbren,  F.  M.  Bu«y  Cottage,  Northumberland, 
iron-founder. 

Mayers,  M.  Upper  Fountain-place,  City  Road, 
merchant. 


Menke,  D.  T.  Primrose-street,  Bishopsgate-itreet, 

Without,  merchant. 
Morgan,  J.  Stroud,  linen-draper. 

Mulligan,  T.  Bath,  silk-merchant. 

Nathan,  J.  Westbury-upon-Trim,  music-seller. 
&c. 

Payne,  T.  and  D.  Cateaton-street,  warehousemen. 

Phillips,  B.  Tong,  Salop,  butcher. 

Phillips,  J.  B.  Bartlett's  Buildings,  jeweller. 

Pound,  C.  and  W.  H.  Cloth  Fair,  woollen-drapers. 

Richards,  W.  Shoreditch,  soap-maker. 

Ryder,  J.  and  J.  New  Mai  ton,  merchants. 

Richardson,  G.  Horncastle,  grocer. 

Roberts,  H.  Hplywell,  Flintshire,  grocer. 

Roe,  E.  Chadkirk,  within  Romily,  Chester,  calico- 
printer. 

Roe,  W.  Lower,  East  Smithfleld,  wheelwright. 

Sealey,  H.  W.  Stamford,  upholsterer. 

Shepherd,  J.  jun.  Pirton,  and  Houghton,  R.  Bad- 
sey,  Worcester,  dealers. 

Smart,  W.  Bishopsgate-street,  carpenter. 

Smith,  J.  Patrington,  in  Holderness,  linen-draper. 

Spencer,  W.  Bristol,  corn-factor. 

Stodart,  R.  and  M.  Strand,  booksellers. 

Tate,  J.  Liverpool,  provision  merchant. 

Thomas,  H.  W.  Wolverhampton,  upholsterer. 

Thompson,  H.  Sulcoates,  Yorkshire,  merchant. 

Turner,  D.  Whitechapel  Road,  timber  merchant. 

Turner,  S.  Stock  Exchange,  Capel  Court,  stock- 
broker. 

Vaughan,  E.  Monythusloyne,  Monmouthshire, 
apothecary  and  coal  merchant. 

Waller,  M.  late  of  Stone,  Staffordshire,  victualler. 

Wall,  R.  Sutton-street,  Soho,  carpenter. 

Walls,  T.  Webber-street,  and  Lambeth  Marsh, 
hat-manufacturers. 

Ward,  J.  late  of  Banbury,  brewer. 

Watmough,  J.  Orford,  Lincolnshire,  farmer, 

Welsh,  J.  High  Holborn,  master  mariner. 

Westaway,  J.  Exeter,  watchmaker. 

Wetton,  J.  James.  W.  and  Payne,  jun.  Wood- 
street,  and  of  Coventry  and  Nuneaton,  ribbon- 
manufacturers. 

Wharton,  R.  and  H.  Little  Crosby,  Lancaster, 
joiners. 

Wilkinson,  G.  York,  linen-draper. 

Williams,  L.  W.  Fleet-street,  wine-merchant.  . 

Wilmot,  D.  Prince's-street,  Rotherhithe,  mariner. 

Wolferstan,  J.  C'hichester,  ironmonger. 

Wood,  T.  Lake  Loch,  Yorkshire,  maltster. 

Woodcock,  C.  Norwich,  coachmaker 

Young,  J.  jun.  Ronwey,  upholsterer. 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  of  SCOTCH  BANKRUPTCIES,  announced  between  the  1st  and 
31st  May,  1821,  extracted  from  the  Edinburgh  Gazette. 


Burrell,  Robert,  saddler,  Cupar  Fife. 

Campbell,  Macarthur  Duncan,  merchant,  book- 
seller, and  stationer,  Glasgow. 

Macdougal,  Duncan,  merchant,  Glasgow. 

Sinclair,  William,  merchant,  Lerwick. 

Smart,  John,  merchant  and  insurance-broker, 
Lertn. 

Tod,  John,  baker  and  corn-merchant,  Dundee. 

Walker,  John,  grocer,  Lochwinnoch. 

Williamson,  Thomas,  merchant,  ThonihilL 

DIVIDENDS. 
Adie,  Robert,  and  M'Queen,  George,  in  C-  mpany, 

woollen  manufacturers  at  Dallirie,  Hear  Crieff ; 

a  dividend  4th  June. 
<'assels,W.  G.and  Cassels,  Robert,  late  merchants, 

Leith  ;   a  dividend  12th  June  to  the  postponed 

creditors. 
C'hcyne,  Stuart,  bookseller,  Edinburgh ;  a  final 

dividend  25th  June. 
Coates,  John,  manufacturer,  Glasgow ;  a  dividend 

29th  May. 
Easton,  John,  formerly  distiller  at  Don  Bridge, 

near  Aberdeen  ;  a  final  dividend  2d  July. 
Forrester,  Anderson,  and  Jarvie,  hardware-mer- 
chants, Glasgow  ;  a  dividend  Jil  July. 


Hamilton,  John,  wright  and  builder  in  Lanark  ; 
a  dividend  27th  April. 

Hepburn,  James,  late  farmer  in  Bearford,  and 
lime-burner  in  Saltoun,  East  Lothian  ;  a  divi- 
dend 5th  May. 

Brown,  William,  late  of  Longbedhohn,  cattle- 
dealer  ;  a  dividend  30th  June. 

Macfarlane,  T.  and  A.  cotton-spinners  in  Bridge- 
ton,  near  Glasgow;  a  final  dividend  15th  July. 

Martinsons  and  Somerville,  distillers  at  Gellay- 
banks,  near  Perth ;  a  dividend  27th  June. 

Milne,  Margaret,  haberdasher  and  merchant, 
Stonehaven;  a  final  dividend  20th  June. 

Monteath,  John,  hardware  merchant,  Stirling ;  a 
dividend  27th  June. 

Murray.Wm.  tenant  in  Keithick ;  a  final  dividend 
15th  June. 

Page,  G.  and  D.  and  Co.  haberdashers,  South 
Bridge,  Edinburgh ;  a  dividend  2:^th  June. 

Rodger,  James,  merchant,  Greenock  j  a  dividend 
10th  June. 

Ross,  Thomas^  merchant,  Montrose;  a  dividend 
25th  July. 

Scott,  Burt,  and  Co.  tanners,  Kilconquhar ;  a  final 
dividend  '.'7th  June. 


3«0 


Registers-Commercial  Report. 


Weekly  Price  of  Stocky  from  2d  to  23d  May,  1821. 


2d. 

9th. 

16th. 

23d. 

Bank  ^n£\t^rrrrriJJJ1JJJ  Jff'r  -rr,SISI,jJ4Iin 

2234 
724         | 
72i        4 

814 

894 
108$ 
70i 
2304 
42  pr. 
5  pr. 
72| 

71 

«2fr.  25c. 

225 
73J       2? 
74         3| 
82J 
91  i 
109 

7H 

42  pr. 
5  pr. 

74J 

714 
83fr.  20c. 

220 

73|       f 
74|      4 
83| 
91f 
109f 
72^ 
2324 
43  pr. 
3pr. 
744 
714 
82fr.  25c. 

228 
744       3f 

75       44 

83jj 
924 
110 
721 
234 
46  pr. 
3  pr. 
75J 

7H 
84fr.  15c. 

3  per  cent.  reduced,  „.„,„„„„„„„„„„ 

3  per  rent.  CQnaol»»««»««»4»~«~T~~**~ 

3^  per  rerit.  f.m\s.n\^.,.rr,rrr,,,,,^rf^,,,,,, 

4  per  cent,  consols,  „„„„,„„„„„„„,„„ 

5  per  cent,  navy  ann~~~™^««*™™-. 
Imperial  3  per  cent,  ann  
India  stork  7  .._  „  JJ.JfJ,JJJ. 

^ncinA.^rrt,,,rrnriJljr^tffr^^^rr^ffr^f 

Exchequer  bills,~~~,~™~~~«-»~~~~~ 
Consols  for  ace.  ~™~,-™~,^,m~™,™~ 
.Anier.  3  per  cent-,.—  .~,,-~,,.»~.~~,.,,~ 
French  5  per  cents  

Course  of  Exchange,  June  8. — Amsterdam,  12:  16.  C.  F.  Ditto  at  sight,  12  :  13. 
Rotterdam,  12  :  17.  'Antwerp,  12  :  1 1.  Hamburgh,  38  :  9.  Altona,  38  :  10.  Paris,  3 
d.  sight,  25:  80.  Ditto  26 :  15.  Bourdeaux,  20  :  15.  Frankfort  on  the  Maine,  159. 
Petersburgh,  9  :  3  U.  Vienna,  10  :  21  Eff.Jio.  Trieste,  10  :  21  Eff.  Jlo.  Madrid,  36. 
Cadiz,  35|.  Bilboa,  354-  Barcelona,  35.  Seville,  354-  Gibraltar,  304-  Leghorn 
47.  Genoa,  44.  Venice,  27  :  60.  Malta,  45.  Naples,  40.  Palermo,  116.  Lis- 
bon, 494.  Oporto,  494.  Rio  Janeiro,  49.  Bahia,  59.  'Dublin,  9  per  cent. 
Cork,  84  per  cent. 

Prices  of  Gold  and  Silver,  per  oz. — Foreign  gold,  in  bars,  £3:1?:  104d.  New 
Dollars,  Os.  Od-  Silver  in  bars,  stand.  4s.  lOd. 


METEOROLOGICAL  TABLE,  extracted  from  the  Register  kept  at  Edinbtirgli,  in  tht 
Observatory,  Calton-ftill. 

N.B.— The  Observations  are  made  twice  every  day,  at  nine  o'clock,  forenoon,  and  four  o'clock,  after- 
noon.— The  second  Observation  in  the  afternoon,  in  the  first  column,  is  taken  by  the  Register 
Thermometer. 


Ther. 

Barom. 

Attach. 
Ther. 

Wind. 

Ther. 

Barom. 

Attach. 
Ther. 

Wind. 

Mayl{ 

M.32 
A.  49 

29.765 
.575 

M.56\ 
A.56/ 

w. 

Clear  and 
warm. 

May  17  { 

M.29 
A.  45 

29.773 
.643 

M.52\ 
A.52/ 

N.W. 

Fore,  sunsh. 
lail  aftern. 

2{ 

M.37J 
A.  45 

.755 
.535 

M.56\ 
A.56/ 

Cble. 

Foggy,  with 
rain. 

18  { 

M.52 
A.  49 

.910 
.868 

M.50\ 
A.54/ 

Cble. 

Showers, 
with  thund. 

s{ 

M.50 
A.51 

.516 
.516 

M.57\ 
A.  52  / 

N.E. 

Fair,  but 
dull. 

19  { 

M.32 
A.  49 

.975 
.999 

M.47\ 
A.47/ 

N.E. 

Fair  foren. 
rain  aftern. 

x    a/ 

M.37 

.478 

M.52\ 

rti.1 

Fair  foren. 

«>n/ 

M.28 

.999 

M.54  \ 

Fair,  with 

"i 

A.  46 

.259 

A.54/ 

Cble. 

rain  aftcrn. 

20  1 

A.  46 

50.212 

A.53/ 

E. 

sunshine. 

5{ 

M.59 
A.53 

.188 
28.999 

M.58\ 
A.  54  / 

S. 

Fair  day, 
rain  night. 

2>{ 

M.53 

A.  46 

29.999 
.950 

M.55\ 

A.52/ 

E. 

Ditto,  but 
very  cold. 

t 

M.36 

.999 

M.54\ 

Dull  foren. 

.960 

M.52\ 

Fair,  dull, 

I 

A.  49 

29.170 

A.  54  / 

s.w. 

sun  aftern. 

22  1 

A.'  48 

.825 

A.48/ 

E. 

&  very  cold. 

7{ 

M.36 
A.  50 

.193 
.999 

M.52\ 
A.  .51  f 

S. 

Fair  foren. 
rain  aftern. 

23{ 

M.29 
A.  44 

.790 
.780 

M.511 
A.  49  / 

Cble. 

Dull,  with 
lail  shower*. 

8{ 

M.36 
A.  47 

.445 
.564 

M.55\ 
A.54/ 

Cble. 

Dull,  fair, 
very  cold. 

24{ 

M.27 
A.  44 

.880 
.812 

M.52  \ 
A.  53  / 

Cble. 

Fair,  with 
sunshine. 

9{ 

M.32 
A.  47 

,592 
.t>90 

M.47\ 
A.51/ 

N.W. 

Sunsh.  with 
showers  hail. 

25{ 

M.52 
A.  46 

.567 
.526 

M.51  \ 
A.  41  / 

N. 

Frost  morn, 
lail  sh.  day. 

io{ 

M.30 
A.  47 

.805 
.627 

M.50  \ 
A.54/ 

N.W. 

Ditto,   snow 
on  hills. 

26{ 

M.21J 
A.  41 

.575 
.368 

M.47\ 
A.  46  / 

N. 

Snow  morn, 
lail  foren. 

ll{ 

M.38 
A.51 

.589 
.465 

M.54\ 
A.  51  / 

N.W. 

Foren.  suns. 
rain  aftcrn. 

27{ 

M.28i 
A.  44 

.446 
.707 

M.47\ 
A.47J 

N. 

F.heav.  hail, 
af.heav.rain. 

12{ 

M.55 
A.  48 

.411 
.442 

M.54\ 
A.  55  / 

N.W. 

Sunshine, 
with  hail. 

28{ 

M.52J 
A.  15 

.765 

.789 

M.46\ 
A.  49  / 

N. 

Haiti  morn, 
hail  sh.  day. 

13  { 

M.35 

A.  49 

!l02 

M.52\ 
A.  54  / 

S.E. 

Fair,  with 

sunshine. 

29  / 

M.32 
A.  48 

.904 
.980 

M.53\ 
A.51/ 

N. 

Dull,  fair, 
&  very  cold. 

H{ 

M.50 
A.  48 

.102 
.101 

M.48\ 
A.  49  / 

S.E. 

Sunsh.  fore. 
Thun.  after. 

30  1 

M.31J 
A.  47 

.999 
.997 

M.56\ 
A.51/ 

E. 

Fair,  with 
suns.  &  cold. 

15  { 

M.3I 
A.  43 

28.991 
.'9.116 

M.49) 
A.  51  / 

S.E. 

Heavy  rain  f. 
fair  aftern. 

31  { 

M.34 
A.  45 

30.102 
29.995 

M.51) 
A.53/ 

E. 

Ditto. 

16{ 

M.30 
A.  15 

.537 
.539 

M.51  \ 
A.53/ 

N.W. 

Sunshine. 

Average  of  Rain,  1.81C  inches. 


Appointments,  Promotions,  <5fc. 


301 


APPOINTMENTS,  PROMOTIONS,  &c. 


2  L.  Gds.  Cornet  and  Sub-Lieut.  Reid,  to  be 
Lieut,  vice  Grieve,  superseded, 

20th  Mar.  1821 

Lord  F.  Conyngham,  Cornet  and 
Sub-Lieut.  23d  Apr. 

Gen.  Hon.  R.  Taylor,  from  5  Dr.  G. 
Col.  vice  Earl  of  Carhampton, 
dead,  50th  do. 


6  Dr.  G. 

7 


9  Dr. 

19 


Capt.  C.  H.  Somerset,   from  h.  p. 
Cape  Corps,  Capt.  vice  Fawcett,  h. 


3d  May. 

nurch. 


21 
22 


26 


5C 

73 
85 

2  W.  I.  R. 

1  Ceyl.  R. 

CapeC.Cav 


p.  24  Dr.  (rec.  diff.) 
Hon.  G.  Vaughan,  Cornet  by  pu 

vice  Jones,  ret.  loth  do. 

Lieut.  Georges,  Capt.  do.  vice  Maj. 

Skelton,  ret  3d  do. 

Cornet  Hall,  Lieut  do.  do. 

W.  J.  T.  Fagg,  Cornet,  do.  do. 

Lt  Welsh,  Capt.  vice  Clarke,  dead, 

19th  Apr. 

Ensign  Clay,  Lieut  do. 

2d  Lt  Copson,  from  21  F.  Ens.    do. 
Lt.  Waterman,  Capt.  by  purch.  vice 

Maj.  Light,  ret  3d  May. 

Ensign  Tinling,  Lieut,  do.  do. 

Gent.  Cadet,  H.  King,  Ens.  do.  vice 

O'Ryan,  ret  2d  do. 

J.  Jones,  Ensign,  do.  vice  Tinling, 

3d  do. 
Gent  Cadet  W.  M.  Brownrigg,  fm. 

R.  Mil.  Coll.  Ens.  vice  Clayton, 

36  F.  10th  do. 

Lieut.  Walton,  Capt.  vice  Thurlow, 

dead,  26th  Apr. 

Ens.  W.  G.  Earl  of  Erroll,  from  85 

F.  Lieut.  3d  May. 

Beet,  2d  Lt  vice  Copson,  5  F. 

19th  Apr. 
Capt  Dennie,  Maj.  by  purch.  vice 

Lieut-Col.  Shaw,  ret  do. 

Lieut.  Bryne,  Capt  do.  do. 

Ens.  Corneld,  Lieut,  do.  do. 

Gent  Cadet  L.   C.  Vise.  Falkland, 

from  R.  Mill.  Coll.  by  purch.    do. 
Bt  Maj.  C.  S.  Campbell,  Maj.  vice 

Farquharson,  dead,         10th  May. 
Lieut  Dunn,  Capt  do. 

Ens.  Fraser,  Lieut  do. 

W.  E.  Hay,  Ens.  do. 

Lt.  Col.  Moffatt,  from  1  Ceyl.  R.  Lt 

Col.  vice  Pelly,  h.  p.  56  F.   3d  do. 
Ens.  Clayton,  from  13  F.  Ens.  vice 

M'Cabe,  10th  do. 

Ens.  M'Cabe,  Qua.  Mast  vice  Kemp, 

dead,  do. 

Bt.  Maj.  Chambers,  Maj.  by  purch. 

vice  Bt.  Lt.  Col.  Freud,  ret  3d  do. 
Lieut  O'Reilly,  Capt.  do.  do. 

Ens.  Caldwell,  Lieut  do.  do. 

G.  Todd,  Ens.  do.  do. 

Lieut.  Gun,  Capt  vice  Barry,  dead, 
3d  do. 

Ens.  Palmer,  Lieut  do. 

Lieut  Auber,  from  h.  p.  67  F.  vice 

Campbell,  dead,  26th  Apr. 

H.  M.  Gordon,  Ens.  vice  Lord  Erroll, 

prom.  16  F.  3d  May. 

Lieut  Fox,  from  h.  p.  99  F.  Paym. 

vice  Dely,  res.  do. 

Lieut.  Col.  Sullivan,  from  h.  p.  56  F. 

Lieut  Col.  vice  Moffatt,  33  F.  do. 
Capt.  De  Visme,  from  h.  p.  21  Dr. 

Capt.  (pay  diff.)  vice  C.  H.  Somer- 
set, 7  Dr.  G.  do. 

Royal  Artillery. 

2d  Capt  Molesworth,  from  h.  p.  2d 
Capt.  vice  Curtis,  h.  p. 

21st  Apr.  1821. 

1st  Lieut.  Griffin,  from  h.  p.  1st  Lt. 

7th  do. 

5d  Lieut.  Miller,  do.  do. 

Edridgc,  from  h.  p.  2d  Lt. 

do. 


Miscellaneous 

Lt.  Col.  Bell,  h.  p.  to  be  Dep.  Qua. 

Mast.  Gen.  at  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 

vice  Warre,  res.  26th  Apr.  1821 
T.  Allan,  Hosp.  Assist  vice  Moon, 

dead,  do. 

Hosp.  Assist.  R.  Moir,  from  h.  p. 

Hosp.  Assist,  vice  Bruce,  cancelled, 

3d  do. 

Rev.  J.  S.  Pering,  Chaplain  to  the 

Forces. 

Exchanges. 

Lieut  Col.  Napier,  from  44  F.  with  Bt  Col.  Mor- 
rison, h.  p.  Sicil.  Regt 
Bt  Major  Callandar,  from  91  F.  with  Capt  Mann. 

h.  p.  98  F. 
Wilson,  from  28  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Capt. 

Kidd,  h.  p.  611  F. 
Capt  Orr,  from  21  F.  with  Capt.  Jack,  h.  p.  W. 

1.  Rang. 
Taylor,  from  37  F.  with  Capt.  Thoreau, 

h.  p.  40  F. 
Patterson,  from  50  F.  with  Capt.  Anderson, 

h.  p.  York  Chass. 
Gunning,  from  69  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Capt. 

Williams,  h.  p.  25  Dr. 
••          Suasso,  trom  55  F.  with  Capt.  Daniell,  h. 

p.  99  F. 
Meech,  from  82  F.  with  Capt.  Martin,  h.  p. 

62  F. 
Lieut  O'Keefe,  from  2  F.  with  Lieut.  Windus,  35 

F. 
Gordon,  from  81  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lieut. 

Norman,  h.  p.  34  F. 

Wilkins,  from  87  F,  with  Lieut  Cox,  h.  p. 

Cornet  Richardson,  from  4  Dr,  G.  with  Cornet  De 

Lisle,  4  Dr. 
2d  Lieut.  Bruce,  from  21  F.  with  Ensign  Bayley, 

h.  p.  1  Gar.  Bn. 
Ensign  Bonbury,  from  94  F.  with  Ensign  Mallet, 

h.  p.  37  F. 
Paym.  Goddard,  from  55  F.  with  Capt  Fisher,  h. 

p.  15  F. 
Staff  Surg.  Macleod,  with  Staff  Surg.  M'Diarmid, 

h.  p. 

Roy,  with  Staff  Surg.  Clarke,  h.  p. 

Hosp,  Assist.  M'Cabe,  with  Hosp.  Assist  Watson, 

h.p. 

Resignations  and  Retirement!. 

Lieut  Col.  Shaw,  22  F. 

Frend,  49  F. 

Major  Skelton,  19  Dr. 

Light,  13  F. 

Cornet  Jones,  9  Dr. 
Ensign  O'Ryan,  13  F. 

Superseded. 
Lieut.  Grieve,  2  Life  Gds. 

Appointment  Cancelled 
Hosp.  Assist.  A.  Bruce,  from  h.  p. 
Deaths. 

Lieut  Gen.  Read,  late  of  1  Life  Gds.  at  Rome, 

20th  Apr.  1821. 

Major  Gen.  Bateman,  East  India  Comp.  Service. 
Lieut  Col.  Fetherstonhaugh,  h.  p.  46  F. 

Inglis,  h.  p.  126  F.       27th  Mar.  1821. 

Major  Farquharson,  2G  F.  Edinburgh, 

1st  May,  1821. 

Fetherston,  47  F.  Fort  George  Barracks, 

Bombay,  Hth  Nov.  1820. 

Howard,  70  F.  London.     19th  May,  1821. 

• Taylor,  h.  p.  58  F.  Summerset,  near  Par- 

sonstown,  Ireland,  6th  Feb.  1821. 
Donzel,  h.  p.  Meurou's  Regt.  2d  Mar.  1821. 


Appointments  and  Promotions, 


362 

C'apt.  Ilvml,  late  Invalids,  Brecknock, 

31st  Mar.  1821. 

Rham,  h.  p.  Neuron's  Regt.  8th  do. 

Lieut.  De  L'Etang,  17  Dr.  Poorbunder,  on  liis 

way  to  Bombay,  Cth  Oct.  1820. 

M'Dougall,  30  F.  Secunderabad,  Madras, 

2Gth  Aug.  4V_'0. 

Buckeride,  Roy.  Eng.  l.th  Apr.  1821. 

Daniel  Green,  late  Invalids,  Portsmouth, 

27th  Feb.  1821. 

Bowsar,  of  late  12  V.  Bn.  1.5th  do. 

Karr,  h.  p.  2S  F.  5th  Dec.  1820. 

Long,  h.  p.  58  F.  llth  Oct.  1820. 

— —  Vandyke,  h.  p.  Waggon  Train,  France. 

17th  Mar.  1821. 


QJunc, 


Capt  Hill,  h.  p.  York  Fuz. 

Vogelly,  h.  p.  llompesch's  Rif. 

Cornet  Clayton,  h.  p.  Queen's  Amer.  Ra.  New 
Brunswick.  1st  Dec.  1819. 

Ensign  Norcott,  83  F.  Kyatcr,  Madras. 

15th  Oct.  1820. 
Gordon,  h.  p.  60  F.  9th  Mar.  1821. 

.Smith,  h.  p.  79  F. 

Barber,  h.  p.  101  F.  Boltington,  nearMac- 

clesfielcl,  22.1  Apr.  18-21. 

Qr.  Mast.  Kemp,  3fi  F.  Zante,  2d  Jan.  1821. 

Harper,  49  F.  Balluiasloe,  7th  May,  1821. 

Murray,  h.  p.  Manx  F.  1. 25d  July,  1820. 


BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BIRTHS. 

Dec.  16,  1820.  At  Calcutta,  at  the  house  of  the 
llev.  Mr  Thomson,  the  lady  of  A.  F.  Ramsay, 
Esq.  surgeon  in  the  Honourable  Company's  ser- 
vice, of  a  daughter. 

Mar.  16,  1821.  At  Kingston,  Jamaica,  the  lady 
of  the  Hon.  William  Shand,  of  a  son. 

25.  At  Madeira,  the  lady  of  Robert  Wallas, 
Esq.  of  a  son. 

April  1.  On  board  the  Lord  Hungerford,  at  sea, 
the  lady  of  Collin  Campbell,  Esq.  surgeon  of  the 
horse  brigade  on  the  Bengal  establishment,  of  a 
daughter. 

20.  At  Falkirk,  the  lady  of  Captain  Fulton,  R. 
N.  of  a  son. 

21.  At  Petersburg!!,  Sultana  Kattegherry  of  a 
daughter. 

—  At  Rozene,  near  Ayr,  the  lady  of  Alexander 
W.  Hamilton,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

23.  At  Aix,  the  lady  of  James  Skene,  Esq.  of 
Kubieslaw,  of  a  daughter. 

25.  At  Kilravock  Castle,  the  lady  of  Hugh 
Hose,  Esq.  of  Kilravock,  of  a  daughter. 

—  At   Nenagh,   Ireland,   the   lady  of  James 
Dempster,  Esq.  M.D.  of  a  daughter. 

28.  At  Gartraore-house,  Mrs  Cunningham  Gra- 
am ,  of  a  daugh  ter. 

29.  The  lady  of  R.  W.  Brandling,  Esq.  of  Low 
Gosforth,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  the  lady  of  Lieutenant-Colo- 
nel Wylly,  fusiliers,  of  a  son. 

May  2.  At  Springfield,  the  lady  of  James  Inver- 
arity,  Esq.  of  a  son. 

5.  At  Lochnaw  Castle,  the  lady  of  Sir  Andrew 
Agnew,  Bart,  of  a  son. 

•1.  At  Stirling,  Mrs  Robert  Balfour,  R.  N.  of  a 
son. 

5.  At  the  Grove,  Mrs  Bonar,  of  a  daughter. 

7.  At  Leith,  Mrs  Dr  Macaulay,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Kirkmay-house,  the  lady  of  Robert  In- 
glis,  Esq.  of  Kirkmay,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Hedge  Grove,  near  Keswick,  Cumber- 
land, Mrs  Forbes  of  Culloden,  of  a  son. 

8.  At  Melrose,  Mrs  David  M  pence,  of  a  daugh- 
ter. 

—  At  Friem  Hatch,   Middlesex,  the  lady  of 
Henry  St  George  Tucker,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

12.  At  Ruchill,  the  lady  of  Duncan  Campbell, 
Ksq.  of  Barraldine,  of  a  daughter. 

15.  At  Great  King  Street,  Mrs  Craig,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Dublin,  the  lady  of  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Lindsay,  C.  B.  commanding  the  78th  Highlanders, 
of  a  daughter. 

—  Mrs  Dow,  Duke  Street,  of  a  son. 

15.  The  lady  of  Alexander  Fraser,   Esq.    of 
Thavies  Inn,  of  a  son. 

16.  At  Craigleith-house,  Mrs  William  Fleming, 
of  a  daughter. 

18.  At  Uargaly,  the  lady  of  John  Mackie,  Esq. 
of  a  son. 

19.  At  her  father's  (General  Sir  Hew  Dalrym- 
ple)  house,  in  Hertfordshire,  the  lady  of  Captain 
Dacres,  R.  N.  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  Armagh,  Ireland,  Mrs  W.  C.  Clarke,  of  a 
.still-born  child. 

21.  At  No.  8,  Union  Street,  Mrs  Peter  Scott,  of 
a  son. 

I".1.  At  Williamfield,  near  Stirling,  Mrs  Cap- 
tain Forrester  of  Craiganncl,  of  a  son. 

—  Mrs  Kenny,  Castle  Street,  of  a  daughter. 


21.  At  Montpelier  Park,  Burrowmuirhead,  the 
lady  of  R.  Scott,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

—  Mrs  Brewster,  Dublin  Street,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Charlotte  Square,  the  lady  of  Major-Ge- 
neral  Balfour  of  Balbirnie,  of  a  son. 

25.  At  Charlotte  Square,  Mrs  Alexander  Wood, 
of  a  son. 

—  Mrs  Peter  Hewat,  Dundas  Street,  of  a  son. 
27.  At  Young  Street,  Charlotte  Square,  Mr* 

John  Brougham,  of  a  son. 

—  Mrs  vVatson,  Melville  Street,  of  a  son. 

50.  At  South  Castle  Street,  Mrs  Gibson,  of  a  son. 
June  1.  At  20,  Hill  Street,  Mrs  Bell,  of  a  son. 
3.  At  Lady  Seaforth's,  Inveresk-house,  the  Hon. 
Mrs  Stewart  Mackenzie  of  Seaforth,  of  a  son. 


MARRIAGES. 

Nor.  20, 1820.  At  Madras,  Major  George  Cadell, 
12th  native  infantry,  Assistant- Adjutant  General, 
to  Margaret,  second  daughter  of  William  Molle, 
Esq.  ot  Mains,  W.  S. 

Marc/i  17, 1821.  At  St  Vincent's,  Lietenant  Cox, 
of  the  2-'d  light  dragoons,  to  Magdalene,  second 
daughter  of  Captain  Sutherland  of  Montrose. 

April  16.  At  Bo'ness,  James  Cowan,  Esq.  M.  D. 
to  Margaret,  second  daughter  of  the  late  Andrew 
Tod,  Esq.  Bo'ness. 

23.  At  Kerse,  Mr  James  Girdwood,  surgoga, 
Falkirk,  to  Jane,  fifth  daughter  of  MrjjHr 
Borthwick. 

—  Christopher  Capell,  Esq.  of  Prestbury,  near 
Cheltenham,  to  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  the  late  Sir 
William  Forbes  of  Craigievar. 

—  At  St  George's  Church,  Hanover  Square, 
London,  the  Earl  of  Aylesford,  to  Lady  Augusta 
Sophia  Greville,  sister  to  the  Earl  of  Warwick. 

25.  At  St  Paul's,  Covent  Garden,  London,  Sir 
William  Dick,  Bart,  to  Caroline,  relict  of  Lieute- 
nant-Colonel Alexander  Fraser,  late  of  the  76th 
regiment  of  foot. 

27.  At  Old  Aberdeen,  Arthur  Nicholson,  Esq. 
of  Lochend,  to  Eliza  Jane,  eldest  daughter  of  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Jack,  Principal  of  the  University  and 
King's  College. 

28.  At  the  Manse  of  Cromarty,  Dr  George  M4 
Donald,  to  Margaret  Crawford,  third  daughter  of 
the  Rev.  Robert  Smith,  minister  of  the  gospel, 
Cromarty. 

30.  At  Glenormiston,  James  Marjoribanks,  Esq. 
C'rosshall,  Berwickshire,  to  Agnes,  daughter  of 
the  late  William  Hunter,  Esq.  of  Glenormiston. 

—  At  Kilmarnoek,   James   Ralston,    Esq.  of 
Towerhill,  to  Miss  Lilias  Smith  of  Bankend. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  George  Wilson,  (one  of 
the  partneis  of  Messrs  John  Wright  and  Co.  clo- 
thiers,)  to  Mary,  second  daughter  of  Mr  John 
Fleming,  builder,  Edinburgh. 

—  At  Scarborough,   Archibald    Gibson,   Esq. 
merchant  in  Edinburgh,  to  Mrs  Macghie,  widow 
of  the  deceased  Thomas  Macghie  of  Bridgen  Place , 
in  the  county  of  Kent,  Esq. 

—  James  Grierson,  Esq.  surgeon,  in  the  service 
of  the  Honourable  East  India  Company,  to  Mar- 
garet, youngest  daughter  of  Mr  Archibald  Richard- 
son, Sheriff  Brae,  Leith. 

—  At   llawthornhank,   the   Reverend  James 
Trail,  minister  of  the  Episcopl  Chapel,  Hadding- 
ton,  to  Margaret,  eldest  daughter  of  Robert  Vetch, 
Esq.  of  HuwthombanK. 


18210 


Register.— -Marriages  and  Deaths. 


363 


r  James  MacGhie  of  the 


30.  At  Edinburgh,  the  Rev.  Abraham  Home,  20.  At   Rome,    Lieutenant-General   Read,    of 

minister  of  Greenlaw,  to  Susan,  eldest  daughter  of  Crowood,  Wiltshire,  late  of  his  Majesty's  first  re- 

the  late  Patrick  Anderson,  Esq.  \V.  S.  giment  of  Life  Guards.     His  death  was  occasion- 

t    Mm/  2.  At  Linlithgow,  the  Rev.  John  Ramsay  ed  by  poison,  administered  by  a  Venetian  servant, 

of  Dunkinfield,  Cheshire,  to  Mary,  eldest  daugh-  whom  he  had  hired  at  Paris,  and  who  was  after- 

ter  of  the  late  Mr  Alexander  Lang,  merchant,  wards  found  to  have  been  seven  years  in  the  gal- 

Linlithgow.  leys. 

—  At   No.   17,   St  Andrew's  Square,  Arthur  21.  At  Aberdeen,  Mr  Alexander  Leith  Ross,  on- 
Mower,   Esq.   M.  D.  Emmanuel  College,  Cam-  ly  son  of  the  late  Rev.  Dr  J/unes  Ross,  senior  mi- 
bridge,  to  Anne,  only  daughter  of  the  late  William  nister  of  Aberdeen. 

Steuart,  Esq.  advocate.  23.  At  Leith  Walk,  Mr 

3.  At  Bethyhill  Cottage,  Lieut.  H.  B.  Macken-  Excise,  aged  7H. 

zie,  Strathy ,  to  Miss  Jessie  Mackay.  24.  At  his  house  in  Dundas  Street,  after  a  short 

4.  At  Torboll,  William  Murray,  Esq.  of  Rose-  illness,  James  Easton,  Esq.  W.S. 

mount,  banker  in  Tain,  to  Esther,  second  daugh-  25.  At  South  Coats,  near  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Jean 

ter  of  Kenneth  Mackay,  Esq.  of  Torboll.  Stewart. 

8.  At  Annan,  Lieut.  Charles  Douglas  Clapper-  —  At  Aberdeen,  Mrs  Anderson  of  Deebank. 

ton,  Royal  Marines,  to  Mary,  eldest  daughter  of  26.  At  Belfast,  the  Rev.  Wm.  Neilson,  D.  D. 

Joseph  Johnston,  Esq.  of  Dai-Hook,  Dumfries-  M.R.L.A.  Professor  of  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew, 

shire.  and  Head  Master  of  the  Classical  School  in  the 

—  12.  At  London,  James  Fairlie,  Esq.  of  Bell-  Belfast  Institution. 

field  and  Holms,  in  Ayrshire,  to  Agnes  Maria,  el-  —  At  Kippax,  Yorkshire,  the  Honourable  Mrs 

dest  daughter  of  William  Fairlie,  of  the  Crescent,  Cathcart. 

Portlance.  —  At   Bellevue,  near  Southampton,   Admiral 

15.  At  St  George's  Chapel,  Edinburgh,  R.  A.  Sir  Richard  Rodney  Bligh,  G.  C.  B.  aged  88  years. 

Chermside,  Esq.  M.  D.  10th  Royal  Hussars,  to  —  At  her  sister's,    Mrs   Ramsay  of  Maxton, 

Jane  M.  Williams,  only  daughter  of  the  late  Ro-  Leith,  Marion,  daughter  of  the  late  William  Ha- 

bert  Williams,  Esq.  of  Cerne  Lodge,  Dorsetshire,  gart,  Esq. 

and  niece  to  Colonel  Blair  of  Blair,  Ayrshire.  —  At  East  Mains  of  Callandcr,  Mrs  Elizabeth 

19.  At  Kent-house,  Knightsbridge,  Captain  Fre-  Stewart,  wife  of  Walter  Stewart,  Esq.  late  of  St 

derick  Fitzclarence,  ofhis  Majesty's  llth regiment,  Elizabeth,  Jamaica, 

to  Lady  Augusta  Boyle,  daughter  ot  the  Earl  and  27.  At  Old  Melrose,  Mrs  Legge,  wife  of  Lever 


Legge,  Esq. 
—  At  Somerset  Place,  Stockbridge,  Christiana, 


Countess  of  Glasgow. 

21.  At  Jedburgh,  John  Andrew  Ormston,  Esq. 

of  Glenburnhall,  to  Miss  Marjory  Maxwell  Thorn-  the  infant  daughter  of  David  Hatton,  carver  anil 

son.  gilder. 

—  At  Dunse  Manse,  Lieutenant-Colonel  James  —  At  Edinburgh,  James  Harrowar,  Esq.  of  In- 

Johnston,  of  the  Portuguese  service,  and  Major  in  zievar,  EMI.  advocate. 

the  British  service,  to  Matthew  Jane  Trotter,  only  — At  Sheal  House,  Ann  M'Rae,  the  widow  of 

child  of  the  late  Matthew  Trotter,  jun.  Esq.  Nor-  a  Kintail  farmer,  at  the  advanced  age  of  112years. 

thumberland.  Until  the  last  winter,  she  had  never  known  a 

22.  At  Leith,  Mr  P.  J.  Martin,  surgeon,  Bulbo-  day's  sickness,  and  her  organs  of  seeing  and  hear- 
rough,  Sussex,  to  Miss  Maty  Watson,  third  daugh-  ing  were  unimpaired ;  and  not  many  months  ago, 
ter  of  the  late  Mr  Adam  Watson,  Dunbar.  she  could  run  a  race  with  any  of  her  sex  of  the 

29.  At  Bothwell  Castle,  by  the  Rev.  W.  Rout-  third  and  fourth  generation. 

ledge,    Robert    Douglas,    Esq.    of   Strathendry,  28.  At  the  manse  of  Kilchoman,  island  of  Islay, 

Captain  in  the  7th  hussars,  to  the  Hon.  Mary  the  Rev.  John  MacLeish,  aged  80  years,  41  of 

Sidney  Douglas,  youngest  daughter  of  Lord  Dou-  which  he  was  minister  of  that  parish. 

—  AtAlloa,  Mr  Robert  Macfarlane,  ship-owner. 


'A  At  Edinburgh,  Captain  Robson,  of  the  16th 
regiment,  Madras  Establishment,  to  Henrietta 
Mackenzie,  daughter  of  Mr  Thomas  Knox,  for- 
merly of  Firth. 


—  At  Crieff,  on  the  28th  ult.  after  a  short  ill- 
ness, Mr  John  Tainsh,  writer.  His  death  is  much 
regretted  in  the  county  of  Perth,  by  many  who 
will  long  remember  the  cheerful  kindness  of  his 
temper  in  private  life,  his  conciliating  affability  in 
the  conduct  of  business,  the  warmth  and  activity 
of  his  friendship,  as  well  as  the  promptitude  with 
which  he  engaged  in  every  thing  connected  with 
May  25,  1820.  At  Calcutta,   Mr  James  Easson,     the  public  weltare.     The  esteem  in  which  he  was 
late  of  the  Honourable  East  India  Company's  ser-     held  was  testified  by  deputations  from  the  differ  - 
vice,  son  of  the  late  Mr  Robert  Easson,  Leys  of     ent  trades  in  Crieff  walking  in  procession  at  his 
Errol.  funeral. 

AToi-.  30.  At  Cawnpore,  Captain  John  Cruik-  Mai/  1.  At  Clifton,  in  her  82d  year,  Mrs  Piozzi. 
shank,  2-lth  regiment,  N.  I.  by  the  accidental  dis-  This  celebrated  lady  long  held  a  high  station  in 
charge  of  a  pistol,  while  drawing  the  charge.  the  literary  and  fashionable  circles,  of  which  she 

Dec.  20.  At  Montego  Bay,  Jamaica,  of  a  fever,     was  a  distinguished  ornament, 
after  a  few  days'  illness,  William  Balfour,  Esq.  of        —  At  Stockton-on-Tees,  Charlotte,  the  infant 
Retirement,  Clifton,  and  Martha  Brae.  daughter  of  Colonel  and  Lady  Charlotte  Macgre- 


,    -       -J'ly  book-  years  manage 

seller  in  Dumfries.  Shipping  Company. 

April  6.  On  board  the  Walsingham  packet,  on  "2.  At  Crieff,  Jessie,  second  daughter  of    Mr 

his  passage  from  Jamaica  to  this  country,  Alexan-  M'Omich. 

der  M'Larty,  M.D.  director  of  the  vaccine  estab-  —  At  his  house  in  New  Norfolk  Street,  Gros- 

hshment  of  that  island,  and  physician  for  the  pub-  venor  Square,  London,  the  Honourable  Charles 

lie  hospital  of  the  city  of  Kingston,  where  he  was  Stuart,  brother  to  the  late,  and  uncle  to  the  pre- 

a  distinguished  practitioner  for  upwards  of  20  sent  Lord  Blantyre,  a^ed  78. 

years,  during  which  period  he  had  the  good  for-  3.  At  Chancelot,  near  Leith,  Mrs  Margaret  Dar- 

tune  to  enjoy  the  uninterrupted  confidence  and  ling,  spouse  of  Mr  James   Ramsav,  and  third 

esteem  of  that  community,  by  whom  he  will  be  daughter  of  the  deceased  Mr  Darling,  many  years 

long  remembered,  and  his  death  sincerely  regret-  tenant  in  Pinkie,  near  Musselburgh. 

ted-  4.  At  Leven,  in  Fife,  Mr  John  Mackay,  surgeon, 

1 6.  At  Aston,  Sandford,  the  Rev.  Thomas  Scott,  Frederick  Street,  Edinburgh,  after  a  short  illness, 

author  of  the  Commentary  on  the  Bible,  the  Force  5.  At  the  manse  of  Grange,  the  Rev.  Francis 

of  Truth,  and  other  valuable  works.  Forbes. 


Register. — Deaths. 


36 1 


5.  At  WhitHeld,  Lcith  Walk,  Frederick  Wil- 
liam Gwynne,  son  of  the  late  Rev.  Frederick 
Gwynne,  aged  5  years. 

—  At  Aberdeen,  Captain  William  Gordon,  late 
of  the  1st  regiment  of  foot,  or  Royal  Scots. 

—  At  Ayr,  Mr  John  Wilson,  aged  62,  many 
years  printer  of  the  Ayr  Advertiser. 

—  Archibald  Smith,  Esq.  of  Jordan  Hill,  aged 

7.  At  Sandbed  of  Dalswinton,  William  Howat- 
»on,  Esq.  of  Hazliebrae,  W.S. 

8.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Andrew  Wood,  Fellow  of 
the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons,  in  his  80th  year. 

9.  At  Atherb,  John  Bruce,  weaver,  aged  115. 
He  never  slept  a  night  out  of  his  native  parish  of 
Old  Deer  till  aged  102,  and  was  never  but  once 
more  than  10  miles  from  his  place  of  nativity. 
He  wrought  regularly  at  his  business  till  upwards 
of  100  years  or  age. 

10.  At  Paris,  M.  Camille  Jourdan,  member  of 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  who  made  a  conspicu- 
ous figure  during  the  French  Revolution. 

11.  At  Apsley  House,  London,  the  amiable  and 
beautiful  young  Marchioness  of  Worcester,  of  an 
internal  inflammation.  Her  ladyship  was  married 
on  the  25th  July,  1814,  and  was  one  of  the  most 
intimate  and  favourite  friends  of  the  late  Princess 
Charlotte. 

—  In  Ireland,  the  Hon.  Mrs  Maule  of  Panmure. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Isabella  Hogg,  wife  of 
Mr  Thomas  Chalmers,  Potterrow. 

12.  At  Marshall  Place,  Perth,  Mrs  Ann  Macvi- 
•  ear,  aged  "X. 

13.  At    Edinburgh,    Frederick  L.  Maitland, 
younger,  of  Rankeilour. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Miss  Mary  Ballantine,  eldest 
daughter  of  the  late  Patrick  Ballantine,  Esq.  of 
Orchard. 

—  At  the  Manse  of  Mid-Calder,  Mrs  Sommers, 
wife  of  the  Reverend  Dr  John  Sommers. 

—  Laurence  Dalgliesh,  Esq.  of  West  Grange. 

15.  John  Bonnycastle,  Esq.  Professor  of  Mathe- 
matics at  the  Royal  Military  Academy  of  Wool- 
wich. 

—  At  Prestongrangc-house,  Margaret,   eldest 
daughter  of  Sir  James  Grant  Suttie,   Bart,  of 
Prestongrange  and  Balgone,  M.  P. 

16.  At  Edinburgh,  Lieutenant  Loekhart  Gilles- 
pie  of  the  royal  artillery,  youngest  son  of  the  late 
Dr  Thomas  Gillespie,  physician  in  Edinburgh. 

17.  At  Peebles,  Mrs  Davidson,  relict  of  Thomas 
Davidson,  farmer,  Milcomston. 

—  At  Dunfennline,  the  Reverend  James  Hus- 
band, D.  D.  in  the  70th  year  of  his  age,  and  46th 
of  his  ministry. 

18.  At  his  seat  at  Newbrook,  in  the  county  of 
Mayo,  aged  56,  the  Right  Honourable  Lord  Baron 
Clanmorris.    The  title  and  part  of  his  estates  de- 
scend to  his  lordship's  eldest  son,  the  Honourable 
Barry  Bingham,  (now  Lord  Clanmorris.) 

—  At  Lettermay,  Argyllshire,  Mr  John  M'Dou- 
gall,  father  of  the  late  Reverend  Dr  M'Dougall, 
in  the  94th  year  of  his  age. 

—  In  Gilmore  Place,  Mrs  Robertson,  sincerely 
beloved  and  lamented  by  all  who  knew  her. 

—  At   Houghton-Le-Spring,  Michael  Patrick 
Russel,  youngest  son  of  Patrick  Russel,  Esq.  W.  S. 

—  Mr  Patrick  Dallaway,  ironmonger,  Edin- 
burgh. 

19.  At  Paris,  the  Duke  de  Coigny. 

20.  Awfully  sudden,  Mr  Charles  Brightley,  an 
eminent  printer  and  publisher,  of  Budgay  in  Suf- 
folk. 

—  At  Inverness,  the  Reverend  Alexander  Fra- 
ser,  senior  minister  of  that  place,  in  the  70th  year 
of  his  age,  and  45d  of  his  ministry. 

21.  At  his  lordship's  house,  London,  the  Right 
Hon.  the  Countess  of  Chatham.  Her  ladyship  was 


QJune. 


Mary  Elizabeth,  second  daughter  of  Thomas,  first 
Viscount  Sydney. 

i'l.  At  Manse  of  Insch,  the  Rev.  George  Daun, 
in  the  71st  year  of  his  age,  and  51st  of  his  ministry. 

i'2.  At  Cupar,  Mrs  Catherine  Spens,  wife  of  Mr 
Alexander  Wood,  Elie. 

—  At  her  house,  Merchant  Street,  Miss  Watson. 
25.   At  London,  William,  youngest  son  of  Mr 

John  Murray,  Albemarle  Street. 

—  At  his  house,  London,  Dr  Robert  Willis. 

—  At  Lcith,  Mr  Alexander  Baird,  much  re- 
gretted. 

24.  At  Elgin,  Patrick  Duff,  Esq.  Town  Clerk. 

—  At  the  Manse  of  Luss,  the  Rev.  Dr  John 
Stuart,  minister  of  that  parish,  who  will  be  long 
held  in  grateful  remembrcnce  by  a  numerous  cir- 
cle of  acquaintances,  for  his  distinguished  attain- 
ments in  literature  and  science,  as  well  as  for  un- 
feigned piety,  and  the  most  active  exertions  in  pro- 
moting the  knowledge  of  the  sacred  Scriptures 
among  his  countrymen.    In  private  life  he  was  a 
pattern  of  meekness,  hospitality  and  kindness. 

—  At  the  Manse  of  Old  Monkland,  the  Reve- 
rend John  Bower,  minister  of  that  parish. 

—  Suddenly,  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  John  Camp- 
bell, Esq.  of  Conduit-vale,  Blackheath. 

—  At  the  Isle  of  Nith,  Mr  John  Goldie,  third 
son  of  James  Goldie,  Esq.  of  Knockcauchly. 

27.  At  Kirkaldy,  Margaret  Stenhouse,  'widow 
of  the  late  Mr  John  Cameron,  Prince's  Street, 
Edinburgh,  aged  79  years. 

—  At  his  house  in  St  John's  Street,  Canongate, 
the  Rev.  Alexander  Stewart,  D.D.  one  of  the  Mi- 
nisters of  Canongate,  aged  57,  and  in  the  35th  of 
his  ministry. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Miss  Jane  Menzies,  youngest 
daughter  of  the  late  William  Menzies,  Esq.  Solici- 
tor of  Customs. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  James  Harrowar  of  Inzievar, 
Esq.  Advocate. 

28.  At  his  house,  Brown  Square,  Mr  Peter  Law- 
son,  seed  merchant. 

29.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Erskine  of  Dun. 

—  At  London,  Francis  James  Douglas,  Esq. 
Coldstream  Guards,  second  son  of  the  late  George 
Douglas  of  Cavers,  Esq. 

—  At  Linlithgow,  Mr  P.eter  Clark,  farmer,  and 
one  of  the  magistrates  of  that  burgh.    ' 

30.  The  Hon.  Morton  Elden,  brother  to  Lord 
Auckland,  in  the  27th  year  of  his  age. 

June  1.  At  Bath,  the  Right  Hon.  John  Camp- 
bell, Lord  Cawdor,  Baron  Cawdor,  of  Castlemar- 
tin,  county  of  Pembroke. 

—  At  his  house  .in  Spring  Gardens,  London,  the 
Right  Hon.  the  Earl  of  Stair.     He  was  the  sixth 
earl,  and  succeeded  his  father,  John,  in  1789.  His 
lordship's  titles  were,  Earl  and  Viscount  of  Stair, 
Viscount  Dalrymple,  Baron  of  Newliston,  Glen- 
luce,  and  Stranraer,  and  a  Baronet.    His  lordship 
dying  without  issue,  is  succeeded  by  his  nephew, 
J.  W.  H.  Dalrymple,  now  Earl  of  Stair. 

Lately,  At  Fosterhill,  in  the  parish  of  Kilmar- 
nock,  Mrs  Janet  Fleming,  relict  of  Mr  Robert 
Nelson,  at  the  very  advanced  age  of  95  years. 
About  12  months  before  her  death,  she  got  a  num- 
ber of  new  teeth,  apparently  as  fresh  as  those  of  a 
child,  and  although  at  one  period  of  her  life,  she 
was  obliged  to  use  glasses,  yet  for  10  years  previ- 
ous to  her  death,  she  could  read  very  small  print 
without  them. 

—  In  the  parish  of  Bryanstonc,  near  Blandford, 
the  widow  Oliver,  aged  102 ;  she  retained  her  fa- 
culties almost  to  the  last,  and  was  ill  but  a  few 
days. 

—  In  the  neighbourhood  of  Bristol,  Dr  Callcot, 
the  celebrated  musician,  whose  vocal  music  has 
contributed  a  large  share  of  the  delight  received  by 
the  public  for  the  last  thirty  year*. 


Printed  by  Joints  Batlantynf  ani  Co. 


BLACKWOOD'S 


No.  LII.  JULY,  1821.  VOL.  IX. 


NAPOLEON. 

THE  mighty  sun  had  just  gone  down 
Into  the  chambers  of  the  deep  ; 

The  ocean  birds  had  upward  flown, 
Each  in  his  cave  to  sleep. 

And  silent  was  the  island  shore, 

And  breathless  all  the  broad  red  sea, 

And  motionless  beside  the  door 
Our  solitary  tree. 

Our  only  tree,  our  ancient  palm, 
Whose  shadow  sleeps  our  door  beside, 

Partook  the  universal  calm, 
When  Buonaparte  died. 

An  ancient  man,  a  stately  man, 

Came  forth  beneath  the  spreading  tree, 

His  silent  thoughts  I  could  not  scaji, 
His  tears  I  needs  must  see. 

A  trembling  hand  had  partly  cover'd 
The  old  man's  weeping  countenance, 

Yet  something  o'er  his  sorrow  hover'd 
That  spake  of  War  and  France  ; 

Something  that  spake  of  other  days, 
When  trumpets  pierced  the  kindling  air, 

And  the  keen  eye  could  firmly  gaze 
Through  battle's  crimson  glare. 

Said  I,  Perchance  this  faded  hand, 
When  Life  beat  high,  and  Hope  was  young, 

By  Lodi's  wave — on  Syria's  sand — 
The  bolt  of  death  hath  flung. 

Young  Buonaparte's  battle  cry 

Perchance  hath  kindled  this  old  cheek  ; 
It  is  no  shame  that  he  should  sigh, — 

His  heart  is  like  to  break. 
VOL.  IX.  2  Z 


368  Napoleon. 

He  hath  been  with  him,  young  and  old  ; 

He  clirab'd  with  him  the  Alpine  Snow  ; 
He  heard  the  cannon  when  they  roll'd 

Along  the  silver  Po. 

His  soul  was  as  a  sword,  to  leap 
At  his  accustom 'd  leader's  word; 

I  love  to  see  the  old  man  weep, — 
He  knew  no  other  lord. 

As  if  it  were  but  yesternight, 

This  man  remembers  dark  Eylau, — 

His  dreams  are  of  the  Eagle's  flight. 
Victorious  long  ago. 

The  memories  of  worser  time 
Are  all  as  shadows  unto  him ; 

Fresh  stantls  the  picture  of  his  prime, — 
The  later  trace  is  dim. 

I  enter'd,  and  I  saw  him  lie 
Within  the  chamber,  all  alone, 

I  drew  near  very  solemnly 
To  dead  Napoleon. 

He  was  not  shrouded  in  a  shroud, 
He  lay  not  like  the  vulgar  dead, 

Yet  all  of  haughty,  stern,  and  proud 
From  his  pale  brow  was  fled. 

He  had  put  harness  on  to  die, 
The  eagle-star  shone  on  his  breast, 

His  sword  lay  bare  his  pillow  nigh, — 
The  sword  he  liked  the  best. 

But  calm — most  calm  was  all  his  face, 
A  solemn  smile  was  on  his  lips, 

His  eyes  were  closed  in  pensive  grace — 
A  most  serene  eclipse  ! 

Ye  would  have  said  some  sainted  sprite 
Had  left  its  passionless  abode, — 

Some  man,  whose  prayer  at  morn  and  night 
Had  duly  risen  to  God. 

What  thoughts  had  calm'd  his  dying  breast 
(For  calm  he  died)  cannot  be  known ; 

Nor  would  I  wound  a  warrior's  rest — 
Farewell,  Napoleon ! 

No  sculptured  pile  our  hands  shall  rear ; 

Thy  simple  sod  the  stream  shall  lave, 
The  native  Holly's  leaf  severe 

Shall  grace  and  guard  thy  grave. 

The  Eagle  stooping  from  the  sky 

Shall  fold  his  wing  and  rest  him  here,. 

And  sunwards  gaze  with  glowing  eye 
From  Buonaparte's  Bier. 


1821.]]         Lines  suggested  by  the  sight  of  some  late  Autumn  Flowers.         369 


LINES 


Suggested  by  the  sight  of  some  late  Autumn  Flowers. 


THOSE  few  pale  autumn  flowers, 

How  beautiful  they  are  ! 
Than  all  that  went  before, 
Than  all  the  summer  store, 
How  lovelier  far ! 

And  why  ? — They  are  the  last ! 
The  last !  the  last !  the  last ! 
Oh  !  by  that  little  word, 
How  many  thoughts  are  stirr'd  ; 
That  sister  of  the  past ! 

Pale  flowers !  pale  perishing  flowers  ! 

Ye're  types  of  precious  things ; 
Types  of  those  bitter  moments, 
That  flit  like  life's  enjoyments, 
On  rapid,  rapid  wings. 


Last  hours  with  parting  dear  ones, 

(That  time  the  fastest  spends) 
Last  tears  in  silence  shed, 
Last  words  half  uttered, 

Last  looks  of  dying  friends. 

Who  but  would  fain  compress 

A  life  into  a  day, 
The  last  day  spent  with  one 
Who,  e'er  the  morrow's  sun, 

Must  leave  us,  and  for  aye  ? 

Oh,  precious,  precious  'moments  ! 

Pale  flowers !  ye're  types  of  those 
The  saddest !  sweetest !  dearest ! 
Because,  like  those,  the  nearest 
To  an  eternal  close. 


Pale  flowers  !  pale  perishing  flowers ! 

I  woo  your  gentle  breath — 
I  leave  the  summer  rose 
For  younger,  blither  brows  ; 

Tell  me  of  change  and  death. 


C. 


TO  A  DYING  INFANT. 


SLEEP,  little  "baby  1  sleep  ! 

Not  in  thy  cradle  bed, 
Not  on  thy  mother's  breast 
Henceforth  shall  be  thy  rest, 

But  with  the  quiet  dead. 

Yes — with  the  quiet  dead, 
Baby,  thy  rest  shall  be. 
Oh !  many  a  weary  wight, 
Weary  of  life  and  light, 

Would  fain  lie  down  with  thee. 

Flee  little  tender  nursling  ! 
Flee  to  thy  grassy  nest ; 
There  the  first  flowers  shall  blow, 
The  first  pure  flake  of  snow 

Shall  fall  upon  thy  breast. 

Peace .!  peace  !  the  little  bosom 

Labours  with  short'ning  breath- 
Peace  !  peace  !  that  tremulous  sigh 
Speaks  his  departure  nigh — 

Those  are  the  damps  of  death. 

I've  seen  thee  in  thy  beauty, 

A  thing  all  health  and  glee  ; 
But  never  then  wert  thou 
So  beautiful,  as  now, 

Baby !  thou  seem'st  to  rue. 

Thine  up-turn'd  eyes  glazed  over, 
Like  hare-bells  wet  with  dew ; 
Already  veil'd  and  hid 
By  the  convulsed  lid, 

Their  pupils  darkly  blue. 


Thy  little  mouth  half  open— 

The  soft  lip  quivering, 
As  if  (like  summer  air 
Ruffling  the  rose  leaves)  there 
Thy  soul  were  fluttering. 

Mount  up,  immortal  essence ! 

Young  spirit !  haste,  depart — 
And  is  this  death ! — Dread  Thing ! 
If  such  thy  visiting, 

How  beautiful  thou  art ! 

Oh  !  I  could  gaze  for  ever 
Upon  that  waxen  face : 
So  passionless !  so  pure ! 
The  little  shrine  was  sure 

An  Angel's  dwelling  place. 

Thou  weepest,  childless  Mother ! 

Aye,  weep — 'twill  ease  thine  heart- 
He  was  thy  first-born  Son, 
Thy  first,  thine  only  one, 

'Tis  hard  from  him  to  part ! 

'Tis  hard  to  lay  thy  darling 

Deep  in  the  damp  cold  earth— 
His  empty  crib  to  see, 
His  silent  nursery, 

Once  gladsome  with  his  mirth. 

To  meet  again  in  slumber 

His  small  mouth's  rosy  kiss  ; 
Then,  waken'd  with  a  start 
By  thine  own  throbbing  heart, 

His  twining  arms  to  miss ! 


37.0  To  a  Dying  Infant. 

To  feel  (half  conscious  why)  Thou'ltsay — "My  first-born  blessing! 

A  dull,  heart-sinking  weight,  It  almost  broke  my  heart 

Till  mem'ry  on  thy  soul  When  thou  wert  forced  to  go, 

Flashes  the  painful  whole,  And  yet,  for  thee,  I  know, 

That  thou  art  desolate !  'Twas  better  to  depart. 

And  then  to  lie  and  weep,  "  God  took  thee  in  his  mercy, 
And  think  the  live-long  night  A  lamb,  untask'd,  untried ; 

(Feeding  thine  own  distress  He  fought  the  fight  for  thee, 

With  accurate  greediness)  He  won  the  victory, 

Of  every  past  delight ; —  And  thou  art  sanctified ! 

Of  all  his  winning  ways,  "  I  look  around,  and  see 

His  pretty,  playful  smiles,  The  evil  ways  of  men ; 

His  joy  at  sight  of  thee,  And,  oh !  beloved  child  ! 

His  tricks,  his  mimickry,  I'm  more  than  reconciled 

And  all  his  little  wiles !  To  thy  departure  then. 

Oh  !  these  are  recollections  "  The  little  arms  that  clasped  me, 

Round  mothers'  hearts  that  cling —  The  innocent  lips  that  prest, — 

That  mingle  with  the  tears  Would  they  have  been  as  pure 

And  smiles  of  after  years,  Till  now,-  as  when  of  yore, 

With  oft  awakening.  I  lull'd  thee  on  my  breast  ? 

But  thou  wilt  then,  fond  Mother !  "  Now  (like  a  dew-drop  shrined 

In  after  years,  look  back,  Within  a  crystal  stone) 

(Time  brings  such  wondrous  easing)  Thou'rt  safe  in  heaven,  my  dove ! 

With  sadness  not  unpleasing,  Safe  with  the  Source  of  Love, 
E'en  on  this  gloomy  track. —  The  Everlasting  One. 

"  And  when  the  hour  arrives 

From  flesh  that  sets  me  free, 
Thy  spirit  may  await, 
The  first  at  heaven's  gate, 

To  meet  and  welcome  me." 

C. 

LETTER  FBOM  DOCTOR  SILKY, 

Inclosing  Mr  O'Fogarty's  Journal  and  Poem. 

Skibbereen,  1st  July. 

SIR, — My  old  friend,  Mr  O'Fogarty,  has  directed  me  to  forward  you  the  in- 
closed journal,  which  he  has  been  preparing  for  your  Magazine,  together  with 
the  5th  canto  of  what  he  calls  his  sublime  poem. — Sublime  poem  ! !  It  was 
his  intention,  he  says,  to  have  continued  the  journal  during  his  stay  in  this 
part  of  the  country  ;  but,  sir,  instead  of  being  now  engaged  in  scrambling  over 
mountains,  or  trudging  through  bogs,  amusements  my  poor  friend  is  much  at- 
tached to,  he  unfortunately  lies  on  the  flat  of  his  back  at  the  mansion  of  a  hos- 
pitable gentleman  in  this  neighbourhood.  Indeed,  he  is  a  most  unlucky  man  ; 
it  is  not  long  since  he  had  a  couple  of  fingers  blown  off  at  a  shooting  match ; 
and  he  is  only  just  now  recovering  from  the  effects  of  a  ducking  that  he  got  in 
going  out  pollocking  with  some  of  the  wild  youngsters  of  the  west.  Poor  fellow, 
he  was  thrown  out  of  his  line  with  all  the  glee  imaginable,  when  a  young  gen- 
tleman, whose  name  I  purposely  conceal,  watching  his  opportunity,  tumbled 
honest  Fogarty  overlxwd.  He  sunk  and  rose  several  times,  and  was  ultimate- 
ly saved  by  the  exertions  of  a  favourite  water  spaniel,  who  hauled  him  to  land 
by  the  ear,  his  wig  having  fallen  off  at  the  first  immersion.  A  fever  was  the 
consequence,  and  he  is  only  now,  as  I  Jiave  already  remarked,  just  recovering. 
He  de-sired  me  to  say,  that  you  should  have  had  the  last  canto  of  his  poem  be- 
ibre  this  time,  had  it  nut  ban  for  the  misfortune  thus  stated,  but  that  mo- 


^  Letter  from  Doctor  Si&y.  371 

.iient  he  is  able  to  put  pen  to  paper,  it  shall  be  concluded.  Between  ourselves, 
Mr  North,  you  need  not  be  very  anxious  about  that  part  of  the  business,  for 
should  Fogarty  even  kick  the  bucket,  it  is  my  determination  to  finish  the  poem 
for  you  myself.  I  do  not  see  much  to  be  praised,  to  say  the  truth,  in  the 
poetry  of  it ;  and  as  to  the  story,  there  is  scarcely  one  syllable  of  it  told  cor- 
rectly. Many  facts  are  slurred  over,  or  entirely  omitted,  and  several  ridiculous 
ideas  of  his  own  introduced.  I  have  heard  the  story  five  hundred  times  from 
Parker  Roche,  (a  jovial  fellow,  who  tells  it  well,)  and  the  devil  a  word  at  all 
about  mites  in  a  cheese  in  it,  or  of  there  being  such  good-for-nothing  fellows 
as  Lambton,  or  Creevy,  or  Boghouse  in  the  moon ;  this  is  all  fiction  of  his 
own,  and  spoils  the  story,  throwing  an  air  of  doubt  over  the  real  truth.  Very 
little  would  induce  me  to  recompose  the  whole  poem,  and  put  it  in  some  hand- 
some rhyme,  not  his  outlandish  metre,  that  Bill  Wolfe,  a  very  book-learned 
gentleman,  told  me  was  imported  from  France  or  Spain,  or  some  other  foreign 
parts.  I  would  write  it  to  the  tune  of  Black-eyed  Susan,  or  Cease  rude 
Boreas,  two  songs  I  am  very  fond  of,  being  always,  though  a  doctor,  bred  to 
the  sea ;  and  having  served  for  a  long  time  on  board  the  Beresford.  I  will 
tell  you  hereafter,  if  we  continue  good  friends,  something  that  occurred  once 
between  the  Beresford  and  the  Wasp. 

Take  care,  and  do  not  let  O' Fogarty  know  that  I  said  any  thing  disrespect- 
ful of  his  poem,  as  he  is  always  boasting  of  his  stuff,  and  how  it  travels  all  over 
the  world  in  Blackwood's  Magazine.  Burn  the  letter  for  fear  of  accidents  ; 
and  inform  me,  by  a  return  of  post,  what  you  think  of  my  idea  of  giving  you 
a  new  edition  of  Daniel. — I  remain, 

SIB,  with  great  respect, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

WILL.  SILKY,  M.  D. 

MR  O'FOGARTY'S  JOURNAL. 


Wednesday,  June  6th. — Left  Cork  on  is  always  ready  for  the  friend,  or  the 

the  summit  of  the  Skibbereen  mail  to  stranger. 

spend  a  few  days  with  some  of  my  ac-  Thursday,  June  7th. — Rose  with  the 
quaintances  in  the  west. — Morning  lark,  as  fresh  as  a  cucumber.  Set  all 
bleak  and  pinching. — Raised  a  shoe-  hands  to  work  to  get  ready  for  a  fish- 
nail  at  the  nine-mile  house. — More  ing  excursion.  We  had  assembled  to 
comfortable  after  it. — Breakfast  at  Ban-  the  number  of  seven  when  I  came 
don,  laid  in  three  eggs,  four  cups  of  down  stairs,  which,  by  the  time  break- 
tea,  and  a  trifle  of  cold  beef  at  Falvey's.  fast  was  ready,  had  increased  to  nine. 
— Intended  to  look  after  the  improve-  — Long  dispute  which  lake  to  steer 
ments  at  Bandon,  particularly  the  towards. — Kilkern  determined  on. — 
Duke  of  Devonshire's  new  hotel  and  Demolished  a  few  rolls  and  an  idea  of 
tavern,  but  staid  too  long  at  Falvey's,  cold  meat. — Set  off  in  prime  order  and 
owing  to  the  waiter's  delay  in  boiling  a  full  puff.  Memorandum. — Hid  a  can- 
second  kettle  of  water  for  breakfast. —  teen  of  potheen  in  the  bottom  of  the 
Dashed  on  to  Clonakilty. — Stopped  to  fishing  basket. — Bad  sport. — Thirteen 
visit  half-a-dozen  of  the  Hungerfords,  whappers  massacred  between  us. — 
my  relations  by  the  mother's  side,  took  Shone  conspicuously  myself.  How  de- 
ft trifling  snack,  and  pushed  on  to  lightful  to  see  the  lads,  when  hook'd, 
Ilosscarbery. — Arrived  in  time  to  din-  throw  up  their  speckled  bodies  in  the 
ner  at  my  friend  Dick's — damn'd  hun-  air,  then  dart  to  the  bottom  of  the  wa- 
gry — tasted  some  lamb,  and  tried  a  ter. — Killed  one  fellow  13J  inches 
rasher  or  two,  and  stowed  away  a  few  long. — Lots  of  fun. — Dined  at  Mick 
tumblers  (I  forget  the  number  pre-  Galway's,  who  never  sees  a  fisherman 
cisely)  of  the  real  potheen. — Popped,  at  the  lake,  but  feels  uneasy  until  he 
or  was  rather  carried,  to  bed  at  twelve,  gets  the  sportsman's  legs  snug  under 
and  slept  soundly  on  the  pillow,  that  his  mahogany,  and  plants  him  down 


373 

to  a  cold  collation,  or  a  smoking  hot 
dinner.  A  prime  fellow,  a  fellow  after 
ray  own  heart ;  what  a  pity  he  does  not 
live  in  Blarney. — Shot  a  few  rabbits  in 
Lord  Carbery's  warren  in  our  way 
back. 

Got  Boxiana,  3d  vol.  from  Cork. — 
See  much  in  it  relative  to  the  ever-to- 
be-lamented  Sir  Daniel  Donnelly,  co- 
pied from  Blackwood. — Wish  there 
was  some  way  of  informing  the  public 
how  much  Pierce  Egan,  and  the  pub- 
lic in  general,  are  indebted  to  Dowden, 
Jennings,  Holt,  and  Co.  in  that  tri- 
bute to  his  memory ;  for  who  could 
have  supposed  that  Egan  would  have 
behaved  so  unceremoniously,  so  un- 
handsomely, to  the  authors,  as  to  have 
posted  their  productions  in  his  book, 
without  the  least  acknowledgment, 
knowing  them  to  be  lads  of  the  fancy. 
— Feel  a  great  inclination  to  write  to 
Pierce  on  the  subject — Dowden  is  so 
vexed  ^t  his  ungentlemanly  conduct. 

Friday,  8th.  Went  pollocking,  got 
damn'd  sick,  came  home,  and  went  to 
bed. — Read  the  fourth  canto  of  my 
own  inimitable  poem.  Discovered,  for 
the  first  time,  a  most  egregious  blun- 
der.— The  printer  makes  me  say,  Daniel 
saw  "  three"  years  ago  in  the  moon 
what  I  told  my  readers  already  occurred 
fifty  years  ago.  Shocking  carelessness 
of  the  Editor  !  saw  "  there  years  ago," 
I  wrote  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff",  and 
pretty  stuff  it  is  now :  this  is  the  way 
a  man's  fame  is  fettered  ;  I  thought  I 
said  enough  on  this  subject  before. — 
I  wish  I  could  correct  the  press  my- 
self: what  will  posterity  say  three  or 
four  hundred  years  hence,  when  they 
read  this  blunder, — it  is  not  the  prin- 
ter will  be  blamed. — Must  write  to 
Ebony  to  take  care  of  it  in  his  second 
edition. 

Saturday,  9th. — A  glorious  kick  up 
to-day  between  the  Scarthas  and  the 
Callaghans.  What  are  your  Boxiana, 
your  feats  of  pugilism,  to  be  compared 
to  one  of  our  country  turn-ups.  Milk 
and  water  fights,  not  deserving  the 
name  of  battles.  The  Scarthas  and 
the  Callaghans  have  been  studying 
these  days  on  the  best  method  of  get- 
ting their  heads  broke ;  but  I  must 
own,  that  although  my  family  prede- 
cessors were  all  fighting  men,  from  my 
great-grandfather,  who  fought  under 
the  renowned  Marlborough,  to  my 
eldest  brother,  who  was  an  Ensign  in 
the  militia,  and  was  killed  at  the  bat- 


tie  of  Ballinascarthy,  my  mind  is  not 
much  given  to  slaughter. — I  mean  the 
slaughter  of  men,  for  I  flatter  myself, 
there  are  not  many  men  in  the  county 
able  to  tumble  a  cock  or  a  snipe  in  bet- 
ter style.  Indeed,  I  am  called,  univer- 
sally, in  Blarney,  the  knowing  shot, 
an  appellation  entirely  owing  to  my 
prowess  in  the  field.  But  to  return  to 
the  battle.  The  rival  warriors  met  by 
appointment  at  a  little  lake  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Connaugh,  as  famous 
as  Father  Power  for  the  cure  of  all  dis- 
tempers,—from  barrenness  to  the  falling 
sickness.  All  the  neighbouring  ham- 
lets, villages,  and  cabins  poured  forth 
their  motley  groups  to  witness  the  san- 
guinary combat.  Old  men,  and  tooth- 
less women  ;  maids,  young  and  anti- 
quated ;  the  halt,  and  the  maimed, 
and  the  crooked,  all  lined  the  neigh- 
bouring ditches,  and  hung  on  the  field 
of  combat,  like  so  many  scare-crows, 
watching  the  event  of  the  fray.  The 
Donovans  advanced  "briskly  and  in 
good  order,  marching  to  the  tune  of 
Paddy  Carey,  which  a  stout,  two  hand- 
ed dairy  boy  whistled  in  proper  time* 
and  with  due  discretion.  A  shot  was 
fired  ia  the  field  where  the  lake  was,  as 
a  signal  of  readiness  and  a  challenge  to 
the  Donovans,  and  "  Down  with  them, 
down  with  them,"  was  the  universal 
cry.  The  Scarthas  were  not  idle.  Ha- 
ving stationed  the  main  body  of  their 
army  behind  a  rising  ground,  they 
sent  forward  an  advanced  guard  to 
meet  the  enemy,  who  rushed  with  all 
the  vigour  of  their  ancient  sires  in 
their  arms,  to  overwhelm  and  slay. 
But,  alas !  the  fate  of  war.  The  lead- 
er of  the  Callaghans  fell  at  the  first 
onset ;  and  the  party,  unworthy  of  the 
name  of  Callaghan,  turned  their  backs 
upon  the  enemy,  and  fled.  The  body 
posted  behind  the  ditch,  now  rushing 
from  their  ambuscade  upon  the  flying, 
the  slaughter  became  general.  I  can- 
not exactly  say  how  many  perished  at 
both  sides,  the  dispatches  not  having 
been  yet  completed,  but  it  is  supposed 
the  massacre  was  immense.  The  dairy 
boy,  who  was  taken  prisoner,  reports  to 
having  seen,  one  old  woman,  a  fiddler, 
one  man,  and  two  tailors,  dead  on  the 
scene  of  action.  The  standard  of  vic- 
tory, a  broom  stuck  up  in  the  field,  was 
then  borne  off  in  triumph  by  the  con- 
querors, who  sat  down  to  a  comfortable 
repast  of  potatoes  and  sour  milk,  and 
spent  the  remainder  of  the  evening  sa- 


1821-3  Mr  O'Fogarty's  Journal.  S7S 

crificing  to  Bacchus  the  jolly  God.  It  —  Dined  at  home.  —  Got  to  bed  early, 
was  altogether  rather  an  amusing  af-  to  be  up  at  cock-crow  for  a  pollocking 
fair.  match  in  the  bay. 

Sunday,  lOtft.—  Went  to  the  Cathe- 

dral. —  Came  home  and  read  Grier's  •         •         * 

new  book  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

Such  was  the  abrupt  termination  to  my  friend's  journal.    I  have  continued 
it  myself,  and  will  transmit  it  in  due  course. 

W.  S.,  M.  D. 

DANIEL  O'KOURKE  ; 
An  Epic  Poem,  in  Six  Cantos. 

BY  FOGARTY  o'FOGAUTY,  ESQ.  OF  BLARNEY. 

CANTO  V.* 

THE  GEESE. 

• 

"  Who  first  found  out  the  Man  i'  the  Moon, 
That  to  the  ancients  was  unknown  ;•—' 
«  *  *  •  * 

Or  does  the  Man  i'  th'  Moon  look  big, 

And  wear  a  huger  periwig  ?  BUTLER. 


*  not  tiBa.  Ttorcarreu  ayaXXousvoi  itrtiy 

ILIAD,  B. 
The  Man  of  the  Moon  for  ever  ! 
The  Man  of  the  Moon  for  ever  ! 
We'll  drink  to  him  still 
In  a  merry  cup  of  ale, 
Here's  the  Man  of  the  Moon  for  ever  ! 
*         *         «         «         * 

There's  Orion  with  his  golden  belt, 
And  Mars,  that  burning  mover  ; 
But  of  all  the  lights 
That  rule  the  nights, 
The  Man  of  the  Moon  for  ever  ! 

JACOBITE  RELICS,  collected  ly  the  Shepherd 
of  the  barbarous  surname. 

1. 

THAT  there  are  many  wond'rous  things,  I  hold 

From  observation  of  this  earthly  round  : 
'Tis  wond'rous  on  a  crab-tree  to  behold 

Cherries  and  plumbs,  in  clusters  rich  abound  ; 
'Tis  wond'rous  to  hear  snuff-boxes  of  gold 

Discourse  sweet  music,  with  melodious  sound  ; 
'Tis  wond'rous  to  see  Munden's  rich  grimace,  — 
Mathews  "  At  Home,"  —  or  Liston's  greasy  face. 

2. 
'Tis  wond'rous  to  perceive  a  silent  woman, 

Or  in  a  hedge-attorney  honesty  ;  — 
To  find  a  hangman  that  is  not  inhuman  ; 

Or  a  physician  sneezing  at  a  fee  :— 
'Tis  wond'rous  to  peruse  a  Scotch  review-man, 

When  he  abuses  Wordsworth's-  poetry. 
Wond'rous  are  these,  as  well  as  many  more  ; 
But  none  so  strange,  as  when,  from  out  the  door, 

*  In  my  friend's  original  letter  to  you,  he,  by  mistake,  said,  there  was  to  be  only 
five  cantos.     There  are  actually  six.    The  next  is  the  pail  of  water. 


374  Daniel  O'Rourke.  CJuly>  ' 

S. 
I  spoke  of  in  the  Canto  I  wrote  last, 

An  ugly,  pale-faced,  brawny,  square-built  figure, 
Clothed  in  a  fashion  that  long  since  has  past — 

Diminutive  in  size,  (perhaps  not  bigger 
Than  Tommy  Moore,)  rush'd  furious  as  a  blast, 

And  grumbling  hoarsely,  like  a  wounded  pig,  or 
The  wind  at  Equinox,  with  mouth  spread  wide, 
Grazed  for  a  moment  at  our  friend  astride. 

4, 
Upon  his  head  was  placed  a  three-cock'd  hat, 

Perch'd  on  a  wig  not  very  new,  I  ween, — 
A  red  plush  waistcoat, — and,  attach'd  to  that, 

A  snug  warm  coat,  of  purple  velveteen ; 
A  leather  breeches, — boots,  with  soles  quite  flat, — 

Gay  yellow  neckcloth,  spotted  with  pea-green  ; 
A  large  broad  belt  was  tighten'd  round  his  waist, 
Which  MAN  i'  TH'  MOON,  in  dazzling  letters  graced.* 

5. 

He  waddled  forth,  in  consequential  style, 

With  hands  in  breeches-pockets  stuck  so  gay, 
Not  much  unlike  that  famous  crocodile 

Of  whom  Lord  Castlereagh  discoursed  one  day  ;t 
No  bush  or  dog  attended  him  the  while, 

As  Shakespeare  and  some  other  quizzers  say, % 
He  trode  upon  the  cheesy  air,  and  thus, 
Speaking  to  Dan,  open'd  his  ugly  puss. 

6. 
"  Good  morrow,  Dan  !  what  fortune  brought  you  here, 

To  pay  a  visit  to  my  realms  to  night  ? 
I'm  glad  to  see  you,  faith  ;  but,  much  I  fear, 

There's  something  in  your  looks  that  is  not  right ! 
Now  that  I  look  again,  I  see  quite  clear, 

(Here  Dan  was  almost  dropping  off  with  fright,) 
That  you've  been  looking  at  a  merry  cup. 
But  how  the  devil  did  you  travel  up  ?" 

*  Butler  seems  to  have  been  aware  of  the  existence  and  true  appearance  of  the  Man 
in  the  Moon,  when,  in  ridiculing  Sidrophel's  quackery  and  pretended  knowledge  of 
astrology,  he  makes  him  possess  an  instrument  that 

"  Would  demonstrate,  that  the  Man  in 

The  Moon's  a  sea  Mediterranean ; 

And  that  it  is  no  dog  nor  bitch 

That  stands  behind  him  at  his  breech,— 

But  a  huge  Caspian  sea  or  lake, 

With  arms,  which  men  for  legs  mistake,*— 

How  large  a  gulph  his  tail  composes, 

And  what  a  goodly  bay  his  nose  is ; — 

How  many  German  leagues,  by  the  scale, 

Cape  Snout's  from  Promontory  Tail." 

It  is  refreshing  to  think  that  Butler,  who  always  thought  fof  himself,  did  not  allow 
his  genius  to  be  cramped  and  his  eye-sight  darkened  by  the  scheming  star-gazers  of  the 
day. 

•f-  "  Ministers  were  not  to  look  on  like  crocodiles,  with  their  hands  in  their  breeches- 
pockets,  doing  nothing." — Speech  of  my  Lord  Castlereagh. 

%  It  would  be  a  pleasant  question  in  physics,  to  calculate  the  precise  density  of  this 
air,  which  was  sufficient  to  support  the  man  in  the  moon.  The  Professor  would,  I 
am  sure,  be  glad  to  oblige  one  of  Ebony's  contributors,  by  doing  it  for  me  whenever  he 
has  leisure. 

8 


1821 .3  Daniel  O'Rowkc.  375 

7. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  KIT," — Dan  trembled  as  for  life, 
"  I  met  a  friend  of  mine,  one  Paddy  Blake." — 
"  I  know  him  well,  'tis  he  that  has  the  wife 

Whose  tongue  makes  all  the  neighbouring  gossips  quake, 
And  keeps  the  village  in  perpetual  strife ; 

Go  on,  my  man." — "  Well,  sir,  I  went  to  take 
A  sober  glass  of  ale,  quite  free  and  easy, 
At  Mrs  Mulshinane's,  the  Mountain  Daisy. 

8. 
<c  I  got  some  brandy,  and  we  both  got  drunk, — 

For  how  I  left  the  Daisy,  I  don't  know, — 
But  when  my  sense  return'd,  there  was  I  sunk, 

Up  to  my  ancles,  in  a  bog ;  and  so, 
As  I  was  giving  up  myself,  my  spunk 

And  courage  being  gone,  an  Eagle,  oh  ! 
My  curses  on  her,  (wheresoe'er  she  roam,) 
Told  me  to  mount  him,  and  he'd  take  me  home. 

9. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  mounted  up — the  more  fool  I — 

And  off  she  flew,  as  nimble  as  the  wind, 
And  never  stopp'd  till  far  up  in  the  sky, 

Upon  this  spot  she  left  me  here  behind. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  (Dan  here  began  to  cry, 

For  thoughts  of  home  were  flashing  cross  his  mind, ) 
I'd  gladly  give  a  pot  and  half-a-crown, 
To  any  one  who'd  help  me  to  get  down."— 

10. 
"  I  often,"  quoth  the  lunar  lord  supreme, 

"  Have  watch'd  you,  Dan,  when  staggering  home  to  bed  ; 
And  though  I  always  feel  a  high  esteem 

For  those  who  tend  their  mass  ;  yet,  I  am  led 
To  tell  you  candidly,  I  cannot  deem 

A  beastly  drunkard,  who  has  hither  fled 
From  lower  earth,  companion  fit  for  me, 
So,  Dan,  dismount,  and  march  home  instantly." 

11, 
"  March  home,"  says  Dan  ;  "  Oh  Lord !  I  wish  I  could  ; 

But  how  in  name  of  wonder  can  it  be  ? — 
Sure  you  don't  think  I'm  made  of  stone  or  wood, 
,       To  fall  from  here." — "  Come,  come,  sir,  presently 
Prepare  to  bounce." — "  Stop,  sir,  be  first  so  good, 

To  let  me  see  your  wife  and  family." 
"  There's  no  one  here,  but  I,  myself  alone  :" 
"  But  ONE,  then  damme,  if  I  budge  a  bone." 

12. 
The  lunar  sovereign  gave  a  smile  of  scorn, 

And  turn'd  upon  his  nicely  polish 'd  heel. 
He  kugh'd  as  loud  as  blast  of  bugle  horn, 

His  eye  flash'd  fire  that  made  poor  Daniel  reel ; 
He  oped  and  closed  the  portal— all  forlorn 

Dan  still  clung  close  as  seaman  to  the  keel 
Of  upturn'd  boat,  for  life  ;  when  re-appears 
The  moonly  monarch,  with  a  pair  of  shears. 

VOL.  IX.  3  A 


375  Daniel  ffRourfee. 

13. 

Brandishing  these,  anct  raising  high  his  tone 
To  frighten  Dan,  he  nick'd  him  deeply,  where- 

The  os  coccygis  joins  the  sacral  bone ; 
And  bounce  went  he  once  more  into  the  air. 

His  mode  of  travelling  is  but  little  known, 
And  therefore  it  behoves  me  to  take  care 

And  give  my  readers,  i.  e.  all  the  nation 

Upon  this  head  the  clearest  information. 

14. 
Well,  then  !  The  spring  that  Daniel  gave,  convey 'd 

Him  from  the  moon  some  twenty  yards  or  more  ; 
The  force  centrifugal  awhile  delay  d, 

That  call'd  centripetal,  (it  is  a  bore, 
To  use  such  bulky  words)  but  anon,  he  made 

Some  tumbles  ;  such  as  standing  on  the  shore, 
We  often  see  the  porpoises  a-trying, 
Or  tumbler  pigeon  sporting  in  his  flying. 

15. 
"  Oh  Lord  !  Oh  Lord  !  a'n't  I  a  luckless  dog. 

Oh  !  I'll  be  dash'd  to  pieces  very  soon, 
It  a'n't  enough  to  fasten  in  a  bog, 

Be  carried  by  a  villian  to  the  moon  ; 
But  now  to-be  sent  tossing  like  a  log, 

Down  to  the  ground,  in  this  fine  month  of  June. 
I'll  never  see  my  Judy  any  more, 
But  crash  my  bones  against  some  foreign  shore." 

16. 

Swift  as  from  rifle  spreads  the  murderous  ball, 
Or  arrow  driven  from  the  warrior's  bow ; 

Swift  as  the  Avalanche's  thundering  fall, 
That  bears  destruction  to  the  vale  below ; 

Swift  as  the  meteor  that  old  women  call 
A  flying  star ;  or,  if  my  reader  know 

Ought  that  will  fall  more  quickly  to  the  ground, 

( Jeff's  prophecies  excepted)  'twill  be  found 

17. 
That  Daniel  far  outstripp'd  them  all  in  speed, 

Tumbling  and  tossing  in  the  yielding  air ; 
And  though  'twere  sad  to  see  him  quick  proceed 

On  eagle's  back  aloft,  I  must  declare, 
It  were  enough  to  make  one's  bosom  bleed, 

To  fancy  only  half  the  pain  it  were 
To  bound  from  cloud  to  cloud,  and  pant  for  breath  ; 
No  hope  above — below,  a  certain  death. 

18. 

"  Oh  !  then  if  ever  I  get  home  again," 
He  blubber'd  forth,  and  wrung  his  horny  hands, 
I'll  take  my  oath  to  quit  ould  Mulshinane, 
Or  any  other  oath  the  priest  demands  : 

But  sure,  'tis  all  no  use.     Oh  then  !  Oh  then  ! 
I'll  crack  my  neck  below  upon  the  sands, 

Or  ugly  rocks,  and  wander  there  a  ghost," 

For  he  waa  moving  fast  towards  the  coast 


M81-3  Daniel  ffRavrke.  377 

10. 
That  fringes  thee,  the  far  Atlantic  Sea. 

Oft  have  I  wander'd  on  thy  rugged  shore, 
E'er  the  bright  morn  has  bid  the  vapours  flee, 

And  stay'd  to  listen  to  thy  waters  roar ; 
Or  wander'd  on  in  sadness  silently, 

Marking  the  tints  the  evening  sunbeams  wore ; 
Or  idly  musing,  pick'd  the  pebbly  sand, 
Or  cwU'd  the  sea- weed  qn  thy  lovely  strand. 

20. 

Oft  in  the  bowels  of  some  giant  rock, 

That  dares  the  storm,  and  scorns  the  tempest's  wrath, 

But  ,cainiot  brave  the  long  continued  shock 
Of  calmer  waters, — have  I  chose  my  path, 

And  sometimes  sat  beneath  the  roofs  that  mock 
The  hand  of  art. — Where  is  the  man  that  hath 

Once  seen  these  wave-worn  monuments  of  thee 

Who  loves  not  ocean's  boundless  majesty. 

61. 

Oft  too  has  *••«.«  wandered  with  me  there, 
And  then,  indeed,  the  caves,  and  strand,  and  sea, 

And  every  earthly  thing  seem'd  fresh  and  fair, 
For  she  was  every  earthly  thing  to  me  ; 

Yes !  she  was  what  a  love-sick  swain  would  dare 
To  dub  an  angel,  or  divinity ; 

She's  gone ! — but  think  not  reader,  to  the  tomb : 

She  ran  off  lately  with  her  father's  groom. 

22. 
But  to  my  tale :— As  Daniel  tumbled  on, 

Somewhat  about  three  miles  in  ev'ry  second, 
And  about  midway  from  the  moon  had  gone, 

(This  is  but  guess,  the  distance  was  not  reckon'd,) 
The  moon,  still  gay,  upon  some  objects  shone 

With  brighter  light : — Here  Dan  cried  out  and  bockon'd, 
For  steering  up  from  off  a  cloud-capp'd  rock, 
Dan  saw  of  geese,  untam'd,  a  mighty  flock. 

23. 

A  milk-white  gander,*  nobly  led  the  van, 

Sailing  majestic  on  his  downy  wing, 
His  long  jieck  arch'd  as  proudly  as  the  swan, 

Of  whom  you've  heard  the  poet  Wordsworth  sing ; 
A  mighty  pretty  bird  as  any  one 

Would  wish  to  see ; — in  many  an  airy  ring 
He  wheel'd,  curvetted,  dived,  and  soar'd  away, 
And  seem'd  to  sport  in  joy,  or  amorous  play. 

24. 
"  Good  morrow,  Dan,  how  came  you  here  my  friend  ?" 

In  accents  soft  as  his  unruffled  plume, 
The  goose  began, — "  I  cannot  comprehend 

The  nature  of  your  visit, — I  presume 

*  Upon  my  honour,  there  is  here  no  personal  allusion  to  any  of  our  Whig  friends.  I 
mention  this,  for  there  has  been  a  rather  absurd  bawling  about  personalities  of  late,  and 
some  people,  whenever  they  see  the  word  "  ass,"  "  ape,"  "  gander,"  "  bullock,"  or 
any  other  innocent  animal,  immediately  cry  out,  "  That  means  us."  Very  ridiculous 
all  this. 


378  Daniel  O'Rourke. 

You're  not  accustom'd  thus  your  time  to  spend ; 
Come  tell  me  all," — here  Dan  began  to  fume 
And  roar  amain, — and  swear  both  loud  and  hearty 
That  eagle,  moon-man,  goose,  were  all  one  party. 

25. 
But  still  the  gander  spoke  so  sweet  and  kind, 

That  Dan  began  to  tell  his  piteous  tale, 
"  How  he  met  Blake,  and  how  he  got  so  blind 

With  brandy,  meaning  only  to  touch  ale ; 
And  how  an  eagle,  on  the  wings  of  wind, 

Bore  him  aloft,  and  left  him  with  the  pale 
And  ugly  man  who  lives  within  the  moon, 
And  how  this  rascal  served  him." — "  Very  soon 

26. 
"  I'll  take  you  home,  my  friend,"  the  goose  replied  ; 

"  Just  seize  me  by  this  claw,  and  hold  it  strong." 
And  stretching  out  his  red  leg  from  his  side, 

Motion'd  to  Daniel  how  he'd  speed  along — 
But  here  I  think  I'll  lay  my  pen  aside, 

And  for  the  present  stop  my  venturous  song  ; 
For  dinner's  ready — By  next  month  we'll  know 
How  this  kind  bird  help'd  Daniel  in  his  woe. 

END  OF  CANTO  FIFTH. 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  BUDGET. 

No.  II. 
To  CiiiiiSTOi'iiER  NORTH,  ESQ. 

ESTIMABLE  SIR, — I  have  been  prevented,  by  a  very  grievous  visitation,  from 
sending  you  the  continuation  of  the  letters,  till  a  later  period  than  usual.  The 
fact  is  simply  this  :  I  was  walking,  about  a  fortnight  ago,  Avith  Mr  Ferrimond, 
discussitog  some  parts  of  Euclid's  Data,  and  the  evening  being  somewhat  chil- 
ly, he  proposed  that  we  should  ascend  a  newly  raised  hay-stack  ;  between  the 
top  of  which,  and  the  slated  roof,  there  was  comfortable  sitting-room.  The 
captain  saw  us  mount,  and,  being  always  at  his  nonsense,  removed  the  ladder. 
Not  being  aware  of  the  circumstance,  and  being  in  earnest  conversation  when 
I  turned  to  descend,  my  foot  had  nothing  to  rest  on,  and  down  I  came,  Sir,  po- 
sitively shattering  my  leg,  and  crushing  a  hen  with  her  brood  of  chickens  to 
death.  In  fact,  there  never  was  a  njore  palpable  demonstration  of  the  laws  of 
gravity ;  and  I  trust  it  will  be  a  warning  to  your  argumentative  readers,  not  to 
discuss  mathematics  on  a  hay-stack..  I  am, 

DEAR  SIR, 

Yours,  truly, 

O.  O.  BALDERDASH. 
Cttetgylliioyttigui,  July  2,  1821. 

P.ti^ — My  Christian  names  are  Owen  Owen  Balderdash.  In  the  last  Num- 
ber, you  omitted  one  O. 

FROM  MR  VERBLE  TO  MR  MIZZI.ETOE,  CHYMIST  AND  DRUGGIST,  OF  CHAD- 
DERTON-CUM-GOSTLE. 

Doug-fas,  Isle  of  Man,  June  2G,  1819. 

DEAR  MR  MIZZI.ETOE,  nothing  but  crosses  "and  mishaps  since 

IT'S  a  grievous  mistake  for  people  to     I  left  Chadderton.     Why,  sir,  I  was 
go  abroad  for  pleasure.    I've  met  with     positively  arrested  at  Liverpool,  and 


The  Fisherlnans  Budget.    No.  II. 


kept  a  whole  night  in  limbo.  I  have 
not  patience  to  particularize  the  cir- 
cumstances. It  was  all  owing  to  my 
wearing  a  snuff-coloured  waistcoat,  and 
a  cock  and  pinched  hat.  Mrs  Verble 
was  in  a  pretty  tantum — she's  nothing, 
as  it  were,  at  a  pinch.  The  gout  has 
been  flying  about  my  left  leg  ever  since. 
The  place  was  as  cold  as  a  marl-pit. 
The  captain,  my  nephew,  arrived  the 
day  after  this  occurrence,  and  things 
were  ten  times  worse  then  ;  I  had  hard 
work  to  keep  him  from  throwing  the 
officer  into  the  dock.  Indeed  I  never 
saw  a  lad  with  so  much  pitch  and  tow 
in  his  disposition.  The  mistake  would 
not  so  soon  have  been  remedied,  but 
for  my  niece.  There's  no  accounting 
for  these  things.  On  common  occa- 
sions, she's  just,  for  all  the  world,  no 
better  than  a  chicken  ;  and  yet,  in  this 
business,  she  shewed  more  fortitude 
and  decision,  as  it  were,  than  any  of 
us.  We  should  have  sailed  last  Tues- 
day for  this  place,  but  Mr  Spellman, 
who  got  me  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
Philistines,  would  have  us  spend  a  day 
at  his  house,  for  his  daughter  is  an  old 
school-fellow  of  Maria's ;  so  we  defer- 
ed  our  embarkation,  as  it  were,  till  the 
Friday. 

Mr  Spellman  lives  about  two  miles 
from  Liverpool,  in  a  very  splendid 
house,  fit  for  a  noble  gentleman.  Mrs 
Verble  would  have  us  go  in  a  coach, 
which  cost  me  four  shillings,  besides 
turnpikes ;  and  the  captain,  my  ne- 
phew, rode  on  his  horseback.  When 
we  got  to  the  lobby  door,  or  hall,  as 
they  now  call  it,  a  gentleman  in  mourn- 
ing, with  his  hair  powdered,  and  in 
black  silk  stockings,  ran  down  the  steps 
to  help  me  from  the  coach.  I  wished 
him  good  morning,  and  shook  hands 
with  him  ;  which  was  not  exactly 
right,  as  I  found  he  was  only  a  foot- 
man. But  it  is  surprising  to  see  how 
the  lower  classes  ape  our  appearance 
now,  as  it  were.  Between  you  and  me, 
Mrs  Verble  was  under  the  same  mis- 
take, for  she  made  him  a  marvellous 
low  reverence.  There  was  such  kiss- 
ing between  my  niece  and  Miss  Spell- 
man, and  such  civilness  and  welcome- 
ness  by  the  master  and  mistress,  as 
quite  delighted  me — I  felt  quite  at 
home,  as  it  were.  Then  my  mistress 
•was  shewn  into  another  room,  and  the 
footman  took  me  to  his  master's  dress- 
ing-room, and  I  washed  my  hands,  and 
straighted  my  wig ;  and  there  was  such 


379 

beautiful  soft  carpeting,  and  different 
kinds  of  soap,  and  fine  large  looking- 
glasses,  and  all  sorts  of  head-brushes  ; 
and  the  footman  took  the  dust  from 
my  coat,  (as  he  called  brushing)  in  so 
tasteful  a  manner,  that  I  am  sure  a 
cloth  must  last  double  the  length  of 
time  to  what  it  will  as  our  wench 
Molly  uses  it ;  for  she  lays  my  coat  on 
the  kitchen-dresser,  and  scrubs  and 
brushes,  as  it  were,  till  there  is  scarce- 
ly any  wool  left.  By  the  bye,  whilst  I 
think  on't,  government  is  about  to  lay 
a  new  duty  on  pepper — it's  too  bad — • 
every  day  rejoices  me  more  that  I  gave 
up  my  concern  in  London  at  the  mo- 
ment I  did.  When  I  went  down  stairs, 
I  found  the  family  seated  in  the  libra- 
ry, which  was  filled  all  round  with 
books,  in  beautiful  golden  bindings ; 
and  there  was  likewise  a  pair  of  globes, 
and  a  fiddle,  and  other  philosophical 
instruments.     The  captain  was  quite 
taken  up  with  his  sister  and  her  friend ; 
and  Mrs  Verble  was  examining  and 
praising  a  fine  gown  that  Mrs  Spell- 
man  had  on  ;  so  that  Mr  Spellman  and 
me  was,  as  it  were,  left  to  ourselves ; 
and  I  was  quite  delighted  with  the  af- 
fable manner  that  he  entered  into  dis- 
course ;  for  he  asked  my  opinion  of 
the  different  turnpike-trusts  in   our 
neighbourhood,  and  the  value  of  canal 
shares,  and  the  nature  of  the  soil,  and 
what  land  rented  for  the,  acre,  and  such 
like  ;  and  I  thought  Mrs  Spellman  was 
quite  as  obliging  to  my  wife,  for  she 
kept  laughing  most  heartily  at  her  sim- 
ple questions  about  Valentene's  lace 
and  canting  shawls.     I  thought  Miss 
Spellman  seemed  the  most  untalkable ; 
she's  rather  of  a  melancholy  cast,  as  it 
were,  like  my  niece ;  and,  besides,  that 
the  captain,  my  nephew,  was  talking 
all  kinds  of  harum-scarum  in  a  straight 
forward  shape ;  and  they  seemed  quite 
content  to  listen  to  the  "  breeches  and 
ambuscados"  which  the  stage-player 
said,  the  other  night  Queen  Mab  made 
soldiers  dream  of.    I  should  not  be  so 
exact  about  these  here  minutiae,  only 
it  shows  thoroughly  what  a  born  fool 
that  Mr  Spleengi/zard  is,  that  always 
insists,  at  our  club,  on  the  pride  and  ar- 
rogance of  these  rich  folks.  For  here's 
me,  as  it  were,  why,  respectable  enough 
to  be  sure,  among  my  own  class  of  gen- 
tlemen apothecaries,  but  in  company 
with  one  far  above  it,  and  yet  every 
thing  is  civil  and  curteous,  and  great 
forbearance,  and  as  much  diffidence  of 


The  Fisherman's  Budget.    No.  IT. 


opinion  as  condescension  in  listening 
to  mine  ;  and  no  large  talking,  nor  at- 
tempt to  make  one  feel  one's  own  infe- 
riority, whilst,  all  the  time,  the  con- 
sciousness of  it  is  quite  topmost,  as  it 
Were. 

Well,  we  talked,  and  talked,  till  a 
great  bell,  bigger  than  that  in  Chad- 
derton-chapel,  rung  for  dinner ;  and 
Mr  Spellman  bowed  to  my  wife,  and 
offered  her  his  arm ;  but  she's  not  much 
up  to  these  ceremonies,  and  said  she 
could  do  by  herself,  wliich  was  quite 
wrong,  for  my  niece  says  it's  the  com- 
mon punctilio  on  such  occasions.  The 
captain,  however,  seems  always  right ; 
and  before  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
what  to  do,  he  took  his  sister  and  the 
young  miss  on  either  arm  ;  so  then  I 
stepped  up  to  Mrs  Spellman,  and  made 
my  reverence,  and  walked  her  into  the 
dining-room.  There  was  a  most  sump- 
tus  set  out.  Mrs  Spellman  had  a  fine 
cod  before  her*  and  I  sat  on  one  side, 
and  I  never  saw  any  snow  whiter  than 
the  cloth  in  which  it  was  covered.  She 
began  to  cut  it  with  a  large  silver  knife, 
very  like  a  bricksetter's  trowel ;  and, 
would  you  believe  it,  my  nephew  took 
it  from  her  hand,  and  insisted  on  help- 
ing it  himself,  though  she  was  mistress 
of  the  house.  Oh  !  I  should  have  eat 
my  tongue  before  doing  such  a  thing 
—It  was  shamefully  ill-mannered.  I 
could  not  describe  the  various  dishes ; 
but  there  was  all  kind  of  melongis, 
and  frickasees  ;  and  when  all  was  done, 
as  it  were,  there  was  another  set  on, 
consisting  of  roasted  hare,  and  more- 
game,  &c.  The  worst  of  it  was,  I  spoil- 
ed my  green  sprig  waistcoat ;  for  think- 
ing to  save  the  footman  trouble,  I  would 
hand  the  plates,  he  pulled  the  other 
way,  and  so  a  great  quantity  of  fish 
sauce  was  upset  on  my  clothes ;  and 
when  I  came  to  feel  for  my  tooth-pick, 
I  drew  a  whole  handful  of  cockles  and 
melted  butter  from  my  waistcoat- 
pocket. 

My  niece  says,  quietness  is  the  es- 
sence of  politeness  at  a  dinner  table, 
and  I  believe  she's  right.  The  new- 
fangled silver  forks  pottered  me  exces- 
sively ;  they're  more  like  the  wooden 
hands  that  are  fastened  to  children's 
dolls,  than  instruments  for  victuals. 
I  asked  for  one  of  the  old  fashion,  and 
then  I  managed  to  get  my  dinner. — 
There  was  white  towels  under  each 
plate,  which  I  fancied  was  to  wipe  one's 
knife  and  fork  on,  to  save  the  servant 


trouble,  as  it  were  ;  and  there  was  like- 
wise large  green  glasses  full  of  water 
on  the  other  side.  I  rather  made  a 
mistake ;  for,  never  having  seen  them 
before,  nor  considering  that  they  were 
cleanly  conveniences,  I  drank  mine  off, 
as  I  should  any  thing  else,  for  I  thought 
it  was,  as  our  prescriptions  run,  "  ve- 
hicvlo  idoneo."  No  one  noticed  it,  as 
I  believed ;  but  when  the  dessert  was 
brought,  and  Mr  Spellman  asked  me 
what  liquor  I  would  drink,  &c.  my 
nephew  said,  "MrVerble  prefers  finger 
water,  sir." — Oh  !  the  monkey,  I  could 
have  shook  him  for  it — it  makes  one 
look  so  foolish,  as  it  were,  Mr  Mizzle- 
toe. 

The  ladies  soon  retired,  and  we  drew 
our  chairs  closer  together,  and  Mr 
Spellman  commentated  on  the  low  poor 
rates  in  our  parish,  and  other  scientific 
subjects,  and  particularly  what  our 
people  said  about  the  Queen.  And 
then  he  conversed  with  my  nephew, 
about  the  army  and  its  concernments, 
and  the  present  system  of  half-pay  ; 
and  mightily  he  was  pleased,  on  hear- 
ing that  so  young  a  lad  had  been  so 
long  with  his  regiment  in  the  east ; 
and  he  asked  a  multitude  of  questions 
about  the  roads  and  harbour  of  Bom- 
bay, (for  he's  in  a  large  way  there,) 
and  the  navigation  thereto ;  and  I  was 
stone-surprised  at  my  nephew's  infor- 
mation upon  these  things,  which  shews 
he's  had  his  eyes  about  him,  though 
he's  such  a  wild  tear-away  chap.  Then, 
after  much  pressing,  my  nephew  de- 
scribed the  various  hardships  their  bri- 
gade underwent  during  the  hostilities 
with  the  Mahrattas ;  the  want  of  pro- 
visions, heat,  rain,  fatigue,  &c. ;  and  I 
could  not  but  wonder  at  the  distin- 
guishing character  of  our  EngJish  lads, 
that  makes  them  bear  all  in  good  part, 
chuse  where  the  devil  they  are.  Mr 
Spellman  has  two  young  gentlemen 
now  preparing  to  go  out  to  India,  and 
he's  educating  them  at  his  own  free 
cost  and  charge,  and  doubts  not  they'll 
do,  if  they  can  stand  the  climate.  Well, 
from  this  they  talked  of  the  moral  ef- 
fect of  our  influence  in  that  immense 
tract  of  country,  and  the  uncertain  te- 
nure of  our  dominion  there  ;  and  then 
about  the  use  of  the  native  or  Hindos- 
tanee  tongue  ;  and,  would  you  believe 
it,  Mr  Spellman  and  my  nephew  got 
into  a  tight  argument  on  the  meaning 
of  the  word  garra-poo-jah  ;  Mr  Spell- 
man insisting  that  it  meant  sugar  in 


18210 


The  Fisherman's  Budget.    No.  II. 


S81 


the  cane,  and  my  nephew  asserting 
that  it  implied  suker  en  likure,  or 
treacle  hum. 

I  took  advantage  of  this  dispute,  to 
slip  from  the  table,  expecting  to  find 
the  ladies  in  the  library ;  but,  being 
disappointed,  I  got  a  new  work  on 
Cranioscopy,  which  you  know  was  a 
favourite  study  when  I  was  at  leisure 
from  the  shop ;  and,  since  I  came  here, 
I  have  picked  up  several  curious  works 
connected  with  it,  particularly  one  by 
Ludovico  Dolci,  on  the  locality  of  some 
of  the  faculties,  which  I  shall  write 
about  in  my  next.  I  sat  down  in  a 
high  chair,  lined  back  and  sides  with 
morocco  cushions ;  and,  as  luck  would 
have,  it,  the  wine  and  dinner  made  me 
dozy,  and  indeed  I  slept  till  the  foot- 
man came  and  wakened  me,  though  in 
the  meantime  they  had  searched  for 
me  far  and  near. 

Every  thing  was  superb  in  the  tea- 
room ;  and  there  was  a  beautiful  harp, 
and  a  grand  piano-forte.  The  win- 
dows came  down  to  the  floor,  and'the 
centre  one  opened  on  a  handsome  ter- 
race which  overlooked  the  river,  with 
the  shipping  upon  it,  and  the  Cheshire 
lands,  and  the  Denbighshire  hills.  Se- 
veral village  spires  too,  were  quite  visi- 
ble along  the  pleasant  banks  oftheMer- 
sey  ;  and  then  you  might  see  the  long 
trains  of  smoke  that  followed  the  tracks 
of  the  various  steam-boats  that  plied 
between  the  different  ferries.  All  these 
things,  Mr  Mizzletoe,  make  me  enjoy 
the  quiet  sensations  of  the  country,  after 
plodding  behind  a  druggist's  counter 
for  thirty-five  years,  and  seeingnothing 
but  dray-men's  carts  and  stand-coaches, 
through  the  painted  bottles  in  my  shop- 
wind  ow.  They  give  the  tea,  too,  a  great 
relish  ;  although  I  don't  like  the  mo- 
dern genteel  custom  of  drinking  your 
tea  from  the  cup,  which  renders  the 
saucer  a  perfect  dead  letter,  as  it  were, 
and  eternally  causes  you  to  scald  your 
throat,  which  is  very  bad  for  the  inside, 
as  Dr  Buchan  says,  in  his  chapter  on 
liquids,  and,  moreover,  creating  a  most 
uncomfortable  perspiration ;  so  that 
tea,  which  is  generally  supposed  to  be 
a  cooling  beverage,  has,  as  it  were,  di- 
rectly the  opposite  tendency.  And 
then,  as  I  am,  that  is,  was  an  apothe- 
cary, it  would  make  you  chink  to  see 
the  bread  and  butter,  as  they  call  it. 
Why,  sir,  I  could  take  it  in  my  fingers 
and  blow  it  like  a  feather  ;  it's  thinner 
than  a  bank-note,  and  I'd  be  bound  to 


squeeze  a  plate-full  of  it  into  my  spec- 
tacle case. 

I  purposed  steering  homewards  di- 
rectly after  tea,  for  I  was  determined 
not  to  pay  four  shillings,  besides  turn- 
pikes, again,  in  one  day ;  but  Mr  Spell- 
man  would  make  us  tarry  longer,  and 
promised ,to  send  his  carriage  with  us; 
so  after  walking  to  and  fro  a  while  in 
the  grounds,  we  returned  to  the  tea- 
room to  enjoy  a  little  music.  It  seem- 
ed they  meant  to  have  a  laugh  at  my 
expence,  for  my  nephew  said  I  played 
like  Orphus,  or  something  of  that  sort ; 
but  its  a  long  time  since  he  heard  me, 
and  I  have  stuck  very  much  to  it  late- 
ly, so  that  I  believe  I  surprised  him  a 
little.  My  niece  took  the  harp,  the 
captain  the  flute,  Miss  Spellman  the 
piano,  and  myself  the  fiddle,  and  we 
managed  Rousseau's  Dream,  with  va- 
riations, adapted  to  the  four  instru- 
ments, with  considerable  he  clau,  as 
Mr  Spellman  said.  I've  thought,  for 
some  time,  that  music  is  now  taught 
on  a  wrong  principle  :  it's  far  different 
from  what  it  formerly  was :  it's  all  exe- 
cution ;  the  language,  or  articulation, 
as  it  were,  of  the  musical  sounds,  is 
quite  lost  in  a  brilliant  rattle :  this  leads 
to  a  neglect  of  the  great  rule  of  time, 
and  makes  sad  discord  when  you  are, 
(or  rather  should  be,)  playing  in  con- 
cert. Perhaps  the  new-fangled  system 
of  Logier  may,  in  some  degree,  remove 
the  defect ;  although,  in  other  respects, 
it  be  something  like  Mr  Owen's  plan, 
for  making  a  whole  community  hun- 
gry at  the  same  moment,  and  all  like 
the  same  kind  of  gravy  to  their  pota- 
toes. The  best  of  it  was,  they  asked 
me  to  sing,  and  as  I  felt  quite  at  home, 
as  it  were,  I  gave  them  the  following 
pretty  little  sentimental  piece,  which 
Mr  Snipthread,  the  tailor  in  Bond- 
street,  presented  me  with  before  I  left 
London :  I  think  it  will  suit  Mrs 
Mizzletoe's  voice :  it's  to  the  old  tune 
of  "  Down  amang  the  hether,  lassie  :" 

SOME  years  ago,  there  lived  a  swain, 

That  vore  a  fustian  jacket,  O  ; 
And,  as  he  trudged  along  the  lane, 

He  met  vith  Dolly  Thompson,  O. 
Her  eyes  vere  green, — her  hair  vas  red,— 

And  charmingly  she  squinted,  O  ; 
And  wery  much,  the  people  said, 

She  liked  her  vater  porridge,  O. 
And  so  it  vas,  ven  Billy  spied 

Her  clogs  and  scarlet  flannel,  O, — 
Stock-still  he  stood,  and  vould  have  died 

Of  love,— —but  he  vas  married,  O. 


382 


The  Fisherman's 


His  eye-lids  vink'd,— his  heart  went  pat,-,. 

And  wery  much  he  trembled,  O, — 
He  viped  his  mouth— and  doff 'd  his  hat, 

And  put  his  right  leg  forwards,  O. 

Veil, — as  the  wery  vords  arose, 
That  vere  to  voo  his  Dolly,  O, 

She  put  her  vinger  to  her  nose, 
And  pull'd  a  vace  at  Billy,  O. 

Vat  love  vill  do,  there's  none  can  tell, — 
But  Billy  sadly  gro-a-n-e-d,  O  ! 

Then  turn'd  his  back,  rush'd  to  a  veil, 
And  jump 'd -into  the  bottom,  O  ! 

It  was  late  when  we  got  to  the  inn, 
and  I  was  greatly  provoked  at  being 
obliged  to  relinquish  my  own  bed  to  a 
stupid  corn-factor  that  had  mistaken 
the  room,  and  was  snoring  so  terrifi- 
cally, that  all  the  thumping  of  all  the 
chamber-maids,  and  the  civil  entreaties 
of  Mrs  Verble,  were  of  none  eft'ect.  I 
did  not  so  much  mind  the  bed,  but  we 
were  obliged  to  borrow  night-caps  and 
other  necessary  apparel  from  the  land- 
lady. My  nephew  wanted  to  have  a 


Budget.    No.  II.  QJuly, 

ladder,  and  get  through  the  window, 
or  take  him  by  escalade,  as  he  called 
it;  but  did  not  like  such  an  experi- 
ment. At  last  wo  pot  comfortably  roost- 
ed, and,  till  I  fell  asleep,  I  could  not 
help  reflecting  on  the  false  idea  which 
I  with  many  others  had  cogitated,  that 
extravagance  and  dissipation  were  the 
usual  accompaniments  of  wealth,  and 
that  there  is  less  real  enjoyment  among 
the  rich  and  the  exalted,  than  among 
themiddling  and  poorer  classes,  where- 
as the  day  had  afforded  an  example  of 
unbounded  liberality,withoutadrachm 
of  profuseness ;  displaying  likewise  a 
beautiful  instance  of  ceremonial  and 
fashion,  with  a  train  of  innocent  and 
rational  qualifications,  but  qualifica- 
tions infinitely  enhanced  by  the  re- 
fined taste  and  cultivated  deportment 
of  their  promoter,  as  it  were.  I  am, 

Dear  Mr  Mizzletoe, 
Your  assured  friend, 

NEBUZAKHADDON  VEKBLK. 


FROM  EDWARD  ASHBY,  ESQ.  OF  ST.  JOHN  S  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE, 
TO   HIS  FRIEND   FREDERICK   FERRIMOND,   ESQ. 


MY  DEAR  FRIEND, 

You  would  naturally  expect,  from 
the  tenor  of  my  last  letter,  that  I 
should  ere  this  have  been  comfortably 
lodged  in  your  antiquated  mansion  at 
Aldhame ;  but  circumstances,  that  will 
presently  be  explained,  have  unavoid- 
ably prevented  my  visit,  and  to  them 
I  must  refer  you  for  my  apology. 

At  the  Professor's  I  found  some 
dozen  of  our  men  assembled.  The 
jealousy  of  competitorship  was  over, 
and  all  were  vehement  in  congratula- 
ting me  on  the  day's  success.  The  din- 
ner was  excellent,  and  Leighton  pro- 
nounced the  wines  to  be  "  positively 
elegant."  Joe  Beauckrc,  "  that  fellow 
of  infinite  wit,"  scattered  his  jokes  in 
such  bountiful  profusion,  that  even  the 
mathematical  propriety  of  our  host's 
visage  was  somewhat  discomposed. 
These  are  the  moments,  my  dear  Fred, 
in  which  the  heart  enlarges  the  grasp 
of  its  affections,  and  the  sparkling 
liquor  loses  its  lustre  in  the  brighter 
current  of  fellowship  and  wit.  But 
amongst  the  various  circles  to  which 
my  pursuits  have  introduced  me,  I 
have  found  few  that  are  so  peculiarly 
distinguished  for  "  mirth  that  after  no 
repenting  draws"  as  those  which  the 


Professor  forms, — few  in  which  such 
complete  enjoyment  was  regulated  by 
such  decorous  propriety, — in  which 
humour  had  so  much  latitude  with  so 
little  indelicacy.  Yet,  at  this  particu- 
lar period,  company,  however  fasci- 
nating, was  but  irksome  and  unplea- 
sant ;  and  I  was  anxious  to  withdraw 
from  a  scene  which  had  so  little  to  in- 
terest my  feelings.  I  therefore  made 
my  escape  at  the  first  opportunity, 
and,  as  I  thought,  unnoticed  by  the 
Professor;  but  I  had  scarcely  closed 
the  door,  when  I  was  requested  by  a 
servant  to  return.  The  Professor  was 
in  the  small  room  on  the  left  side  the 
passage,  where  you  and  I,  as  the  school 
phrase  goes,  have  so  often  funck'd.  He 
took  my  hand  as  I  entered,  and  said, 
with  a  more  kindly  manner  than  he 
had  ever  before  evinced,  "  Mr  Ashby, 
you  have  done  me  the  honour  to  ac- 
quaint me  with  your  motives  in  re- 
signing, for  the  present,  your  acade- 
mical pursuits.  Sincerely  as  1  regret," 
he  was  pleased  to  say,  '•'  the  necessity 
which  obliges  you  to  leave  us,  I  yet 
cannot  but  applaud  the  determination 
which  induces  you  to  do  so.  Your 
plans  are  probably  determined  upon  ; 
but  the  hearty  blessings  of  an  old  man 


18210 


The  Fisherman's  Budget.     No.  II. 


383 


will  be  no  burden  to  your  undertaking, 
and  if,  in  its  progress,  you  may  be  in 
want  of  more  substantial  assurances 
of  my  friendship,  do  not— <lo  not 
scruple  to  apply  to  me,  Mr  Ashby — I 
will  not  deceive  you.'  I  uttered  my 
broken  acknowledgments  as  well  as 
I  could ;  but,  indeed,  Ferrimond,  I 
little  anticipated  such  kindness.  If 
the  bias  of  a  partial  friendship — if  the 
unlooked-for  succour  of  a  kind-heart- 
ed stranger,  can  excite  such  sensations 
in  the  breast,  what,  what  have  I  to 
•expect  from  the  unvaried  enjoyment 
of  parental  favour — from  the  respon- 
sive interchanges  of  affection  and  of 
kindred  ? 

The  remnant  of  the  evening  was 
fully  occupied  in  arranging  the  various 
appendages  of  my  travelling  apparatus, 
and  in  penning  the  necessary  remem- 
brances to  my  collegiate  acquaintance; 
»or  did  I  neglect,  ere,  for  the  last  time, 
I  reposed  within  that  peaceful  edifice,  to 
implore  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God 
on  my  exertions,  and  the  necessary 
guidance  of  his  Spirit  to  direct  me  in 
the  way.  And  methinks,  my  dear 
Frederick,  if  there  be  any  foundation 
for  that  moral  superintendence  which 
is  attributed  to  our  great  Creator,  the 
object  that  I  have  in  view,  embracing, 
as  it  does,  one  of  the  most  holy  and 
most  acceptable  principles  of  our  im- 
perfect nature,  may  claim,  in  humility 
be  it  spoken,  the  especial  protection 
of  his  providence. 

•  Non  Siculae  dapes 

Dulcem  elaborabunt  saporem ; 
Non  avium,  citharasque  cantus, 
Somnura  reducent, 

says  our  great  high  priest,  and  so  in- 
deed I  found  it.  Long  before  the  sun 
was  "  peeping  from  his  window  of  the 
east,"  I  was  fully  accoutred  for  my 
journey.  At  five,  Ralph  was  at  the 
door  with  my  chesnut  tit,  and  I  con- 
fess I  was  gratified  by  the  friendly  in- 
terest which  even  he  expressed  in  my 
welfare.  I  accompanied  a  hearty  shake 
of  the  old  man's  hand  with  a  small 
memorial  of  my  thanks,  and  was  in  the 
act  of  mounting,  when  Tom  Fetter  and 
his  friend  drove  past  the  hall  in  fine 
style.  Lord  B.'s  long-talked-of  match 
was  to  be  decided  that  morning ;  and 
as  such  weighty  subjects  are  upper- 
most in  Tom's  class  paper,  he  ima- 
gined that  I  was  bound  for  the  same 
destination.  Tom  cracked  his  whip. 
Vol.,  IX. 


cord  in  true  four-in-hand  style,  tipped 
me  a  significant  wink,  and  swore  by 
Semele  he  would  beat  me  three  miles 
on  a  trot.  I  did  not  undeceive  him  ; 
and  he  sprang  forwards  on  the  seat, 
shewing  his  well-made  scarlet  coatee 
and  extended  elbow  to  "  the  primest 
advantage,"  and  making  a  variety  of 
dexterous  manoeuvres  with  his  silver- 
headed  whip.  They  were  in  a  span- 
new  Tilbury: — Wholoses? — Good  gra- 
cious, to  think  how  these  paltry  grati- 
fications, so  infinitely  beneath  the  dig- 
nity of  an  educated  mind,  and  so  fo- 
reign to  the  purposes  of  an  university 
life,  can  supersede  the  more  honoura- 
ble exertions  of  intellectual  vigour,  and 
compensate  the  pursuer  for  the  envia- 
ble distinction  of  being  the  most  no- 
torious ass  in  the  whole  community. 

As  I  slowly  rode  along  the  quad- 
rangle, I  saw  that  Weber's  night-taper 
still  glimmered  in  the  socket,  so  that 
he  had  not  been  an  early  emigrant 
from  the  festive  board.  Poor  Weber : 
his  reading  never  cost  him  much  can- 
dle-light. I  thought  the  heavy  gates 
of  St  John's  never  turned  so  heavily 
on.  their  hinges,  and  that  its  antiquated 
pile  never  appeared;  half  so  venerable 
before.  I  fear,  I  fear,  my  true  Pylades, 
that  let  me  be  fortunate  to  my  heart's 
content  in  this  my  undertaking,  there 
is  no  spot  that  will  concentrate  within 
it  so  much  real  happiness,  so  much 
pure  satisfaction,  as  the  quiet,  social, 
captivating  cloisters  of  this  beloved 
college. 

It  was  noon  when  I  arrived  at  Dr 
Winton's,  and  my  worthy  friend  was 
anxiously  expecting  me.  Do  you  know 
I  was  quite  delighted  at  the  alacrity  he 
displayed  in  the  service  of  an  old  pu- 
pil. After  partaking  of  some  refresh- 
ment, we  set  off  in  his  old-fashioned 
gig  for  the  pretty  little  village  of  Crox- 
ton.  When  we  got  to  the  foot  of  the 
walk  that  leads  directly  through  the 
garden,  old  Arthur  Ashby  was  sitting 
at  the  door  of  his  white-washed  cot- 
tage :  one  hand  rested  upon  the  large 
family  Bible  which  was  spread  upon 
his  knees,  and  his  pale  forehead,  over 
which  were  scattered  the  hoary  em- 
blems of  a  good  old  age,  reclined  up- 
on the  other.  His  appearance  was 
singularly  interesting ;  and  unwilling 
to  disturb  him  abruptly,  we  stole  as 
quietly  as  possible  to  his  side.  I  laid 
my  hand  gently  upon  his  arm,  and 
said — "  My  dear  father,  I  hope  you 
3B 


The  Fisherman's  Budget.    No,  II. 


are  well."  It  would  be  difficult  to  de- 
termine whether  surprise  or  pleasure 
was  (inost  visibly  depicted  in  the  old 
man's  countenance  !  but,  after  transi- 
ently surveying  me  from  head  to  foot, 
he  fervently  exclaimed — "  God  be  mer- 
ciful to  thee,  my  son  ;  though  surely 
may  I  doubt  whether  thou  art  indeed 
my  son,  seeing  the  days  and  years  that 
have  elapsed  since  thou  earnest  to  this 
place,  and  the  chimes  which  these 
eyes  behold,  now  that  the  frail  figure 
of  thy  youth  hath  yielded  to  the 
strength  and  comeliness  of  manhood." 

The  rumour  of  our  greetings  speedi- 
ly reached  the  ears  of  the  dame,  who 
was  engaged  in  the  cottage  ;  nor  do  I 
think  the  expressions  of  her  joy  would 
yet  have  been  exhausted,  had  not  my 
friendly  Doctor  interposed,  and  men- 
tioned that  important  concerns  were 
connected  with  our  visit.  We  all 
therefore  adjourned  to  the  house,  and 
after  bearing  testimony  to  the  goodness 
of  my  mother's  larder,  (for  mother  I 
must  ever  call  her.)  and  the  excellence 
of  her  cowslip  wine,  I  briefly  detailed 
to  old  Arthur  the  object  that  I  had  in 
view.  His  eyes,  whilst  I  spoke,  were 
stedfastly  fixed  upon  me,  and  when  I 
declared  my  determination  of  seeking 
out  my  parents,  or  assuring  myself  of 
their  fate,  a  strong  feeling,  as  of  sor- 
row, pervaded^kis  countenance.  This 
however  shortly  passed  away  ;  and  lie 
complied  with  my  wishes  in  nearly  the 
following  words  :•— 

"  Indeed,  Edward,  I  have  long  fore- 
seen that  this  moment  would  assuredly 
arrive,  notwithstanding  I  did  not  think 
it  my  duty  to  disturb  the  easy  tenour 
of  your  life  by  disclosures  which  could 
not  but  be  painful.  Yet  the  task  you 
have  undertaken  is  a  holy  and  a  good 
one,  nor  can  the  brief  remnant  of  my 
days  be  more  righteously  employed 
than  in  forwarding  its  happy  termina- 
tion. About  two  and  twenty  years 
since  my  cottage  was  visited  by  JVIr 
Veilton,  who  is  a  member  of  the  legal 
profession  at  Whitehaven,  and  like- 
wise the  owner  of  this  estate.  It  was 
late  in  the  evening  when  he  arrived, 
and  an  elderly  female  who  had  the 
care  of  you,  accompanied  him.  He 
requested  a  private  interview  with 
me,  and  the  subject  of  his  disclosure 
was  this :  that  your  father,  who  was  a 
retired  officer  and  a  catholic,  had  un- 
happily become  connected  with  the 
discontented  leaders  in  Ireland  ;  that 
he  was  compelled  to  fly  from  the 


country  at  a  moment's  warning ;  and 
what  to  him  was  the  most  heart-rend- 
ing circumstance,  to  leave  behind  him 
a  beloved  wife,  then  about  to  give 
birth  to  an  infant.  The  shock  of  this 
occurrence,  and  the  grief  which  it  oc- 
casioned, brought  on  prematurely  the 
pangs  of  labour,  and  your  unhappy 
mother  expired  at  the  moment  which 
ushered  you  into  the  world.  Mr  Veil- 
ton,  with  whom  your  parent  had  taken 
refuge,  caused  inquiries  to  be  made 
among  the  tenantry  on  this  estate,  and 
learning  that  my  wife  had  recently 
buried  her  infant,  lie  immediately  de- 
termined to  place  you  under  her  cure. 
He  had  a  deed  prepared,  in  his  pocket, 
by  which  this  cottage,  and  a  small 
proportion  of  land,  were  thencefor- 
ward settled  on  me  for  life;  and  if 
you  attained  the  age  of  seven  years,  I 
was  then  directed  to  write  to  him  for 
further  instructions  concerning  yo\i. 
And  sure  enough  you  did ;  and  as  good, 
and  generous,  and  fine  a  lad,  as  ever 
played  upon  the  green,  the  joy  of  my 
life,  and  the  comfort  of  my  old  dame 
there.  But  I  knew  that  I  had  a  duty 
to  perform,  and  though  I  grieved  sore- 
ly at  the  thoughts  of  parting  with  you, 
yet  I  felt  that  you  were  destined  for  a 
superior  state  than  could  fall  to  your 
lot  in  this  place,  and  I  therefore  wrote, 
as  directed,  to  Mr  Veilton.  In  a  short 
time  I  received  instructions  to  place 
you  with  Dr  Wintou,  and  it  was  like- 
wise intimated  that  funds  were  pro- 
vided for  your  support.  There  was 
one  thing,  nevertheless,  that  often 
disquieted  the  dame  and  me,  and  it 
was  the  injunction  we  received  to  call 
you  by  our  own  name,  and  never  to 
acquaint  you  with  the  real  circum- 
stances of  your  birth.  But  I  could  not 
bring  myself  to  comply  with  that  part 
of  my  charge ;  for  although  I  might 
be  proud  to  have  you  considered  as  my 
own  Edward,  and  be  fearful  of  dis- 
obliging one  to  whom  I  owe  so  much, 
yet  my  conscience  told  me  there  was  a 
heart  that  would  silently  yearn  upon 
you  as  its  own,  and  that  God,  in  his 
own  good  time,  would  satisfy  its  cra- 
vings !  And  I  can  appeal  with  silent 
satisfaction  to  the  records  of  my  own 
mind,  since  I  have  faithfully  dischar- 
ged the  trust  that  was  committed  unto 
me,  and  can  now  lay  my  grey  hairs 
with  honour  in  the  grave." 

I  need  not  tell  you,  my  dear  Fred, 
with  what  breathless  anxiety  I  listened 
to  this  narrative :  nay,  the  good  Doc- 


1821.;] 


The  Fisherman's  BuiJi>-ct.     No.  II. 


tor  himself  might  have  been  personally 
interested  in  it ;  whilst  the  sobs  of  the 
affectionate  dame  were  more  or  less 
audible  from  behind  the  kerchief  with 
which  she  covered  her  face,  as  the  cir- 
cumstances of  my  history  reminded 
her  of  scenes  gone  by.  When  she  found, 
however,  that  Arthur  had  concluded, 
she  sharply  exclaimed,  "  But  the  box, 
the  box  1"  and  he  as  hastily  rejoined, 
"  Yes,  yes ;  how  could  I  forget  the 
box."  He  went  to  the  other  side  of 
the  apartment,  and  unlocking  an  oaken 
escrutoire,  took  from  it  a  small  case, 
covered  with  red  morocco,  and  secured 
by  a  gold  clasp.  "  These,"  said  he, 
<f  I  must  not  forget;  the  elderly  female, 
who  I  said  accompanied  Mr  Veilton, 
slipped  them  into  my  hand  ere  she  left 
the  cottage,  and  bid  me  be  careful  to 
preserve  them.  She  returned  with  her 
master  to  Whitehaven,  but  shortly  af- 
terwards withdrew  from  the  place,  and 
I  am  told,  has  never  since  been  heard 
of."  Whilst  Arthur  was  mention- 
ing these  additional  circumstances,  the 
Doctor  was  examining  the  contents  of 
the  easquet.  There  were  several  orna- 
ments of  jewellery,  and  a  small  minia- 
ture, suspended  from  a  gold  chain. 
But  how  shall  I  express  my  astonish- 
ment on  seeing  him  start  from  his  seat, 
survey  the  miniature  for  a  moment, 
and  then  press  it  in  ecstacy  to  his  lips. 
"My  dear,  dear  boy,"  said  he,  "look 
on  that  likeness :  it  is  the  portrait  of 
your  blessed  mother,  my  long-lost, 
long-lamented  sister.  The  truth  must 
soon  be  manifested.  I  have  been  de- 
ceived by  a  story  of  her  having  accom- 
panied your  father  in  his  flight,  and  of 


their  extensive  property  having  been 
privately  disposed  of,  and  the  proceeds 
transmitted  abroad.  But  this  Veil- 
ton  is  a  long-headed  fellow,  and  the 
utmost  caution  will  be  requisite.  You 
must  proceed  directly  to  Whitehaven, 
and  there,  if  possible,  obtain  some  ti- 
dings of  the  female  that  brought  you 
hither  an  infant.  From  her  you  may 
perchance  learn  whether  your  parent  is 
still  in  existence,  or,  at  all  events,  the 
original  place  of  his  destination.  Yet, 
you  cannot  be  too  wary,  my  dear  Ed- 
ward, and  it  will  be  but  common  pru- 
dence to  assume  a  fictitious  name. 
Suppose,  therefore,  you  take  Ferri- 
mond's ;  I  am  sure  he  will  pardon  the 
use  of  it — or, — or,  why  not  take  mine  ? 
the  child  of  my  sister  has  now  the  best 
claim  to  it,  and  you  can  pass  for  my 
son ;  at  all  events,"  said  he,  "  cheering- 
ly,till  lam  obliged  to  resign  you  to  your 
father."  Every  thing  was  speedily  ar- 
ranged ;  we  returned  to  the  vicarage  to 
dinner,  and  I  leave  this  evening  by  the 
mail ;  for  I  shall  not  rest  till  my 
doubts  are  satisfied.  The  interval  I 
have  employed  in  communicating  these 
particulars  to  you,  and  knowing,  as  I  do, 
that  you  will  continue  to  indulge  the 
most  anxious  interest  in  my  proceed- 
ings, I  shall  regularly  write  you  a  de- 
tail of  them,  although,  under  present 
circumstances,  it  will  be  most  prudent 
to  direct  to  me,  under  cover,  to  my 
newly-acquired  uncle. 

In  the  meantime,  I  am,  as  ever, 

Sincerely  yours, 
EDWAUD  ASMBV,  alias  WIXTO.V. 

Fred.  Ferrimond,  £".»/. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM   THE   LESS  FAMILIAR  LATIN  CLASSICS. 

No.  VII. 
CLAUDIAN. 

To  CHRISTOPHER  NOIITH,  ESQ. 


DEAR  Sin, 

I  oo  not  know  whether  or  not  it  has 
been  favourable,  upon  the  whole,  to 
the  reputation  of  Claudtan,  that  he 
was  the  last  of  the  classic  poets,  and 
shone,  like  the  flame  of  a  lonely  watch- 
tower,  upon  the  very  verge  of  an  ocean 
of  darkness.  If  his  merits  have  been 
over-rated,  this  has  probably  been  one 
of  the  causes  of  their  being  so.  It  is 
never  ultimately  the  interest  of  any 
poet  to  be  ovei-piaLcd;  and  he  who 


opens  the  poems  of  Claudian  in  the 
hope  of  discovering  something  nearly 
approaching  the  best  efforts  of  the 
Augustan  age,  will  be  disappointed  to 
find  an  imitator  where  he  expected  a 
rival.  The  diction  of  this  poet  is,  per- 
haps, his  most  remarkable  feature. 
Living  at  a  time  when  all  elegant  li- 
terature was  about  U>*mk  into  the 
"dead  sea"  of  barbarous  verbal  meta- 
physics, and  the  intolerant  phantasies 
of  a  disputatious  theology,  he  emu- 


Translation!  from  the  less  familiar  Latin  Classics. 


386 

lates,  with  no  mean  success,  the  cor- 
rectness and  melody,  and  sometimes 
simplicity,  of  Virgil.  His  style,  no 
doubt,  exhibits  some  flagrant  ex- 
amples of  those  artificial  turns  of 
thought,  which  have  been  stigmatized 
as  "  conceits,"  but  much  fewer  than 
might  have  been  expected  from  the 
sera  in  which  he  wrote.  His  language, 
however,  is  his  best  part.  His  style, 
in  the  extended  sense  of  the  word,  is 
much  more  correct  than  original.  The 
strength  of  his  poetical  talent  is  not  in 
the  ratio  of  his  good  taste.  He  suc- 
ceeds best  in  the  light  and  fanciful, 
and  worst  in  those  themes  which  re- 
quire power  and  vigour.  Hence  his 
"  Raptus  Proserpinse''  is  perhaps  his 
happiest  poem,  and  his  least  happy  ef- 
fort the  fragment  of  the  "Giganto- 
machia."  The  last  mentioned  is,  in 
truth,  merely  bombastical  common- 
place, and  the  ' '  c&tera  desiderantur" 
the  common  editorial  note  at  the  con- 
clusion of  all  such  "  membra  disjecta" 
is,  in  this  case,  a  most  disputable  po- 
sition. He  is  so  elaborately  classical 
in  his  writings,  as  to  have  left  it  un- 


decided  whether  or  not  he  was  a  Chris- 
tian, unless  an  epigram  or  two,  of  very 
questionable  authenticity,  are  to  be 
taken  for  proofs,  in  default  of  better. 
The  want  of  interest  under  which  the 
subjects  of  most  of  his  pieces  now  ne- 
cessarily labour,  is  certainly  a  great 
disadvantage  to  Claudian.  We  can 
take  part  with  Achilles,  or  Hector,  or 
Caesar,  or  Pompey,  or  Brutus,  or  Octa- 
vius,  but  who  knows  or  cares  any  thing 
about  the  fortunes  of  Stilicho,  or  Gil- 
do,  or  the  "  Bellum  Geticum,"  or  the 
destruction  of  Rufinus,  or  the  merits 
or  demerits  of  Eutropius  the  eunuch  ? 
The  concluding  stanzas  of  the  transla- 
tion of  the  Fescennina,  attempted  be- 
low, are  only  a  distant  paraphrase  of 
the  original.  For  this  you  will  hardly 
require  an  apology.  In  selections  like 
the  foregoing,  it  is  often  more  difficult 
than  may  be  at  first  imagined,  to  find 
a  piece  which  shall  at  once  be  a  fair 
specimen  of  the  poet,  interesting  to 
the  general  reader,  and  fit  to  be  trans- 
lated. 

I  am,  &c. 

T.  D. 


ON  ONE  WHO  HAD   NEVER.  LEFT  HIS  HOM£. 

THE  fields,  that  were  his  early  joy, 

Still  please  his  eye,  with  age  though  dim,— 

That  home,  his  world  while  yet  a  boy, 
Is  still — blest  lot — a  world  to  him. 

Years  have  roll'd  on,  at  Time's  command, 
And  still  his  little  cot  hath  smiled, 

Though  now  his  staff  indents  the  sand 
On  which  he  totter'd  when  a  child. 

Content,  he  heeds  nor  fortune's  changes, 
Nor  fates  of  conquerors,  nor  kings  ; 

O'er  no  untrodden  realms  he  ranges, 
He  drinks  of  no  forbidden  springs. 

From  treach'rous  seas  no  wealth  he  draws  ; 

His  peace  no  trumpet's  clang  alarms  ; 
The  Forum  meets — he  hath  no  cause ; 

Harmless  he  lives,  and  tree  from  harms. 

Unknowing  aught  that  cities  own, 
Or  grandeur's  smile,  or  misery's  sigh, 

What  boots  it  ?  he  hath  better  known 
The  beautiful  of  earth  and  sky. 

No  Consulates  his  years  design, 
No  calendar  computes  his  hours  ; 

But  autumn's  chronicled  in  wine, 
And  pranksomc  springtime  writ  in  floweri 


Translations  from  the  less  familiar  Latin  Classics.  387 

His  day  one  dial  measures  still, 

It's  simple  rule  he  ne'er  forgets — 
His  Phoebus  rises  from  yon  hill, 

Beneath  yon  neighbour  hill  he  sets. 

The  sturdy  oak,  whose  shade  he  loves, 

He  well  recals  a  sapling  slim ; 
He  is  coeval  with  the  groves, 

And  feels  his  trees  grow  old  with  him. 

Thrice  blest !  Though  old  Verona's  pride 

Be  strange,  as  is  the  torrid  zone, 
And  smooth  Benacus'  flow'ry  side, 

As  Pharaoh's  sea,  to  thee,  unknown. 

If  time  nor  ill  nor  sorrow  bring, 

Small  need  hast  thou  of  sights  like  these, 
Who  see'st  thy  children's  children  cling, 

And  climb  about  their  grandsire's  knees. 

Who  scales  the  Alps,  or  skims  the  ocean, 

Still  toiling,  still  immersed  in  strife, 
More  than  thou  dost,  may  know  of  motion, 

Thou,  haply,  more  than  he — of  life. 


FESCENNINE  VEKSES 

On  the  Nuptials  of  Honorius. 

I. 

O  PRINCE  ! — more  fair  than  Venus'  star 

Amid  the  dimmer  orbs  of  night, 
Who,  deadlier  than  the  Parthian  far, 

Canst  draw  the  bow  with  guileful  might, 
Canst  wind  the  fiery  steed  at  will, 
With  more  than  a  Gelonian  skill, 
How  shall  the  poet  praises  find 
To  paint  thy  body  and  thy  mind  ? 

Leda  had  rather  suckled  thee 
Than  Castor,  star  of  chivalry ; 
Thetis  in  thee  had  found  more  joy 
Than  in  her  own  unconquer'd  boy ; 
Pelos,  when  thee  she  once  hath  seen, 
Shall  worship  less  her"  Phoebus'  mien, 
And  Lydia  deem  thee  more  divine 
Than  e'en  her  rosy  God  of  wine  : 
For  when,  in  exercise'  full  pride, 
Fearless  thou  thread'st  the  forest  wide, 
And  the  wind  wantons  in  thy  hair, 
And  the  awed  lion  leaves  his  lair, 
Yet  seems  a  dying  pride  to  feel 
When  he  hath  sunk  beneath  thy  steel, 
Venus,  enslaved,  forgets  her  truth, 
Pledged  to  the  hapless  hunter  youth, 
And  Cynthia  feels  redoubled  pain, 
More  pale  than  for  her  Virbius  slain. 

When,  the  day's  heat  and  labour  o'er, 
Thy  languid  limbs  at  rest  are  laid, 

Beneath  the  arching  sycamore, 
Or  some  seqncster'd  cavern'?  shade  ; 


386  Translations  from  the  less  familiar  Latin  Classics. 

And  thou  hast  not  forbid  to  creep 
Upon  thy  lids  th'  officious  sleep,— 
How  many  a  watching  nymph  shall  pine, 
And  wish  her  glance  were  met  by  thine  ; 
How  many  a  Naiad  steal  the  bliss 
That's  hidden  in  a  secret  kiss  ! 

What  though,  in  Scythian  realms,  afar, 

The  overawed  barbarian  bow 
And  drop  his  implements  of  war 

At  sight  of  that  commanding  brow, — 
And,  on  his  undefended  plains, 
Resignedly  receive  thy  chains  ; — 
Go — if  thy  unslaked  courage  wills, 
'Mid  wintry  Caucasus'  hoar  hills, — 
Go— where  the  frozen  plains  obey 
The  Amazon, — more  cold  than  they ; 
And,  careless  of  her  Sire  and  Name, 
At  length  the  haughty  virgin  dame, 
The  proud  Hyppolite,  shall  yield 
To  thee  her  yet  unconquer'd  shield, 
And,  sighing — though  the  trumpet  sound — 
Chop  her  keen  axe  upon  the  ground— 
What  violence  could  never  move, 
Shall  melt  before  the  touch  of  Love  ; 
— Happy,  beyond  the  tongue  of  verse, 

Could  she  but  match  in  such  a  line  ; 
For  blest  is  she,  who  calls  thee  her's, — 

Thrice  blest,  when  thou  shalt  call  her  thine. 


II. 

Oh  !  let  the  Spring,  that  was  in  haste  to  go, 

Fly  to  return,  and  gild  this  happy  day  ; 
In  liquid  music  let  the  waters  flow, 

And  sweeter  cadence  ring  from  every  spray  : 

Smile,  ye  Ligurian  plains — smile,  festive  Rome  ; 

Ye  hills,  let  sunny  wreathes  your  brows  inclose, 
Amid  your  Alpine  peaks,  let  roses  bloom, 

And  lend  their  blushes  to  the  virgin  snows. 

O'er  Adige'  wave  the  coral  measure  floats, 
And  Mincius,  as  his  winding  stream  he  leads, 

Is  listening  to  the  joy-rebounding  notes, 

And  scarcely  whispers  to  his  trembling  reeds. 

It  echoes  down  the  alder-fringed  Po ; 

Old  Tiber  dances  at  the  joyous  sound  ; 
And  at  her  lordly  master's  nuptials,  lo  ! 

Rome's  stately  towers  with  smiling  chaplels  crowu'd  ' 

Let  the  far  land,  from  whence  our  hero  sprung — 
The  fervid  skies  of  wild  and  distant  Spain — 

Let  that  famed  hall,  with  early  laurels  hung, 
Hear  and  re-echo  the  triumphant  strain. 

Thence  came  thy  sire — thy  sire,  when  thou  hast  plighted 
Thy  troth,  sweet  Bride — thence,  Prince,  thy  mother  came; 

Now,  like  two  streams  that  meet,  long  disunited, 
Your  race  shall  flow  in  one  continued  fame. 


1821.]]  Translations  from  the  less  familiar  Latin  Classics.  389 

Ye  groves  of  Boetis,  smile  a  brighter  green  ; 

Thou,  Tagus,  roll  in  all  thy  pride  of  gold ; 
King  of  your  line — beneath  the  blue  serene, 

Let  Ocean  his  paternal  orgies  hold. 

Realms  of  the  West  and  East — your  toils  forget ; 

Let  wine  and  mirth  your  every  hour  employ  ; 
Let  Phoebus,  from  his  rising  till  he  set, 

Laugh  to  see  nothing  on  his  way  but  joy  : 

And  thou,  rude  North-wind,  wither  not  one  wreath, 

Be  still  thou  East — nor  thou,  O !  South,  arise, 
But  let  young  Zephyr,  only,  dare  to  breathe, 

In  breath  as  gentle  as  the  lover's  sighs. 

III. 

Yea,  Stilicho,  thy  whitening  hair 

Is  wont  the  shining  casque  to  wear ; 

But  lay  thy  frowning  helmet  down, 

And  put  thee  on  a  festive  crown  ; 

No  longer  with  the  trumpets'  sound 

The  palace'  blazing  arches  ring ; 

The  torch  that  Hymen  loves  to  bring 

Hath  sprinkled  its  bland  light  around; 

Those  charms,  which  erst  thou  took'st  away, 

Again  thon  giv'st,  this  happy  day, 

— Let  malice  rage — but  vainly  still — 

Let  envy  take  what  hue  she  will. 

What  erst  Serena  was  to  thec, 

Shall  Mary  to  Honorius  be. 

IV. 

Lo  !  Hesper,  how,  to  Venus  dear 

His  silvery-shining  lamp  he  rears  ; 
He  marks  the  blushing  virgin's  fear, 

And  smiles  to  see  her  maiden  tears. 

Yes ;  sooth  her,  bridegroom. — Well  he  knows, 
Though  smiles  for  such  an  hour  were  ineeter, 

These  tears,  like  dew-drops  to  the  rose, 
Shall  make  her  morning  lip  the  sweeter. 

He,  of  the  thorn  must  take  no  heed, 

Who  would  not  let  the  bud  go  free ; 
And  he,  who  would  on  honey  feed, 

Must  never  mark  the  angry  bee. 

As,  when  the  rain-clouds  make  retreat, 

The  sudden  day  seems  doubly  clear, 
So,  there  can  be  no  kiss  so  sweet 

As  one  that's  usher'd  by  a  tear. — 

— "  War,  I  have  known  thee,"  shalt  thou  cry, 

"  The  humbled  foe — the  victor's  bliss  ; 
But  never  flash'd  young  warrior's  eye 

For  conquest  half  so  blest  as  this." — 

Love,  on  thy  couch,  himself  enthrones ; 

Reveal  him — for  he  made  ye  one — 
And  hear  her  tongue  respond,  in  tones 

That  silence'  self  might  doat  upon. 


390  Translations  from  the  less  familiar  Latin  duties. 

Speak  him — in  many  a  broken  sigh  ; 

Breathe  all  affection's  holiest  balm  ;— 
Oh  !  clasp,  with  more  of  constancy 

Than  e'er  the  ivy  clasp'd  the  palm. 

And  when  her  languid  lids  shall  close, 
And  in  oblivious  bliss  she  lies, 

Thy  breath — like  sleep's — shall  shed  repose 
Upon  her  silken-fringed  eyes. — 

— At  the  first  peep  of  blushing  morn, 
The  joyous  strain  shall  be  renew'd, 

And  gladness  on  each  brow  be  worn, 
And  mirth  unlaced,  and  garlands  strew'd. 

Nymphs — grant  the  smile,  extend  the  hand ; 

Swains — warriors — put  on  all  yjtur  pride ; 
Winds  waft  the  voice,  from  land  to  land, 

"  Honorius  hath  brought  home  his  bride." 


BYE-PAST  TIME, 

The  sky  is  blue,  the  sward  is  green, 
The  leaf  upon  the  bough  is  seen, 
The  wind  comes  from  the  balmy  west, 
The  little  songster  builds  its  nest, 
The  bee  hums  on  from  flower  to  flower, 
Till  twilight's  dim  and  pensive  hour ; 
The  joyous  year  arrives  ;  but  when 
Shall  bye-past  times  come  back  again  ? 

I  think  on  childhood's  glowing  years — 

How  soft,  how  bright,  the  scene  appears  f 

How  calm,  how  cloudless,  pass'd  away 

The  long,  long,  summer  holiday ! 

I  may  not  muse — I  must  not  dream — 

Too  beautiful  these  visions  seem 

For  earth  and  mortal  man  ;  but  when 

Shall  bye-past  times  come  back  again  ? 

I  think  of  sunny  eves  so  soft, 
Too  deeply  felt,  enjoy 'd  too  oft, 
When  through  the  bloomy  fields  I  roved! 
With  her,  the  earliest,  dearest  loved  ; 
Around  whose  form  I  yet  survey, 
In  thought,  a  bright  celestial  ray 
To  present  scenes  denied ;  and  when 
Shall  bye-past  times  come  back  again  ? 

Alas  !  the  world  at  distance  seen 
Appear'd  all  blissful  and  serene, 
An  Eden,  form'd  to  tempt  the  foot, 
With  crystal  streams,  and  golden  fruit ; 
That  world,  when  tried  and  trod,  is  found 
A  rocky  waste,  a  thorny  ground  ! 
We  then  revert  to  youth  ;  but  when 
Shall  bye-past  times  come  back  again  ? 

A. 

15 


Friar  Bacon.  301 

FRIAR  BACON. 

I  HAD  a  vision. — In  an  antique  dome 

A  holy  man  I  saw,  with  cap  and  gown  ; 
Around  the  walls  were  many  a  ponderous  tome 

With  hasp  and  hinge,  all  schoolmen  of  renown. 
Alembics,  crucibles,  metallic  ores, 

And  wond'rous  things  from  air,  and  earth,  and  sea, 
Were  hung  on  high,  or  strewn  upon  the  floors; 

As  if  he  wish'd  combined  with  him  to  be 
All  miracles  of  matter  and  of  mind  ; 
And  he  did  study  wisdom  till  behind 
His  fellow-men  were  left ;  and  then  they  knew 

That  he  had  leagued  with  demons — knew  it  well ; 
And,  fearing  him,  condemn'd ;  then,  reckless,  threw 

His  aged  limbs  to  wither  in  a  cell ! 

A 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 

AH  !  little  I  thought,  when,  with  thrilling  delight, 

I  watch'd  the  fond  gaze  of  thine  eye. 
That  so  soon  thou  would' st  fade  like  a  dream  from  our  sight, 

Heart-broken,  to  linger  and  die ! 

Twas  mournful  to  sit  by  thy  pillow,  and  mark 

The  paleness  that  dwelt  on  thy  cheek  ; 
Thy  cold  marble  brow,  with  its  ringlets  so  dark  ; 

Thy  patience  so  holy  and  meek. 

Twas  awful  to  list  to  thy  musical  voice, 
Like  a  lute  heard  by  night  from  the  wave, 

And  think  that  the  tones  which  made  others  rejoice, 
So  soon  should  be  quench'd  in  the  grave  ! 

I  saw  thee,  sweet  girl,  worn  down  to  a  shade ; — 
How  changed  from  what  thou  wert  before, 

All  the  magical  glow  of  thy  features  decay'd, 
Like  a  rainbow,  when  tempests  are  o'er. 

'tis  past ;  thou  art  laid  in  the  cold  silent  tomb  ; 

And  often,  with  desolate  heart, 
All  lonely  I  stray  in  the  dim,  twilight  gloom, 

To  the  turf  in  whose  bosom  thou  art. 

Thy  sorrows  are  ended  ;  thy  pilgrimage  o'er ; 

Thy  cares  and  thy  wishes  have  rest 
In  the  Sabbath  of  peace,  'mid  the  joys  of  that  shore, 

Where  the  stainless  in  spirit  are  blest. 

But  woe  unto  him,  who  could  bask  in  the  glow 

Of  thy  trusting  and  innocent  heart ; 
Could  add  balm  to  thy  blisses,  partake  in  thy  woe, 

And  become  of  thy  being  a  part ! 

Who  could  twine  round  the  thoughts  of  thy  bosom  so  kind, 

And  then  from  thy  presence  could  fly  ; 
Who  could  turn  to  another  with  mutable  mind, 

And  leave  thee,  heart-broken,  to  die  ! 

A. 

VOL.  IX.  3  C 


392  Early  Affection. 

EARLY  AFFECTION". 

WHEN  all  the  joys  arise  to  mind, 

Which  we,  beloved,  have  shared  together ; 
And  Recollection  looks  behind 

To  youth's  serene,  and  sunny  weather  ; 
No  wonder — girt  with  gloom  around — 

With  frowning  clouds  of  care  and  sadness, 
If,  while  I  think  of  thee,  my  mind 

Hangs  o'er  the  very  verge  of  madness  ! 

The  dream  of  bliss  that  lull'd  us  thep, 

By  dark  reality  unbroken, 
Ere  Disappointment  proved  her  den 

Was  earth,  by  many  a  bitter  token, 
Oft,  as  I  ponder  o'er  the  past, 

Awakens  in  primeval  glory, 
Glowing,  magnificent,  o'ercast 

With  splendour,  like  an  eastern  story. 

The  bloom  that  hangs  upon  the  tree 

Is  strewn  by  tempests  in  derision .; 
The  flower,  that  opens  to  the  bee, 

Is  only  for  a  passing  season  ; 
Even  so  the  spring-tide  of  the  heart, 

And  love  that  speaks  of  pleasures  only, 
Like  rainbows  gleam,  and  so  depart, 

With  all  their  light,  to  leave  us  lonely. 

But  thou  hast  changed  not — stedfastly 

Thy  mind  hath  stood,  and  alter'd  never , 
And  storms  have  pass'd  unheeded  by, 

Unheard,  or  disregarded  ever  ; 
Lake  clouds  that  sail  before  the  moon, 

With  momentary  haze  obscuring 
Its  silver  orb,  but  passing  soon, 

To  leave  its  beauty  more  alluring. 

The  happy  days  that  once  were  ours, 

Can  never  rise  again  before  us, 
Nor  Autumn's  sunny  evening  hours 

Cast  such  a  glowing  mantle  o'er  us  ; 
Nor  Summer  shower  a  beauty  round, 

As  erst  it  shower'd  on  field  and  meadow  ; 
Nor  such  a  holy  calm  be  found 

In  Evening's  dark  delicious  shadow. 

But  come  what  may,  earth  cannot  be 

The  seat  or  scene  of  hapless  sorrow, 
To  him,  whose  soul  is  bent  from  thee 

Its  store  of  happiness  to  borrow  ; 
In  all  thy  woes  to  bear  a  part, 

In  all  thy  pleasures  to  attend  thee, 
And  feel  that  never  from  his  heart 

Can  aught  that  ever  happens  rend  thee. 

And  still  I  would  not  give,  my  sweet. 
One  hour  that  finds  me  hang  about  thee, 

For  all  the  treasures  at  my  feet 

That  worlds  beside  could  lend  without  thee 

So  fondly,  firmly,  intertwined 
With  thec,  are  all  my  dreams  of  pleasure ; 


1821. 3  IHurli/ Affection. 

Thou  art  the  idol  of  my  mind. 

My  heart's  desire,  and  secret  treasure. 

Then  come  what  may — thou  wilt  not  leave 

My  heart  in  solitude  to  languish, 
To  sadly  pine,  and  vainly  grieve, 

Amid  mankind,  in  lonely  anguish  : 
No,  but  the  earth  a  home  of  love 

Will  surely  be  to  him,  who  borrows 
From  thee,  all  fickle  change  above, 

A  more  than  solace  for  his  sorrows. 


393 


AN  ESSAY   ON  THE   SENTIMENTS   OF  ATTRACTION,  ADAPTATION, 
AND  VARIETY.* 


The  object  of  this  Essay  is  to  illus- 
trate the  nature  of  contemplative  sen- 
timent, as  opposed  to  sensation  and 
sensual  perception.  It  is  intended  to 
define  the  modes  of  sentiment,  and  to 
render  the  different  tendencies  of  these 
modes  perceptible,  by  seeking  for  sym- 
bols of  them  in  the  visible  creation. 

We  mean  not,  in  this  article,  to  en- 
ter into  criticism,  but  only  to  make 
known  to  the  public  the  purport  of 
this  short  metaphysical  disquisition, 
which  is  expressed  in  concise  and  ex- 
act language.  We  shall,  therefore,  ra- 
ther make  extracts  from  it,  thati  take 
the  trouble  of  going  over  the  same 
thing  in  different  words.  His  mode 
of  thinking  being  different  from  that 
which  is  exemplified  in  most  of  the 
metaphysical  writings  of  this  country, 
the  writer  of  this  Essay  uses  some 
combinations  of  language,  which  may 
sound  new,  although  they  are  easily 
intelligible,  and  fitted  to  extend  the 
range  of  thought  among  metaphysical 
inquirers.  But  some  of  the  modes  of 
expression  used  have  reference  to  the 
philosophy  of  antiquity.  For  instance, 
the  words  "  idea"  and  "  ideal"  are 
used  throughout,  in  the  ancient  sense, 
that  is  to  say,  to  express,  not  any  act 
of  the  mind,  or  the  conception  or  re- 
membrance of  the  particular,  but  only 
to  signify  the  abstract  forms  known  by 
intellect.  The  best  beginning  of  philo- 
sophy is  from  a  strong  teelingof  the  con- 
trast between  moveable  and  particular 
being,  and  the  fixed  qualities  of  pure 
idea.  The  mind's  own  nature  being 
moveable  and  particular,  and  destitute 
of  certainty  in  its  natural  feelings,  it 
can  only  find  the  origin  of  morality  in 
the  internal  consciousness  of  ideas  in- 
capable of  being  altered  by  the  opera- 


tions of  the  will,  and  which,  although 
they  are  felt  within  the  limits  of  its 
own  being,  are  no  part  of  its  nature  ; 
neither  is  the  feeling  of  the  abstract 
beautiful  to  be  found  in  the  hazy  un- 
certainty of  natural  feeling ;  but  in  the 
unchangeable  relations  of  intellectual 
form.  But  the  metaphysicians  of  this 
country  have,  for  the  most  part,  shewn 
no  inclination  to  recognise,  bring  into 
view,  or  confess  submission  to  those  an- 
cient truths  which  have  been  the  tra- 
ditional, oriental  root  of  true  philoso- 
phy, in  all  ages,  and  without  which 
the  study  of  metaphysics  is  but  a  la- 
borious exercise  of  opinion,  without 
belief,  and  destitute  of  beginning  or 
end. 

The  different  tendencies  of  senti- 
ment are  best  perceived  by  that  inter- 
nal transparency  of  mind  which  results 
from  the  love  of  the  ideal,  to  which 
every  thing  in  the  Essay  we  are  about 
to  quote  from,  has  more  or  less  refer- 
ence. However,  the  inquiry  into  the 
differences  of  contemplative  sentiment, 
is  begun  from  emotion  of  love  or  be- 
nevolence felt  towards  particular  exis- 
tences. This  emotion  is  spoken  of 
under  the  name  of  mental  attraction, 
which  is  almost  the  only  new  term 
used  in  the  book.  But  the  word  "  love" 
would  have  been  too  indefinite,  as  it 
may  either  signify  benevolence  in  ge- 
neral, or  the  feeling  between  the  sexes, 
or!  even  natural  affection,  or  consocia- 
ted  attachment  and  friendship.  It  was 
therefore  necessary  to  chuse  a  word  for 
expressing  abstractedly  contemplative 
emotion  felt  towards  particular  exis- 
tences. 

"  The  nature  of  contemplative  emotion 
may  easily  be  discriminated  from  that  of 
voluntary  action  ;  for  active  power  always 


By  William  Howisor.     12mo.     Blackwoxl,  Edinburgh,  1821. 


394       Essay  on  the  Sentiments  of  Attraction,  Adaptation,  and  Variety.   £JuIy> 


takes  the  origin  of  its  motion  from  within 
the  mind ;  but  contemplative  feeling  re- 
ceives the  origin  of  its  movement  when  the 
mind  is  drawn  towards  what  exists  beyond 
itself.  Therefore,  in  speaking  of  that  feel- 
ing of  contemplative  love  or  benevolence, 
which  draws  forth  the  mind  towards  ob- 
jects separate  from  itself,  it  will  be  con- 
venient to  call  it  the  sentiment  of  mental 
attraction.  *  "  *  * 


As  material  atoms,  in  obeying  attraction, 
shew  themselves  affected  by  existences 
whose  active  power  is  so  far  distant  that  it 
can  exchange  no  impulses  with  theirs,  so 
mental  attraction  or  love,  exemplifies  a  si- 
milar movement,  which  implies  no  more 
than  the  existence  of  the  object  contem- 
plated ;  and  therefore  this  sentiment  en- 
ables the  mind  to  experience  the  influence 
of  the  universe,  by  a  continued  feeling  of 
connection  with  existences  which  stand  be- 
yond the  reach  of  contrary  action. 

"  The  emotion  of  mental  attraction  is 


But  if  all  emotions  of  attraction  were  to- 
wards a  centre,  or  towards  different  centres, 
then  the  character  and  modes  of  being  in 
individual  existences  would  not  produce 
any  corresponding  emotion,  and  the  emo- 
tion of  love  felt  towards  all  objects  would 
be  alike,  except  as  to  unity  and  plurality. 
The  emotions  of  imitative  attraction,  how- 
ever, are  felt  to  have  reference  to  extension 
and  character. 

"  The  sentiment  of  single  attraction  is  as 
in  the  head  of  the  soul,  flying  first,  and 
stretching  foremost  towards  the  object  con- 
templated. The  sentiment  of  variety,  which 
turns  the  mind  aside,  is  as  in  each  shoulder. 
But,  the  sentiment  of  adaptation  is  as  in 
the  hair,  which,  being  moveable,  flowing, 
and  easily  agitated,  feels  imitative  attrac- 
tion, and  spreads  out  according  to  the  ex- 
tension and  character  of  what  is  contem- 
plated." 

From  these  observations  concerning 
the  nature  of  contemplative  emotion 
felt  towards  particular  existences,  a 
transition  is  made  to  the  sentiment  of 


not  all  of  one  kind,  but  refers  to  the  nature  hope,  or  the  love  of  the  infinite,  an 
of  the  objects  contemplated,  and  may  be  emotion  which  might  he  felt  although 
discriminated  into  three  different  modes  of  the  mind  were  left  quite  alone. 


feeling.  The  first  is,  single  attraction, 
which  causes  contemplative  love  to  tend  to- 
wards individuality,  and  seek  for  a  centre 
or  heart  in  the  object  which  is  contempla- 
ted. The  second  is  adaptation,  or  imitative 
feeling,  which  refers  to  the  movements,  ex- 
tension, and  character  of  what  is  contem- 
plated, and  enables  the  mind  to  feel  an 


"  Besides  the  sentiments  of  single  at- 
traction, adaptation,  and  variety,  (which 
apply  only  to  particular  objects  separate 
from  the  mind,)  there  is  farther,  in  human 
nature,  a  sentiment  of  height  and  increase, 
which  draws  the  mind  away  from  the  in- 
fluence of  limited  and  particular  objects, 
and  expands  it  with  the  love  of  the  perma- 


agreeable  emotion  in  accommodating  itself    nent  and  infinite.    The  relation  of  this  as- 


to  the  nature  of  the  object  upon  which  its 
attention  is  fixed.  The  third  is  the  .ii-nii- 
ment  of  variety,  or  the  feeling  of  differing 
attraction,  which  turns  and  transfers  the 
attention  of  the  mind,  and  makes  it  feel 
separate  particular  being.  The  sentiments 
of  single  attraction  and  adaptation,  being 
closely  connected,  both  naturally  apply 


cending  sentiment  to  unity  is  religious  sen- 
timent by  nature,  and  its  relation  to  exten- 
sion is  the  sentiment  of  hope,  or  the  love 
of  the  infinite,  and  of  abstract  form  or  idea. 
In  the  feelings  of  human  nature,  height 
and  increase  are  conjoined  ;  and  it  is  evi- 
dent that  hope  tends  along  with  time,  and 
accords  neither  with  the  love  of  the  past, 


themselves  to  unity.    But  the  sentiment  of    nor  with  descending  or  diminution.     The 


variety  is  of  a  different  kind,  and  is  capable 
of  being  felt  along  with  the  two  first,  but 
as  subordinate  to  them. 


sentiment  of  hope  cannot  rest  upon  any  of 
those  finite  quantities  perceived  in  objects 
of  sense,  but  is  capable  of  being  affected, 


"  In  the  material  world,  all  objects  that  through  the  senses,  by  objects  expressing 
have  size  enough  to  make  them  perceptible  proportions  and  gradations  of  quantity  ; 
to  the  senses,  are  of  an  aggregated  nature ;  and,  from  this,  the  feeling  of  the  beauty  of 
but  an  existence  is  truly  individual  when  it  abstract  form,  and  also  of  harmony,  seems 
contains  only  one  source  of  active  power,  to  arise.  Harmony,  which  depends  upon 
Therefore,  individuality  is  never  distinctly  the  fixed  proportions  of  finite  quantities, 
shewn,  except  in  the  will  of  living  beings,  (as  upon  the  proportion  of  the  individual 
which  is  a  manifestation  of  active  power  pulsations  in  different  musical  tones,)  car- 
proceeding  from  a  single  and  separate  ries  the  mind  out  of  finite  quantities,  in 
source.  The  Epicurean  philosophy,  by  perceiving  their  proportion  ;  as  is  also  felt 
feigning  the  mind  to  be  an  aggregated  and  in  seeing  the  proportions  of  light  in  the 
complex  existence,  denied  the  actions  of  rainbow.  Thus,  the  sentiment  of  hope, 
riving  beings  to  be  manifestations  of  true  which  seeks  after  the  infinite,  produces  al- 
individuality.  so  the  desire  of  feeling  abstract  and  per- 

"  But  the  sentiment  of  single  attraction  manent  relations. 

which  seeks  always  for  a  centre,  or  heart,  "  But  the  sentiments  of  single  attraction, 
is  felt  to  apply  properly  to  objects  which  adaptation,  and  variety,  refer  only  to  move- 
are  truly  individual,  like  living  beings,  able  and  particular  existences,  situated  be- 


Essay  on  the  Senlinmnts  of  Attraction,  Adaptation,  and  Variety.      39.5 


yond  the  mind.  They  are,  therefore,  out- 
ward affections,  and  if  the  sentiment  of 
single  attraction  be  as  the  head  of  the  soul, 
and  imitative  emotion  as  the  hair,  the  sen- 
timent of  hope  which  depends  upon  purity 
and  breath  of  internal  feeling  is  as  within 
the  chest  and  shoulders,  and  there  exerts 
its  lifting  tendency. 

"  From  hope  spring  the  powers  of  im- 
agination, which  are  the  wings  of  the  soul, 
springing  from  the  shoulders.  Imagina- 
tion is  not  like  love  or  attraction,  an  affec- 
tion felt  towards  particular  objects,  but  is 
rather  a  sort  of  voluntary  action,  or  waving 
of  the  wings,  through  which  the  soul  seeks 
to  feel  the  varied  forms  of  the  ideal,  by 
passing  motion.  As  the  sentiment  of  hope 
is  the  love  of  the  infinite,  so  the  powers  of 
imagination  are  employed  in  taking  a  tem- 
porary hold  of  the  finite  ideal,  and  turning 
the  mind  by  the  transient  conception  of 
what  is  not  within  its  own  being. 

"  It  may  be  easily  perceived,  that  ima- 
gination, which  feels  after  the  ideal,  is  not 
the  same  as  the  sentiment  of  variety  of  at- 
traction, which  feels  the  differing  influences 
of  moveable  and  particular  objects. 

"  The  lion,  whose  head  is  instinctively 
swayed  and  made  to  follow  after  moveable 
objects,  is  the  symbol  of  attraction,  or  the 
love  of  the  moveable  and  particular.  And 
the  ancients  emblematically  represented 
Love  as  riding  upon  a  lion,  not  to  signify 
that  Love  subdues  all  living  creatures,  but 
because  the  lion  is  the  symbol  of  attraction 
between  separate  being." 

From  the  consideration  of  the  con- 
templative sentiment,  a  transition  is 
made  into  another  subject,  which  is 
not  mentioned  in  the  title-page,  name- 
ly, opinion,  or  the  active  power  of 
judgment,  as  contrasted  with  abstract 
vision. 

"  Such  being  the  modes  of  attraction,  it 
is  necessary  next  to  speak  of  the  powers  of 
judgment,  which  are  the  hands  of  the  soul, 
the  most  moveable  part,  and  capable,  as  it 
were,  of  being  turned  back  upon  the  mind, 
to  feel  how  it  is  affected  by  external  causes. 

"  The  relations  of  ideal  form  are  known 
directly  by  single  feeling,  or  abstract  vision, 
without  any  reflection  of  the  mind  upon  it- 
self. But  judgment  or  opinion  requires  a 
double  feeling.  And  the  serpent,  which, 
by  folding,  can  touch  itself  in  many  dif- 
ferent places  at  once,  is  the  symbol  of  pru- 
dence. 

"  The  judging  powers,  proceeding  upon 
the  sentiment  of  single  attraction,  give  the 
feeling  of  different  things  approximating 
to  unity.  And  hence  comparisons  and  si- 
militudes, and  judgment  concerning  the 
coincidence  or  apparent  union  of  different 
objects.  There  can  be  no  union  in  the 
resisting  power  of  objects — but  only  the 
transference  of  resisting  power,  when  they 
press  against  each  other ;  and  when  the 


mind,  in  contemplating  external  objects, 
has  a  strong  feeling  of  distance  and  retro- 
cession, it  is  a  sign  of  the  emotion  of  at- 
traction. Allegory  conjoins  the  love  of  the 
finite  and  particular  with  the  love  of  the  in- 
finite, and  seeks  to  multiply  ideal  resem- 
blances of  the  particular,  or  rather  seeks  to 
escape  altogether  from  the  bounds  of  the 
particular,  in  feeling  its  union  with  the  in- 
finite. This  is  the  perfection  of  love. 

"  Discriminative  judgment  proceeds  up- 
on the  feeling  of  separate  attraction  ;  but 
another  movement  of  the  judging  powers  is 
wit,  in  which  they  are  applied  to  judge  of 
the  difference  between  the  feeling  of  the 
particular,  and  the  ideas  found  by  the  im- 
agination. 

"  Another  act  of  the  judging  powers  is 
tracing  the  motion  of  the  sentiment  of 
single  attraction,  as  it  follows  after  one  ob» 
ject.  This  is  like  pursuing  sameness  into 
different  circumstances,  and  produces  that 
consecutiveness  of  opinion  which  shews 
reasons  deductively,  and  by  inference,  or 
carrying  sameness  into  different  circum- 
stances. 


"  The  relation  of  the  mind  to  object* 
of  sense  is  only  a  relation  to  their  exte- 
rior power ;  as  the  perceptions  of  the  ox 
(which  is  the  symbol  of  touch  and  resist- 
ance) apply  only  to  the  continuous  surface 
over  which  it  browses. 

"  The  sensations  received  by  the  eyed 
and  the  ears  apply  themselves  to  those 
permanent  and  abstract  forms,  which  are 
known  directly  by  the  mind,  and  render 
them  perceptible,  by  filling  them  with  ob- 
jective causes  of  feeling.  The  cause  of 
feeling  is  moveable  and  particular,  but  the 
form  is  otherwise.  The  mind  has  always  a 
field  of  vacant  vision,  which  it  is  capable  of 
knowing,  by  its  own  existence,  without  any 
feeling  of  contrary  action.  And  the  mind 
sees  abstract  relations  best,  without  sensa- 
tion ;  as  the  oa'/  (which  is  the  symbol  of 
•intellectual  vision)  sees  best  in  the  dark. 
But  colour  renders  objectively  visible  the 
forms  and  modes  of  extension  known  by 
the  mind ;  and  tone  renders  objectively  per- 
ceptible the  quantities  or  ideal  forms  of  du- 
ration, of  which  the  mind  is  internally  con- 
scious." 

The  following  extract  refers  to  the 
operations  of  judgment,  or  opinion 
proceeding  upon  sensation. 

"  Judgment  concerning  form,  is  judg- 
ment considering  upon  the  feeling  of  con- 
tinuous and  extended  touch,  such  as  that  of 
light  upon  the  eye.  When  the  form  is  not 
shut  in,  and  when  the  extension  viewed  is 
open,  then  the  judgment  is  also  free,  and 
moves  continuously  to  opine  concerning  lo- 
cality and  distance.  Judgment  concerning 
separateness,  or  number  in  objects  of  sense, 
is  judgment  proceeding  upon  the  feeling  of 


39'G     Essay  on  the  Sentiments  of  Attraction,  Adaptation,  and  Variety. 

different  or  successive  touch,  or  resistance  not  imply  the  preference  of  any  thing,  to  the 
felt  dividuously,  and  having  order  or  col-  internal  feeling  of  individual  being.  When 
location,  if  perceived  simultaneously.  The  theobscure  internal  natureofthemind'spar- 
tensation  of  divided  and  numerous  touch  *'-  ' 
may  be  received  in  various  ways  ;  but  the 
power  of  judging  concerning  the  feeling  of 
separateness,  is,  the  fingers  of  the  soul.  In 
musical  tones,  gravity  and  acuteness  de- 
pend upon  the  comparative  length  of  the 
pulsations  in  different  tones,  and  conse- 
quently upon  the  comparative  multiplicity 
of  the  pulsations.  In  grave  tones,  the  pul- 
sations are  large  and  few  ;  in  acute  tones, 
they  are  short  and  many.  Therefore  the 
perception  of  musical  proportions  in  sound 
is  from  the  powers  of  judging  concerning 
separateness,  for  these  are  the  means  by 
which  the  mind  judges  of  the  proportional 
quantity  of  pulsations  in  different  tones, 
and  discriminates  the  changes  of  vibration. 
If  red  be  the  colour  which  is  gravest,  or 
largest  in  the  parts,  and  if  the  other  six 
colours  diminish  from  it,  in  harmonical 
proportions,  the  proportions  of  colours  must 
be  also  perceived  according  to  the  mind's 
power  of  distinguishing  separateness,  but 
applied  to  a  different  feeling." 

This  marks  out  the  difference  of  the 
operations  of  opinion  from  modes  of 
single  feeling,  such  as  all  internal  con- 
sciousness, abstract  vision  of  ideal  form, 
touch,  and  emotions  of  contemplative 
love.  It  is  also  adapted  to  shew  how 
opinion,  as  beina  a  mode  of  the  mind's 
voluntary  action,  should  have  a  con- 
nection with  the  self-love  and  passions 
of  human  nature.  The  remainder  of 
this  Essay  relates  to  the  will  and  to  the 
modes  of  personal  feeling. 

"  And  in  proceeding  to  consider  the 
kinds  of  active  movement  which  are  found 
in  human  nature,  it  is  evident  that  the 
nearest  to  contemplative  sentiment  are  those 
kinds  of  action  which  refer  to  the  ideal  and 
permanent.  And,  first,  stedfastness  of  will 
is  the  relation  of  the  mind's  active  power  to 
one  permanent  form  ;  for  the  nature  of  the 
mind  has  not  stedfastness  in  itself,  and  on- 
ly attains  to  it  by  the  union  of  its  particu- 
lar power  with  fixed  idea.  And  justice  is 
the  relation  of  action  to  equality  of  idea. 
But  these  modes  of  action  are  essentially 
different  from  the  sentiment  of  hope,  which 
is  the  love  of  the  ideal,  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  mind's  existence.  The  contempla- 
tive love  of  idea  may  easily  be  discrimina- 
ted from  the  internal  sentiment  of  justice 
and  stedfastness  of  will. 

"  And,  in  passing  from  these  to  the  feel- 
ing of  self-love,  another  difference  is  easi- 
ly perceived ;  for  self-love  is  pleasure  in 
feeling  the  internal  nature  of  the  mind's 
moveable  power  as  such,  and  not  as  relative 
to  idea.  Self-love,  therefore,  cannot  be 
called  a  sentiment,  in  the  same  manner  as 
justice  or  stedfastness  of  will ;  for  it  does 


ticular  being  is  contrasted  witli  the  know- 
ledge of  fixed  idea,  the  mind  then  perceives 
the  dissimilarity  between  its  own  moveable 
being,  and  those  permanent  relations  which 
cannot  be  altered.  And  this  contrariety  is 
felt  as  the  source  of  intermediate  pain, 
through  which,  alone,  such  contrariety  can 
be  reconciled.  But,  when  the  mind  dis- 
joins itself  from  idea,  the  nature  of  its 
power  is  then  changed  from  intellectual 
stedfastness,  into  the  mere  power  of  parti- 
cular being.  Self-love  is  a  feeling  relating 
to  the  whole  of  individual  being ;  but  pride 
is  like  the  spine  or  back  of  the  soul :  and 
the  horse  may  be  considered  as  the  symbol 
of  pride,  or  the  strength  of  particular  be- 
ing, made  to  be  ridden  upon,  and  controul- 
ed  by  reason  and  conformity  to  idea. 

"  As  the  desire  of  approbation  reconciles 
and  unites  the  active  power  of  different  in- 
dividuals, it  produces,  between  them,  a 
feeling  of  amity  and  mutual  pleasure.  But 
this  is  unlike  contemplative  love  or  attrac- 
tion, in  which  the  mind  feels  other  exist- 
ences, as  drawing  opposite  to  itself ;  for  the 
desire  of  approbation  makes  other  exist- 
ences be  felt  as  collateral :  And  vanity  has 
no  objective  vision,  or  sense  of  objective 
beauty  ;  but  seeks  only  for  correspondence 
of  internal  feeling  as  to  moveable  power. 
If  pride  be  the  spine  or  back  of  the  soul, 
the  desire  of  approbation  is  as  the  ribs  ; 
and  dogs  which  join  in  the  cltasc^  and 
strain  their  speed  in  the  same  course,  may 
be  considered  as  the  symbols  of  social  va- 
nity, or  community  of  feeling  as  to  action. 
The  wolfish  tendency  of  the  desire  of  ap- 
probation, is  always  manifested  sooner  or 
later,  when  mankind  are  excited  to  act 
much  together,  according  to  their  natural 
passions.  This  affection  also  gives  rise  to 
an  interchange  of  thought  in  society,  which 
is  not  through  the  medium  of  intellectual 
form,  but  according  to  community  of  na- 
tural feeling,  which  is  the  source  of  cor- 
rupt modes  of  expression. 

"  In  pride,  the  internal  nature  of  active 
power  is  felt  as  single.  In  the  desire  of 
approbation  it  is  felt  as  separate  and  colla- 
teral. But  there  is  also  caution,  which  is 
a  sort  of  conception  of  the  nature  of  con- 
trary power.  It  is  a  double  feeling,  like 
judgment ;  and,  if  judgment  be  the  hands 
of  the  soul,  caution  is  like  the  pressure  of 
the  arms  against  the  sides,  producing  the 
feeling  of  contrary  power,  and  tending  to 
repress  the  outgoing  force  of  the  mind.  The 
desire  of  approbation  or  concurrence,  is  the 
Intermediate  feeling  between  pride  and  cau- 
tion, and  conciliates  the  mind  to  the  active 
power  of  separate  being,  which  would  other- 
wise be  contrary." 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  things 
in  the  above  quotations  is  the  reference 
12 


1-821.]]    Essay  on  the  Sentiments  of  Attraction,  Adaptation,  and  Variety.     397 


of  different  sentiments  to  different 
parts  of  the  human  form.  The  forms 
of  the  anitnals  mentioned  as  symboli- 
cal of  the  different  relations  which  the 
mind  is  capable  of  having  to  other  ex- 
istences, afford  a  more  varied  exempli- 
fication of  the  same  principle. 

This  Essay  is  well  fitted  to  remind  per- 
gons  of  reflection,  of  the  importance  of 
the  love  of  the  ideal,  as  contrasted  with 
opinion,  both  in  philosophy  and  thearts. 
Without  a  continual  reference  .to  per- 
manent and  abstract  relations,  there 
can  be  no  dignity  or  purity  of  style  in 
thearts  ;  and  the  productions  of  artists 
must  dwindle,  (as  we  see  them  do  at 
present,)  into  mere  appeals  to  sympa- 


thetic feeling  in  the  spectator ;  or  aim 
at  giving  his  mind  something  to  do,  by 
exciting  an  activity  of  thought  with  re- 
gard to  the  subject  represented.  These 
are  ways  of  affecting  the  mind  without 
shewing  any  theorems  of  the  beauti- 
ful, and  without  causing  any  thing  to 
be  seen  by  the  intellect.  The  want  of 
the  love  of  the  ideal  in  philosophy  is 
still  worse,  for  it  changes  metaphysi- 
cal speculation  into  a  temporary  exer- 
cise of  mental  activity,  without  con- 
viction. The  unchangeable,  is  the 
measure  and  test  by  which  the  qua- 
lities of  changeable  being  are  under- 
stood. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  SELF. 

"  Cursed  be  that  selfish  gnome  that  chill'd  the  soul 
Of  cynic  Swift,  and  narrow  Rochefoucault ; — 
I  hate  that  name,  since  first,  in  early  youth, 
I  lit  upon  that  book  of  too  much  truth, — 
Pored  o'er  its  page,  and  half  in  vain  would  try 
To  prove  each  damning  principle  a  lie,"  &c. 


IT  is  very  remarkable  that  the  philo- 
sophy which,  by  its  empire  over  a  shal- 
low and  weak-headed  nation,  was  en- 
abled to  destroy  thrones  and"  altars, — 
every  principle  of  human  and  divine 
right,  and  at  length  itself,  commenced 
its  career  with  the  position,  that  self 
was  the  first  and  sole  spring, — the  pri- 
nium  mobile  of  human  action.  Wary 
and  insidious,  its  first  attack  was  upon 
those  merely  speculative  opinions,  the 
destruction  of  which  could  excite  no 
alarm  ;  and  when  the  power  of  ridicule 
and  paradox  were  so  far  successful,  the 
next  steps  were  obvious  and  easy, — to 
religion  and  politics.  Nor  was  it  a  diffi- 
cult matter  to  persuade  him,  who  had 
been  first  convinced  of  the  utter  worth- 
lessness  of  himself  and  his  motives, 
that  the  tenets  and  establishments  of 
religion  and  government  were  no  bet- 
ter. 

It  is  astonishing  with  what  slight 
but  effectual  efforts  this  mighty  pro- 
stration of  moral  ideas  was  brought 
about.  There  was  no  grand  system, — 
no  digested  plan, — no  chain  of  reason- 
ing, nor  concatenation  of  solid  and 
overpowering  thought  to  produce  it. 
Here  a  courtier  doubted,  there  assert- 
ed ; — a  libertine  sneered,  and  another 
epigrammatized.  To  pile  up  a  fabric 
was  beyond  their  capacity ;  each  set 
himself  about  his  own  card-house,  and 
undermined  the  neighbour  that  over- 


shadowed him.  Tickled  by  the  desire 
of  novelty,  rather  than  excited  by  the 
love  of  truth,  they  dived  after  para- 
doxes and  propositions,  to  make  sport 
withal,  and  produced  them  single  and 
unsupported,  each  of  their  speculations 
contained  in  the  limits  of  three  lines. 
With  one  good  point  their  asthmatic 
reason  was  contented, — 

"  To  be  sententious  first,  then  sage,  their 

aim, 
For  shallow  thoughts  look  wise  in  apop- 

thegm." 

Nothing  could  he  more  convenient 
for  the  lazy,  yet  ambitious  thinkers, 
than  this  style  coupe  of  French  philo- 
sophy. It  carries  an  air  of  decision, 
ex  offido,  as  it  were,  that  is  most  im- 
posing; and,  under  the  pretence  of  con- 
ciseness, takes  care  to  explain  as  little 
as  possible.  Its  mode  of  reasoning  is 
the  most  impudent  and  antilogical  that 
can  be  conceived, — supposing  oneself 
as  a  fair  representative  of  the  human 
race,  and  taking  one's  own  feelings  for 
universal  laws.  If  one  half  of  the  pro- 
position be  true,  it  completely  answers 
the  precept-monger's  intentions,  for, 
with  the  world,  one  quarter  of  inge- 
nuity will  outweigh  three  quarters  of 
falsehood.  And,  by  denying  the  exist- 
ence of  all  honesty  and  generous  mo- 
tive, this  Proteus  of  argument  has  a 
last  retreat  from  confutation,  by  hint- 


398  Philosophy  of  Self. 

ing,  that  whatever  its  opponents  may 
think  proper  to  allege,  they  are  true 
converts  to  the  opinion  in  their  hearts. 

To  youth,  no  doctrines  can  be  more 
fascinating,  or  more  pernicious.  The 
smattering  of  French,  that  is  so  early 
and  universally  acquired,  opens  at  once 
to  the  inquisitive  stripling  these  con- 
venient tomes  of  philosophy.  The 
little  volume  of  the  "  Maxims,"  soon 
falls  into  the  hands  of  one  addicted 
to  reading,  and  few  books  he  will 
ever  meet  with,  can  produce  such  a 
sensible  revolution  in  the  tone  of  sen- 
timent and  feeling.  Its  perusal  forms 
an  era  in  the  life  of  thought;  and 
many  a  man  looks  back  with  regret 
from  the  age  of  seared  and  worn-out 
feeling,  to  the  time,  when  these  too- 
wise  precepts  undermined  his  natural 
hopes  and  yearnings,  and  cancelled  the 
happiest  years  of  his  existence,  by  con- 
verting him  into  a  premature  man  of 
the  world.  But  the  formation  of  a 
sound  moral  feeling  is  not  the  work  of 
a  moment ;  the  conviction  of  reason, 
however  forcible  and  conclusive,  fails 
to  produce  it ;  and  men  argue  in  vain, 
that  would  cram  principles  down  our 
throats.  The  mind,  however  shallow 
and  servile,  is  intrinsically  independ- 
ent, and  will  be  its  own  lawgiver. 
However  ruled  by,  and  stooping  to  the 
dogmas  of  others,  these  must  become 
naturalized,  and  its  own,  by  being  felt, 
ere  they  become  erected  into  actuating 
motives.  A  moral  principle  must  be 
awakened  and  developed, not  intruded ; 
and  those  sudden  revulsions,  which 
are  produced  by  vanity,  by  the  love  of 
contrariety,  or  singularity,  do  but  dis- 
organize,— serving  to  obliterate,  under 
the  pretence  of  tracing  characters  anew. 

There  is  much  difference  between 
erecting  and  destroying,  and  between 
the  requisites  for  each.  Erudition, 
judgment,  and  intensity  of  thought, 
are  the  rare  products  even  of  genius  and 
time  ;  but  ridicule  and  paradox  are 
the  births  of  a  minute, — natural  im- 
pulses that  require  no  preparative,  but 
an  object  to  be  exercised  upon.  They 
are  the  natural  employments  of  an  idle 
and  flippant  mind,  whose  utmost  exer- 
tion extends  but  to  the  smart  repartee, 
or  whimsical  crotchet.  There  is  no  la- 
bour required ;  they  have  but  to  fol- 
low their  nature,  and  consult  their  hu- 
mour, and  hence  often  attain  a  felicity 
of  conception  and  expression,  that 
overpowers  a  whole  sorites  of  argu- 
mentation. But  a  philosophy,  like 


CJuly, 

that  of  self,  (if  it  can  be  so  called, )  that 
is  supported  by  such  weapons,  leaves 
nothing  established  :  it  is  ingeniously 
calculated  to  overturn,  without  the 
capability  either  of  existing  itself,  or  of 
substituting  another.  For  no  principle 
can  stand  and  become  permanent,  that 
is  not  a  feeling  ;  and  this  is  the  nega- 
tion of  all  feeling.  It  founds  a  lively 
and  fleeting  existence  in  discussion  and 
intellectual  warfare  :  by  having  over- 
come, or  by  being  neglected,  it  ceases 
to  exist,  and  leaves  a  most  uncomfort- 
able vacuum, — a  total  ebb  of  thought ; 

'  And  gone  is  the  sweet  idle  tongue  of  the 

rill, 
The  stream  is  dried  up,  and  the  pebbles 

are  still.' 

It  may  seem  a  dangerous,  but  it  is 
not  altogether  a  false  sentiment,  that 
bad  principles  are  better  than  none. 
Consistency  is  the  true  sublime  in  mo- 
ral conduct,  and  fixed  principles,  of 
any  kind,  and  in  any  being,  command 
respect  and  admiration.  But  mere  ne- 
gations are  no  principles ;  they  take 
no  hold,  and  they  struggle  to  usurp 
the  place  of  those,  on  which  they  de- 
pend, and  which  when  they  destroy, 
they  necessarily  annihilate  themselves. 
Such  are  all  those  precocious  and  ephe- 
meral sects,  which,  by  the  dint  of  pa- 
radox and  contradiction,  have  started 
up,  and  become  giants  in  an  hour.  Of 
these,  the  foremost  (at  least  to  such  as 
me,  who  care  not  for  church  or  state, 
and  argue  but  with  mine  own  feelings) 
is  the  Philosophy  of  Self. 

The  founder,  or  nominal  founder  of 
this  system,  was  not,  as  might  be  sup- 
posed, a  daring  sceptic  or  profound 
speculator, — he  was  simply  a  courtier 
and  a  beau — one  who  thought,  merely 
to  speak,  and  struck  out  novelties  to 
relieve  the  ennui  of  conversation.  He 
was  a  ladies'  philosopher,  and  discuss- 
ed the  topics  of  the  toilet  and  the  heart 
with  singular  felicity ;  the  fair  were  his 
school,  and  the  boudoir  his  porch.  He 
fell  in  with  the  Epicurean  and  languid 
humour  of  his  time  and  country,  be- 
came the  moral  legislator  of  the  beau 
monde,  and  destroyed  the  existing  ge- 
nerous laws  of  the  heart, — as  Mun- 
chausen  overcame  the  wolf, — by  turn- 
ning  them  inside  out.  And  all  this 
was  done  by  the  way  of  amusement. 
The  life  of  Rochefoucault  gave  the  lie 
to  his  doctrine ;  and  the  deifier  of  self 
was  an  ardent  friend  and  enthusiastic 
lover.  But  folks  received  that  as  ster- 


Philosophy  nf  Self. 


ling,  which  he  himself  meant  but  for 
tinsel ;  they  saw  not  wit,  but  reason  in 
it,  and  theory  was  converted  into  prac- 
tice. The  empire  of  raillery  was  ac- 
knowledged and  acquiesced  in ; — sar- 
casm was  allowed  to  parry  accusation, 
and  point  to  be  an  answer  to  proof. 
Then  came  the  dynasty  of  epigrams, 
from  whence  to  that  of  denunciation 
and  proscription  was  a  short  stride. 

No  topic  could  be  more  convenient 
or  delightful  to  the  female  sqavans  and 
their  male  followers,  than  this  inge- 
nious babble  about  I'amour,  I'amour 
propre,  le  cceur,  et  f  esprit.  Each  of 
these  unfortunate  terms  were  in  their 
turn  viewed  and  reviewed — asserted  at 
the  same  time  of  a  thousand  different 
and  incongruous  things — split  and  tor- 
tured into  shadows.  It  is  worth  while 
to  look  for  the  explications  of  I 'esprit 
in  Girard's  synonimfs,  to  form  an  idea 
of  the  sufferings  of  that  unlucky  sub- 
stantive. For  my  part,  puzzled  at  first 
to  know  what  it  was,  I  was  puzzled  at 
last  to  discover  what  it  was  not.  The 
ladies,  with  all  due  deference,  play  the 
very  deuce  with  words,  when  they 
come  to  talk  philosophy.  They  are  so 
refined  in  sentiment,  and  their  per- 
ceptions admit  of  so  many  shades,  that 
the  Chinese  themselves  would  be  per- 
plexed to  supply  them  with  expres- 
sions :  four-and-twenty  letters  can  ne- 
ver stand  them. 

Our  neighbours,  upon  the  whole, 


are  too  social  for  philosophy,  —  their 
thoughts  run  in  the  channel  of  conver- 
sation, and  having  proceeded  a  space, 
expect  a  reply  to  relieve  and  set  them 
forward  on  theirjourneyagain.Thought 
has  not  been  the  exercise  of  their  mind, 
but  its  diversion  ;  and  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Montesquieu,  whose  tesselated 
system  manifests  the  joiner's  work, 
with  which  it  was  put  together,  there 
is  scarce  an  example  in  their  literature 
6f  a  body  of  reasoning.  They  do  not 
understand,  and  cannot  follow  those 
speculations,  whose  link  and  clue  is 
feeling,—  in  which  multifarious  sub- 
jects are  blended  together  by  the  glow- 
ing power  of  eloquence  and  imagina- 
tion. Hence,  by  the  French  literati  of 
the  present  day,  De  Stael  and  Chateau- 
briand are  disowned  as  compatriots  ; 
—they  are  not  French  in  spirit,  and 
the  deviation  is  not  to  be  forgiven.  To 
illustrate  writing  by  speech,  they  were 
too  much  soliloquizers  for  the  gossip- 
ing spirit  of  their  nation,  who,  accord- 
ing to  the  vulgar  idea,  set  down  every 
one  for  mad,  who  mutters  with  himself, 
They  were  besides  the  assertors  of  feel- 
ing, and  cast  off  the  pedantic  trammels 
of  the  old  school,  To  say  no  more  of 
either  at  present,  each  of  whom  merit* 
a  volume  of  such  ill-spun  criticism  as 
I  could  bestow,  they  overturned  the 
philosophy  of  self. 


THE  VOYAGES  AND  TRAVELS  OF  COLUMBUS  SECUNDUS, 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  CRIES  OF  EDINBURGH. 

Attoure  to  mak  ye  readers  more  bowsum  and  attent,  we  promit  faithfullie  to  writ  ns 
thing  in  this  werk  but  allanerlie  sik  thing  as  bene  maist  patent  and  knawin  to  ws,  othir  be 
our  awin  exact  deligence  and  industrye,  or  ellis  be  rehers  of  otheris  rycht  trew  and  faith- 
ful auctouris.  And  thairfore  gif  this  our  werk  be  found  plesand  to  the  reders,  we  salj 
writ  sum  othir  tym  mair  largelie  of  othir  materis,  baith  to  thair  eruditioun  and  pleseir. 

Belletideri1  s  Translation  of  Bocce, 


No  person  in  the  healthy  possession 
of  his  seven  senses  (as  we  say  in  Scot- 
land) can  have  travelled  through  Edin- 
burgh, without  having  been  struck 
with  the  noises  made  by  the  itinerant 
merchants  who  expose  their  goods  for 
sale  in  the  streets.  To  me  it  has  many 
a  time  been  a  source  of  much  amuse- 
ment to  listen  to  their  varied  notes  as 
I  passed  along ;  and  as  I  have  acquired 
the  habit  (a  necessary  requisite  for 
those  who  are  obliged  in  courtesy  to 

VOL.  IX. 


listen  to  common-place  prosers)  of 
closing  the  orifices  of  my  ears,  or  at 
least  shutting  up  the  doors  of  my  at- 
tention, on  every  noise  but  that  which 
I  wish  to  hear,  the  singularity  of  the 
sounds  from  this  source  has  fallen  un- 
der the  cognizance  of  my  perceptive 
powers  with  redoubled  force.  Though 
perhaps  not  in  such  variety  as  those  of 
London,  where  even  cat's  meat  and 
dog's  meat  forms  an  article  of  civic 
commerce,  yet  I  hope  I  do  not  erj? 
3D 


Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbus  Secundus. 


400 

when  I  assert,  that  in  the  Cries  of 
Edinburgh,  as  they  are  technically 
termed,  the  Scottish  genius  for  the 
combination  of  "  sweet  sounds"  is  as 
evident  to  the  observer  of  taste,  as  is 
the  superiority  of  the  simple  music  of 
.their  pathetic  ballads  to  the  heartless 
ditties  of  the  sister  country.  This  mu- 
sical taste,  however,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, has  not  always  gone  hand  in 
hand  with  the  improved  orthography 
of  modern  times  ;  and  violations  of  its 
rules  may  not  unfrequently  be  obser- 
ved, in  the  almost  total  change  of  the 
substantive  word,  which  in  common 
writing  stands  for  the  articles  thus  ex- 
posed to  sale.  For  instance,  would  an 
Englishman  ever  be  able  to  make  out, 
that  Fyne  Pirri-aroes  was  meant  as  a 
proclamation  for  the  sale  of  potatoes ; 
that  Caller  Oast  indicated  the  sale  of 
fresh  oysters  ;  that  Soor  Mulk  typified 
that  most  healthy  beverage,  butter- 
milk ,•  or  that  Youk  Saan  betokened 
that  the  crier  dealt  in  that  truly  Scots 
commodity,  yellow  sand  ?  But  this 
sacrifice  of  sense  to  sound  is  not  pecu- 
liar to  the  humble  individuals  who 
call  their  little  merchandise  for  sale  in 
the  streets.  I  have  heard  singers,  and 
those  too  who  were  highly  commend- 
ed as  such,  mar  a  very  beautiful  air 
by  their  imperfect  enunciation  of  the 
still  more  beautiful  words,  and  thus, 
in  place  of  their  supporting  one  ano- 
ther, have  made  Music  suffocate  and 
strangle  her  poor  sister  Poetry  out- 
right. Were  I  a  coroner,  and  this  mat- 
ter to  be  brought  officially  before  me, 
I  think  I  should  feel  warranted  in  re- 
commending the  jury  to  bring  it  in  as 
a  case  of  wilful  murder,  committed  by 
the  said  singers  upon  the  body  of  the 
said  Mrs  Poetry. 

To  those  who  remember  Edinburgh 
twenty-five  years  ago,  (for  to  such  dis- 


CJuly, 


tant  period  does  my  repealled,) that 
tend,)  it  is  unnecessary  to  uxms,  leaves 
changes  which  have  taken  place,  "boui 
in  the  manners  and  in  the  accommo- 
dation of  the  inhabitants,  since  that 
period.  Even  the  Cries,  though  little 
dependent  on  the  fluctuations  of  fa- 
shion, have  suffered  some  change,  but 
little  in  comparison  of  that  which  has 
fallen  upon  less  stable  distinctions.  I 
well  recollect  the  period  when  butter- 
milk and  butter  were  chiefly  brought 
to  town  by  the  farm-lasses  in  barrels, 
on  panniers,  one  on  each  side  of  a  horse, 
and  the  blooming  damsel  sitting  be- 
tween, calling  out  as  she  passed  along 
the  streets,  Soor  Mulk,  a  chappin  an 
a  jaw  for  a  bawbee  !  But  this  neces- 
sary accompaniment  to  parritch  is  now 
almost  universally  brought  to  Edin- 
burgh in  carts,  and  the  sale  is  confined 
to  the  male  peasantry.  The  Risiert, 
Groserts,  and  Reeforts*  of  that  pe- 
riod have  also  changed  their  names  for 
the  more  genteel,  but  less  characteris- 
tic ones  of  currants,  gooseberries,  and 
radishes  ;  though  the  generic  cry  of 
Bonny  berries,  twa  dips  and  a  wallop, 
is  still  frequently  heard  among  those 
more  ancient  damsels,  who  expose  in 
their  seasons  the  produce  of  the  gar- 
dens surrounding  the  Scottish  capital. 
The  Cut-throat  and  Lunnun-candy  of 
former  days  have  given  place,  in  a  great 
measure,  to  Lick  and  Gibraltar  rock  ; 
but  I  am  not  fully  satisfied  that  it  is 
for  the  interest  of  my  friend  James 
Brown  of  the  Lick  and  Gib  House,  to 
refrain  from  selling  the  same  commo- 
dity to  his  young  customers  under  two 
different  names.  But  this  is  his  affair. 
The  cry  of  Caller  Herrin,  so  often 
to  be  heard  in  the  streets  of  Edin- 
burgh, is  the  only  one  I  recollect  of 
which  has  been  taken  notice  of  by  a 
person  calculated  to  do  justice  to  its 


*  The  numberless  French  terms  in  the  Scottish  language,  but  most  of  which  are  now 
confined  to  the  humblest  walks  of  life,  prove  the  ancient  intercourse  of  the  two  nations. 
As  above,  Reefort  is  Ruifcrt,  and  Grosert  is  Groscille,  Fr.  Succer,  in  a  very  common. 
Edinburgh  cry,  is  the  French  mere. ;  dentylion  is  dcnt-dc-lion ;  a  raven  or  corby  is 
corbcau.  A  donee  man  or  a  dur  chicld  require  no  explanation.  A  number  of  German 
words  are  also  common  in  the  current  dialect  of  the  peasantry  :  a&fremd,  strange  ;  Mi  re, 
doctrine,  instruction  ;  geist,  ghost,  or  spirit ;  stern,  star ;  hah,  the  neck  ;  tocliter, 
daughter ;  and  stangc,  a  pole,  or  stake,  practically  used  in  Scotland,  till  lately,  for 
drunken  wives,  or  unfaithful  husbands,  who  were  obliged  to  make  public  compensation 
to  the  moral  feelings  of  the  populace  by  riding  the  sttniff.  But  one  of  the  most 
characteristic  words  1  know  of  in  the  language  is  doup,  which,  as  I  cannot  trace  its  root 
to  any  other  tongue,  must  necessarily  have  sprung  up  in  our  own  doric  dialect.  A  doup 
o'  candle,  or  a  -veil  pa  if  d  doup,  are  as  different  from  the  gross  terms  which  other  nations 
employ  to  signify  the  same  thing,  as  the  language  of  Paradise  must  have  been  from  the 
forms  of  speech  employed  in  the  Fish-market. 

v> 


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Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbus  Secundus. 


401 


ling,  which  hdces.  It  forms  the  sub- 
tinsel  ;  the  ery  characteristic  air  by  my 
"very  worthy  friend,  Mr  Nathaniel 
Gow,  to  whose  family  Scottish  music 
is  so  much  indebted.  I  hope  I  shall 
be  excused  for  recommending  to  his 
scientific  attention  a  few  more  of  our 
national  and  melodious  cries.  I  my- 
self may,  at  some  future  period,  trans- 
mit to  Mr  Ephraim  Rust,  the  secre- 
tary of  that  moss-grown  institution, 
the  Society  of  Antiquaries,  a  long  me- 
moir on  the  subject,  which  may  add 
something,  if  it  do  nothing  more,  to 
"  their  lumber  of  ten  thousand  years." 

Whae'll  buy  neeps  ? — neeps  like  suc~ 
ere  ! — whae'll  buy  neeps  ? — is  one  of 
our  most  regular  and  common  cries  in 
the  evenings  of  the  beginning  of  sum- 
mer. Neeps,  it  may  be  remarked,  is 
the  common  abbreviation  for  turnips, 
which,  when  young,  are  presented  as 
a  supper-dish  at  table,  without  dress- 
ing. Corstorphine  cream,  or  the  coagu- 
lum  of  fresh  butter-milk,  was  formerly 
a  frequent  cry  in  the  streets  of  Edin- 
burgh ;  and  when  sweetened  with  su- 
gar and  flavoured,  there  were  few 
things  more  palatable.  But  the  taste 
for  Corstorphine  cream  seems  now  on 
the  decline,  and  a  countrywoman  with 
a  wooden  pitcher  on  her  head,  calling 
out  the  sale  of  this  summer  luxury, 
will  soon,  I  am  afraid,  be  accounted  a 
rarky  in  the  streets  of  this  ancient  ca- 
pital. Whae'll  hae  my  curds  and  green 
whfy,is  still  occasionally  heard  jjthough, 
since  the  disappearance  of  the  Staig, 
a  masculine  woman,  with  a  pail  on 
her  head,  who,  some  years  ago,  cried 
this  palatable  refection  in  very  capital 
style,  it  is  not  frequent. 

The  Edinburgh  races  give  annually 
rise  to  a  very  singular  cry.  The  lists 
of  the  horses  to  run  being  printed,  are 
hawked  round  the  streets,  and  at  the 
jacing-ground,  by  numberless  person- 
ages of  all  ages,  who  have  hitherto 
kept  up  with  much  fidelity  the  imme^ 
morial  chaunt:  "Here youhave  a  list  of 
all  the  names  of  the  noblemen  and  gen- 
tlemen, riders  and  riders'  livery,  who  is 
to  run  over  the  sands  of  Leith  this  day, 
for  his  Majesty's  purse  of  a  hundred 
guineas  o'  value,"  A  gaudy  purse,  de- 


corated with  ribbons,  on  the  top  of  a 
pole,  when  the  races  were  held  at  Leith, 
was  carried  in  procession  by  a  civic  of- 
ficer, attended  by  drum  and  fife,  from 
the  Cross  of  Edinburgh  to  the  Stand 
at  Leith,  where  it  was  deposited  du- 
ring the  race.  A  crowd  of  boys  always 
attended  to  witness  the  splendour  of 
the  envied  purse,  and  mtmie  races 
were  at  this  time  run  for  papes*  in 
imitation  purses,  by  all  the  school- 
boys in  Edinburgh. 

Whae'll  buy  my  dainty  paunches  ? 
is  a  cry  which,  though  formerly  very 
common,  is  now  totally  extinct.  Paun- 
ches, it  may  be  necessary  to  state,  form 
part  of  the  intestines  of  black  cattle ; 
but,  though  this  is  the  case,  it  must 
not  be  supposed  that  the  women  who 
cried  this  dainty  meant  to  dispose  of 
their  own  abdominal  viscera  in  any 
shape.  The  establishment  of  the  Clytery 
Market  making  it  necessary  for  the 
paunches  to  be  now  cleaned  and  sold 
there,  has  superseded  the  itinerant  deal- 
ers in  this  odd  commodity ;  but  the  ar- 
ticle itself  may  still  occasionally  be  seen 
at  supper,  of  the  appearance  of  a  stew- 
ed shamoy-skin,  and  under  the  well- 
known  denomination  of  tripe. 

Whae'll  hae  my  pease  and  beans — 
hot  and  warm  I  is  the  next  cry  which 
I  shall  notice.  This  cry  commences  in 
the  beginning  of  November,  and  in  its 
periodical  return  is  as  regular  as  that 
of  the  cuckoo,  which  ushers  in  the 
spring  about  the  neighbourhood  of 
Edinburgh.  "Whether  hot  pease  and 
beans  had  any  necessary  connection 
with  the  sitting  of  the  Scottish  Courts 
in  former  times,  I  have  been  unable  to 
discover ;  but,  from  the  criers  of  the 
one,  and  the  other  commencing  busi- 
ness for  winter  at  the  same  time,  it  is 
not  an  improbable  supposition  that  the 
lawyers'  clerks  of  former  days  may 
have  warmed  their  fingers  ajid  their 
mouths  with  a  bawbee's  worth  of  this 
flatulent  legumen.  Hot  pyes  used  ge- 
nerally to  commence  being  sold  about 
the  same  time,  and  probably  for  a  si- 
milar reason.  The  chief  station  for 
this  savoury  article  was  in  the  High 
Street.  They  were  carried  by  men  in 
covered  baskets ;  and  the  attention  of 


*  Papes  are  cherry-stones,  which  are  collected  with  care  by  the  boys,  and  furnish 
them  with  numberless  sources  of  amusement.  My -heart  still  warms  when  I  see  the  lit- 
tle fellows  counting  them  from  their  bags  by  castles  ;  and  many  a  time  when  I  pass  the 
light-hearted  companies  playing  at  the  m/^,  have  I  felt  inclined  to  borrow  a  proppcr^ 
and  try  a  shot  for  auld  langsyne. 


402 


Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbus  Secundus^ 


those  fond  of  dog-mutton  was  called 
to  the  bearer  by  the  tinkling  of  a  small 
bell,  and  the  ejaculation  at  intervals  of 
Hotpyes— -fine  hotpyes — smoking  hot ! 
But  the  establishment  of  pye-shops, 
where  the  lieges  can  wash  down  these 
viands  with  London  porter  from  the 
butt,  have  now  almost  extinguished 
the  race  of  these  wandering  cook- 
shops. 

Salt  is  brought  to  town  in  wicker 
baskets  or  creels  from  P'isherrow,  and 
even  farther,  on  the  backs  of  women, 
who  arrive  in  Edinburgh  early  every 
morning,  after  a  journey  of  six  or  eight 


miles,  and  call  their  commodity  through 
the  streets  in  the  well-known  words, 
Whae'U  buy  saat  ? — Whae'll  hae  bonny 
shore'dulse  ?  is  cried  to  nearly  the 
same  tune,  by  women  likewise,  who 
pick  this  unpalatable  food  from  the 
rocks  on  the  neighbouring  shores  at 
ebb-tide.  Rockparlens  and/t«e prawns 
are  also  called  by  women. 

The  next  cry  in  my  arrangement  i* 
that  of  brown  pigs  ;  but  as  the  very 
sound  or  sight  of  these  luxurious  words 
creates  an  additional  flow  of  saliva  in 
the  mouth,  pigs  must  be  the  head-dish 
of  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  v. 

I  was  at  the  fishmarket,  Mary,  and  it  was  real  curious  to  see  the  fish,  haddocks,  and 

cods,  and  turbots,  as  dead  as  a  door-nail ; 
Though  the  women  said  they  were  living,  and  that,  preserve  us  !  they  were  offering, 

not  skate  and  flounders,  but  men's  li%res,  for  sale  : 
And  crabs  and  lobsters,  such  creatures  !  with  many  feet,  covered  with  shells,  and 

snapping  their  thumbs  in  spite  were  they  ; 
I  wonder  what  mistress  is  to  do  with  them  ; — one  is  like  a  spider,  but  bigger,  and  the 

other  is  an  overgrown  sea-flea. 

Poetical  Epistle  from  Christian  to  her  titter  Mary. 


Brown  pigs  were  formerly  carried  to 
town  in  creels,  and  sold  by  women, 
calling  out,  Buy  brown  pigs.  But 
these  pig-wives  are  now  seldom  seen, 
this  commoditybeing  atpresent  brought 
in  larger  quantities,  and  exposed  to 
sale  in  carts.  It  may  perhaps  be  ne- 
cessary to  mention,  for  the  behoof  of 
untravelled  Englishmen,  that  brown 
pigs  do  not  mean  in  Edinburgh  ani- 
mals of  the  sow  tribe.  These  are  call- 
ed swine,  or  more  characteristically, 
grumphies  ;  and  the  sound  which  in 
England  would  suggest  to  the  stomach 
the  most  pleasing  associations,  beto- 
kens to  the  mind  of  a  Scotsman  only 
the  most  rude  species  of  earthen-ware, 
manufactured  at  the  neighbouring  pot- 
teries. All  stone-ware  in  Scotland,  it 
may  be  farther  remarked,  is  known  by 
the  generic  denomination  of  pigs. 
Moreover,  it  may  not  be  out  of  place 
here  to  mention,  for  the  benefit  of 
cockney  readers,  that  i/elhne  sand,  cried 
in  the  streets  under  the  strange  name 
of  ¥ouk  saan ,  is  not  an  edible  substance, 
but  is  used  by  housewives  of  the  old 
school  for  th  e  purpose  of  cleaning  stone- 
floors  and  stairs. 

Whae'U  liae  caller  oost  ?  i.  e.  who  will 
have  fresh  oysters?  is  cried  in  every 
month  the  name  of  which  contains  an 
R, through  all  thestreetsof  Edinburgh. 
The  shrill  voices  of  the  fish-women, 


who  carry  this  delicate  viand  on  their 
backs  in  creels  and  skulls,  may,  in  the 
quietude  of  a  winter  evening,  be  heard 
at  the  distance  of  miles.  The  sound,  I 
am  credibly  informed,  even  reaches  the 
ears  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  lands  of 
Canaan.  Lest  my  veracity  as  an  im- 
partial observer  should  be  called  in 
question,  however,  I  beg  to  mention, 
that  I  here  mean  not  the  Jewish  Ca- 
naan, but  the  Canaan  of  the  Gutter- 
bloods  of  Edinburgh — the  grounds  to 
the  south  of  the  city  so  named,  where 
a  number  of  snug  boxes  attest  the  taste 
of  the  inhabitants  for  country  retire- 
ment, and  the  pleasures  of  rustication. 
The  fish-women,  or  fish-wives,  who 
frequent  the  Edinburgh  market  are  a 
singular  race  of  beings.  Some  of  them 
come  from  a  great  distance,  but  the 
greater  part  from  the  villages  of  New- 
haven  and  Fisherrow,  from  whence 
they  arrive  heavily  laden  every  morn- 
ing ;  and  after  selling  their  fish  in  the 
market,  or  calling  it  through  the  streets 
for  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  return 
home  in  the  evening  with  their  empty 
creels  and  sku  Us  upon  their  backs.  Their 
costume  is  also  singular ;  a  coloured 
handkerchief  tied  over  their  cap  and 
under  their  chin  ;  a  sailor's  jacket,  and 
ample  folds  of  many-coloured  petti- 
coats, the  labyrinths  of  which,  as  I 
never  traced  them,  so  I  shall  not  ven- 


Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbus  Secundus. 


ture  to  describe,  gathered  up  round 
their  middle  for  the  convenience  of 
walking.  As  to  the  weight  they  are 
able  to  carry,  it  has  been  conjectured 
that  a  common-rcouncil  man,  or  six 
Cockney  poets,  would  notforman  over- 
load for  these  picturesque  Amazons. 
Ye  fish-wives  of  Newhaven,  not  for- 
getting those  of  Fisherrow  and  Preston- 
pans,  as  ye  form  a  society  by  yourselves, 
and  are  unlike  every  other  species  of 
human  beings  with  whom  I  am  ac- 
quainted— ye  deserve,  and  ye  shall 
have,  a  separate  chapter  of  my  work, 
dedicated  to  you  alone ! 

Wall-cresses  and  water  purpie,  which 
are  gathered  by  women  from  the  neigh- 
bouring ditches  and  sold  as  a  spring 
sallad,  are  two  well-known  aquatic 
plants,  and  are  perhaps  equally  good 
for  Scottish  stomachs  as  those  of  more 
expensive  cultivation.  Gude  Findhoru 
speldings  are  dried  haddocks,  large 
quantities  of  which  are  annually  im- 
ported by  the  fishermen  of  Aberdeen 
and  neighbourhood.  They  are  eaten  as 
they  are  received  without  further  dress- 
ing. Fine  ripe  cherries,  twal  and  ane  to 
the  mens,  are  to  be  met  with,  tied  on  a 
stick  in  a  very  inviting  manner  for 
children,  at  the  corner  of  every  street 
during  the  short  time  that  this  fruit  is 
in  season. — Strawberries  are  plentiful 
and  excellent. 

Penny-cakes  and  parliament,  snaps, 
and  ginger  tablet,  figs,  and  raisins, 
have  ceased  to  be  sold  in  the  streets; 
but  the  boys  know  still  where  to  find 
the  shops  where  these  tempting  cates 
are  to  be  sold.  Fine  juniper  berries, 
the  picking  and  selling  of  which  af- 
forded employment  to  a  few  old  women 
in  the  beginning  of  winter,  are  now 
only  to  be  found  in  the  apothecaries' 
shops.  Souter's  clods,  I  may  here  add, 
are  now  almost  unknown  among  the  ba- 
kers, though  formerly  never  was  there 
a  species  of  bread  better  calculated  for 
trying  the  teeth  and  staying  the  hun- 
ger of  a  High  School  callant.  Hot 
dumplings,  however,  have  lately  been 
called  through  the  streets  by  one  in- 
dividual ;  but  the  name  evidently  shews 
that  this  luxury  is  to  be  considered  as 
an  importation  from  the  south. 

Of  the  cries  not  above  mentioned, 
the  list  is  not  perhaps  great.  Knives  to 


40S 

grind,  Bellowses  to  mend,  and  Sweep  ! 
sweep  !  present  no  peculiarities  worthy 
of  notice  ;  and  the  Society  for  the  Sup- 
pression of  Begging,  and  the  Asylum 
for  the  Blind,  have  silenced  many  mu- 
sical voices,  which  formerly  sounded 
in  the  bye-lanes  to  the  burden  of  Mind 
a  puir  lassie  !  and,  Leddies  and  gentle- 
men, if  ye  please  gie  a  ha'penny  to  a  puir 
blind  boy  ! 

I  cannot  conclude  this  chapter  with- 
out expressing  a  wish,  that  some  mem- 
ber of  that  respectable  association, 
whose  purpose  is  to  preserve  "  aultl 
nick-nackets,"  would  procure  accounts 
of  the  Scots  worthies,  who  have  died 
within  the  last  thirty  years  in  Edin- 
burgh, and  who  may  justly  claim  a 
place  in  their  Transactions,  on  account 
of  the  notoriety  of  their  public  charac- 
ters. In  the  hope  that  this  hint  will 
not  be  overlooked,  I  beg  to  suggest, 
that  a  memoir  of  the  late  celebrated 
Mr  James  Duff,  commonly  known  by 
the  name  of  Jamie  or  Bailie  JDujf, 
would  be  acceptable  to  the  public ;  one 
of  Madam  or  I^izzy  Bowzie,  would  sell 
an  edition  of  a'quarto.  Anecdotes  of 
the  Daft  Laird,  who  went  about  the 
streets  with  a  parcel  of  walking  sticks, 
on  the  tops  of  which  were  cut  faces 
representing  the  celebrated  personages 
of  that  day ;  and  anecdotes  of  Daddy 
Napcrowns,  a- respectable  gentleman, 
whose  strange  pleasure  it  was  to  nap 
the  heads  of  the  youngsters  of  these 
times  with  a  thimble  on  his  finger, 
and  who  rewarded  the  little  sufferers 
with  a  snap,  would  be  an  acceptable 
service  to  those  who  were  school-boys 
at  that  period.  Bowling  John,  Puddin 
Lizzie,  Daft  Tarn  o'  the  Meadows, 
Drunken  Charlie  Stewart  the  tailor, 
Daft  Lady  Watt,  Tup  Yule,  Young 
Lambs  to  Sell,  John  Dhu.of  the  town- 
guard,  Big  Samuel  and  Geordy  Cran- 
stoun,  might  furnish  incidental  notices 
of  no  common  interest ;  and  were  no 
other  purpose  to  be  served,  the  record 
would  at  least  help  to  ascertain  the 
fact,  of  there  being  fewer  harmless 
mad.  people  in  Edinburgh  at  present 
than  formerly, — or,  that  now  the  in- 
habitants of  this  ancient  city,  being  all 
equally  foolish,  such  aberrations  of 
reason  have  ceased  to  be  remarked  as 


uncommon. 


Notes  and  Illustrations  to  Chapter  V. 

Bailie  Duff. — Some  account  of  this  notable  magistrate  may  be  found  in  that  verit- 
able history,  published  under  the  name  of  "  Guy  Mannering."  The  same  admirable 
historian  of  Scottish  manners  has  given,  in  "  The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,"  an  excellent 


404  Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbus  Secundus. 

description  of  Our  reverend  silver-hair'd  friend,  who  held  the  office  of  outer-turnkey  to 
the  Old  Tolbooth ;  and  if  I  mistake  not,  some  incidental  notices  of  the  celebrated  John 
Dhu,  that  eminent  preserver  of  the  public  peace,  and  terror  of  the  lickerers  of  former 
days. 

Madam  Bowzie  had  in  her  day  been  a  beauty — was  seduced  by  a  duke,  and  cast  off 
for  a  fairer  face.  Her  reason  partially  fled,  and  she  afterwards  wandered  the  streets. 
This  is  an  epitome  of  the  history  of  many  a  beauty,  but  one  so  common,  that  it  ceases 
to  be  noticed.  In  my  early  days  Madam  was  a  very  old  woman,  who  went  about  in 
rags.  She  however  left,  it  is  said,  to  her  heirs  (for  she  was  respectably  connected)  up- 
wards of  £500. 

Bow/ing  John  long  sat  at  the  Old  Corn-Market,  now  removed,  with  his  pins  and 
bowls,  crying,  Two  or  through,  now,  boys,  two  or  through!  and  afterwards  removed  to 
the  Earthen  Mound.  Of  his  future  fate  I  confess  myself  to  be  ignorant. 

Pudding  Lizzie  kept  a  change-house  at  Jock's  Lodge,  which  was  much  frequented 
by  a  certain  class  of  citizens,  on  account  of  the  unrivalled  excellence  of  Lizzie's  intesti- 
nal cookery. 

Daft  Tarn  o1  the  Meadows  was  a  poor  idiot,  whose  home  was  the  Charity  Work- 
house, and  who  frequently  shared  the  school-boys'  lunch  as  they  passed  his  haunts  in 
going  to  their  tasks. 

Drunken  Charlie  Stewart  Was  for  many  years  a  well-known  character  in  Edinburgh. 
He  had  been  out  in  the  forty-five,  with  his  unfortunate  name-sake,  and  had  been  wound- 
ed in  the  head  at  the  battle  of  Culloden.  Charlie  ever  afterwards  was  apt  to  forget  him- 
self when  he  got  (what  was  a  very  frequent  occurrence)  a  drappy,  and  was  in  the  inva- 
riable habit,  when  in  that  state,  of  attacking  every  red-coat  he  met,  and  speaking  and 
acting  treason.  Charlie,  however,  never  was  further  punished  for  these  high  misdemean- 
ours, than  by  an  occasional  confinement  in  the  Town  Guard-house,  and  finished  his  life 
in  the  humble  occupation  of  a  tailor. 

Daft  Lady  Watt  walked  the  streets,  tawdrily  dressed  in  the  habiliments  of  a  former 
age,  and  with  a  fan  in  her  hand.  She  was  perfectly  harmless,  and  stopped  with  the  ut- 
most good  nature  to  give  a  pin  to  the  little  imps  who  constantly  interrupted  her  walks, 
crying,  Eh,  Lady  Watt,  will  ye  g'te  us  a  prln  ?  Whether  she  was  "  crazed  with  care, 
or  cross'd  in  hopeless  love,"  I  know  not;  but  whenever  begged,  and  had  the  appearance 
of  having  seen  better  days. 

Tup  Yule  was  an  old  man,  who  inhabited  a  cottage  on  the  south  bank  of  the  Nor- 
loch,  now  removed,  and  kept  a  cabbage-garden  there.  He  was  a  cow-feeder,  and  car- 
ried milk  about  in  pitchers ;  but  was  sadly  tormented  by  the  boys  pulling  the  tails  of 
his  coat,  and  calling  out  Tup  Yule  ! — Poor  Yule,  in  one  of  those  King's  birth-day 
mobs,  where  the  military  was  called  in,  about  1795  or  1790',  was  sadly  cut  in  the  cheek 
by  the  sabre  of  a  dragoon,  as  he  was  passing  peaceably  along  with  his  pitchers,  and  it 
is  believed  died  soon  after. 

Young  Lambs  to  sell  was  a  conspicuous  character  among  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  last 
age,  (now  fathers  and  mothers,)  by  his  basket  of  lambs  and  their  cotton  fleeces,  and  his 
poetical  terminations,  aided  by  the  adroit  twirling  of  a  stick  round  his  fingers,  and  his 
free  and  easy  gait. 

Geordy  Cramtoun  was  long  a  welcome  guest  at  the  Mason  Lodges  of  Edinburgh,  on 
account  of  his  talents  for  singing.  He  was  a  singular  little  being ;  and  when  after  his 
evening  parties  his  organs  of  locomotion  had  ceased  to  obey  the  will,  he  was  frequently, 
for  the  humour  of  the  thing,  carried  home  to  his  lodgings  in  a  porter's  creel.  Poor 
Geordie,  going  home  one  evening  in  this  singular  vehicle,  had  the  misfortune  to  tum- 
ble from  the  creel  in  going  up  or  down  a  stair,  and  died  soon  after. 

Big  Samuel,  a  gigantic  Highlander,  has  been  accurately  figured  by  Kay  in  a  print, 
where,  for  the  sake  of  contrast,  he  is  put  alongside  of  the  portraiture  of  friend  Geordy. 
The  same  artist  has  preserved  representations  of  most  of  the  other  worthies  mentioned 
above ;  and  occasional  notices  of  the  same  personages,  may,  I  have  no  doubt,  be  found 
in  that  valuable  book  (as  old  Micah  calls  it)  the  Scots  Magazine. 

Roiesting  Jacks  and  Toasting  Forks,  according  to  the  same  authority,  died  in  Octo- 
ber 1818,  at  the  advanced  age  of  102. 


18210 


405 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Being  the  Chapter-  of  Accidents. 

Did  you  ever  hear  one  Richard  Short's  history  ? 
If  you  didn't,  I'll  tell  it  you  now. 

Essay  on  the,  Emotions  which  produce  Laughter, 
by  John  Emery,  Esq. 


TRAVELLERS,  whether  by  land  or 
sea,  are  liable  to  many  little  accidents. 
Those  that  have  happened  to  myself 
in  my  laborious  excursions  through 
the  Scottish  capital,  have  not  been  few 
in  number  ;  and  for  the  instruction  of 
future  travellers,  I  here  set  down  one 
or  two  of  them. 

Accident  the  First. 

Not  very  long  ago,  I  put  my  lit- 
tle packet  inside  a  stage-coach  for  Dal- 
keith ;  but  being  rather  before  the 
hour,  I  sauntered  along  the  pavement 
till  the  coachman  had  finished  his 
frill,  in  the  cellar  called  the  coach-of- 
fice. On  retracing  my  steps,  the  coach 
seemed  to  be  still  in  the  same  place, 
though  I  had  taken  at  least  five  mi- 
nutes to  my  saunter — adjusted  my 
watch  by  the  clock  of  St  Giles, — but- 
toned my  coat — and  unrolled  a  six- 
pence from  my  paper  of  small  change 
to  give  to  the  coachman,  when  we 
Bhould  arrive  at  our  destination.  Quite 
impatient  at  there  being  no  signal  for 
going  on,  I  returned  to  the  cellar,  call- 
ed out  to  the  man  to  make  haste,  and 
the  door  of  the  vehicle  being  open, 
leaped  up  and  took  my  seat.  To 
while  away  my  impatience,  I  pulled 
out  a  volume  of  Don  Quixotte  (I 
never  travel  v-thout  one,)  from  my 
pocket,  and  began  to  study  this  learn- 
ed publication  with  such  earnestness, 
that  in  spite  of  the  entrance  of  two 
passengers, — in  spite  of  the  ruts  of 
Prince's  Street,  and  the  smoke  of  the 
distillery  at  Bell's  Mills,  I  never  lift- 
ed up  my  head  till  the  coach  stopped 
at  Mutton-hole,  for  the  honest  man 
the  coachman  to  get  another  dram. 
Having  come  by  this  time  to  the  crisis 
of  a  very  capital  joke,  I  could  not 
refrain  from  throwing  myself  back, 
laughing  more  heartily  than  decorous- 
ly, and  rubbing  my  knees  in  perfect 
ecstasy.  On  observing  now,  for  the 
first  time,  that  there  was  company 
with  me,  and  in  bringing  myself  again 
to  the  balance  of  composure,  I  unfor- 
tunately planted  my  foot  on  the  toe  of 
a  fat  gentleman  sitting  opposite,  who 


immediately  awaked  me  from  my  re- 
verie, by  the  exclamation,  "  Gude 
Lord !" — "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir," 
said  I,  "  I  did  not  observe  you." — The 
only  reply  was  a  significant  grunt. 

I  now  perceived  to  my  cost,  that  I 
had  been  driven  north  when  I  meant 
to  have  been  drawn  to  the  south ;  and 
that  I  was  on  the  road  to  the  Queens- 
ferry,  while  my  razors,  fishing-rod, 
clean  shirt,  and  botanical  box,  were 
on  their  travels  to  Dalkeith. 

As  it  was  of  little  use  to  make  com- 
plaints for  what  could  not  now  be  re- 
medied, I  leapt  out  of  the  machine,  and 
having  gently  remonstrated  with  the 
coachman  for  taking  me  so  much  out 
of  my  road,  I  determined  to  walk  back 
again  the  three  miles  to  Edinburgh. 
I  got  little  thanks,  however,  from 
coachy  for  my  forbearance,  and  have  a 
great  notion,  that  in  future  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  learn  to  swear,  to  rate  the 
fellows  like  a  gentleman ;  for  I  was 
scarcely  out  of  the  vehicle,  when,  point- 
ing to  his  head,  he  remarked  to  an  out- 
side passenger,  that  "  the  gentleman 
was  surely  no  very  wise."  "  It  was 
na  like  a  body  in  their  sound  senses," 
was  the  reply.  "  An  it  may  be,  he's 
daft  wi'  lair,  puir  man,"  said  a  bare- 
headed servant  girl,  who  came  to  at- 
tend the  stopping  of  the  coach,  "  for 
ye  see  he  has  a  buke  in  his  hand,  and 
he's  laughing  till  himsel !" 

Accident  the  Second. 

Another  misadventure  which  befcl 
me  in  my  travellings  through  Edin- 
burgh, was  the  following:— I  had 
spent  some  two  or  three  days  in  walk- 
ing through  the  more  ancient  parts  of 
the  city,  for  the  purpose  of  copying 
the  many  inscriptions  which  are  placed 
over  the  doors  of  the  older  houses,  and 
on  that  morning  had  made  a  sketch  of 
the  house  of  John  Knox, — taken  a 
drawing  of  the  Roman  sculpture  at  the 
Netherbow, — and  was  in  the  act  of 
copying  an  inscription  above  a  door  in 
Bkckfriars'  Wy  nd,  when  on  a  sudden,  a 
girl  who  popped  her  head  out,  instantly 
withdrew,  crying,  "  Eh,  mither,  here's 
9 


405  Voyages  and  Travels 

a  man  taking  down  my  father's  name 
in  a  book !" — "  Ye're  father's  name, 
lassie,"  grumbled  out  another  voice; 
' '  it'll  be  for  some  new  tax,  nae  doubt. 
Deel's  in  them  a',  they'll  no  let  poor 
folk  live  belive ;  but  I'll  gie  him  some- 
thing for  his  pains !" With  that,  O 

reader !  she  threw  full  in  my  face  and 
upon  my  clothes,  the  whole  contents 
of  an  earthen  vessel,  of  a  roundish 
shape,*  which  she  held  in  her  hand, 
exclaiming,  "  Tak  that  to  your  morn- 
in' !" — I  was  almost  stunned  with 
the  unexpected  shower ;  and  as  re- 
monstrance seemed  vain,  and  as  the 
neighbours  were  beginning  to  assem- 
ble at  the  noise,  I  retreated  down  the 
wynd  as  hastily  as  I  could,  to  avoid 
the  contents  of  a  hundred  such  uten- 
sils, which  were  ready  to  be  emptied 
from  above  on  the  head  of  a  reputed 
member  of  that  detested  association.  I 
can  have  a  new  jacket  from  my  tailor ; 
Mr  Armstrong  will  furnish  me  with 
another  hat,  upon  paying  the  accus- 
tomed price ;  but  what,  O  Public ! 
will  compensate  thee  for  the  loss  of  in- 
scriptions which  you  might  have  read 
with  out  danger;  or  thee,  O  Antiquaries 
of  Scotland,  for  the  learned  observa- 
tions I  should  have  made  upon  them  ? 
My  old  jacket  and  hat,  partially  clean- 
ed, (for  to  purify  them  totally  was  im- 
possible,) may,  if  not  sold,  be  still 
seen  in  that  varied  and  vast  repository 
of  old  clothes,  St  Mary's  Wynd. 

Accident  the  Third. 

Another  circumstance  which  vexed 
me  not  a  little,  and  which  happened 
very  lately,  perhaps  deserves  to  be  re- 
corded in  this  chapter  of  travellers'  ac- 
cidents. I  had  strayed  into  the  Grey- 
friars'  Church-yard  one  evening,  for 
want  of  something  better  to  do,  and 
unaware  that  the  gates  required  to  be 
shut  by  a  certain  hour,  I  had  pored 
over  this  monument  and  that  stone, 
till  by  my  watch  it  was  half-past  nine 
o'clock.  Thinking  it  then  time  to  re- 
tire homewards,  I  walked  gaily  along 
the  road,  persuading  myself  that  it  was 
better  for  me  to  be  alive  and  in  health, 
than  lying  even  under  the  most  costly 
of  the  monuments  that  met  my  view, 
— when  to  my  mortification  I  found 


of  Columbus  Secundta.  £  July, 

the  door  was  locked,  and  doubly  bar- 
red. Though  I  am  not  generally  sub- 
ject to  terror,  I  could  not  think  of 
spending  the  night  among  my  present 
company  with  any  sort  of  composure. 
I  ran  as  fast  as  I  could  to  the  other 
gate, — but  it  likewise  was  shut ; — 
peeped  into  the  lodge  where  the  uten- 
sils of  the  grave-diggers  were  deposited 
to  see  if  any  body  was  there, — but  they 
were  all  gone.  Two  rusty  fowling- 
pieces  (and  their  appearance  gave  me 
no  comfort)  stood  inside  the  window, 
intended,  I  presumed,  to  arm  the  peo- 
ple who  watch  the  remains  of  the  de- 
ceased citizens.  I  was  now  in  terrible 
alarm,  and  saw  little  prospect  of  any 
other  alternative,  than  dying  of  terror 
when  the  midnight  hour  should  re- 
lease the  perturbed  spirits  of  murder- 
ers from  their  charnel  houses,  or  of 
being  shot  by  the  guards  of  the  dead 
as  an  unknown  intruder  on  their  pe- 
culiar vocation  of  resurrection-men.  I 
attempted  to  cross  the  graves  to  get  up 
the  wall  by  the  help  of  the  attached  mo- 
numents ;  but  fear  almost  deprived  my 
muscles  of  their  power,  and  I  tumbled 
half  a  dozen  times  over  the  hillocks  in 
my  attempt  to  get  forward.  I  at  last, 
however,  succeeded ;  got  hold  of  a  very 
civil  good-natured  cherub  on  the  mar- 
tyrs' tomb— raised  myself  by  placing  a 
foot  on  the  shoulder  of  a  stone  angel 
• — and  poked  my  bare  head  (for  my  hat 
had  fallen  off)  over  the  wall  which  di- 
vides the  church-yard  from  the  Can- 
dlemaker-row,  calling  out  loudly  for 
assistance.  A  number  of  children,  who 
were  playing  on  the  empty  carts  ar- 
ranged at  the  bottom  of  the  wall,  were 
arrested  in  their  game  at  my  voice,  and 
looking  up,  and  seeing  nothing  but  a 
head  peeping  over  the  wall,  leaped 
from  the  machines  in  terror,  calling 
out,  "Eh !  there's  bluidy  Mackirigie !" 
Their  vociferations,  assisted  by  my 
own,  soon  drew  a  crowd  to  the  spot  ; 
the  little  imps  grew  bolder  by  the  pre- 
sence of  so  many  of  their  elders,  and 
prevented  my  appeals  to  their  com- 
passion from  being  heard  by  singing  in 
chorus, 

Bluidy  Mackingie,  come  out  if  ye  daur, 
Lift  the  sneck,  and  draw  the  bar  ! 


*  To  those  who  are  curious  in  the  investigation  of  the  furniture  of  the  ancients,  I 
beg  to  recommend  the  learned  Memoir  on  the  Chamber-vases  of  the  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans, lately  published  in  the  Transactions  of  the  Antiquarian  Society.  Little  think 
the  proprietors  of  many  of  these  vases  to  what  purposes  they  were  originally  destined. 


Voyages  and  ^Travels  of  Columbus  Secvndas. 


Some  of  the  people  from  the  windows 
in  the  opposite  street,  however,  had 
perceived  my  unfortunate  situation ; 
and  while  the  porters  and  passengers 
were  wondering,  without  attempting 
to  give  any  assistance,  whether  I  was 
a  dead  man  come  to  life  again, — the 
coadjutor  of  an  anatomist, — the  man 
that  was  last  hanged, — or  bloody  Mac- 
kingie  himself, — had  the  compassion 
to  send  for  Mr  Morthead  the  Record  - 
er,  who  speedily  came  with  the  keys 
of  this  dismal  abode,  and  freed  me 
from  all  apprehension '  of  that  night 
meeting  with  the  three  stone  sisters 
walking  round  the  church  ; — Major 
Weir's  cane  taking  its  midnight  ex- 
cursion,— or  of  seeing  the  said  bloody 
Mackingie  peeping  out  of  his  prison- 
house  with  a  red  night-cap  on  his 
head. 

Accident  the  Fourth. 

The  last  adventure  I  shall  at  present 
set  forth,  and  it  is  one  which,  to  most 
people,  would  seem  a  most  flattering 
tribute  to  personal  vanity,  was  my  once 
being  taken  for  a  nobleman — nothing 
less  than  a  peer  of  the  realm.  I  was 
walking  one  day  in  the  Meadows,  when 
a  gentleman  whom  I  met  accosted  me 
with  a  very  low  bow, — uncovered  his 
powdered  prominence  to  do  me  obei- 
sance,— and  in  the  blandest  accents  of 
respectful  homage,  hoped  my  Lordship 


was  quite  well.  I  stared  at  the  honest 
gentleman,  to  see  whether  he  were  se- 
rious in  his  address — presumed  (for  I 
would  not  positively  say  I  was  not  a 
Lord)  that  he  was  certainly  mistaken  ; 
while  he,  on  the  other  hand,  put  on 
his  hat,  asked  my  pardon  (which  was 
instantly  granted)  for  having  taken 

me  for  Lord ;  and  we  parted,  he 

looking  back  at  the  personage  whom, 
if  Nature  had  made  Lords,  had  cer- 
tainly been  one, — and  1  turning  occa- 
sionally round  to  take  another  peep  at 
the  man,  whose  penetration  raised  me 
to  a  situation  which  I  feel  perfectly 
confident  I  could  fill  with  great  satis- 
faction to  myself,  if  not  with  advan- 
tage to  my  country.* 

The  moral  of  this  chapter  is  not  very 
flattering  to  human  pride  or  to  human 
distinctions.  I  was  thought  "  not  very 
wise,"  for  studying  and  laughing  at 
the  most  instructive  and  amusing  book 
in  the  world; — half-drowned  in  at- 
tempting to  qualify  myself  for  a  cor- 
responding member  of  the  Institute  of 
France,  under  the  abhorred  name  of  a 
tax-gatherer;  and  terrified  a  whole 
street  under  the  appearance  of  "Bloody 
Mackingie."  That  a  nobleman  should 
be  thought  to  resemble  either  or  all  of 
these  personages,  will,  I  am  afraid,  not 
be  taken  as  a  compliment  by  any  mem- 
ber of  the  present  peerage  of  Scot- 
land. 


THE  FATAL  REPAST. 


WE  had  been  nearly  five  weeks  at  sea, 
when  the  captain  found,  by  a  nautical 
observation,  that  we  were  within  one 
hundred  and  thirty  miles  of  the  north 
side  of  Jamaica.  Favourable  winds  and 
smooth  seas  had  hitherto  been  our  con- 
stant attendants,  and  every  thing  on 
board  conspired  to  render  the  confine- 
ment and  monotony  of  a  long  voyage 
less  annoying  than  they  usually  are. 
The  cabin  passengers  consisted  of  Ma- 
jor and  Mrs  L ,  a  new-married 

couple ;  Miss  P ,  sister  to  the  lat- 


ter ;  Mr  D >  a  young  Irishman, 

and  myself.  Our  captain  was  a  man 
of  pleasing  manners  and  liberal  ideas, 
and  formed  an  important  acquisition 
to  our  party,  by  joining  in  all  its  re- 
creations, and  affording  every  facility 
to  the  indulgence  of  them.  Much  of 
our  time  was  spent  in  conversation, 
and  in  walking  on  deck  ;  and  when  the 
dews  of  evening  obliged  us  to  descend 
to  the  cabin,  the  captain  would  often 
entertain  us  with  a  relation  of  the  va- 
rious dangers  which  he  and  other  per- 


*  I  have  heard  that  the  King  is  to  honour  the  capital  of  Scotland  with  a  visit,  and  I 
hope  it  may  be  true.  Without  trusting  more  than  need  be  to  omens  and  presentiments, 
I  should  not  be  surprised,  in  that  event,  to  see  my  name  in  the  next  year's  roll  of 
freeholders,  under  the  title  of  "  Sir  Christopher  Columbus,  of  that  ilk,  Baronet;"  or, 
passing  that  intermediate  link  of  nobility,  at  being  introduced  to  the  Upper  House,  by 
the  style  and  title  of  "  Baron  Columbus,  of  Columbia."  But  these  are  matters  between 
his  Majesty  and  myself. 

Vot.  IX.  3  E 


108  Tfie  Fatal  Repast. 

sons  had  encountered  at  sea,  or  detail, 
with  great  gravity,  some  of  the  prevail- 
ing superstitions  of  sailors. 

Although  he  possessed  more  general 
information  than  usually  falls  to  the 
lot  of  sea-faring  persons,  his  mind  was 
tinctured  with  some  of  their  weak- 
nesses and  prejudices.  The  ladies  of 
our  party  had  a  great  taste  for  natural 
history,  and  wished  to  obtain  specimens 
of  all  the  most  interesting  kinds  of  sea- 
birds.  They  had  several  times  request- 
ed the  captain  to  shoot  one  of  Mother 
Carey's  chickens,  that  they  might  take 
a  drawing  from  it ;  however,  he  al- 
ways declined  doing  so,  but  never  gave 
any  satisfactory  reason  for  his  unwil- 
lingness to  oblige  them  in  this  respect. 

At  last,  Mr  D killed  two  of  the 

birds,  after  having  several  times  miss- 
ed whole  flocks  of  them.  The  captain 
seemed  very  much  startled  when  he 
saw  the  animals  drop  on  the  waves — 
"  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  let 
down  the  boat  to  pick  up  the  game  ?" 

said  Mr  D .     "  Yes,  sir,"  replied 

he,  "  if  you'll  go  off  in  her,  and  never 
return  on  board  this  vessel — Here  is  a 
serious  business — Be  assured  we  have 
not  seen  the  end  of  it."  He  then  walk- 
ed away  without  offering  to  give  any 
orders  about  lowering  the  boat ;  and 
the  seamen,  who  witnessed  the  trans- 
action, looked  as  if  they  would  not 
have  obeyed  him  had  he  even  done  so. 
Though  we  saw  no  land,  every  thing 
proved  that  we  were  in  the  West  India 
seas.  The  sky  had,  within  a  few  days, 
begun  to  assume  a  more  dazzling  as- 
pect, and  long  ranges  of  conical  shaped 
clouds  floated  along  the  horizon.  Land 
birds,  with  beautiful  plumage,  often 
hovered  round  the  vessel,  and  we  some- 
times fancied  we  could  discover  a  ve- 
getable fragrance  in  the  breezes  that 
swelled  our  sails. 

One  delightful  clear  morning,  when 
we  were  in  hourly  expectation  of  ma- 
king the  land,  some  dolphin  appeared 
astern.  As  the  weather  was  very  mo- 
derate, the  captain  proposed  that  we 
should  fish  for  them  ;  and  a  great  many 
hooks  were  immediately  baited  for  that 
purpose  by  the  seamen.  We  caught 
large  quantities  of  dolphin,  and  of  an- 
other kind  of  fish,  and  put  the  whole 
into  the  hands  of  the  steward,  with 
orders  that  part  should  be  dressed  for 
dinner,  and  part  distributed  among  the 
crew. 

When  the  dinner-hour  arrived,  we 
all  assembled  in  the  cabin,  in  high  spi- 


rits,  and  sat  down  to  table.  It  being 
St  George's  day,  the  captain,  who  was 
an  Englishman,  had  ordered  that  every 
thing  should  be  provided  and  set  forth 
in  the  most  sumptuous  style,  and  the 
steward  had  done  full  justice  to  his  di- 
rections. We  made  the  wines,  which 
were  exquisite  and  abundant,  circulate 
rapidly,  and  every  glass  increased  our 
gaiety  and  good  humour,  while  the  in- 
fluence of  our  mirth  rendered  the  la- 
dies additionally  amusing  and  anima- 
ted. The  captain  remarked,  that  as 
there  were  two  clarinet-players  among 
the  crew,  we  ought  to  have  a  dance 
upon  the  quarter-deck  at  sunset.  This 
proposal  Avas  received  with  much  de- 
light, particularly  by  the  females  of 
our  party ;  and  the  captain  had  just 
told  the  servant  in  waiting  to  bid  the 
musicians  prepare  themselves,  when 
the  mate  entered  the  cabin,  and  said, 
that  the  man  at  the  helm  had  dropped 
down  almost  senseless,  and  that  an- 
other of  the  crew  was  so  ill  that  he 
could  scarcely  speak. 

The  captain,  on  receiving  this  infor- 
mation, grew  very  pale,  and  seemed  at 
a  loss  what  to  reply.  At  last,  he  start- 
ed from  his  chair,  and  hurried  up  the 
gangway.  Our  mirth  ceased  in  a  mo- 
ment, though  none  of  us  appeared  to 
know  why ;  but  the  minds  of  all  were 
evidently  occupied  by  what  they  had 
just  heard,  and  Major  L remark- 
ed, with  a  faultering  voice,  that  sea- 
men were  very  liable  to  be  taken  sud- 
denly ill  in  hot  climates. 

After  a  little  time,  we  sent  the  ser- 
vant to  inquire  what  was  going  for- 
ward upon  deck.  lie  returned  imme- 
diately, and  informed  us  that  the  two 
sailors  were  worse,  and  that  a  third  hatl 
just  been  attacked  in  the  same  way. 
He  had  scarcely  said  these  words,  when 

Mrs  L gave  a  shriek,  and  cried  out 

that  her  sister  had  fainted  away.  This 
added  to  our  confusion  and  alarm ; 
and  the  major  and  Mr  1).  trembled  so 
much,  that  they  were  hardly  able  to 
convey  the  young  lady  to  her  state- 
room. 

All  conversation  was  now  at  an  end, 
and  no  one  uttered  a  word  till  Mrs 
L returned  from  her  sister's  apart- 
ment. While  we  were  inquiring  how 
the  latter  was,  the  captain  entered  the 
cabin  in  a  state  of  great  agitation. 
"  This  is  a  dreadful  business/'  s.iid 
he.  "  The  fact  is — it  is  my  duty  to  tell 
you — I  fear  we  arc  all  poisoned  by  the 
fish  we  have  ate — One  of  the  crew  died 


1821-3 


The  Fatal  Repast, 


409 


a  few  minutes  since,  and  five  others 
are  dangerously  ill." 

"  Poisoned  !  my  God  !  Do  you  say 
so  ?  Must  we  all  die  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs 

L ,  dropping  on  her  knees. "  What 

is  to  be  done  ?"  cried  the  major  dis- 
tractedly ;  "  are  there  no  means  of 
counteracting  it  ?" — "  None  that  I 
know  of,"  returned  the  captain.  "  All 
remedies  are  vain.  The  poison  is  al- 
ways fatal,  except — but  I  begin  to  feel 
its  effects — support  me — can  this  be 
imagination?"  He  staggered  to  one 
side,  and  would  have  fallen  upon  the 
floor,  had  not  I  assisted  him.  Mrs 

L ,  notwithstanding  his  apparent 

insensibility,  clung  to  his  arm,  crying 
out,  in  a  tone  of  despair,  "  Is  there  no 
help — no  pity — no  one  to  save  us  ?" 
£nd  then  fainted  away  on  her  hus- 
band's bosom,  who,  turning  to  me, 
said,  with  quivering  lips,  "  You  are  a 
happy  man ;  you  have  nothing  to  em- 
bitter your  last  moments — Oh,  Provi- 
dence !  was  I  permitted  to  escape  so 
many  dangers,  merely  that  I  might 
suffer  this  misery  ?" 

Mrs  L •  soon  regained  her  senses, 

find  I  endeavoured  to  calm  her  agita- 
tion by  remarking,  that  we  might  pos- 
sibly escape  the  fatal  influence  of  the 
poison,  as  some  constitutions  were  not 
so  easily  affected  by  it  as  others.  "  Is 
jthere  then  a  little  hope  ?"  she  exclaim- 
ed. "  Oh !  God  grant  it  may  be  so  ! 
How  dreadful  to  die  in  the  midst  of 
the  ocean,  far  from  friends  and  home, 
and  then  to  be  thrown  into  the  deep !" 
— "  There  is  one  thing,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, faintly,  "  I  was  going  to  tell  you, 
that — but  this  sensation — I  mean  a 
remedy." — "  Speak  on,"  cried  the  ma- 
jor, in  breathless  suspence.  "  It  may 
have  a  chance  of  saving  you,"  conti- 
nued the  former ;  "  you  must  imme- 
diately"  He  gave  a  deep  sigh,  and 

.dropped  his  head  upon  his  shoulder, 
apparently  unable  to  utter  a  word 
more.  "  Oh,  this  is  the  worst  of  all !" 

cried  Mrs  L in  agony  ;  "  he  was 

on  the  point  of  telling  us  how  to  coun- 
teract the  effects  of  the  poison — Was 
it  heavenly  mercy  that  deprived  him 
of  the  power  of  speech?  Can  it  be  called 
mercy  ?" — "  Hush,  hush  !  you  rave," 
returned  her  husband.  "  We  have 
only  to  be  resigned  new — Let  us  at 
least  die  together." 

The  crew  had  dined  about  an  hour 
and  a  half  before  us,  and  consequent- 
ly felt  the  effects  of  the  poison  much 

ulier  than  we  did.  Every  one,  how- 


ever, now  began  to  exhibit  alarming 
symptoms.  Mr  D became  deli- 
rious ;  the  major  lay  upon  the  cabin 
floor  in  a  state  of  torpidity  ;  and  the 
captain  had  drowned  all  sense  and 
recollection  by  drinking  a  large  quan- 
tity of  brandy.  Mrs  L watched 

her  husband  and  her  sister  alternate- 
ly, in  a  state  of  quiet  despair. 

I  was  comparatively  but  little  af- 
fected, and  therefore  employed  my- 
self in  assisting  others  until  they 
seemed  to  be  past  all  relief,  and  then 
sat  down,  anticipating  the  horrid  con- 
sequences which  would  result  from 
the  death  of  the  whole  ship's  com- 
pany. 

While  thus  occupied,  I  heard  the 
steersman  call  out,  "  Taken  all  aback 
here."  A  voice,  which  I  knew  to  be 
the  mate's,  immediately  answered, 
' (  Well,  and  what's  that  to  us  ?  Put 
her  before  the  wind,  and  let  her  go 
where  she  pleases."  I  soon  perceived, 
by  the  rushing  of  the  water,  that  there 
was  a  great  increase  in  the  velocity  of 
the  ship's  progress,  and  went  upon 
deck  to  ascertain  the  cause. 

I  found  the  mate  stretched  upon  the 
top  of  the  companion,  and  addressed 
him,  but  he  made  no  reply.  The  man 
at  the  helm  was  tying  a  rope  round  the 
tiller,  and  told  me  he  had  become  sp 
blind  and  dizzy,  that  he  could  neither 
steer,  nor  see  the  compass,  and  would 
therefore  fix  the  rudder  in  such  a  man- 
ner, as  would  keep  the  ship's  head  as 
near  the  wind  as  possible.  On  going 
forward  to  the  bows,  I  found  the  crew 
lying  motionless  in  every  direction. 
They  were  either  insensible  of  the 
dangerous  situation  in  which  our  ves- 
sel was,  or  totally  indifferent  to  it; 
and  all  my  representations  on  this 
head  failed  to  draw  forth  an  intelligi- 
ble remark  from  any  of  them.  Our 
ship  carried  a  great  deal  of  canvas, 
the  lower  studding  sails  being  up,  for 
we  had  enjoyed  a  gentle  breeze  direct- 
ly a-stern,  before  the  wind  headed  us 
in  the  way  already  mentioned. 

About  an  hour  after  sunset,  almost 
every  person  on  board  seemed  to  have 
become  worse.  I  alone  retained  my 
senses  unimpaired.  The  wind  now 
blew  very  fresh,  and  we  went  through 
the  water  a,t  the  rate  of  ten  miles  an 
hour.  The  night  looked  dreary  and 
turbulent.  The  sky  was  covered  with 
large  fleeces  of  broken  clouds,  and  the 
stars  flashed  angrily  through  them,  as 
they  were  wildly  hurried  along  by  the 


410  The  Fatal  Repast. 

blast.  The  sea  began  to  run  high,  and 
the  masts  shewed,  by  their  incessant 
creaking,  that  they  carried  more  sail 
than  they  could  well  sustain. 

I  stood  alone  near  the  stern  of  the 
ship.  Nothing  could  be  heard  above 
or  below  deck,  but  the  dashing  of  the 
surges,  and  the  meanings  of  the  wind. 
All  the  people  on  board  were  to  me 
the  same  as  dead ;  and  I  was  tossed 
about,  in  the  vast  expanse  of  waters, 
without  a  companion  or  folio w-suffer- 
er.  I  knew  not  what  might  be  my 
fate,  or  where  I  should  be  carried.  The 
vessel,  as  it  careered  along  the  raging 
"deep,  uncontrolled  by  human  hands, 
seemed  under  the  guidance  of  a  relent- 
less demon,  to  whose  caprices  its  ill- 
fated  crew  had  been  mysteriously  con- 
signed by  some  superior  power. 

I  was  filled  with  dread  lest  we  should 
strike  upon  rocks,  or  run  ashore,  and 
often  imagined  that  the  clouds  which 
bordered  the  horizon  were  the  black 
cliffs  of  some  desolate  coast.  At  last, 
I  distinctly  saw  a  light  at  some  dis- 
tance— I  anticipated  instant  destruc- 
tion— I  grew  irresolute  whether  to  re- 
main upon  deck,  and  face  death,  or  to 
wait  for  it  below.  I  soon  discovered  a 
ship  a  little  way  a-head— I  instinctive- 
ly ran  to  the  helm,  and  loosed  the  rope 
that  tied  the  tiller,  which  at  once 
bounded  back,  and  knocked  me  over. 
A  horrible  crashing,  and  loud  cries, 
now  broke  upon  my  ear,  and  I  saw 
that  we  had  got  entangled  with  another 
vessel.  But  the  velocity  with  which 
\ve  swept  along,  rendered  our  extrica- 
tion instantaneous;  and,  on  looking 
back,  I  saw  a  ship,  without  a  bowsprit, 
pitching  irregularly  among  the  waves, 
and  heard  the  rattling  of  cordage,  and 
a  tumult  of  voices.  But,  after  a  little 
time,  nothing  was  distinguishable  by 
the  eye  or  by  the  ear.  My  situation 
appeared  doubly  horrible,  when  I  re- 
flected that  I  had  just  been  within  call 
of  human  creatures,  who  might  have 
saved  and  assisted  all  on  board,  had 
not  an  evil  destiny  hurried  us  along, 
and  made  us  the  means  of  injuring 
those  who  alone  were  capable  of  afford- 
ing us  relief. 

About  midnight,  our  fore-top-mast 
gave  way,  and  fell  upon  deck  with  a 
tremendous  noise.  The  ship  immedi- 
ately swung  round,  and  began  to  la- 
bour in  a  terrible  manner,  while  seve- 
*al  waves  broke  over  her  successively. 

I  had  just  resolved  to  descend  the 
gang-way  for  shelter,  when  a  white 


CJuly, 

figure  rushed  past  me  wfth  a  wild 
shriek,  and  sprung  overboard.  I  saw 
it  struggling  among  the  billows,  and 
tossing  about  its  anns  distractedly, 
but  had  no  means  of  affording  it  any 
assistance.  I  watched  it  for  some  time, 
and  observed  its  convulsive  motions 
gradually  grow  more  feeble;  but  its 
form  soon  became  undistinguishable 
amidst  the  foam  of  the  bursting  waves. 
The  darkness  prevented  me  from  dis- 
covering who  had  thus  committed 
himself  to  the  deep,  in  a  moment  of 
madness,  and  I  felt  a  strong  repug- 
nance at  attempting  to  ascertain  it,  and 
rather  wished  that  it  might  have  been 
some  spectre,  or  the  offspring  of  my 
perturbed  imagination,  than  a  human 
being. 

As  the  sea  continued  to  break  over 
the  vessel,  I  went  down  to  the  cabin, 
after  having  closely  shut  the  gang-way 
doors  and  companion.  Total  darkness 
prevailed  below.  I  addressed  the  cap- 
tain and  all  my  fellow  passengers  by 
name,  but  received  no  reply  from  any 
of  them,  though  I  sometimes  fancied  I 
heard  moans  and  quick  breathing, 
when  the  tumult  of  waters  without 
happened  to  subside  a  little.  But  I 
thought  that  it  was  perhaps  imagina- 
tion, and  that  they  were  probably  all 
dead.  I  began  to  catch  for  breath, 
and  felt  as  if  I  had  been  immured  in 
a  large  coffin  along  with  a  number  of 
corpses,  and  was  doomed  to  linger  out 
life  beside  them.  The  sea  beat  against 
the  vessel  with  a  noise  like  that  of  ar- 
tillery, and  the  crashing  of  the  bul- 
warks, driven  in  by  its  violence,  gave 
startling  proof  of  the  danger  that 
threatened  us.  Having  several  times 
been  dashed  against  the  cabin  walls 
by  the  violent  pitching  of  the  ship, 
I  groped  for  my  bed,  and  lay  down 
in  it,  and,  notwithstanding  the  hor- 
rors that  surrounded  me,  gradually 
dropped  asleep. 

When  I  awaked,  I  perceived,  by  the 
sun-beams  that  shone  through  the 
sky-light,  that  the  morning  was  far 
advanced.  The  ship  rolled  violently 
at  intervals,  but  the  noise  of  winds  and 
waves  had  altogether  ceased.  I  got 
up  hastily,  and  almost  dreaded  to  look 
round,  lest  I  should  find  my  worst 
anticipations  concerning  my  compa- 
nions too  fatally  realized. 

I  immediately  discovered  the  cap- 
tain lying  on  one  side  of  the  cabin 
quite  dead.  Opposite  him  was  Major 
L -,  stretched  along  the  floor,  and 


The  Fatal  Repast. 


411 


grasping  flrmly  the  handle  of  the  door 
of  his  wife's  apartment.  He  had,  I 
suppose,  in  a  moment  of  agony,  wish- 
ed to  take  'farewell  of  the  partner  of 
his  heart,  but  had  been  unable  to  get 
beyond  the  spot  where  he  now  lay. 
He  looked  like  a  dying  man,  and  Mrs 

L ,  who  sat  beside  him,  seemed  to 

be  exhausted  with  grief  and  terror. 
She  tried  to  speak  several  times,  and 
at  last  succeeded  in  informing  me  that 
her  sister  was  better.  I  could  not  dis- 
cover Mr  D any  where,  and  there- 
fore concluded  that  he  was  the  person 
who  had  leaped  overboard  the  prece- 
ding night. 

On  going  upon  deck,  L  found  that 
every  thing  wore  a  new  aspect.  The 
sky  was  dazzling  and  cloudless,  and 
not  the  faintest  breath  of  wind  could 
be  felt.  The  sea  had  a  beautiful  bright 
green  colour,  and  was  calm  as  a  small 
lake,  except  when  an  occasional  swell 
rolled  from  that  quarter  in  which  the 
windhad  been  the  preceding  night;  and 
the  water  was  so  clear,  that  I  saw  to  the 
bottom,  and  even  distinguished  little 
fishes  sporting  around  the  keel  of  our 
vessel. 

Four  of  the  seamen  were  dead,  but 
the  mate  and  the  remaining  three  had 
so  far  recovered,  as  to  be  able  to  walk 
across  the  deck.  The  ship  was  almost 
in  a  disabled  state.  Part  of  the  wreck 
of  the  fore-top-mast  lay  upon  her  bows, 
and  the  rigging  and  sails  of  the  main- 
mast had  suffered  much  injury.  The 
mate  told  me,  that  the  soundings,  and 
almost  every  thing  else,  proved  we 
were  on  the  Bahama  banks,  though 
he  had  not  yet  ascertained  on  what 
part  of  them  we  lay,  and  consequent- 
ly could  not  say  whether  we  had  much 
chance  of  soon  falling  in  with  any 
vessel. 

The  day  passed  gloomily.  We  re- 
garded every  cloud  that  rose  upon  the 
horizon  as  the  fore-runner  of  a  breeze, 
which  we  above  all  things  feared  to 
encounter.  Much  of  our  time  was  em- 
ployed in  preparing  for  the  painful 
but  necessary  duty  of  interring  the 
dead.  The  carpenter  soon  got  ready  a 
sufficient  number  of  boards,  to  each  of 
which  we  bound  one  of  the  corpses, 
and  also  weights  enough  to  make  it 
sink  to  the  bottom. 

About  ten  at  night,  we  began  to 
commit  the  bodies  to  the  deep.  A 
dead  calm  had  prevailed  the  whole 
day,  and  not  a  cloud  obscured  the  sky. 
The  sea  reflected  the  stars  so  distinctly, 


that  it  seemed  as  If  we  were  consigning 
our  departed  companions  to  a  heaven 
as  resplendent  as  that  above  us.  There 
was  an  awful  solemnity,  alike  in  the 
scene  and  in  our  situation.  I  read  the 
funeral  service,  and  then  we  dropped 
the  corpses  overboard,  one  after  an- 
other. The  sea  sparkled  around  each, 
as  its  sullen  plunge  announced  that 
the  waters  were  closing  over  it,  and 
they  all  slowly  and  successively  de- 
scended to  the  bottom,  enveloped  in  a 
ghastly  glimmering  brightness,  which 
enabled  us  to  trace  their  progress 
through  the  motionless  deep.  When 
these  last  offices  of  respect  were  per- 
formed, we  retired  in  silence  to  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  ship. 

About  midnight,  the  mate  ordered 
the  men  to  put  down  our  anchor, 
which,  till  then,  they  had  not  been 
able  to  accomplish.  They  likewise 
managed  to  furl  most  of  the  sails,  and 
we  went  to  bed,  under  the  consoling 
idea,  that  though  a  breeze  did  spring 
up,  our  moorings  would  enable  us  to 
weather  it  without  any  risk. 

I  was  roused  early  next  morning  by 
a  confused  noise  upon  deck.  When  I 
got  there,  I  found  the  men  gazing  in- 
tently over  the  side  of  the  ship,  and 
inquired  if  our  anchor  held  fast? — 
"  Ay,  ay,"  returned  one  of  them, 
"  rather  faster  than  we  want  it."  On 
approaching  the  bulwarks,  and  look- 
ing down,  I  perceived,  to  my  horror 
and  astonishment,  all  the  corpses  lying 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  as  if  they  had 
just  been  dropt  into  it.  We  could 
even  distinguish  their  features  glim- 
mering confusedly  through  the  super- 
incumbent mass  of  ocean.  A  large 
block  happened  to  fall  overboard,  and 
the  agitation  which  it  occasioned  in 
the  sea  produced  an  apparent  augmen- 
tation of  their  number,  and  a  horrible 
distortion  of  their  limbs  and  counte- 
nances. A  hundred  corpses  seemed 
to  start  up  and  struggle  wildly  to- 
gether, and  then  gradually  to  vanish 
among  the  eddying  waters,  as  they 
subsided  into  a  state  of  calmness. 

We  were  now  exempted  from  the 
ravages  and  actual  presence  of  death, 
but  his  form  haunted  us  without  in- 
termission. We  hardly  dared  to  look 
over  the  ship's  side,  lest  our  eyes  should 
encounter  the  ghastly  features  of  some 
one  who  had  formerly  been  a  com- 
panion, and  at  whose  funeral  rites  we 
had  recently  assisted.  The  seamen 
began  to  murmur  among  themselves, 


412  T/i£  Fatal  Repast. 

saying  that  we  would  never  be  able  to 
leave  tbc  spot  where  we  then  were, 
anil  that  our  vessel  would  rot  away  as 
fast  as  the  dead  bodies  that  lay  be- 
neath it. 

In  the  evening,  a  strong  breeze 
sprung  up,  and  filled  us  with  hopes 
that  some  vessel  would  soon  come  in 
sight,  and  afford  us  relief.  At  sunset, 
when  the  mate  was  giving  directions 
about  the  watch,  one  of  the  seamen 
cried  out,  "  Thanked  be  God,  there 
they  are."  And  the  other  ran  up  to  him, 
saying,  "  Where,  where  ?"  He  point- 
ed to  a  flock  of  Mother  Carey's  chickens 
that  had  just  appeared  astern,  and  be- 
gan to  cpunt  how  many  there  were  of 
them.  I  inquired  what  was  the  mat- 
ter, and  the  mate  replied,  "  Why, 
only  that  we've  seen  the  worst,  that's 
all,  master.  I've  a  notion  we'll  fall 
in  with  a  sail  before  twenty  hours 
are  past." — "  Have  you  any  particular 
reason  for  thinking  so  ?"  said  I.  "  To 
be  sure  I  have,"  returned  he  ;  "  aren't 
them  there  birds  the  spirits  of  those 
brave  fellows  we  threw  overboard  last 
night  ?  I  knew  we  never  would  be  able 
to  quit  this  place  till  they  made  their 
appearance  above  water.  However,  I'm 
not  quite  sure  how  it  may  go  with  us 
yet,"  continued  he,  looking  anxiously 
astern  ;  "  they  stay  rather  long  about 
our  ship." — "  I  have  always  under- 
stood," said  I,  "  that  these  birds  indi- 
cate bad  weather,  or  some  unfortunate 
event,  and  this  appears  to  me  to  be 
true."—"  Ay,  ay, '  replied  he,  "  they 
say  experience  teaches  fools,  and  I  have 
found  it  so ;  there  was  a  time  when  I 
did  not  believe  that  these  creatures 
were  any  thing  but  common  birds,  but 
now  I  Know  another  story — Oh  I've 
witnessed  such  strange  things  ! — Isn't 
it  reasonable  to  suppose,  that  these  lit- 
tle creatures,  having  once  been  such  as 
we  are,  should  feel  a  sort  of  friendli- 
ness towards  a  ship's  crew,  and  wish 
to  give  warning  when  bad  weather  or 
bad  fur  tune  is  a-head,  that  every  man 
may  be  prepared  for  the  worst?" — "Do 
you  conceive,"  said  I,  "  that  any  people 
but  seamen  are  ever  changed  into  the 
birds  we  have  been  talking  of?" — "No, 
for  certain  not,"  answered  the  mate; 
"  and  none  but  the  sailors  that  are 
drowned,  or  thrown  overboard  after 
death.  While  in  the  form  of  Carey's 
chickens,  they  undergo  a  sort  of  pur- 
gatory, and  are  punished  for  their 
sins.  They  fly  about  the  wide  ocean, 
far  out  of  sight  of  land,  and  never  find 


a  place  whereon  they  can  rest  the 
soles  of  their  feet,  till  it  pleases  the 
Lord  Almighty  to  release  them  from 
their  bondage  and  take  them  to  him- 
self." 

Next  morning  I  was  awakened  by 
the  joyful  intelligence  that  a  schooner 
was  in  sight,  and  that  she  had  hoisted 
her  flag  in  answer  to  our  signals.  She 
bore  down  upon  us  with  a  good  wind, 
and  in  about  an  hour  hove  to,  and 
spoke  us.  When  we  had  informed 
them  of  our  unhappy  situation,  the 
captain  ordered  the  boat  to  be  lowered, 
and  came  on  board  of  our  vessel,  with 
three  of  his  crew.  He  was  a  thick, 
short,  dark-complexioned  man,  and 
his  language  and  accent  discovered 
him  to  be  a  native  of  the  southern 
States  of  America.  The  mate  immedi- 
ately proceeded  to  detail  minutely  all 
that  happened  us,  but  our  visitor  paid 
very  little  attention  to  the  narrative, 
and  soon  interrupted  it,  by  asking  of 
what  our  cargo  consisted.  Having  been 
satisfied  on  this  point,  he  said,  "  See- 
ing as  how  things  stand,  I  conclude 
you'll  be  keen  for  getting  into  some 
port." — "  Yes,  that  of  course  is  out- 
earnest  wish,"  replied  the  mate,  "  and 
we  hope  to  be  able  by  your  assistance 
to  accomplish  it." — "  Ay,  we  must 
all  assist  one  another,"  returned  the 
captain — "  Well,  I  was  just  calcula- 
ting, that  your  plan  would  be  to  run 
into  New  Providence — I'm  bound  for 
St  Thomas's,  and  you  can't  expect 
that  I  should  turn  about,  and  go 
right  back  with  you-^neither  that  I 
should  lot  you  have  any  of  my  sea- 
men, for  I'll  not  be  able  to  make 
a  good  trade  unless  I  get  slick  into 
port.  Now  I  have  three  nigcr  slaves 
on  board  of  me, — curse  them,  they 
don't  know  much  about  sea-matters, 
and  are  as  lazy  as  hell,  but  keep 
flogging  them,  mister, — keep  flogging 
them  I  say, — by  which  means,  you 
will  make  them  serve  your  ends.  Well, 
as  I  was  saying,  I  will  let  you  have 
them  blacks  to  help  you,  if  you'll  buy 
them  of  me  at  a  fair  price,  and  pay  it 
down  in  hard  cash." — "  This  propo- 
sal," said  the  mate,  "  sounds  strange 
enough  to  a  British  seaman; — and  how 
much  do  you  ask  for  your  slaves  ?" — 
"  I  can't  let  them  go  under  three  hun- 
dred dollars  each,"  replied  the  captain ; 
"  I  guess  they  would  fetch  more  in  St 
Thomas's,  for  they're  prime  I  swear." 
— "  Wrhy,  there  isn't  that  sum  of  money 
on  board  this  vessel,  that  I  know  of, . 


18210 

answered  the  mate ;  "  and  though  I 
could  pay  it  myself,  I'm  sure  the  own- 
ers never  would  agree  to  indemnify  me. 
I  thought  yo\i  would  have  afforded  us 
every  assistance  without  asking  any 
thing  in  return, — a  British  sailor  would 
have  done  so  at  least." — "  Well,  I  vow 
you  are  a  strange  man,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. "  Isn't  it  fair  that  I  should  get 
something  for  my  niffcr.t,  and  for  the 
chance  I'll  run  of  spoiling  my  trade  at 
St  Thomas's,  hy  making  myself  short 
of  men  ?  But  wo  sha'nt  split  about  a 
small  matter,  and  I'll  lessen  the  price 
by  twenty  dollars  a-head." — "  It  is 
out  of  the  question,  sir,"  cried  the 
mate,  "  I  have  no  money." — "  Oh 
there's  no  harm  done,"  returned  the 
captain,  "  we  can't  trade,  that's  all.  Get 
ready  the  boat,  boys — I  guess  your  men 
will  soon  get  smart  again,  and  then, 
if  the  weather  holds  moderate,  you'll 
reach  port  with  the  greatest  of  ease." 
— "  You  surely  do  not  mean  to  leave 
us  in  this  barbarous  way  ?"  cried  I ; 
"  the  owners  of  this  vessel  would,  I 
am  confident,  pay  any  sum  rather  than 
that  we  should  perish  through  your 
inhumanity." — "  Well,  mister,  I've  got 
owners  too,"  replied  he,  "  and  my  busi- 
ness is  to  make  a  good  voyage  for  them. 
Markets  are  pretty  changeable  just 
now,  and  it  won't  do  to  spend  time 
talking  about  humanity — money's  the 
word  with  me." 

Having  said  this,  he  leaped  into  the 
boat,  and  ordered  his  men  to  row  to- 
wards his  own  vessel.  Whenever  they 
got  on  board,  they  squared  their  top- 
sail, and  bore  away,  and  were  soon 
out  of  the  reach  of  our  voices.  We 
looked  at  one  another  for  a  little  time 
with  an  expression  of  quiet  despair,  and 
then  the  seamen  began  to  pour  forth 
a  torrent  of  invectives,  and  abuse, 
against  the  heartless  and  avaricious 
shipmaster  who  had  inhumanly  de- 
serted us.  Major  L and  his  wife, 

being  in  the  cabin  below.,  heard  all 
that  passed.  When  the  captain  first 
came  on  board,  they  were  filled  with 
rapture,  thinking  that  we  would  cer- 
tainly be  delivered  from  the  perils  and 
difficulties  that  environed  us ;  but  as 
the  conversation  proceeded,  their  hopes 
gradually  diminished,  and  the  conclu- 
sion of  it,  made  Mrs  L give  way  to 

a  flood  of  tears,  in  which  I  found  her 
indulging  when  I  went  below. 

The  mate  now  endeavoured  to  en- 
courage the  seamen  to  exertion.  They 
cleared  away  the  wreck  of  the  fore-top- 


The  Fatal  Repast.  4!3 

mast,  which  had  hitherto  encumbered 
the  deck,  and  put  up  a  sort  of  jury- 
mast  in  its  stead,  on  which  they  rigged 
two  sails.  When  these  things  were 
accomplished,  we  got  up  our  moorings, 
and  laid  our  course  for  New  Provi- 
dence. The  mate  had  fortunately  been 
upon  the  Bahama  seas  before,  and  was 
aware  of  the  difficulties  he  would  have 
to  encounter  in  navigating  them.  The 
weather  continued  moderate,  and  after 
two  days  of  agitating  suspense,  we 
made  Exuma  Island,  and  cast  anchor 
near  its  shore. 

The  arrival  of  our  vessel,  and  all 
the  circumstances  connected  with  this 
event,  were  soon  made  known  upon  the 
island  ;  and  a  gentleman,  who  resided 
on  his  plantation,  sent  to  request  our 
company  at  his  house.  We  gladly  ac- 
cepted his  hospitable  offers,  and  imme- 
diately went  ashore. 

Those  only  who  have  been  at  sea, 
can  conceive  the  delight  which  the  ap- 
pearance of  trees  and  verdurous  fields 
— the  odours  of  fruits  and  flowers — and 
the  sensations  of  security  and  freedom 
that  arise  from  treading  on  the  elrth, 
produce  in  the  mind,  at  the  termina- 
tion of  a  long  Toyage.  Every  step  we 
took,  seemed  to  infuse  additional  vi- 
gour into  our  limbs.  Our  host  met 
us  at  the  door  of  his  mansion,  and  im- 
mediately introduced  us  to  his  wife  and 
family,  and  likewise  to  several  persons 
who  were  visitors  at  the  time.  We 
were  ushered  into  an  airy  hall ;  the 
window- cur  tains  of  which  had  just 
been  sprinkled  with  water  and  the 
juice  of  limes.  The  odour  of  the 
fruit,  and  the  coolness  produced  by  the 
evaporation  of  the  fluid,  exerted  a  most 
tranquillizing  influenceupon  the  mind, 
and  made  the  distressing  scenes  I  had 
recently  witnessed  pass  from  my  re- 
membrance like  a  dream.  We  were 
soon  conducted  into  another  apart- 
ment, where  an  elegant  banquet,  and 
a  tasteful  variety  of  the  most  exquisite 
wines,  awaited  us.  Here  we  continued 
till  evening,  and  then  returned  to  the 
hall.  From  its  windows,  we  beheld 
the  setting  sun,  curtained  by  volumes 
of  gloriously-coloured  clouds,  and  shed- 
ding a  dazzling  radiance  upon  the  sea, 
which  stretched  in  stillness  to  the 
horizon.  Our  vessel  lay  at  a  lit- 
tle distance ;  and  when  a  small  wave 
happened  to  break  upon  her  side,  she 
seemed,  for  a  moment,  to  be  encircled 
with  gems.  The  dews  had  just  begun 
to  fall,  and  that  composing  stillness, 


4H  Tlte  Fatal  Repast, 

which,  in  tropical  climates,  pervades 
all  nature  at  such  a  time,  was  undis- 
turbed by  the  slightest  murmur  of  any 
kind.  Two  young  ladies  sat  down  to 
a  harp  and  a  piano,  and  a  gentleman 
accompanied  them  upon  the  flute.  The 
harmony  was  perfected  by  the  rich 
gushing  voice  of  one  of  the  females  of 
our  party  ;  and  the  flushed  cheeks,  and 
trembling  eyelids  of  the  charming  Ba- 


hamians,  shewed  that  the  music  affect- 
ed their  hearts,  as  much  as  it  delight- 
ed their  ears. 

When  the  night  was  advanced,  we 
retired  to  sleep — lulled  by  the  plea- 
sing consciousness  of  being  secure  from 
those  misfortunes  and  dangers,  to  the 
invasions  of  which  we  had  of  late  been 
so  cruelly  exposed. 


ON  THE  PROBABLE  INFLUENCE   OF  MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  INSTRUCTION  ON 
THE  CHARACTER  AND  SITUATION  OF  SEAMEN. 

No.  I. 

"  On  Sundays,  divine  service  was  invariably  performed,  and  a  sermon  read  on  board 
of  both  ships  ;  the  prayer  appointed  to  be  daily  used  at  sea  being  altered  so  as  to  adapt 
it  to  the  service  in  which  we  were  engaged,  the  success  which  had  hitherto  attended  our 
efforts,  and  the  peculiar  circumstances  under  which  we  were  placed.  The  attention  paid 
by  the  men  to  their  religious  duties,  was  such  as  to  reflect  on  them  the  highest  credit, 
and  tended  in  no  small  degree  to  the  preservation  of  that  regularity  and  good  conduct^ 
for  which,  -with  very  few  exceptions,  they  were  invariably  distinguished." 

PARRY'S  VOYAGE,  P.  126. 

FEW  subjects  could,  we  should  think,  riods  of  their  diversified  existence;  but 
come  at  any  time  before  English  read-  seem  to  change  their  whole  character, 
ers,  recommended  to  their  attention  by  as  they  pass,  with  each  concluding  voy- 


so  many  claims  and  associations,  as  an 
inquiry  into  the  present  situation  and 


age,  from  the  extreme  of  constraint 
to  the  most  unbounded  licence,  or  from 


character  of  British  seamen,  and  the  circumstances  of  any  sort  favourable  to 

degree  in  which  it  may  be  rationally  the  developement  of  their  good  quali- 

anticipated  that  both  will  be  ameliora-  tics,  to  others  which  call  forth  chiefly 

ted,  by  the  communication  to  them  of  their  bad. 

those  advantages  of  moral  and  religious  Such  an  inquiry  too  would  seem  par- 
instruction,  the  attempt  to  disseminate  ticularly  calculated  to  be  useful  at  the 
which,  among  all  classes  of  society,  is  present  moment,  when  exaggeration  is 
the  honourable  distinction  of  the  age  the  foible  of  the  day,  and  a  latitude  is 
in  which  we  live.  Their  intrinsic  va-  admitted,  particularly  in  speculations 
lue,  as  one  of  these  classes,  is  well  of  this  sort,  neither  founded,  we  must 
known,  and  highly  appreciated  by  the  be  allowed  to  think,  in  reason  nor 
prudent  and  politic.  Speaking  of  the  experience.  Moral  and  religious  in- 
men  only,  and  without  reference  to  struction  is  not  merely  considered  as  a 
their  officers,  the  conscientious  should  most  excellent  means  for  the  attain- 
remember,  that  having  been  for  the  ment  of  certain  definite  ends,  but  its 
most  part  impressed  into  the  service  of  very  name  is  employed  as  a  sword  by 
their  country,  in  as  far  as  they  can  be  which  to  cut  every  Gordian  knot  in  po- 
considered  victims  at  all,  they  are  the  litical  disquisition.  Now,  we  are  far 
unwilling  victims  of  her  temporal  in-  from  wishing  to  underrate  its  value  ; 
terests.  The  gay  must  love  a  light-  but  we  are  assured  that  delusion  is  un- 
heartedness  kindred  to  their  own,  and  favourable  to  every  good  cause,  chiefly 
which,  in  them,  danger  and  difficulty  because  it  is  penetrated  by  some,  and 
are  found  only  momentarily  to  damp,  must  therefore  be  sometimes  suspected 
Their  almost  infantine  simplicity  on  by  all.  On  the  present  occasion,  it  will 
some  points,  and  openness  to  external  not  be  denied  us,  we  believe,  that  the 
impressions  on  all,  should  rouse  in  their  human  mind,  in  this  resembling  inert 
favour  the  kindly  and  compassionate  matter,  will  not,  in  the  main,  be  oper- 
feelings  of  the  benevolent.  While  even  ated  on  per  saltum : — whatever  the  ex- 
the  coldest  and  most  frivolous  might  ternal  impulse  impressed  on  it,  the  ef- 
be  expected  to  feel  some  emotion  of  at  feet  is  progressive  according  to  the  cir- 
least  curiosity,  when  offered  authen-  cumstances  in  which  it  is  placed,  and 
tic  particulars  respecting  a  race  of  men  the  nature  of  its  own  constitution,  the 


unlike  every  other, — who  do  not  even 
resemble  themselves  at  different  pe- 


medium  along  which  its  simple  per- 
ceptions are  conveyed,  till  they  become 
13 


1821-3 


On  lite  Character  of  Seamen* 


principles  of  feeling  or  of  action.  On 
the  other  hand,  we  have  no  warrant 
from  experience  upon  which  to  infer, 
that  moral  and  religious  instruction  is 
exempt  in  its  operation  from  this  com- 
mon law  to  which  other  agencies  are 
submitted ;  on  the  contrary,  whatever 
opinion  we  may  entertain  of  individual 
cases  of  conversion,  in  general  its  suc- 
cess is  found  to  he  squared  pretty  ex- 
actly by  the  favourable  or  unfavoura- 
ble circumstances  of  the  case  in  which 
it  is  applied.  Surely,  then,  in  specula- 
ting for  the  future  on  this  success,  it 
were  wise  to  take  these  always  into 
some  consideration,  particularly  in  a 
department  in  which,  as  shall  present- 
ly be  shewn,  they  are  more  uniform  in 
their  nature,  and  more  authoritative  in 
their  influence,  than  perhaps  in  any 
other.  And  that  is  an  acceptable  ser- 
vice to  the  common  cause  which  tends 
to  unveil  them  in  a  case  where  the 
knowledge  of  them  is  necessarily  limit- 
ed to  a  few  individuals,  themselves 
long  subjected  to  their  sway,  and  con- 
sequently, in  some  degree,  unconscious 
of  their  operation ;  and  leaves  them  in 
every  one  s  hands  to  appreciate  as  he 
is  able  or  disposed. 

Impressed  with  these  ideas,  and  our- 
selves taking  a  warm  interest  in  the 
subject,  although  our  estimate  of  it  is 
a  sober  one,  we  had  almost  approached 
it  in  our  last  Number,  when  analyzing 
the  proceedings  and  results  of  the  late 
North-west  expedition;  and  had,  at 
one  time,  marked,  with  this  view,  the 
passage  in  Captain  Parry's  Narrative 
which  we  prefix  to  our  present  paper, 
to  be  extracted  on  that  occasion.  On 
considering  the  matter  a  little  more 
closely,  however,  we  saw  that  it  was 
plainly  impossible  to  do  the  subject 
the  least  justice  in  the  corner  of  an 
article,  already  superabundantly  long 
and  miscellaneous  ;  besides  which,  we 
may  add,  it  was  somewhat  too  compli- 
cated and  difficult  to  be  entered  on  with 
so  little  premeditation  as  we  could 
then  afford  it.  We  recur  to  it  now, 
however; — thus  early,  that  we  may 
have  the  advantage  of  referring  to  a 
recent  experiment  in  point,  and  not 
unwilling,  besides,  to  give  thus  our  ab- 
stract speculations  the  advantage  of 
connexion  with  the  events  of  a  voy- 
age, over  which,  we  are  happy  to  ob- 
,  serve,  public  interest  is  still  disposed 
to  linger,  after  curiosity  has  passed 
away. 
VOL.  IX. 


One  or  two  explanations  are,  how- 
ever, still  necessary  before  proceeding. 
We  live  in  times  when  the  antipodes 
are  not  more  remote  than  the  religious 
professions  of  different  classesof  indivi- 
duals, one  party,  in  particular,  pronoun- 
cing every  thing  serious  to  be  puritani- 
cal, another,  what  is  not  wrought  up  to 
their  own  pitch,  formal  and  unavail- 
ing. Now  we  are  laymen,  and  have  no 
thought  of  mediating  in  such  strifes. — 
Non  nostrum  est ;  and  we  shall  use  the 
word  religion,  therefore,  with  all  its 
relatives,  uniformly  in  the  intermedi- 
ate signification  current  with  the  ge- 
nerality of  the  world,  in  charity  con- 
cluding that  wherever  we  see  its  form, 
there  also  some  portion  of  its  sub- 
stance will  be  found.  In  like  manner, 
a  diversity  of  opinion  exists  in  the 
same  quarters,  respecting  the  necessity 
of  religious  instruction  for  the  eternal 
salvation  of  mankind,  one  party  seem- 
ing to  consider,  that  where  opportuni- 
ties of  obtaining  it  have  not  been 
vouchsafed,  men's  gifts  will  be  recei- 
ved according  to  that  which  "  they 
have,  not  that  which  they  have  not ;" 
the  other  deeming  its  want  alone,  how- 
ever involuntary,  a  penal  crime; — but 
we  shall  equally  avoid  this  snare,  by 
having  nothing  to  do  with  the  other 
world  at  all,  confining  all  our  specula- 
tions to  the  interests  of  this.  And  last- 
ly, we  shall  do  this,  however,  not  so 
much  because  we  are  laymen,  as  because 
we  think  the  interests  in  question  inti- 
mately connected,  and  that  it  would  be 
well  for  the  world  at  large  if  the  maxim 
were  more  generally  acknowledged, — 
and  worldly  men,  when  in  doubt  about 
what  was  politic,  inquired  oftenerwhat 
was  right ;  and  religious  men,  when 
hesitating  or  differing  with  each  other 
about  what  was  right,  asked  oftener 
what  was  useful.  There  is  the  highest 
authority  for  such  a  rule,  for  we  arc 
expressly  told  that  of  men,  and  by  a 
very  slight  extension  it  may  be  said 
of  measures  too,  "  By  their  fruits  ye 
shall  know  them."  Not  to  mention 
that  it  seems  the  very  constitution  of 
our  nature,  to  be  first  affected  by  near 
motives,  and  then  gradually  to  become 
sensible  of  those  which  are  more  re- 
mote ;  the  habitual  disregard  of  which 
principle,  on  the  part  of  those  most  zeal- 
ous in  the  cause  of  religion  through- 
out the  world,  does  it  more  disservice, 
we  are  persuaded,  than  all  the  oppo- 
sition it  is  anywhere  exposed  to,  and 
3F 


On  tlie  Character  of  Seamen. 


416 

which  in  most  cases  seems  to  us  to  exist 
chiefly  in  the  imagination  of  its  enthu- 
siastic servants. 

Taking  the  subject  up,  then,  in  the 
simplest  form  which  at  present  occurs 
to  us,  with  the  anecdote  prefixed,  as  a 
sort  of  text,  and  the  ships'  companies 
of  the  Hecla  and  Griper  as  average  spe- 
cimens of  seamen  in  general,  the  ques- 
tions to  be  resolved  seem  to  be  the  fol- 
lowing:— I.  What  is  the  philosophy, 
so  to  speak,  of  such  men's  professional 
character  under  ordinary  circumstances 
—what,  in  particular,  the  points  about 
them,  which,  being  generated  by  cir- 
cumstances in  which  they  are  neces- 
sarily placed,  may  be  considered  ge- 
neric characters,  to  be  kept  steadily  in 
view  in  all  our  subsequent  reasoning 
concerning  them  ?• — II.  Among  these 
points  are  there  any  which  furnish  in- 
ternal testimony  to  the  accuracy  of 
Captain  Parry's  statements,  viz.  that 
by  the  very  little  which  he  seems  to 
have  done  in  this  way,  he  actually  did 
convey'  religious  impressions    to   the 
minds  of  his  people,  and  that  these 
made  them  more  orderly ;  or,  on  the 
contrary,  may  the  whole  be  accounted 
for  on  other  principles  ? — III.  If  the 
former,   and    the   same  means  were 
deemed   adequate   to    command    the 
same  effect  on  all  occasions,  to  what  ex- 
tent would  a  similar,  or  improved  sys- 
tem of  this  nature,  introduced  into  the 
whole  service,  and  patronized  by  offi- 
cers of  all  descriptions  of  character, 
even  although  in  many  cases  it  were 
only  for  the  temporal  effect,  improve 
the  situation  and  character  of  seamen 
while  on  board  ship? — Andlastly,  How 
far  would  its  impressions  be  probably 
permanent  on    them  when    released 
from  the  immediate  sphere  of  their 
action  ?  Would  they  become  more  pru- 
dent, orderly,  and  moral  on  shore  also 
through  their  means,  equal  on  any  of 
these  points  to  the  average  of  their 
countrymen  possessed  of  equal  advan- 
tages of  instruction  ?  We  shall  endea- 
vour to  answer  each  of  these  questions 
in  their  order  ;  the  first  now,  the  re- 
mainder as  our  own  leisure  may  serve, 
and  we  find  ourselves  enabled  to  excite 
or  to  gratify  public  curiosity  on  the 
subject. 

I.  Seamen  have  been  often  deline- 
ated, sometimes  caricatured,  and  in 
both  cases  for  the  most  part  represent- 
ed in  colours  apparently  heterogeneous. 
The  truth  is,  however,  that  such  ano- 
malies as  they  really  do  exhibit,  for 


there  has  been  much  exaggeration  on 
the  subject,  are  easily  resolvable  into 
a  few  simple  principles  founded  on  the 
circumstances  in  which  they  are  placed, 
and  which,  never  being  disturbed  by 
any  extraneous  influence,   exercise  a 
far  more  despotic  sway  over  each  indi- 
vidual in  their  case  than  in  any  other. 
They  necessarily  leave  home  early, 
before  their  personal  habitsor  principles 
are  matured,  and,  when  they  join  a 
man-of-war,   for   the  first  time,  are 
cooped  up  in   a  very   narrow  space 
with  a  great  number  of  others,  once  cir- 
cumstanced like  themselves,  but  now 
fixed  in  all  their  professional  peculiari- 
ties. They  are  all  lodged  together,  eat 
together,  live  together ;  their  lives  and 
fortunes  set  on  the  turn  of  the  same 
die,  embarked,  in  their  own  phrase,  in 
the  same  boat ;  and,  from  the  nature  of 
their  labour,  for  the  most  part  too 
heavy  to  be  accomplished  singly,  de- 
pendent for  success  in  nearly  all  they 
attempt  on  union  and  combination  of 
effort.   They  come  early  to  feel  them- 
selves accordingly  to  be  rather  parts 
of  a  whole,  than  separate  individuals, 
and  the  impression  is  further  heighten- 
ed by  the  little  store  set  by  their  con- 
venience, or  even  lives,  when  a  common 
object  is  in  pursuit.     From  this  first 
principle  a  great  many  consequences 
flow  ; — the    remarkable  similarity  of 
their  habits  and  manners ; — their  regard 
for  each  other,  and  the  ship  to  which 
they  belong,  equally  with  themselves 
a  part  of  the  machine ; — their  general 
disinterestedness,  and  attachment  to  a 
good  officer,  even  though  a  severe  one. 
But  there  is  one  of  more  moment  than 
the  others,  and  which  we  do  not  re- 
collect to  have  seen  before  observed. 
Whatever  the  impulse,  they  move  un- 
der its  guidance  with  the  momentum  of 
a  mass,  rather  than  the  force  of  single 
individuals.  Heartening  each  other  on, 
they  are  extreme  alike  in   good  and 
evil,  not  their  virtues  only,  but  also 
their  vices,  being  kept  in  countenance, 
and  encouraged  by  the  example  and 
competition  of  all  their  fellows.    And 
the  strictness  of  discipline  maintained 
over  them,  has  also  some  connection 
with   this,  for  the  hand  controuling 
such  men,  must  be  felt  sometimes  on 
the  lion's  mane. 

This  last,  however,  is  rendered  ne- 
cessary by  other  considerations,  in  par- 
ticular by  the  constant  demand  there 
is  in  a  sailor's  life  for  promptitude  of 
action.  Were  any  room  left,  on  the 


18210 


On  the  Character  of  Seamen. 


issuing  of  orders,  for  deliberation  on 
the  part  of  those  whose  duty  it  was  to 
execute  them,  whether  they  were  right 
or  not,  in  three  instances  out  of  four 
the  best  might  as  well  be  withheld.— 
But  its  consequences  in  the  formation 
of  seamen's  character  also  ramify  very 
widely.  Their  advice  never  asked,  their 
praise  or  censure  never  regarded,  their 
obedience  only  required,  (and  that  in 
all  cases  more  easily,  and  in  many  more 
pleasantly  rendered,  as  the  hounded 
bull-dog  rushes,  with  the  eyes  shut 
rather  than  open,)  they  gradually  come 
to  hang  exclusively  on  external  im- 
pulses for  motives  of  action.*  Hence 
the  readiness  with  which  they,  for  the 
most  part,  take  their  tone,  as  it  were, 
from  a  superior,  fall  into  his  ways,  ac- 
quiesce chearfully  even  with  his  ca- 
prices, if,  in  the  main,  he  has  their 
respect.  Hence,  too,  their  dependance, 
when  in  misfortune,  on  the  attitude 
maintained  by  their  officers,  their  help- 
lessness when  cast  on  their  own  re- 
sources, their  reckless  submission  to 
adversity,  and  some  part  of  their  im- 
providence in  prosperity.  And  the  ob- 
servation is  still  more  important,  as  re- 
conciling contradictory  qualities  which 
have  frequently  been  remarked  in  them, 
— the  obstinate  determination  which 
they  exhibit  even  after  their  officers  fall, 
when  they  are  fighting  in  obedience  to 
the  legitimate  authority  placed  over 
them,  and  their  extreme  pusillanimity 
in  mutinies,  when  their  ringleaders 
are  either  arrested  or  put  to  death.  In 
the  one  case,  the  impulse  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  person  of  their  chiefs, 
unless  in  rare  instances,  when  these 
are  singularly  confided  in,  or  some  dis- 
trust is  entertained  of  their  successors : 
— it  is  consequently  abiding.  In  the 
other,  it  is  all  personal,  and  vanishes 
at  once  with  the  individuals  who  im- 
pressed it.  And  many  instances  have 
thus  occurred,  particularly  in  the  great 
mutiny  of  1797,  of  ships'  companies 
passing,  with  scarcely  an  interval  of 
hesitation,  from  a  state  of  open  rebel- 


417 

lion  to  the  most  perfect  good  order, 
the  next  minute  apparently  forgetful 
of  the  extraordinary  nature  of  the 
change  which  they  had  undergone.  In 
consequence  of  which  it  has  become 
unusual,  and  is,  we  believe,  always  un- 
necessary, sometimes  even  inexpedient, 
to  separate  a  crew  after  such  a  transi- 
tion. While  kept  together,  all  are  ac- 
quainted with  particulars,  all  are  a 
little  crest-fallen,  willing  to  forget  the 
whole;  or,  if  they  look  back  at  all, 
which  is  neither  long  nor  often,  emu- 
lous to  retrieve  their  characters  in  the 
eyes  of  their  officers.  Were  they  se- 
parated, they  would  only  get  telling 
their  story,  aggravated  in  all  its  cha- 
racters, each  to  a  gaping  audience, 
grow  boastful  in  their  language,  re- 
sentful in  their  hearts ;  and  not  unfre- 
quently  end  by  putting  mischief  into 
heads,  their  own  among  the  number, 
which  would  never  otherwise  have  con- 
ceived it. 

This  forgetfulness,  however,  is  itself 
a  trait  of  character,  and  falls  next  to 
be  accounted  for.  It  has  its  origin  in 
a  circumstance  also  bearing  very  wide- 
ly on  the  whole  being  of  a  seaman — the 
changeableness  of  his  life.  Within  cer- 
tain limits  every  thing  is  fluctuating 
about  him  ;  even  the  little  variations 
of  weather,  which  pass  unheeded  over 
the  landsman's  head,  "  who  lives  at 
home  at  ease,"  essentially  affect  his  ar- 
rangements and  comforts  ;  and  many 
circumstances,  chiefly  of  internal  eco- 
nomy, heighten  this  effect.  No  day 
thus  exactly  resembling  another,  a 
sailor  lives  only  for  the  present  mo- 
ment,— the  past  stored  up  in  his  mind 
merely  for  gossip,  the  future  altogether 
disregarded ;  and  some  peculiar  mo- 
difications of  this  are  worth  adverting 
to.  He  is  not  revengeful, — he  is  not 
grateful ;  we  could  say  that  he  was  ex- 
clusively selfish,  were  it  not  that  the 
principles  which  guide  him  are  so  in- 
terwoven, in  this  respect  there  is  a 
sort  of  grace  attached  to  his  selfishness 
which  redeems  it  in  some  degree  from 


*  Many  amusing  anecdotes  are  told  illustrative  of  the  extent  to  which  this  is  carried ; 
but  none  more  characteristic  than  the  following. — Some  sailors  begging  in  the  streets  of 
London,  in  the  time  of  the  great  distress  among  them,  were  met  by  an  officer,  and  asked 
by  him,  why,  when  in  such  want,  they  did  not  enter  on  board  some  of  the  ships  in  the 
river,  then  requiring  men  ? — "  And  why  don't  they  press  us,"  said  Jack,  a  little  indig- 
nantly, "  if  they  want  us  ?  We  should  be  very  glad  to  go,  but  we  can't  make  up  our 
minds  to  offer."  And  thus,  be  it  observed  with  reverence,  is  the  "  wind  tempered  to 
the  shorn  lamb  ;"  and  so  beautifully  and  wonderfully  are  we  made,  that  the  harshest 
rod  of  power  wielded  in  our  land  of  freedom,  becomes,  in  certain  circumstances,  a  staff 
against  which  the  simple  hearts  of  some  of  the  wildest  and  bravest  of  us  desire  to  lean  ! 


On  the  Character  of  Seamen. 


the  odium  of  the  name.  The  com- 
munity of  feeling,  to  which  we  have 
already  adverted,  produces  this. — 
Through  its  operation,  no  injuries 
or  inconveniences  personal  to  him- 
self, and  covered  with  even  a  mis- 
taken pursuit  of  the  common  good,  as 
when  a  man  happens  to  be  at  any  time 
unjustly  punished,  in  any  material  de- 
gree impair  the  character  of  a  good  of- 
ficer in  his  estimation  ;  nor  is  it  ever 
too  late  for  such  an  one,  should  he  be- 
come conscious  either  of  individual  in- 
justice, or  of  having  acted  generally  on 
a  system  somewhat  too  harsh,  to  make 
all  up  again  without  an  acknowledge- 
ment, with  scarcely  an  effort,  with 
the  more  ease,  in  fact,  that  he  has  been 
previously  more  severe.  The  memory 
of  former  harshness  does  not  prevent 
the  effect  of  present  moderation,  and 
it  operates  as  a  warning  against  abusing 
it.  On  the  other  hand,  no  series  of 
personal  favours  from  a  novice  are  ever 
regarded  at  all;  and  even  from  the 
best  officer  in  existence  they  will  not 
prevent  desertion,  if  a  sufficient  temp- 
tation is  at  any  time  held  out  to  sun- 
der other  ties.  And  thus  it  is  in  every 
thing :  a  sailor's  experience  contri- 
butes to  his  enjoyments,  and  the  na- 
ture of  it  frequently  gives  him  influ- 
ence with  his  comrades.  It  will  some- 
times serve  him  also  as  a  guide,  when 
no  passion  interferes  with  it.  But  it 
never  supplies  him  with  a  motive ;  for 
that  he  always  looks  to  the  present 
hour. 

Seamen's  spirits  are  at  all  times  elas- 
tic, provided  that,  in  the  main,  they  are 
well  treated  and  provided  for.  Under 
ordinary  circumstances,  they  will  dance 
and  sing  at  a  moment's  notice — be  their 
pint  with  their  messmates,  even  when 
themselves  at  the  instant  indifferent 
to  the  gratification — and  they  curvet 
readily,  and  even  gracefully,  under  the 
hand  which  they  know  to  be  that  at 
once  of  a  master  and  a  friend.  But,  if 
harshly  treated,  thoy  are  sullen;  if  un- 
skilfully commanded,  restive  and  as- 
suming ;  if  involved  in  imminent  and 
unexpected  danger,  skittish,  and  sin- 
gularly dependant  on  the  countenance 
maintained  by  their  officers  on  the  oc- 
casion. If  they  flinch,  they  are  gone, 
and  no  scene  can  equal  in  disorder 
that  which  ensues;  but  if  they  are  firm, 
or  gay,  or,  above  all,  eccentric  at  the 


critical  moment,  the  revulsion  is  in- 
vincible, and  scarcely  any  exertions  are 
above  their  strength,  or  success  above 
their  attainment.  In  our  last  num- 
ber, we  noticed  an  illustration  of  one 
of  these  traits  of  character,  in  the  ship's 
companies  of  the  Hecla  and  Griper ; 
and  the  following  anecdotes  will  be 
found  to  apply  to  some  of  the  others. 
One  of  our  frigates  last  war,  in  which 
the  discipline  had  been  most  unjustifi- 
ably severe,  was  at  length  taken  by  a 
French  squadron,  after  sustaining  a 
long  and  destructive  cannonade;  and 
it  was  reported  and  believed,  that  many 
of  her  crew  on  the  occasion,  in  order 
to  insure  her  capture,  fired  only  pow- 
der from  their  guns,  indifferent  to  all 
the  passions  that  usually  dictate  a 
most  opposite  conduct,  and  which, 
on  the  contrary,  unless  minutely 
watched,  cram  them  with  three  or 
four  shot,  upon  a  principle  not  much 
wiser,  nor  less  dangerous  to  themselves, 
than  poor  Sachouse's  "  Plenty  powder, 
plenty  kill."* — When  the  Grasshop- 
per, of  18  guns,  drove  across  the  Haak 
Sands,  on  the  coast  of  Holland,  in 
December  1811,  an  old  pilot  on  board 
expressed  his  fears  in  the  most  vehe- 
ment manner.  At  the  same  moment, 
a  young  scamp,  the  fir.st  lieutenant's 
servant,  who  was  flogged  generally 
once  a-week  for  something  or  other, 
came  flying  up  the  hatchway  in  his 
shirt,  terror  in  every  feature,  and  ask- 
ed an  old  boatswain's  mate,  if  there 
was  any  danger.  "  Danger  !  no ;  bless- 
ings on  your  gallows  face,  no  dan- 
ger of  drowning  where  you  are,"  was 
the  scoffing  reply.  The  ship's  com- 
pany, generally,  stood  suspended  be- 
tween the  two  extremes  ;  but  the  ne-  • 
cessary  steps,  as  required,  were  imme- 
diately taken,  and  they  ultimately  be- 
haved very  well.  The  only  man  lost, 
it  was  afterwards  observed,  (for  sail- 
ors are  always  superstitious,)  was  the 
pilot. — And  when  the  Conquistador, 
of  74  guns,  got  on  shore  on  the  coast 
of  France  in  1812-13,  and  appeared  in 
the  most  imminent  danger,  the  crew 
decidedly  flinched  at  first.  But  the 
late  Lord  William  Stuart,  who  then 
commanded  her,  called  them  aft,  and 
told  them,  "he  believed  they  were  in 
a  scrape,  but  it  could  not  make  much 
difference  to  them  whether  they  died 
like  men  or  like  children,  and  he  there- 


Ross's  Voyage,  p.  5G. 


1821. 3 

fore  expected  they  would  do  their  du- 
ty." His  lordship  was  a  severe,  and  even 
unpopular  officer ;  but  the  effect  of  this 
address  was  quite  electrical,  the  most 
incredible  exertions  were  made,  mi- 
nute discipline  observed,  and  the  ship, 
in  the  end,  brought  into  an  English 
port  in  a  sinking  state. 

On  board  of  all  ships,  a  sailor  is  fed 
by  his  employer ;  and,  in  a  man-of-war, 
where  alone  any  regard  is  had  to  qua- 
lity or  uniformity  of  dress,  although 
cloathed  at  his  own  ultimate  expence, 
jf  he  has  been  extravagant,  and  cannot 
purchase  with  ready  money  on  shore, 
he  can  obtain  credit  on  board  for  this 
purpose  only,  to  nearly  the  amount 
of  his  current  wages.  In  this  way,  no 
excess  or  prodigality  of  which  he  can 
be  guilty,  immediately  receives  its  ap- 
propriate punishment  in  the  shape  of 
distress  ;  and  he  naturally  acquires  the 
habit  of  squandering  on  all  occasions, 
to  the  full  extent  of  his  present  means. 
He  can  always  "  go  on  board  for  more," 
as  the  old  song  has  it ;  and  the  fag 
ends  of  old  songs,  which,  by  the  way, 
always  preach  up  prodigality,*  are  a 
sailor's  proverbs,  and  go  much  farther 
with  him,  than  is  very  easily  conceiva- 
ble by  those  who  are  ballasted  with 
more  lore.  His  pleasures  are  coarse, 
partly  because  he  knows  no  better ; 
but  in  a  great  degree,  we  apprehend, 
because  his  time  is  short,  and  better 
cannot  be  summoned  and  dismissed 
with  quite  the  same  facility.  Such  as 
they  are,  they  are  enjoyed  with  an  in- 
tensity, of  which  it  is  difficult  to  ex- 
press the  degree,  but  most  easy  to  as- 
sign the  causes. — Although  the  sea  is 
not  certainly  now  a  very  dangerous 
profession,  the  improvements  of  art 
and  science  having  submitted  its  chief 
difficulties  to  very  tolerable  calculation, 
still  some  casualty  or  other  is  always 


On  the  Character  of  Seamen. 


419 

happening,  and  a  certain  ffeeling  of  un- 
certainty is  accordingly  unavoidable.t 
And  although  skill  and  prudence  can 
avert  danger,  they  cannot  remove  -it 
quite  out  of  sight.  While,  therefore,  its 
several  forms  become  familiar  and  un- 
heeded, the  precautions  which  its  vi- 
cinity renders  indispensible,  impose 
many  an  irksome  and  weary  restraint, 
for  which  some  indemnification  is 
sought  in  the  wildest  frolics,  during 
the  brief  intervals  of  enjoyment  and 
repose. 

Danger,  barely  kept  at  arm's  length, 
necessarily  involves  hair-breadth  escape 
from  it ;  and,  in  consequence,  there  is 
no  idea  more  thoroughly  imbued  in 
sailors,  than  that  of  a  particular  Pro- 
vidence— "  A  sweet  little  cherub  that 
sits  up  aloft,  to  keep  watch  for  the  life 
of  poor  Jack." — We  are  desirous  of 
speaking  to  this  point  very  directly, 
because  we  believe  a  good  deal  of  mis- 
apprehension exists  respecting  it.  A 
sailor's  religion  is  darkened  by  his  ig- 
norance— degraded  by  some  tradition- 
al superstitions — and  his  habitual  reck- 
lessness and  impetuosity  precipitate 
him  frequently  into  profanity.  But 
the  embryo  sentiment  is  still  there,  and 
scarcely  waits,  on  many  occasions,  for 
an  external  impulse  to  evolve  it.  In  its 
present  state,  it  is  accompanied  with 
that  particular  respect  for  the  modifi- 
cation of  Christianity  professed  in  his 
own  country,  which  exhibits  itself  in 
respectful  neglect  of  its  forms,  and  vi- 
tuperation of  all  others.  No  man  hates 
popish  or  idolatrous  superstitions  more 
cordially  than  does  a  seaman  ; — ac- 
cording to  that  most  singular  law  of 
our  nature  illustrated,  our  readers  will 
recollect,  with  much  humour,  in  one 
of  the  papers  of  Goldsmith's  Citizen 
of  the  World,  which  makes  us,  on  cer- 
tain points  particularly,  tenacious  about 


*  In  truth,  the  source  of  their  influence,  cause  and  effect  reproducing  each  other. 

Come  counsel,  dear  Titty,  don't  tarry, 

I'll  gi'e  ye  my  bonnie  black  hen, 
Gif  ye  will  advise  me  to  marry, 

The  lad  I  lo'e  dearly,  Tarn  Glen.— BURSTS. 

•f  Prepare  the  feast ! 

Free  is  his  heart,  who  for  his  country  fights  ; 
He,  in  the  eve  of  battle,  may  resign 
Himself  to  social  pleasure — sweetest  then 
When  danger  to  a  soldier's  soul  endears 
The  human  joy  that  never  may  return. 

We  do  not  say  that  these  sentiments  are  right— only  that  they  exist. 


420 

names  exactly  In  the  Inverse  ratio  of 
our  acquaintance  with  the  subjects 
which  they  represent. 

We  do  not  think  that  the  ignorance 
for  ivhich  sailors  are  proverbial  lies  at 
the  root  of  any  of  their  chief  peculiari- 
ties, hut  it  certainly  affects  the  quali- 
ty of  all  the  branches. — It  is  this,  in  a 
great  degree,  which  surrenders  them 
so  entirely  to  present  impulses,  unre- 
strained by  the  fly-wheel,  as  it  were, 
which  a  habit  of  thinking  affords, 
equalizing  the  motions  of  other  men ; 
but  it  is  not  the  only  agent  in  this 
either,  for  a  habit  of  thinking  will  not 
be  superinduced  by  mere  education, 
unless  a  little  freedom  of  action,  in  cor- 
respondence with  that  thought,  is  also 
added.  In  like  manner,  we  have  al- 
ready said  that  the  grossness  of  a  sail- 
or's pleasures  is  not  owing  merely  to 
his  ignorance,  any  more  than  his 
superstition,  which  is  affected  by  his 
habits  of  narrow  escape,  very  frequent 
instances  of  which  cannot  occur  in  a 
limited  sphere  of  action  without  be- 
ing so  often  connected  with  the  same 
or  similar  circumstances,  even  the 
most  enlightened  find  a  difficulty  in 
disuniting  them.  Still  a  sailor's  whole 
being  is  very  much  influenced  by  this 
ignorance,  undoubtedly;  and  there 
are  two  points,  in  particular,  to  which 
it  would  seem  very  nearly  exclusively 
to  apply.  The  first  is  the  habit  of 
drinking  for  its  own  sake,  without 
any  temptation  from  company  or 
otherwise,  and  which  must  certainly 
proceed,  in  a  great  degree,  from  the 
limited  extent  of  his  other  enjoy- 
ments ;  and  the  second  is,  the  severe 
nature  of  the  discipline  to  which  he  is 
subjected,  and  the  corporal  punish- 
ment by  which  that  is  enforced.  Were 
sailors  manageable  by  reason,  many 
precautions  now  necessary  might  be 
omitted ;  and  were  more  than  the  car- 
case of  each  individual  within  his  com- 
manding-officer's reach,  moral  re- 
straints might  be  substituted  for  phy- 
sical, without  absolute  ruin,  or  even 
without  material  loss  to  the  service. 

We  now  then  conclude  this  little 
sketch  of  the  character  of  British  sea- 
men, the  chief  value  of  which,  to  our 
readers,  ought  to  be,  that,  as  far  as  it 
goes,  it  is  a  faithful  analysis  of  the 
pate  of  which  they  are  made,  found- 
ed upon  almost  twenty  years  minute 
acquaintance  with  them.  We  have 
enlarged  on  it  something  more  than 


On  the  Character  of  Seamen. 


may  at  first  sight  appear  necessary  for 
our  purpose ;  but  the  truth  is,  it  is  by 
far  the  most  important  part  of  our 
subject,  the  only  one  in  which  we  pos- 
sess any  advantage  over  the  mass  of 
our  readers.  As  we  have  no  desire, 
therefore,  to  pass  our  opinions  upon 
them  as  dicta,  we  have  been  more 
ample  here,  just  that  they  may  be  able 
to  draw  their  own  conclusions  with- 
out us,  with  full  knowledge  of  the 
premises.  We  now  dismiss  it,  with 
two  more  remarks,  to  one  of  which 
we  may  possibly  recur,  the  other  we 
cast  upon  the  waters. — It  is  very 
remarkable  how  singularly  well  such 
a  character  as  we  have  been  delinea- 
ting is  in  the  main  suited  to  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which,  if  we  are  to  have 
sailors  at  all,  they  must  be  placed;  in 
particular,  its  uniformity  and  docility 
are  admirably  adapted  to  these  circum- 
stances. And  it  is  singular  enough, 
too,  that  while  the  sagacity  of  an  indi- 
vidual, when  his  object  in  reasoning 
was  to  produce  unity  of  effect  in  his 
speculations,  led  him,  unconsciously, 
we  have  no  doubt,  to  heap  together 
in  his  system  pretty  nearly  all  the  cir- 
cumstances which  have  generated  these 
qualities,  it  should  have  failed  him 
altogether  in  estimating  their  real 
value,  which  is  quite  an  exclusive 
one. — In  ships,  and  in  Mr  Owen's 
proposed  establishments,  we  have  the 
same  combinations  of  individuals  in 
pursuit  of  a  common  object,  the  same 
community  of  interest  and  feeling  ac- 
cordingly, the  same  exemption  from 
individual  care,  the  same  common 
table,  dress,  &c.  We  have,  besides, 
very  much  of  the  same  kindliness  of 
feeling  between  superiors  and  inferiors 
which  he  himself  illustrates  so  well 
at  New  Lanark ; — we  say  this,  as 
knowing  it, — as  knowing,  besides, 
that  in  the  vegetable,  as  in  the  moral 
kingdom,  the  furze-bush  which  is 
injurious  to  one  class  of  animals,  af- 
fords welcome  covert  to  another,  and 
grateful  food  to  a  third. — And  yet  a 
sailor  is  a  fool  and  a  child,  turned  with 
every  wind  that  blows,  with  all  these 
advantages; — we  beg  his  pardon  for 
being  so  unceremonious  with  him,  but 
he  knows  himself  that  we  are  right,  and 
we  know  that  we  love  and  regard  him 
with  these  characteristics,  we  could 
almost  say  for  them,  an  hundred  times 
more  than  we  do  these,  who,  lii'tul  on 
thestiltsof  their  superior  opportunities, 


1821-3  On  the  Character  of  Seamen.  421 

condescend  to  pity  him  fn  this  world,     thus  no  charge  of  hts  individual  des- 
and  presume*  to  condemn  him  in  the 


next,  on  their  account.  Yet  still,  we 
repeat  it,  he  is  a  fool  and  a  child,  with 
all  these  advantages, — or  rather,  we 
should  say,  just  because  he  has  them, 
—because  the  details  of  his  character 
are  filled  up  by  circumstances  over 
which  he  has  no  control, — because  he  is 
secluded  from  the  lessons  of  prudence 
and  virtue  which  are  read  in  the  pages 
of  vicissitude  directly  consequent  on 
his  own  conduct, — because  he  has 


tiny,  scarcely  any  sense  of  his  indivi- 
dual existence, — because  he  is,  and, 
were  he  wise  as  Solomon,  and  happy 
and  pious  as  Mr  Owen  or  his  still 
better  friends  could  wish  him,  if  his 
country  is  to  have  his  services  at  all, 
he  must  remain,  the  puppet  of  an- 
other's will,  the  nursling  of  another's 
care,  neither  guided  nor  protected  by 
his  own. 

E. 


•  — — —  O  but  man,  proud  man, 
Drest  in  a  litle  brief  authority, 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he's  most  assured, 

Like  an  angry  ape, 

Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  Heaven, 
As  make  the  angels  weep. 

Measure  for  Measure. 


LETTER  TO  LORD  BYRON.t 


THIS  is  a  pamphlet  worth  attending 
to,  not  so  much  for  its  matter,  which 
is  rather  on  the  order  of  trash,  or  its 
style,  which  is  something  absurd,  but 
for  the  author,  and  the  singular  ver- 
satility he  has  displayed  in  writing  it, 
and  the  great  improvement  so  old  a 
gentleman  has  made  in  his  manner  of 
composition.  In  some  of  our  own 
writings, — for  really  we  are  almost  the 
only  people  worth  quoting  now-a- 
days, — we  have  remarked,  with  per- 
fect propriety,  that  as  a  man  advances 
in  years,  he  grows  old.  Nobody,  we 
imagine,  will  be  hardy  enough  to  de- 
ny that — no,  not  even  Major  Cart- 
wright.  We  followed  up  this  ingeni- 
ous remark  by  stating,  that  no  one 
could  be  reasonably  blamed  for  doing 
so,  and  that,  of  course,  it  would  be 
rather  unjust  to  say  a  word  against  a 
man  for  occasional  dimness  or  offus- 
cation  of  mental  faculty,  arising  from 
this  natural  defect.  We,  therefore, 
have  always  defended  to  the  utmost  of 
our  power  the  present  Jeremy  Ben- 
tham.  Every  where  we  hear  him  call- 
ed an  old  woman — as  if  old  women 
were  not  a  respectable  portion  of  so- 
ciety— a  driveller,  a  dotard,  and  other 
opprobrious  expressions,  which  really 
is  very  unfair.  We  allow,  indeed,  that 


nothing  can  be  more  absurd  than  his 
Church  of  Englandism,  except  his 
Chrestomathia, — that  his  book  on  Re- 
form in  Parliament  is  a  concern  hard- 
ly less  stupid  than  his  late  affair  on 
Juries, — and  so  on ;  but  we  still  con- 
tend for  it,  that  his  age  accounts  for 
all;  and  that  he  is  no  more  to  be 
blamed  for  committing  such  books, 
than  for  carrying  a  stick,  or  using  a 
pair  of  spectacles.  Nay,  it  is  only  last 
Tuesday  three  weeks  that  we  betted  a 
supper  for  fourteen  that  Jerry  had 
originally  some  small  talent — say  some- 
thing about  the  calibre  of  Christian 
Curwen — which  we  illustrated  by  his 
book  on  usury,  a  work  bearing  marks 
of  intellect  far  superior  to  the  pro- 
duction of  an  average  Edinburgh  Re- 
viewer. We  added,  also,  that  when 
he  could  get  any  one  like  Dumont  suffi- 
ciently learned  to  understand  the  Ethi- 
opic  tongue,  in  which  he  speaks  and 
writes,  he  really  produced  something 
on  legislation  or  cookery,  we  forget 
which,  not  hastily  to  be  despised  by  a 
man  whose  studies  did  not  extend 
much  farther  than  the  Morning  Chro- 
nicle. In  fact,  we  said  more  in  his 
praise  than  we  perhaps  would  have 
said  before  dinner,  and  went  so  far  as 
to  give  it  as  our  opinion,  that  if  he 


f  Letter  to  the  Right  Hon.  Lord  Byron ;  by  John  Bull.  [Jeremy  Bentham,  Esq.] 
London,  Wright,  1821.  It  is  hardly  fair,  by  the  way,  for  Mr  Bentham  to  endeavour 
to  sell  his  pamphlet  by  assuming  the  name  of  that  very  clever  paper  which  he  is  con- 
Ktantly  censuring.  1 


Letter  to  Lord  Byron. 


422 

left  off  writing  politics  and  such  mat- 
ters, with  which  we  all  know  he  is  no 
more  acquainted  than  Alderman  Wood 
is  with  polite  literature,  and  took  up 
some  other  subject,  he  would  prove 
that  he  was  not  altogether  a  jack-ass. 
The  bet  was  accepted  on  the  spot,  and 
in  the  morning,  though  we  forgot  the 
entire  circumstance,  the  other  party 
took  good  care  to  remind  us  of  it,  by 
shewing  us  the  thing  fairly  entered  in 
his  memorandum  book,  in  a  hand  not 
particularly  regular,  yet  far  too  legible 
tor  our  peace  of  mind.  We  repented 
our  rashness,  and  made  many  a  vain 
attempt  at  hedging  off,  but  we  could 
not  get  a  man  in  Edinburgh  to  bet. 
We  even  went  to  the  Shepherd  himself, 
and  were  considerably  mortified  by  his 
instantly  exclaiming — "Hout,  man, — 
what,  bet  that  that  Bentham  chap  is 
no  a  jack-ass  ? — na,  na !  daft  I  may 
be,  but  no  that  gomeril  neither."  We 
plainly  saw  we  were  laughed  at,  and 
could  not  help  sighing  when  we  con- 
sidered the  fourteen  voracious  Anthro- 
pophagi who  would  infallibly  be  pitch- 
ed on,  blessing  our  stars  that  O'Dogh- 
erty  was  out  of  Edinburgh,  however. 
Sad  visions  of  departing  coopers  of 
claret,  in  endless  succession — of  cour- 
ses demolished — of  broken  glasses, 
and,  worst  of  all,  of  the  tremendous 
bill  staring  us  in  the  face,  made  us  ra- 
ther melancholy,  and  we  were  under 
that  feeling  when  we  wrote  the  mourn- 
ful adventures  in  the  Havanna  in  our 
last.  God  forgive  us!  instead  of  thinking 
of  the  scenes  we  so  pathetically  painted 
there,  our  inmost  mind  was  turned 
upon  Mr  Oman's  head-waiter,  whom 
we  akeady  anticipated  calling  on  us 
with  a  bill — "  Supper  for  14,"  and  his 
master's  compliments,  requesting  that 
it  should  be  discharged  as  soon  as  con- 
venient. Treacherous  civility ! 

This  pamphlet,  however,  relieved 
us.  Glad  were  we  the  morning  it 
made  its  appearance  in  Edinburgh. 
Our  bet  was  won.  Here  is  a  pamphlet 
on  poetry  by  Jeremy  Bentham,  that  is 
actually  in  half  a  dozen  places  intelli- 
gible, and,  though  absurd  enough  in 
all  conscience,  yet  a  fair  step  above 
Special  Juries.  In  a  triumphant  mood 
we  shewed  it  to  our  friend.  "  You  are 
beaten,"  we  exclaimed,  "  beaten  hol- 
low !  let  us  have  the  supper  to-night — at 
once — quant  primum — or  rather  put  it 
off  a  day  or  two — it  would  be  shame  if 
O'Dogherty  was  not  at  it — we  intend- 
ed sending  for  him  if  we  lost — he's  a 


fair  fellow.  Ila,  ha,  my  lad  !  contra- 
dict us  again  if  you  dare."  Our  friend 
read  over  the  book  with  rather  a  grave 
aspect,  and,  on  finishing,  said  that  he 
could  not  agree  with  us,  for  he  thought 
it  as  stupid  as  the  Reform  Catechism, 
and  would  hold  that  he  had  won.  And 
this  article,  my  dear  public,  is  not 
written  for  you,  because  you  have  not 
seen  the  pamphlet  at  all,  but  for  the 
private  satisfaction  of  our  antagonist, 
and  for  the  promotion  of  the  great 
cause  of  the  supper. 

You  may  think,  my  dear  old  lady, 
that  we  are  going  to  panegyrize  the 
book  out  of  a  selfish  motive,  with,  as 
the  Cockneys  would  say,  a  down-look- 
ing, out-breathing  emotion  towards 
sundry  eatables  and  drinkables ;  but 
far  from  us  be  so  foul  an  impulse. 
Decent  trencherand  bottle  men  though 
we  be,  yet  justice  is  paramount,  it 
rides  rough  shod  over  our  souls.  Ami- 
cus  Plato,  amicus  Socrates — sed  magis 
arnica  veritas, — or  rather,  amicus  Veni- 
son, amicus  Claret,  sed  magis,  £c.  And 
at  once  we  shall  give  an  extract  from 
the  pamphlet,  which,  though  an  ama- 
zingly shabby  attempt  at  wit,  is  not 
altogether  so  abominably  absurd  an 
affair  as  you  commonly  find  Jerry 
guilty  of  when  he  attempts  to  be 
jocose.  It  concerns  Dr  Watts. 

"  There  is,  for  example,  a  most  lum- 
bering Goth  in  the  Literary  Gazette,  who 
has  been  trying  to  prove  that  you  are  the 
most  extensive  and  the  most  impudent  of 
plagiarists.  In  order  to  establish  this,  he 
proves  against  your  Lordship  about  the 
five-hundredth  part  of  what  might  be  pro- 
ved by  any  man  of  the  smallest  learning 
against  any  one  poet  born  since  the  death 
of  Homer  ;  and  of  what  any  man  of  sense 
living  in  Homer's  time  (if  indeed  there  ever 
was  any  such  person  as  Homer)  could,  I 
doubt  not,  have  proved  with  equal  success 
against  old  Homer  himself.  Two  things, 
however,  there  are,  which  this  Theban  has 
proved  in  a  most  satisfactory  manner  in- 
deed :  and  these  are  his  own  base  igno- 
rance, and  his  still  baser  envy.  It  is  clear 
that  your  adversary  has  never  read  almost 
any  poetry  at  all :  for  he  blames  your 
Lordship  most  bitterly  for  copying  things 
from  Scott,  Wordsworth,  and  so  forth, 
which  any  boarding-school  miss  that  has 
read  the  Elegant  Extracts  could  have  told 
him  had  been  copied  by  them  from  the 
English  poets  of  the  two  preceding  cen- 
turies— which  any  Eton  lad,  again,  could 
have  traced  to  Greek  and  Latin — and  any 
puppy  that  has  spent  a  year  beyond  the 
Alps  would  have  taken  a  pleasure  in  shew- 
ing him,  over  and  over  again,  embalmed 


1621/3 


Letter  to  Lord  Byron. 


in  that  beautiful  dialect,  of  whose  beauty 
no  English  writer  (since  Gray)  appears  to 
have  had  the  real  feeling  but  yourself.  I 
say  nothing  of  the  absurdity  of  the  whole 
idea.  There  was  a  man,  as  you  know, 
(though  our  Goth  does  not,)  who  tried  to 
persuade  the  world  that  Sterne  had  stolen 
all  his  wit  from  Burton.  One  thousand 
and .  one  attempts  have  been  made  of  the 
same  kind  long  ago,  and  forgotten ;  and 
here  is  one  more  which  will  be  forgotten  in 
due  time,  that  is  to  say,  in  another  week. 
So  much  for  his  ignorance  ;  his  envy,  it  is 
more  difficult  to  understand.  Your  Lord- 
ship writes  for  the  LITERARY  WORLD, 
and  he  writes  for  the  LITERARY  GA- 
ZETTE ;  and  both  of  you  are  accepted. 
What  would  the  man  have  ?  Is  he  not 
satisfied  with  his  elevation  ?  Is  he  already 
like  the  Macedonian,  sighiRg  for  new 
conquests  ?  Oh  !  most  insatiable  and  ir- 
rational of  appetites  thy  name  is  ambi- 
tion .'" 

Slain  art  thou,  pride  of  Gothland  ! 
Mowed  down  in  the  flower  of  thy  youth 
by  the  ass  jaw  of  Jeremiah  !  Alaric  is 
massacred  !  And  our  bet  is  won. 

We  shall  analyze  the  pamphlet, 
however,  in  a  little  more  regular  way. 
— The  history  of  the  controversy  to 
which  it  refers  is  an  interminable 
affair.  The  mere  statement  of  it  has 
all  the  horrible  appearance  of  a  sorites, 
or  an  old  fashioned  eighteen-story- 
high-house  in  the  old  town.  Briefly 
it  is  this — 

1.  Mr  Bowles  wrote  a  book  upon 
Pope. 

2.  Mr  Campbell  abused  Mr  Bowles's 
book  on  Pope. 

3.  Mr  Bowles  wrote  an  answer  to 
Mr  Campbell's  abuse  of  Mr  Bowles's 
book  on  Pope. 

4.  Lord  Byron  wrote  a  letter   to 
certain  stars  in  Albemarle-street,  in 
answer  to  Mr  Bowles's  answer  to  Mr 
.Campbell's  abuse  of  Mr  Bowles's  book 
on  Pope. 

5.  Jeremy  Benthavn,  Esq.  wrote  a  let- 
ter to  Lord  Byron  about  Lord  Byron's 
letter  to  certain  stars  in  Albemarle- 
street,  in  answer  to  Mr  Bowles's  an- 
swer to  Mr  Campbell's  abuse  of  Mr 
Bowles's  book  on  Pope. 

6.  Mr  Bowles  wrote  an  answer,  not  to 
Jeremy  Bentham,  but  to  Lord  Byron's 
Letter  to  certain  stars  in  Albemarle- 
street,  in  answer  to  Mr  Bowles's  an- 
swer to  Mr  Campbell's  abuse  of  Mr 
Bowles's  book  on  Pope. 


423 

We  have  omitted  by-battles  with 
Quarterly  Reviewers,  and  some  wretch- 
ed creatures  in  Cockaigne,  that  we 
might  not  make  our  summary  too  much 
like  the  House  that  Jack  built ;  but  so 
stands  the  affair :  and  we  give  it  as  our 
decided  opinion,  that  Mr  Bowles  has 
beaten  his  Lordship  of  Byron,  and  Mr 
Campbell  himself,  the  sweet,  the  beau- 
tiful poet  of  Gertrude,  hollow  out  of 
the  ring ;  but  we  do  not  wish  to  enter 
into  the  controversy  here.  Jerry  he  did 
not  hear  of,  or  he  would  have  blown 
him  away  with  a  puff;  — but  we  shall 
converse  a  little  with  the  ancient 
bencher  of  Lincoln. 

Lord  Byron  said  somewhere  in  his 
book,  that  the  primum  mobile  of  the 
world  now-a-days  is  cant, — a  truism, 
in  proof  of  which  we  should  not  de- 
sire a  finer  specimen  than  his  own  dear 
lordship.  On  this  hint  Jerry  spake, — 
and  he  has  mumbled  it  over  and  over 
with  the  garrulous  mumping  of  old 
age.  He  has  got  hold  of  a  good  thing, 
as  he  thinks,  and  keeps  it  in  his  trem- 
bling hands  with  a  comical  air  of  dot- 
age. Every  body,  according  to  him, 
is  a  canter ;  for  instance,  Mr  Wilber- 
force,  who  appears  to  be  honoured  by 
the  hostility  of  every  good-for-nothing 
scribbler  in  the  nation,  is  put  forward 
as  "  nothing  but  cant,"  a  mere  avatar 
of  that  great  deity.  This  is  amusing 
for  a  page  or  two,  but  we  get  tired  with 
seeing  an  old  man  making  an  ass  of 
himself  through  sixty-four  pages,  all 
in  the  one  ragged  and  beggarly  strain. 
True  it  is,  there  is  a  little  variety  of 
wretchedness,  but  not  sufficient  to  be 
even  amusing  ;  and  marks  of  age  are 
visible  in  every  paragraph,  as  we  shall 
prove  in  a  short  time,  by  a  brief  yet 
regular  chain  of  argument. 

1st,  then,  his  mind  is  evidently 
wandering  ;  for  he  begins  with  an 
allusion  to  Lord  Byron's  controversy 
with  Mr  Bowles, — then  gets  into  some 
maundering  upon  humbug, — then  falls 
foul  of  the  Goth, — then,  a  propos 
des  bottes,  brings  in  Doctor  Southey, 
(whom,  by  the  way,  he  most  inso- 
lently, and  in  defiance  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Oxford,  calls  Mr,)  Words- 
worth, Lambe,  Lloyd,  Coleridge,  &c. 
— then  sails  back  to  Lord  Byron,  hauls 
him  up  and  down  for  a  few  pages, — 
then  wanders  to  the  Quarterly, — then 
to  the  OPUS  MAGNUM,* — then  to  the 


*  Need  we  say  what  this  is  ? 
stantly  recognize  the  Magazine. 
VOL.  IX. 


No  :  small  will  his  discernment  be,  who  will  not  in- 
3G 


Letter  to  Lord  Byron. 


424 

Edinburgh,  my  Grandmother,  and 
other  ancient  works, — then,  recollect- 
ing himself,  waddles  back  to  Lord 
Byron  and  Don  Juan  again,  &c.  But 
there  is  no  use  in  going  through  the 
rest  of  the  rambling.  This,  then,  is 
the  first  mark  of  the  brains  being  gone. 
2d,  Every  body  must  have  observed, 
that  elderly  gentlemen  very  often  do 
not  distinguish  themselves  by  a  chas- 
tity of  discourse,  or  a  temperance  of 
idea,  as  much  as  might  be  expected. 
The  powers  of  enjoyment  of  pleasures 
may  be  gone,  but  the  pruriency  re- 
mains ;  and  they  delight  in  recurring 
to  joy  which  they  now  cannot  taste. 
Just  so  with  the  aged  author  of  this 
pamphlet.  He  has  the  face  to  praise 
the  Chevalier  de  Faublas,  a  book  which 
a  gentleman  would  be  ashamed  to 
name ;  and  of  all  Lord  Byron's  books, 
the  only  one  he  likes  is  Don  Juan  ;  and 
the  poor  old  fellow  strongly  urges  his 
lordship  to  continue  the  "  filth,"  (to 
use  his  own  word,  page  36,)  of  that 
indecent  poem,  merely  to  gratify  his 
jaded  appetite ;  and  as  Spain  and  other 
foreign  parts  do  not  afford  scenes  suffi- 
ciently stimulant  for  his  English  sto- 
mach, recommends  him  to  continue 
the  poem  in  England,  raking  up  all 
the  dirty  stories  he  can  get,  for  the 
amusement  of  this  sage  elder.  It  cer- 
tainly is  a  modest  request,  to  ask  his 
lordship  to  turn  pander  to  the  warm 
speculations  of  his  unasked  correspon- 
dent— but  there  it  is  in  the  book. 

3d,  Vanity  and  garrulity  about  self, 
is  of  old  set  down  as  a  strong  charac- 
teristic of  age,  and  our  antediluvian 
shews  both  qualities  in  no  small  de- 
gree. Speaking  of  Wordsworth  and 
the  Lake  poets,  he  says,  "  You  and  / 
may  have  a  right  to  laugh  at  them," 
page  9.  You  and  I !  Lord  Byron  and 
Jeremy  Bentham !  O  tempora !  O 
mores !  Let  us  look  again — perhaps 
we  mistake.  No,  no  ;  indeed  we  do 
not.  There  it  is  in  black  and  white. 
You  and  I  may  have  a  right  to  laugh 
at  Wordsworth  !  Why,  Jerry,  my  dear 
fellow,  in  every  thing  that  constitutes 
a  great  poet — in  all  the  higher  ele- 
ments of  mind — in  all  the  powers  of 
musical  language — Lord  Byron  him- 
self is  as  inferior  to  Wordsworth,  as 
your  penny  trumpet  is  to  a  violoncel- 
lo. But  the  poor  man  does  not  under- 
stand this :  so  we  pass  his  assurance 
with  a  sigh. 

Again,  "Theodore Hook  and  I  would 
take  pains  upon  our  farces,"  p.  56.  Did 


you  ever  hear  any  thing  more  ridicu- 
lous than  this  from  a  stupid  pam- 
phleteer, my  public  ?  The  old  gentle- 
man's upper  story  must  be  a  little 
damaged.  Theodore  Hook  and  Jeremy 
Bentham  !  Unless,  perhaps,  he  meant 
Hook  and  I  for  a  pun — for 

Gentle  dullness  ever  loves  a  joke. 

Enough  of  this.  We  could  easily 
multiply  examples,  but  there  is  no 
need. 

4th,  Old  age  in  general  dims  the 
feeling  of  poetic  beauty.  It  is  so  in  this 
skimble-skamble  stuff.   The  antedilu- 
vian kwyer,  as  Cobbett  calls  him,  can 
see  nothing  in  Southey  but  a  mere  Lau- 
reate receiving  butts  of  sack — in  Lamb 
nothing  but  a  clerk  of  the  India  House, 
p.  16 — in  Wordsworth  nothing  but  a 
stamp-master,  p.  20-49-46. — And  it  is 
evident  that  his  reverence  for  Lord  By- 
ron and  Sir  W.  Scott,  arises  in  no  slight 
manner  from  one  being  a  Baron,  and 
the  other  a  Baronet,  p.  43. — Such  in  fact 
would  we  expect  a  priori.  What  could 
an  old  jurisconsult,  occupied  four  fifths 
of  his  life  in  fighting  about  the  uncog- 
noscibility  of  common  law  and  other 
such  parchment-smelling  topics, — and 
living  in  a  garret  overlooking  Hyde- 
Park,  the  very  region  of  the  anti-ro- 
mantic— know  of  Wordsworth  ?  Not  a 
whit :  Mr  Jeffrey  himself  would  have 
more  chance  of  coming  to  a  true  percep- 
tion of  the  real  beauties  of  that  greatest 
of  our  poets.     Perhaps,  however,  our 
reformer's  antipathy  to  Southey,  Lamb, 
or  Wordsworth,  arises  from  the  circum- 
stance of  their  receiving  salaries,  that, 
we  know,  being  in  his  mind  a  most  un- 
pardonable crime.    We  recollect  read- 
ing in  some  of  his  strange  books  a  ti- 
rade against  Burke,  of  whom  he  re- 
membered nothing,  but  that  be  receiv- 
ed a  pension,  (though,  in  the  book  be- 
fore us,  he  does  make  rather  an  igno- 
rant allusion  to  his  writings,  p.  52), — 
and  against  Pitt,  of  whom  nothing  was 
recorded  in  the  tablets  of  his  memory, 
but  that  he  died  some  thousand  pounds 
in  debt.     And  it  is  precisely  this  at- 
traction to  money,  that  renders  him 
peculiarly  unfit  for  writing  on  poetry. 
Christabel  he  values  in  proportion  to 
the  sale,  p.  18 — admires  Jeffrey's  ta- 
lents,  because  he  kept  Wordsworth 
poor,  p.  20 — advises  Lord  B.  to  write 
tragedies  to  make  money, — and  speaks 
most  handsomely  of  Sir  W.  Scott,  on 
account  of  the  length  of  his  purse. 
This  we  might  have  made  a  5th  proof 


18210 


Letter  to  Lord  Byron. 


of  old  age,  which  is  the  season  of  ava- 
rice ;  but  it  is  not  worth  while. 

Again,  5thly,  A  defective  memory  in 
very  old  men,  frequently  makes  them 
repeat  over  and  over  what  they  have 
said ;  and  people  of  discernment  can- 
not fail  to  have  perceived  that  when- 
ever such  seniors  get  any  incoherent 
sounding  jabber  into  their  heads,  that  it 
is  next  to  impossible  to  keep  them  from 
an  incessant  repetition  of  it.  There  are 
many  instances  of  this  in  the  little 
book  before  us.  We  shall  give  one 
only,  for  dinner  is  waiting  for  us,  and 
of  course  we  must  hasten  to  finish  this 
article  as  soon  as  possible.  In  his  Church 
of  Englandism,  he  had  this  sentence : 
"Come  forward,  DeanKipling — Come 
forward,  Dean  Andrews — Come  for- 
ward, Bishop  Burgess — Come  for- 
ward, Bishop  Marsh — Come  forward, 
Bishop  Hoivly — Come  forward,  Arch- 
bishop Sutton,"  &c.  And  this  silly  mode 
of  iteration  of  names,  has  so  complete- 
ly tickled  the  old  fellow's  fancy,  that 
we  have  it  in  page  29  again.  "  Now 
tell  me,  Mrs  Goddard—Novr  tell  me, 
Miss  Price — Now  tell  me,  dear  Har- 
riet Smith — Now  tell  me,  dear,  dear 
Mrs  Elton,"  &c.  This  is  a  mere  defect 
of  memory.  He  forgot  that  he  had 
ever  used  the  phraseology  before,  and 
the  chime  was  still  singing  in  his  ears. 
But  he  is  not  to  be  pardoned,  how- 
ever, for  making  such  a  public  use  of 
people's  names.  Poor  Miss  Price  is  so 
much  annoyed  at  being  put  down  as  a 
reader  of  Don  Juan,  that  she  has  writ- 
ten us  a  long  and  rather  ingenious  let- 
ter on  the  subject,  in  which  she  com- 
plains bitterly  of  this  conduct,  and 
adds,  that  the  other  ladies  are  particu- 
larly vexed  on  the  occasion.  Her  let- 
ter is  rather  too  prosy  for  insertion ; 
but  we  shall,  perhaps  in  next  number, 
give  Mrs  Goddard's  lament,  beginning 
with, 

"  Little  I  thought  the  wide  world  was  to 

hear  o'  me, 
All  through  the  means  of  you,  Mr  Jere- 

my ; 
Never  a  woman,  I'm  sure,  was  more  bo- 

ther'd,  sir, 
Than  your  humble  servant,  I,  Mrs  God- 

dard,  sir,"  &c. 

We  can,  however,  comfort  the  poor 
lady,  who,  it  would  be  superfluous  to 
say,  is  a  poetess  out  of  Ireland,  by  as- 
suring her,  that  so  far  from  the  wide 
world  hearing  of  the  transaction,  it  is 
only  known  to  about  seventeen  indivi- 
duals. 


425 

Let  this  suffice  to  prove  the  super- 
annuation of  the  author ;  but  still  we 
must  assert,  that  it  shews  some  pluck 
in  so  awfully  ancient  an  old  woman  to 
attack  a  young  lord ;  and  some  consi- 
derable improvement,  to  be  able  to 
write  nearly  three,  or  even  perhaps  four 
intelligible  pages.  We  therefore  are 
much  obliged  to  Jerry  of  Lincoln,  and 
we  flatter  ourselves  we  shall  play  a 
handsome  knife  and  fork  in  his  honour 
to-morrow  evening. 

The  various  sins  of  ignorance  staring 
us  in  the  face  in  every  page,  we  did 
not  think  it  worth  our  while  to  notice ; 
for,  indeed,  if  we  wished  to  give  them 
in  detail,  we  should  have  transcribed 
nine-tenths  of  the  book,  which  would 
be  rather  a  defilement  of  our  valuable 
pages.  The  elder,  for  instance,  ima- 
gines that  Aristophanes  and  Xenophon 
were  not  contemporaries— (p.  48 ;) — 
and  in  that  same  page,  as  we  cast  our 
eyes  over  it,  we  see  another  proof  of  an- 
tiquity, in  his  observing,  with  a  kind 
of  superstitious  awe,  that  Shakespeare 
and  Cervantes  died  on  the  same  day, 
as  if  that  were  any  thing  to  the  pur- 
pose. Age  certainly  weakens  the  mind 
in  a  great  degree.  And  page  18  con- 
victs him  of  not  knowing  any  thing 
about  the  great  poets  of  the  day,  for 
he  accuses  the  Lake  poets,  and  par- 
ticularly Southey ;  at  whom,  indeed, 
he  raves  throughout,  with  a  most  amu- 
sing degree  of  decrepit  fury — of  never 
quoting  Sir  Walter  Scott,  which  shews 
that  the  old  gentleman  has  never  read 
— to  give  one  instance  out  of  many — 
Roderick  the  Goth,  in  which  beauti- 
ful poem  Sir  Walter's  Vision  is  quoted 
with  deserved  applause.  Where,  how- 
ever, is  the  use  of  giving  any  more  spe- 
cimens of  such  ignorance  ? — A  few  ob- 
servations concerning  ourselves,  and  we 
are  done. 

He  says,  and  truly  enough,  that  our 
worthy  publisher,  Mr  Blackwood,  re- 
fused to  pollute  his  shop  by  the  sale  of 
the  indecent  poem,  Don  Juan.  Indeed 
it  would  be  rather  strange,  that  he 
should  vend  what  its  publisher,  Mur- 
ray, was  ashamed  to  acknowledge  as 
emanating  from  his  house.  We  see  no 
reason  why  Albemarle-street  in  Lon- 
don, should  boast  a  purer  current  of 
feeling  than  the  street  of  Princes  in 
Edinburgh.  But  as  there  is,  in  almost 
all  human  actions  a  mixture  of  motives, 
we  may  as  well  tell  all  the  truth  at 
once,  as  it  will  be  the  best  way  for  Mr 
Blackwood  himself,  who  has  been  hor- 
ribly laughed  at  by  some  of  our  witty 


426 


Letter  to  Lord  Byron. 


friends,  for  squeamishness.  He  is  much 
troubled  of  late  with  the  gout,  (for 
the  man  is  growing  enormous  rich  up- 
on this  Magazine)  and  was  under  a 
most  agonizing  paroxysm  in  his  ancle 
when  Don  Juan  was  sent  to  him  from 
London.  The  pain  was  so  violent,  that 
he  imagined  his  final  dissolution  was 
approaching ;  and,  like  Mr  Cayenne  in 
the  Annals  of  the  Parish,  thinking  it 
the  duty  of  every  loyal  man  in  these 
times  to  die  in  a  Christian  like  fashion, 
he  became  as  devout  as  possible.  In 
this  frame  of  mind,  many  things  struck 
him  in  quite  a  new  point  of  view,  and 
he  could  not  help  feeling  some  scruples 
of  conscience  for  having  published 
the  Salt-Foot  Controversy,  the  poem 
of  Fleurs,  and  such  like  unpardonable 
books.  Under  these  circumstances, 
and  desirous  of  making  some  atone- 
ment, he  determined  not  to  sell  the 
Don.  It  was,  we  think,  a  commend- 
able feeling,  though  we  fear  that, 
when  the  twinge  abated,  he  had  some 
thoughts  of  putting  the  book  on  his 
counter.  He  resisted  it,  however, — 
and  this  is  the  plain  statement  of  the 
case.  How  Jerry  got  a  hold  of  it,  we 
cannot  even  guess.  With  respect  to  us, 
he  is  under  a  mistake,  as  we  shall  ex- 
plain. 

"  Had  Lord  Byron,  sent  Don  Juan, 
with  five  hundred  thousand  million  times 
more  of  the  devil  about  him  than  he  really 
has  exhibited,  to  that  illustrious  character 
Christopher  North,  Esq.  with  a  request  to 
have  the  Don  inserted  in  his  Magazine, — 
lives  there  that  being  with  wit  enough  to 
keep  him  from  putrifying,  who  doubts  the 
great  KIT  would  have  smiled  a  sweet 
smile,  and  desired  the  right  honourable 
guest  to  ascend  into  the  most  honourable 
place  of  his  upper  chamber  of  immortality  ? 
This  is  clear  enough  ;  and  then  came  the 
redoubted  Magazine  itself.  A  set  of  too 
rigid  moralists  meet  in  a  tavern,  and  after 
being  gently  refreshed  with  tobacco  smoke 
and  whisky  punch,  they  cry  out — '  Well, 
then,  so  be  it ;  have  at  Don  Juan.'  Upon 
a  table  all  round  in  a  current  of  religious 
feeling,  and  by  men  hot  from  Kirk,  and 
breathing  nothing  but  piety,  furious  para- 
graph after  furious  paragraph  is  written 
against  a  book  nearly  as  clever  as  if  they 
had  written  it  themselves." 

Now  we  are  hardly  too  rigid  moral- 
ists, though  we  did  revolt  at  Don  Juan. 
And  Mr  Bentham  must  be  ignorant  of 
our  manner  of  living,  if  he  thinks  that 
we  ever  sit  down  to  review  any  work 
we  care  about,  over  whisky  punch.  We 
haveQii  accurate  recollection  of  writing 
those  very  articles;  (all  of  them  coming 


from  our  pen,  except  a  few  verses,  call- 
ed Don  .Juan  Unread,  which  were  writ- 
ten by  Doctor  Scott  of  Gksgow  ;)  and 
we  assure  you,  my  public,  that  it  was 
after  discussing  three  bottles  of  as  good 
claret,  as  ever  left  the  banks  of  the 
Garonne.  Besides,  it  was  on  a  Thurs- 
day evening,  so  that  it  could  not  be 
said  that  we  were  hot  from  Kirk  ; 
nor,  indeed,  do  we  at  all  frequent  the 
churches  of  the  Scottish  establishment. 
This  proves  how  erroneous  this  old 
gentleman's  information  has  been  ;  but 
we  rely,  for  all  that,  on  this  very  pas- 
sage, to  prove  that  his  mental  faculty 
is  not  quite  gone.  His  being  able  to 
perceive  that  Don  Juan  is  decidedly 
inferior  to  us,  and  his  knowing  that 
publication  in  our  pages  is  immortali- 
ty, is  proof  enough  in  his  favour, — 
though  perhaps  it  may  be  said  that 
they  are  truths  too  obvious  to  escape 
the  meanest  capacity.  It  is  evident, 
however,  that  he  knows  nothing  of  our 
mode  of  conducting  the  Magazine,  or 
he  could  not  have  imagined  for  a  mo- 
ment that  we  would  admit  such  a  work 
as  Don  Juan  into  our  columns,  parti- 
cularly when  we  are  in  the  daily  ha- 
bit of  refusing  much  superior  produc- 
tions. In  fact;  every  thing  must  be 
first-rate  for  us.  Of  our  castigation 
of  Don  Juan,  we  are  proud,  and  laugh 
at  the  vapourings  of  Lord  Byron,  who 
says  he  will  answer  us.  If  he  do,  we 
shall  annihilate  him  in  the  twinkling 
of  a  bed-post, 

So  much  for  this  pamphlet,  on  which 
we  should  not  have  dilated,  were  it  not 
for  the  supper  depending  on  it.  We 
think  we  have  proved,  that  though  this 
pamphlet  is  the  stupid  production  of  a 
crazy  old  woman  ;  yet  that  it  is  more 
intelligible,  and  not  altogether  so  asi- 
nine as  Chrestomathia,  which  was  all 
we  betted.  Our  friend,  we  know,  will 
succumb  to  our  opinion  ;  and  then  we 
anticipate  a  most  glorious  evening. — 
What  a  repast  we  shall  make  of  it ! 
What  a  deep  dip  into  the  claret  ! 
What but  no  more, 

Visions  of  Oman,  crowd  not  on  my  soul ! 

With  this  comfortable  hope,  we  bid 
adieu,  with  the  best  feelings,  to  Mr 
Bentham  ;  but  we  shall  remember  the 
fright  he  threw  us  into,  and  shall  ne- 
ver again  be  guilty  of  the  folly  of  bet- 
ting on  him.  This  time,  we  are  quit 
for  the  fear ;  but  who  knows  whether 
we  ever  should  have  the  same  luck 
ncrain  ? 


The  Lothian  Ball,  or  the  Widows  Cow.  427 


THE  LOTHIAN  BALL,  OR  THE  WIDOW  S  COW. 

In  a  Series  of  Prosing  Epistles. 

EPISTLE  FIRST. 
1. 

DEAR  CHRISTOPHER!  I'm  given  to  understand. 

You  are  extremely  anxious  to  receive 
A  true  account,  beneath  my  rhyming  hand, 

Of  all  and  every  thing  I  might  perceive ; 
Nay  more — I  hear  you've  issued  a  command, 

That  I  must  write  forthwith,  and  must  not  leave 
The  most  minute,  or  trifling  thing  untold — 
About  this  famous  Ball,  else  you  will  scold. 

'  2. 
Now,  mark  me  !  though  I  do  not  see  what  right 

You  have  to  order  me  to  pen  a  letter, 
I'll  humour  you  for  once,  and  try  a  flight — 

Perhaps  it  would  have  pleased  my  Muse  much  better, 
And  yielded  both  of  «s  far  more  delight, 

If  left  to  her  own  whim ;  for,  when  you  fret  her, 
She  is  as  cross  and  obstinate  a  jade, 
As  ever  ambled  in  the  rhyming  trade. 

3. 
"  Pale  death" — but,  ere  I  enter  on  my  story, 

There  is  one  point,  on  which  I  must  insist, 
And  this  it  is, — as  what  I  lay  before  ye 

May  prove  severe,  you'll  steadily  resist 
All  questions  of  its  author. — There's  no  glory 

In  fencing-matches — Even  when  one's  ruiss'd 
There's  little  comfort, — and  it  can't  be  pleasant 
To  get  a  peppering  like  a  hare  or  pheasant. 

4. 

Not  that  I'm  frighten'd  for  a  sword  or  bullet ; 

At  least,  I  am  not  more  so  than  my  neighbours, 
For  some  have  not  more  courage  than  a  pullet ; 

Place  them,  indeed,  among  a  troop  of  sabres, 
Their  courage  seems  so  great,  to  try  to  cool  it 

Would  be  much  harder  than  to  do  the  labours 
Of  Hercules,  or  deeds  achieved  by  Sampson, 
Or  make  a  dandy  of  plain  Johnnie  Thampson. 

5. 

But  this  is  all  assumed,  an  empty  vapour, 
A  sort  of  boldness  caught  from  others'  eyes, 

And  as  unlike  true  courage  as  Bank-paper 
To  sterling  gold ;  for  courage  would  arise 

Within  the  bosom  of  the  vilest  scraper, 
That  ever  lived  by  stock-jobbing  and  lies, 

When  fairly  drawn  up  in  the  grand  array, 

Which  armies  in  the  battle's  field  display. 


428  The  Lothian  Ball,  or  the  Widow's  Cow. 

6. 
True,  genuine,  innate  courage  is  not  this ; 

Not  animal  ferocity  which  dares 
Do  aught  commanded,  proper  or  amiss ; 

The  man  who  thus  achieves  in  common,  shares 
Boldness  that  makes  the  vilest  reptiles  hiss,    • 

The  fierceness  of  the  cannibal  who  spares 
Nor  age,  nor  sex — It  is  a  tiger's  roar, 
In  battle  terrible — but  'tis  no  more. 

7. 
The  courage  which  is  most  to  be  commended, 

Is  that  display'd  by  virtuous  men  alone  ; 
By  such  men  danger  ne'er  is  apprehended ; 

They  fear  it  not  from  a  reforming  stone 
Thrown  by  a  Radical — howe'er  intended ; — 

By  yeomen  constables  'twould  be  unknown ; 
And  in  a  duel,  or  in  warlike  field, 
The  virtuous  man  'gainst  danger'Tias  a  shield. 

8. 
Yet  even  this  is  not  the  courage  wanted — 

In  owning  what  is  quizzical  or  sly, 
We  must  assume  a  face  and  mien  undaunted ; 

And,  when  in  turn  we  find  some  piercing  eye 
Regarding  us,  and  wishing  us  supplanted, 

We  should  at  once  send  back  its  scrutiny. 
Those  only  who  can  thus  withstand  a  railing. 
Should  dare  to  touch  upon  a  neighbour's  failing. 

9. 
But,  for  my  story, — While  I  thus  am  prosing, 

I'm  working  you  into  an  awkward  trim, 
As  well  as  much  good  ink  and  paper  losing, 

Much  more,  you'll  say,  than  to  a  foolish  whim 
Should  be  devoted ;  for  I  am  supposing 

Your  visage  has  become  most  wondrous  grim  ; 
If  not,  you'll  think  this  opening  bodes  some  fun, 
And  will,  in  that  case,  say, — Well  done !  well  done ! 

10. 
"  Pale  death," — So  Horace  wrote  in  times  of  old, 

"  Relentless  seeks  the  cottage  of  the  poor, 
"  And,  with  a  knock  as  insolently  bold, 

"  Approaches  to  the  royal  palace  door." 
But  this  equality  wont  always  hold ; 

Because  its  consequences  are  felt  more 
When  death  gives  some  poor  cottager  a  twitch, 
Than  when  death  seeks  the  mansions  of  the  rich. 

11. 

Had  death,  for  instance,  sought,  on  this  occasion, 
The  well-fed  herd  of  Thrillingham's  good  lord, 

'Twould  riot  have  caused  such  direful  perturbation, 
Nor  would  such  lamentations  have  been  pour'd ; 

Nor  would  there  have  been  such  sad  consternation, 
Nor  would  the  loss  have  been  so  much  deplored, 

As  when  grim  death,  from  whom  there  is  none  free, 

Attack'd  the  cow  of  poor  old  Dame  Magee. 


The  Lothian  Ball,  or  the  Widows  Cow.  429 

13. 
I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  yet  I  know 

Bad  tidings  travel  faster  far  than  good — 
Round  Dame  Magee  how  many  blessings  flow, 

Which  by  the  world  were  never  understood  ! 
Until  this  very  cow  was  thus  laid  low, 

'Twas  never  known  from  whom  she  had  her  food ; 
Nor  would  it  now  have  been  at  all  reveal'd, 
Could  aught  be  gain'd  by  keeping  it  conceal'd. 

13. 

I  say  not  it  is  wrong — I'm  but  observing, 

That  subjects  which  are  sorrowful  and  sad, 
And  in  their  general  tendency  unnerving, 

Are  much  preferr'd  to  those  which  make  us  glad, — 
At  least,  by  ladies  ;  and  there  is  no  swerving 

From  their  decision,  when  it  once  is  had : — 
Whene'er  a  lady  looks  into  the  papers, 
She  reads  the  murders,  and  then — takes  the  vapours ! 

14. 

So,  when  the  cow  of  poor  old  Dame  Magee 

Had  from  this  life  most  certainly  departed, 
It  was,  in  truth,  most  wonderful  to  see 

With  what  rapidity  it  was  imparted 
To  all  to  whom  the  circumstance  might  bo 

In  any  way  a  grief.     The  chicken-hearted 
In  Lothian  presently  were  all  heard  groaning, 
And  even  those  less  tender  were  seen  moaning ! 

15. 

Then  Mrs  Fudgeon  and  her  daughter  wept ; 

And  Mrs  Pompous  and  her  daughters  sigh'd ; 
And  Mrs  Brown  and  daughter  'Liza  slept 

That  night  but  little,  though  they  often  tried ; 
And  there  were  many  who  next  morning  kept 

Their  beds  a  full  hour  longer,  and  all  vied 
Who  should  the  greatest  sympathy  display 
With  Dame  Magee  on  this  disastrous  day. 

16. 
But  what  was  all  their  tender  sympathy  ? 

It  could  not  call  the  dead  cow  back  to  life ; 
Nor  could  it  even  another  live  cow  buy  ; 

And  therefore  fail'd  to  comfort  the  gudewife. 
No  doubt,  when  any  of  our  neighbours  die, 

With  whom  we've  lived  some  twenty  years  in  strife, 
A  sympathetic  tear  may  comfort  bring, 
But,  when  we  lose  a  cow,  its  quite  another  thing. 

17. 
I'm  very  fond  of  sympathy,  but  then 

I'm  fonder  of  a  cow — So  likewise  thought 
The  weeping  widow — and,  most  surely,  when 

Of  two  enjoyments  one  excels,  we  ought 
To  give  to  that  the  preference.     Some  men 

I  know  there  are,  who  would,  of  course,  have  sought 
Those  only  which  are  worthiest,  but  with  me, 
I  fear,  it  is  not  so ;  and  thus  felt  Dame  Magee. 


430  Tfie  Lothian  Sail,  or  the  Widows  Cow. 

18. 
I've  said  she  was  a  widow — that's  a  reason, 

If  any  should  be  wish'd,  why  she  preferr'd 
Her  cow  to  sympathy,  which  friends  did  please  on 

This  sad  event  to  yield ;  for,  'tis  averr'd 
That  widows  always  know  the  way  to  season 

This  life  with  comforts,  and  have  seldom  err'd 
In  settling  which  of  two  things  is  the  hest ; 
As  widows — but  we'll  let  such  questions  rest. 

19. 
Besides,  the  widow  had  been  long  attach 'd 

Unto  this  very  cow — It  was  a  calf 
When  first  she  had  it ;  and  she  then  had  watch'd 

Its  youthful  frolics — Often  would  she  laugh 
To  mark  it,  when  its  crib  had  been  unlatch'd, 

Burst  scampering  forth  as  swiftly  as  the  chaff 
From  Andrew  Mickle's  famous  thrashing  mill : 
You  once  liked  similes — I  do  so  still. 

20. 
Attachments  such  as  this  may  be  despised 

By  those  brought  up  in  fashion's  heartless  school 
For  fashion  hath  strange  practices  devised, 

And  sanctions  them  by  many  a  stranger  rule  ; 
And  those  so  rear'd  may  doubtless  be  surprised 

To  find  it  possible  there  lives  a  fool 
So  great,  that  he  can  have  a  partiality 
For  cows,  or  calves,  or  any  one  reality. 

21. 
One  good  attending  fashion  is,  it  knows 

Just  whom  and  whatsoever  thing  it  pleases, 
And  though  it  may  perhaps  some  pleasures  lose, 

It  has  its  off-sets — Nothing  ever  teazes 
Fashion's  true  votaries  ;  and  even  those, 

Who  are  but  half-enroll'd,  obtain'd  releases 
From  being  influenced  by  such  silly  notions 
As  warmth  of  feeling,  or  youth's  soft  emotions. 

22. 
For  my  part,  I've  no  terrors  in  confessing 

I  am  of  the  old  school — When  I  was  young 
(No  doubt,  for  this  I'll  get  a  precious  dressing 

From  some  enchanting  modern-fashion'd  tongue, 
But  yet  that's  not  a  reason  for  suppressing 

My  honest  sentiment)  it  would  have  wrung 
Tears  from  mine  eyes,  ard  still  it  grieves  my  heart 
To  see  how  fashion  can  men's  minds  pervert. 

23. 
And,  having  been  thus  rear'd,  I  often  feel 

A  something  of  surprise,  if  not  disgust, 
When  to  a  beauteous  cheek  I  make  appeal, 

And  find,  instead  of  heart,  mere  fashion's  crust ; 
Then  do  I  turn  in  sorrow,  on  my  heel, 

And  sigh  to  think  that  mankind  are  but  dust, 
Their  faces  but  a  shining  piece  of  clay, 
With  hearts  as  callous  as  their  smiles  are  gay. 
2 


1821.]]  The  Lothian  Ball,  or  the  Widow's  Cow.  431 

24. 

Such  worthies  may  esteem  it  singularity  ; 

And  some  may,  sub  silentio^deem  it  wrong; 
And  some  may  think  it  springs  from  my  vulgarity ; 

And  some  may  censure  me  in  language  strong ; 
While  others,  seeing  that  it  is  a  rarity, 

And  different  from  the  ordinary  song, 
May,  though  they  do  not  mean  to  be  uncivil, 
As  a  quietus,  wish  me  at  the  devil. 

25. 

So  let  them  !  but  their  wishes  can't  destroy 

The  feelings  of  attachment  which  connect 
My  heart  with  early  scenes  of  grief  or  joy ; 

The  devotee  of  the  most  phrenzied  sect 
Will  find  success  his  keenest  pursuits  cloy, 

Ere  I  grow  tired  of  trifles  which  reflect 
My  days  of  boyhood — These  retain  a  power 
O'er  all  that  passes  in  the  present  hour. 

26. 
Oh,  Lothian  !  notwithstanding  I  have  wept 

To  see  the  changes  which  have  taken  place 
Since  first  I  knew  thee ;  though  thou  now  art  stripp'd 

Of  many  charms  which  lent  thee  then  a  grace 
Above  all  other  lands  ;  though  time  hath  swept 

Thy  fairest  hopes,  and  left  so  slight  a  trade 
Of  early  joys,  that  those  which  now  we  find 
But  make  us  feel  how  few  remain  behind ! 

27. 
Though  such  thy  state,  oh,  Lothian !  yet  to  me 

Thou  art  more  dear  than  all  the  world  beside ! 
Where'er  my  steps  may  wander,  still  with  thee 

My  warmest,  best  affections  will  abide  ; 
And  whether,  in  this  life,  my  lot  shall  be 

To  meet  with  sorrows,  or  in  peace  to  glide, 
Still !  still,  dear  Lothian  !  wheresoe'er  I  roam, 
My  heart  will  turn  to  those  I  leave  at  home. 

28. 
But  I  resume  my  tale : — Where'er  'twas  known 

The  widow  had  this  woeful  loss  sustain'd, 
A  shade  of  kind  solicitude  was  thrown 

O'er  every  brow — There  scarcely  one  remain'd 
Unmoved  by  the  sad  story. — I,  alone, 

My  calm,  dispassionate,  self-command  retain'd, — 
While  tears  coursed  fast  the  cheek  of  Mrs  White, 
And  Jessie  Bloom  was  seen  in  mournful  plight ! 

29. 

I  pray  thee,  Christopher,  stare  not  at  this, — 
I  say  the  beauteous  Mrs  White  shed  tears 
When  this  was  told  her  ! — Oh  !  methinks,  to  kiss 
That  trembling  tear  away,  and  soothe  her  fears 
For  the  poor  widow,  would  have  yielded  bliss 

Above  all  rapture ! — For  there's  nought  endears 
A  face  so  much,  as  when  a  witching  eye 
Is  thus  bedimm'd  with  tears  of  sympathy. 

VOL.  IX.  3  H 


432  The  Lothian  Ball,  or  the  Widows  Cow.  DTulv> 

36. 

I  do  not  say  I  saw  the  lady  weep, 

Or  that  I  heard  the  smiling  Jessie  sigh"; 
It  was  not  possible  to  get  a  peep, 

(And  yet  I  sometimes  am  a  little  sly,) 
At  every  face,  when  the  affliction  deep 

Was  first  made  known. — And,  though  I  ne'er  could  spy, 
That-care  had  left  on  either's  brow  a  cloud, 
I  cannot  doubt  what  others  have  avow'd. 

31. 
Such,  then,  the  wonderful  extent  of  grief 

Diffused  through  Lothian,  for  the  Widow's  woes  ; 
But  Time,  whose  soothing  hand  can  bring  relief 

For  ev'ry  ill  that  round  poor  mortals  flows, 
Had  scarcely  ta'en  one  step,  when,  oh  !  how  brief 

Their  sway  !  two  fleeting  days  beheld  the  close 
Of  Lothian's  lamentations,  and  again 
Had  mirth  and  thoughtlessness  resumed  their  reign. 

32. 
But,  there  was  one  in  Lothian,  in  whose  heart 

Compassion  never  hath  been  waked  in  vain.— 
And  when  he  heard  that  Death  had  hurl'd  his  dart 

At  the  poor  Widow's  Cow,  he  felt  the  pain 
Her  loss  would  cause  the  widow. — To  impart 

Relief  was  then  his  wish ;  and  how,  again, 
To  get  another  cow,  of  the  same  kind, 
Became  the  object  that  engross'd  his  mind. 

33. 
There's  surely  nothing  in  this  world  engages 

Th'  attention  of  mankind  so  much  as  money : 
To  rail  at  it,  fills  up  the  time  of  sages  ; 

To  keep  it,  that  of  misers ;  and  the  funny, 
In  spending  it,  find  that  its  power  assuages 

A  host  of  life's  vexations. — 'Tis  a  honey 
More  potent  far  than  any  Balm  of  Gilead, 
Or  cordial  made  since  Homer  wrote  his  Iliad. 

34. 
This  generous  friend,  then,  knowing  well  the  power 

Of  money,  was  determined  to  administer 
Some  to  the  widow. — But,  as  sugar's  sour 

In  shape  of  physic  given,  he  thought,  should  any  stir 
Be  made  about  it,  that  her  brow  would  lower, 

And  render  her  as  cross,  as  though  some  sinister 
Intention  were  afloat :—  So  now,  to  hide 
His  purpose,  and  yet  do  her  good,  he  tried. 

35. 
I  am  not  bound  minutely  to  relate, 

Ev'ry  particular  about  this  Ball ; 
And,  therefore,  'tis  enough  for  me  to  state, 

That  this  same  worthy  friend  resolved  to  call 
Together  a  few  friends,  and  then  debate 

(Men  well  agreed  need  scarce  debate  at  all,) 
With  them  the  most  befitting,  when  and  how, 
For  raising  cash  enough  to  buy  a  cow. 


1821..]]  The  Lothian  Ball,  or  the  Widow's  Cow. 

36. 
He,  personally,  Mr  Brown  invited^ 

And  Mr  Fudgeon,  and  young  Mr  Tait  ;— 
A  note  to  Mr  Lofty  was  indited ; — 

To  Charles  Smelt  a  message  went  by  Kate : — 
To  other  friends,  for  fear  they  had  felt  slighted, 

He  would  have  sent  dispatches,  with  due  state ; 
But,  crowds  he  hates, — and,  for  he's  sometimes  handy, 
He,  therefore,  only  ask'd  his  nephew  Sandy. 

37. 
I  need  not  tell  the  topics  which  engaged 

The  conversation  of  that  afternoon, 
On  which  they  met. — Some  spoke  well, — others  prosed  ;- 

Some  talk'd  about  the  comet, — some  the  moon  ; 
But,  ere  the  twilight  had  around  them  closed, 

They,  with  one  voice,  determined  that,  as  soon 
As  matters  could  be  managed,  they  would  try 
To  coax  the  public  into  charity. 

38. 
So  many  ways  for  this  have  been  devised, 

That  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  light 
On  any  one  that  would  be  new,  and  prized 

By  all  the  county;  for,  however  bright 
The  genius  that  proposed — a  plan's  despised, 

Not  for  its  faults,  but  from  the  cursed  spite 
Which  animates  the  judges,  and  perverts 

Their  sentiments,  to  suit  their  twisted  hearts. 

39. 
It  was  at  length  proposed  to  make  a  feast, 

According  to  the  fashion  of  the  place ; 
And  all  to  this  at  once  agreed, — at  least, 

Of  opposition  there  appeared  no  trace ; 
And  ne'er  was  marriage,  by  a  Gretna  priest, 

Or  woolsack-judgment,  on  an  Opera  case, 
More  likely  to  be  lasting,  than  this  plan  ; 
But,  from  some  cause  or  other,  differences  began. 

40. 

I  cannot  rightly  tell  the  reason  why 
It  was  not  more  distinctly  understood  ; 

But,  though  it  was  determined  they  should  try 
To  coax  their  friends  into  a  kindly  mood, 

It  quite  escaped  them — Lord !  how  wond'rous  sly  ! — 
To  fix  a  time,  when  this,  their  purpose  good, 

Should  really  carried  be  into  effect — 

A  circumstance  which  argues  great  neglect ! 

41. 
However,  it  was  settled  there  should  be 

A  feast  of  gooseberries,  and  nothing  more ! 
Impell'd  by  motives  of  pure  charity, 

Some  parties  were  to  meet,  and  ramble  o'er 
The  grounds  of  Thrillingham — and,  as  some  glee 

Would  be  excited,  'twould  be  well,  before 
They  journey 'd  home,  for  each  to  give  his  mite, 
And  wake  in  dame  Magee  their  own  delight. 


434  The  Lothian  Ball,  or  the  Widow's  Cow.  £July, 

42. 
This  was  the  whole  affair— and  was  so  plain, 

That  any  evening  would  have  heen  becoming 
For  such  a  worthy  purpose ; — hut,  again, 

The  matter  was  discuss'd— and  then  a  humming, 
And  next  a  silence  ensued — then  a  train 

Of  ifs  and  questions — next  there  was  a  thrumming 
Of  fingers  on  chair-backs — and  then  a  glance 
That  'twould  not  be  amiss  to  have  a  dance. 

43. 
This  open'd  a  new  field ;  and  it  was  hinted, 

That  dancing  would  suit  better  than  a  walk ; 
And  soon  'twas  found  the  mover  that  way  squinted. 

Then  for  the  day — a  very  little  talk 
Determined  Saturday — and  when  so  printed, 

All  would  be  settled ;  nothing  that  could  baulk 
Their  expectations  of  a  happy  party 
Appear'd  in  view,  and  all  were  now  most  hearty. 

44. 
But  when  the  tickets  reach'd  young  Mr  Tait, 

And  he  perceived  that  Saturday  was  fix'd, 
His  consternation  was  extremely  great ; 

And  some  small  spice  of  discontent  was  mix'd 
With  his  surprise,  that  it  should  be  his  fate 

To  be  concern'd  ;  so  that  day,  or  the  next, 
He,  very  properly,  a  message  sent 
To  the  prime  mover,  with  this  sentiment. 

45. 
The  message  reach'd  the  mover  on  his  way, 

One  Sunday  morning,  to  the  parish  church ; 
And  'tis  not  going  too  far,  when  I  say, 

The  thought  of  being  thus  left  in  the  lurch, 
Produced  a  something,  quite  as  grave  as  gay, 

Upon  his  noble  brow, — a  little  starch 
Was  also  in  his  manner  very  visible, 
Which  would,  in  other  men,  have  made  me  risible. 

46. 
Why,  what  in  others  would  have  been  absurd, 

Did  not  appear  so  when  display 'd  by  him, 
Can  never  be  made  known.     If  others  heard 

My  reasons,  many  eyes,  which  now  are  dim, 
Would  then  distinctly  see ;  and  ev'ry  word 

Which  now  I  write,  and  every  little  whim 
Which  may  hereafter  be  in  Lothian  shown, 
Would  as  the  scribbling  of  my  muse  be  known. 

47. 
I,  therefore,  mean  no  farther  now  to  tell, 

Than  that  the  message  to  the  mover  came, 
When  within  hearing  of  the  parish  bell  ; 

And  such  its  influence,  that  he  scarce  could  frame 
An  answer,  which  he  thought  was  suited  well 

To  shew  his  feelings,  without  casting  blame, 
And  this  he  did  not  mean,  on  Mr  Tait ; 
He  only  grieved  the  message  came  so  late ! 


1821.]]  The  Lothian  Ball,  or  the  Widow's  Cow.  435 

48. 
It  was  a  pity,  so  the  mover  said, 

Cold  water  in  this  way  the  scheme  to  throw  on  ; 
But  truly,  it  ne'er  came  into  his  head, 

That  it  could  tend  to  any  harm — and  so  on  ; 
He  thought  it  was  not  likely  he  would  lead 

His  friends  to  sinning.  But  the  ball  must  go  on  ! 
When  he  was  young  his  ploys  had  ne'er  miscarried, 
And  this  one  shouldn't — though  he  now  was  married ! 

49. 
You'll  think,  no  doubt,  that  such  a  conversation 

Was  not  much  suited  to  produce  devotion  ; 
And  so  thought  I ;  but,  in  this  pious  nation, 

The  worthies  seem  to  have  a  different  notion. 
The  Sabbath  here's  a  day  of  recreation, 

And  it  would  cause  a  horrible  commotion, 
If  either  you  or  I  should  dare  to  say, 
Such  subjects  more  became  another  day. 

50. 
About  the  dance  then  all  were  gay  as  crickets  ; 

But,  in  a  little  time,  a  pause  ensued, 
And,  while  thus  passing  through  one  of  the  thickets, 

Which  any  one  may  find  in  Thrilling  wood, 
A  lady's  voice  said,  ' '  Have  you  got  the  tickets  ?" 

I  heard  not  the  reply,  but  understood 
The  worthy  mover  had  ta'en  proper  care 
Of  all  the  business  that  fell  to  his  share. 

51. 

I  cannot  tell  what  others  may  have  thought, 

When  thus  the  gentle  lady  made  her  speech ; 
They  have  more  prudence,  and  I  also  ought 

To  suffer  past  experience  now  to  teach 
My  muse  some  wisdom;  for  she  oft  hath  brought 

My  heart  and  judgment  within  censure's  reach. 
Yet,  knowing  this,  and  though  I'm  not  too  godly, 
I  can't  help  saying  that  it  sounded  oddly. 

52. 
And  odd  it  surely  was ;  but  much  I  fear 

You'll  think  it  something  worse  than  odd,  if  I 
Continue  thus  to  claim  the  public  ear, 

To  trifles  such  as  Lothian  charity : 
But  such,  oh  Christopher  !  both  far  and  near 

Thy  influence,  that  whate'er  we  chance  to  spy, 
Within  thy  pages  is  consider'd  good, 
And  presently  becomes  the  public  food. 

53. 

So,  lest  we  by  our  good  things  cause  satiety, 

We'll  pause  a  moment,  and  if  you  think  fit, 
We'll,  ere  next  month,  by  way  of  a  variety, 

Endeavour  to  prepare  another  hit 
At  Lothian  manners ; — for  you  know,  propriety 

In  writing  nonsense,  as  in  spouting  wit, 
Consists  not  so  much  in  avoiding  levity, 
As  in  that  greatest  of  perfections — brevity. 

END  OF  THE  FIRST  EPISTLE. 


436  Stanzas  on  the  Death  of  Napoleon  Buonaparte. 

STANZAS, 

On  the  Death  of  Napoleon  Buonajiarte. 

THE  knell  hath  toll'd,  and  the*  mighty  hath  gone 

To  the  dust,  like  a  thing  forsaken ; 
No  more  shall  the  dread  Napoleon 

At  the  summons  of  Fame  awaken  ! 

Thou  did'st  not  die  on  the  tented  plain, 
With  thy  martial  legions  round  thee ; 

But  a  captive,  girt  with  the  gnawing  chain, 
In  which  the  nations  bound  thee  ! 

Thou  did'st  not  fade,  like  a  lightning  flash, 
When  thunder-clouds  bend  lowly  ;— 

Thou  did'st  not  sink,  like  a  torrent's  dash  ; 
But  silently  pined,  and  slowly. 

A  hundred  battles  were  fought  and  won  ; — 

Tens  of  thousands  fell  beside  thee  ; 
And  thine  eagle  soar'd,  with  its  eyes  to  the  sun, 

As  if  all  but  success  was  denied  thee. 

Thy  name  did  sound  a  watch- word  of  fear, — 
A  spell,  like  the  earthquake  and  thunder ; 

The  nations  did  crouch,  as  thy  banners  drew  near, 
In  the  depth  of  amazement  and  wonder  ! 

The  sceptre  fell  from  the  regal  hand  ; 

And  Liberty  saw  but  one  token 
In  Europe,  the  seat  of  her  ancient  command, 

That  her  sway  was  resistless,  though  broken  ! 

'Twas  in  Britain  the  stedfast  heart  did  remain, 
Through  the  terrors  and  tempest  of  danger, 

That  the  patriot  glow'd,  while  he  scoff'd  at  the  chain, 
That  was  forged  for  his  neck  by  the  stranger. 

'Twas  to  Britain  the  iron-bound  captive  gazed, 
When  Thraldom's  low  dungeon  he  enter'd ; 

'Twas  in  Britain  the  bulwark  of  Freedom  was  raised, 
And  the  hopes  of  the  earth  were  centred. 

For  the  Swede,  all  unnerved,  did  succumb  from  fight, 
The  Italian  lay  down  by  his  fountain, 

The  bright  star  of  Prussia  was  clouded  by  night, 
The  Switzer  had  fled  to  the  mountain  : 

The  Austrian  struggled,  yet  bow'd  to  the  yoke, 
And  Muscovy  trembled  before  thee ; 

Till  Frost,  like  a  giant,  the  talisman  broke, 
And  withering  ruin  came  o'er  thee  ! 

Still  the  warrior's  power  was  but  subdued 
For  a  season — more  strength  to  gather ; 

Then  forth  to  burst,  like  a  torrent  renew'd, 
To  spread  like  flame  o'er  the  heather. 

And  all  was  vain, — had  not  Wellington  come, 

His  cliarger  to  thine  opposing  ; 
When  Waterloo  echoed  the  trump  and  drum, 

And  thy  hosts  with  his  were  closing. 


1821.3  Stanzas  on  the  Death  of  Napokon  Buonaparte. 

Then  did  the  star  of  thy  victories  set, 
And  Night's  black  cloud  came  o'er  thee, 

And  thy  fate,  all  boastful  and  bright  as  yet, 
To  a  human  level  bore  thee. 

Shame  to  the  bard  who  would  raise  his  voice, 

One  hostile  feeling  to  cherish ; 
Shame  to  the  Briton  that  dare  rejoice, 

When  the  fallen  and  mighty  perish. 

For  thou  did'st  rise  'mid  summer's  skies, 
Like  an  eagle  all  sunward  soaring ; 

And  thou  stood'st  the  shock,  unmoved  as  the  rock, 
When  Adversity's  storm  was  roaring. 


437 


THE  VISION  BY  MOON-LIGHT. 


IT  was  a  calm  serene  evening.  I 
had  marked  from  my  window  the  glo- 
rious descent  of  the  summer  sun,  be- 
hind jhe  lofty  mountains  of  Fife  and 
Stirlingshire  ;  and  observed  the  glow- 
ing tints  of  crimson  and  purple  which 
he  had  infused  into  the  long  vista  of 
hovering  clouds,  gradually  evanishing 
and  dying  away,  leaving  the  mass  of 
a  pure  unilluminated  white.  The 
whole  expanse  of  the  Frith  of  Forth 
lay  stretched  out  before  me  in  sunless 
majesty,  silent  and  waveless,  as  if  the 
rebellious  spirit  of  the  waters  had 
yielded  themselves  to  the  dominion  of 
the  genial  season.  An  almost  imper- 
ceptible breath  of  land-wind,  at  inter- 
vals, moved  the  massy  foliage  of  the 
garden  trees  that  clustered  around,  and 
beneath  me  ;  from  the  topmost  branch 
of  one  of  which  the  blackbird  poured 
out  to  the  still  eve,  her  clear  and  me- 
lancholy, and  melodious  anthem. 

A  long  summer  day  had  passed  over 
me,  and  yet  my  morning  slippers  were 
still  on  my  feet.  Such  is  the  life  of  a 
book- worm.  I  had  dosed  hours  away 
over  the  pages  of  Coleridge's  cloudy 
and  incomprehensible  friend,  Jacobus 
Behmen,  seu  Teutonicus  Philosophus; 
and  could  with  difficulty  catch  now 
and  then  a  glimpse  of  meaning  in  the 
"  Signatura  llerum,  or  the  signature 
of  all  things,  shewing  the  sign  and 
signification  of  the  several  forms  and 
shapes  in  the  creation,  and  what  the 
beginning,  ruin,  and  cure,  of  every 
thing  is ;  it  proceeds  out  of  eternity 
into  time,  and  again  out  of  time  into 
eternity,  and  comprizethallmysteries," 
&c.  &c.  At  length,  finding  that  I 
could  not  overcome  impossibilities, 


and  extract  light  from  darkness,  after 
having  groped  my  way  through  the 
mazes  of  his  pathless  labyrinth  to  no 
purpose,  I  laid  him  again  on  his  dusty 
shelf,  that  the  spiders  might  be  no 
longer  withheld  from  re-commencing 
their  operations,  and  weaving  a  fresh 
plexus  between  him  and  the  super- 
incumbent board.  I  then  laid  my 
hand  on  Albertus  Magnus,  "  de  vir- 
tutibus  herbarum,  lapidum,  et  aniina- 
liuin  quorundam  libellus.  Item  de 
mirabilibus  Mundi,  ac  de  quibusdam 
effectibus  causatis  a  quibusdam  anima- 
libus."  From  the  misty  metaphysical 
atmosphere  of  the  High  Dutch  shoe- 
maker, I  found  myself  at  once  trans- 
ported into  the  regions  of  scholastic 
pedantry,  superstition,  and  credulity. 
I  was  taught  the  indisputable  truth, 
that  the  stone  Asmodus  brought  to  its 
possessor  the  power  of  overcoming 
wild  beasts,  interpreting  dreams,  and 
prophesying,  that  it  neutralizes  poi- 
sons, and  teaches  us  the  solution  of  all 
riddles,  even  though  propounded  by 
the  Sphinx  himself.  That  the  Cryso- 
lite  stuck  into  one  ear  drives  out  fool- 
ishness through  the  other,  allowing 
wisdom  to  take  up  its  lodgings  in  the 
empty  tenement  of  the  brain.  That  a 
cord  made  of  the  dried  hairs  of  a  dead 
ass,  rubbed  over  with  the  marrow 
taken  from  the  right  shoulder  blade  of 
the  same,  and  placed  above  the  thresh- 
hold,  will  make  those  that  enter  ap- 
pear to  have  three  heads.  And  that 
the  only  cure  for  drunkenness  is,  to 
throw  a  parcel  of  small  serpents  into  a 
vessel  of  wine,  letting  them  die  there, 
and  make  the  person  to  be  cured  drink 
thereof:  if  he  takes  a  good  draught, 


438 

we  are  assured  that  he  will  loath  wine 
for  a  year  at  least,  and  most  probably 
for  the  remainder  of  his  days. 
j  I  next  laid  my  hand  on  Cardanus, 
when,  as  I  was  reaching  him  from  his 
place,  I  received  a  summons  to  tea, 
and  notwithstanding  my  incurable 
thirst  for  reading,  I  must  own  without 
any  grievous  symptom  of  displeasure, 
I  tacitly  laid  him  up  again  to  enjoy 
his  slumber,  pregnant  with  uncom- 
municated  mysteries.  When  I  re- 
turned to  my  apartment,  I  found  that 
my  appetite  for  study  had  evaporated, 
and  that  I  had  quite  enough  of  indi- 
gestible matter  on  my  stomach  to  suf- 
fice me  for  one  day.  The  vesper  chime 
was  ringing  ;  the  long  lines  of  crimson 
light  Tnroke  in  through  the  western 
window ;  and  stretched  at  "  listless 
length"  upon  the  sopha,  I  gazed  out 
at  the  purpling  and  serene  beauties  of 
nature ;  and  could  not  help  drawing 
an  invidious  comparison  between  the 
ever- varying,  erring,  cloudy,  perplex- 
ed, and  vague  speculations  of  human 
intellect,  and  the  simple,  sublime,  and 
unchanging  beauty  of  the  external 
world.  I  thought  of  the  philosophy 
of  the  ancients,  and  of  the  deep  intri- 
cacies of  thought  and  language,  which 
the  wise  of  old  expended  in  their  en- 
deavours after  the  solution  of  mys- 
teries, which  remain  yet  wholly  un- 
intelligible. I  thought  on  the  max- 
ims which  had  been  laid  down  and 
acted  upon  in  far  distant  ages  of  the 
world,  with  a  divine  magnanimity, 
and  persevering  steadiness;  all  of 
which  have  been  proved  by  celestial 
revelation,  to  be  erring  and  nugatory. 
I  thought  of  sages,  who  had  worn  out 
a  long  life  in  self-denial  and  contem- 
plation, for  the  establishment  of  their 
doctrines  and  dogmas ;  and  of  those 
who  suffered  banishment  and  death  in 
their  promulgation.  I  thought  of  the 
Magi  and  the  soothsayers,  wildly  clad 
in  their  flowing  mantles,  with  their 
pointed  caps,  and  white  rods  of  divin- 
ation. Of  the  Alchemists  in  their 
subterraneous  laboratories,  surround- 
ed with  mummies,  and  monsters,  and 
dried  serpents,  with  meteoric  stones, 
and  metallic  ores,  and  alembics,  re- 
torts, and  crucibles,  diving  into  the 
arcana  of  nature  in  search  of  some  airy 
phantasy,  the  philosopher's  stone,  or 
the  transmutation  of  metals.  Of  the 
astrologers  watching  from  the  balcony 
the  aspects  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  and 


The  Vision  by  Moon-ligfit. 


thence  deriving  the  thread  of  fate 
which  is  to  await  the  march  of  human 
life.  I  thought  of  these,  and  of  in- 
numerable other  subjects,  all  equally 
pregnant  with  mystery  and  disappoint- 
ment, all  equally  indicative  of  the  as- 
pirations and  energies  of  the  human 
mind,  and  of  their  misdirection  and 
futility. 

I  had  sat  dreaming  with  my  eyes 
open  for  a  considerable  time;  how 
long  I  know  not ;— and  it  is  of  little 
consequence ;  but  I  now  perceive  that 

The  moon-light  stealing  o'er  the  scene, 
Had  blended  with  the  tints  of  eve ; 

The  song  of  the  blackbird  had  ceased  ; 
an  azure  shade  hung  over  the  bosom 
of  the  sea,  and  over  the  sides  of  the 
amphitheatre  of  hills,  though  their 
summits  seen  in  the  clear  mirror  of 
the  northern  sky  were  distinctly  visi- 
ble in  the  dark  outline.  I  hastily 
started  up,  threw  off  my  slippers, 
yawned  heartily,  and  prepared  myself 
for  a  solitary  moon-light  saunter. 

Slapping  the  door  behind  me,  I 
strayed  on  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  till 
I  gained  the  margin  of  the  river,  and 
the  long  avenue  of  oak,  elm,  and  beech 
trees,  that  shaded  the  pathway.  There? 
was  a  delicious  coolness  in  the  air,  and 
an  unclouded  glory  in  the  blue  sky, 
save  a  few  fleecy  specks,  above  which 
the  moon  shewed  her  silver  majesty  ; 
and  not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  save 
the  river,  that  with  a  low,  still  mur- 
mur, wandered  glistening  over  its 
pebbly  bed.  I  now  stood  motionless 
leaning  on  my  cane,  and  gazed  on  the 
tall  green  water-lillieswith  their  bright 
flowers,  standing  almost  erect  in  the 
juttings  of  the  stream,  where  the  sur- 
face was  calm  and  unruffled ; — on  the 
willow  boughs  that  leant  over  the  tide 
and  made  a  break  in  the  running  wa- 
ter, with  their  long  hoary  pointed 
leaves  ; — on  the  soft  natural  flowers, 
the  daisy  and  the  dandelion,  and  the 
harebell,  that  grew  in  countless  pro- 
fusion around,  and  shot  up  their  va- 
riegated heads  beneath  the  dark  and 
broad-leaved  mallow.  Now  turning, 
I  cast  my  eye  over  the  verdant  lawn, 
bounded  by  its  young  plantation  of 
firs,  that  raised  their  dark  spiral  tops 
on  high  ;  and  against  the  relief  of  the 
heavens,  appeared  like  a  countless 
multitude  of  spears :  here  the  syca- 
more spread  a  broader  bough,  and 
threw  a  deeper  shade  ;  there  the  deli- 
5 


1621. ^  The  Vision  by  Moon-Ughl.  435 

cate  birch-tree  scattered  its  depending  sky ;  I  gazed  on  it  as1  on  "  a  beauty 
tendrils,  and  round  the  stems  of  the  and  a  mystery,"  careering  the  pathless 
huge  oaks  in  the  centre  of  the  park,  depth  of  heaven,  and  making  earth  a 
the  cattle  were  reclining ;  and  the  scene  worthy  the  abode  of  celestial  in- 
gentle  footfall  of  the  steed  Was  at  in-  habitants. 

tervals  heard  as  he  tardily  moved  about,  Well  might  I  say  as  Thomson  does 

not  yet  satisfied  with  his  evening  re-*  of  the  region  in  which  he  has  placed 

past.  his  Castle  of  Indolence, 

I  moved  on  till  I  arrived  at  an  ah-  <>  A    ,         .  .     ,    ,. ,         u    A  -t     „  .» 

tique  wooden  seat  in  the  shelter  of  a  '  A  Pleasant  land  °™rowSyhead  <t  was ; 

wide-spread  hawthorn  bush,  destined  for  I  had  not  remained  gazing  and 

for  the  refreshment  of  the  traveller.  I  musing  above  half  an  hour,  mid  the 

threw  myself  upon  it  and  gazed  around  sounds  and  the  sights  which 

me  :  all  was  still,  and  almost  unearth-  , ,    .  .    v     ••    „  ...  „!„„„  »» 

ly  beautiful.     My  mind  was  raised  to  yblent  incLned  aU  t0  sleep' 

a  state  of  excitement  little  short  of  when  the  poppies  of  Morpheus  began 

poetic  inspiration.    I  heard  the  bay  of  to  nod  over  my  forehead,  and  those 

the  watch-dog  from  the  distant  farms ;  visions  haunted  my  brain,  which  pass, 

and  save  the  murmur  of  the  stream  „  id  ^  the  half  shut  ,„ 
and  the  casual  rustle  of  the  leaf,  all 

was  in  a  state  as  of  a  deep  sleep ;  all  Now  I  thought  myself  in  Fairyland, 

was  quiet  as  an  enchanted  fairy  region,  and  beheld  the  gambols  of  the  tiny 

The  moon  was  now  far  up  in  the  wide  elves, 

which  the  belated  peasant  sees, 
Or  dreams  he  sees,  while  overhead  the  moon 
Sits  arbitress,  and  nearer  to  the  earth 
Wheels  her  pale  course ;  they  on  their  mirth  and  dance 
Intent,  with  jocund  music  charm  his  ear, 
At  once  with  joy  and  fear  his  heart  rebounds. 

Now,  I  imagined  myself  in  an  uninhabited  world,  where  life  was  a  thing  of 
the  past,  and  where  inanimate  beauty  alone  presides.  Now  I  thought  myself 
ort  a  desolate  rock  of  the  ocean,  gazing  upori  the  silver  planet,  and  wondering 
if  the  friends  of  early  years  might  not  now  be  likewise  fixing  their  eyes  on  its 
beauty.  At  length^  overcome  with  reclining,  musing,  imagining,  feign- 
ing, dreaming ;  with  the  softness  of  the  air,  and  the  magic  of  the  moon-shine, 
I  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  had  the  following  fantastic  dream. 

Methought  a  person  wrapt  in  a  long  mantle  stood  before  me ;  and,  pointing 
with  his  finger  to  the  wide  waste  around,  exclaimed  in  a  wild  impassioned 
tone, 

"  How  beautiful  is  night ! 
A  dewy  freshness,  fills  the  silent  air, 
No  mist  obscures,  no  little  cloud 
Breaks  the  whole  serene  of  heaven : 
In  full  orb'd  glory  the  majestic  moon 

Rolls  through  the  dark  blue  depths. 
Beneath  her  steady  ray 
The  desart  circle  spreads, 

Like  the  round  ocean,  girdled  with  the  sky,  / 

How  beautiful  is  night ! 
Who  at  this  untimely  hour 
Wanders  o'er  the  desart  sands? 

No  station  is  in  view, 
No  palm-grove  islanded  amid  the  waste." 

I  looked  at  him,  wondering  ;  and  lo !  the  scene  was  changed ;  for  f  beheld 
the  long  level  plain  almost  destitute  of  shrubs,  and  circled  round  by  the  cloud- 
less twilight  sky.  Not  far  distant  a  tent  appeared ;  and  while  my  attention 
was  fixed  on  it,  through  the  opening  of  the  door-curtain  I  could  distinctly 
perceive  some  moving  figures ;  and  while  I  attentively  perused  them,  the  per* 
son  beside  me  again  broke  forth, 

VOL.  IX.  3>I 


440  The  Vision  by  Moon-light.  DTuty> 

"  Through  the  purple  glow  of  even 

Shines  dimly  the  wnite  moon. 
The  slacken'd  bow,  the  quiver,  the  long  lance, 

Rest  on  the  pillar  of  the  tent. 
Knitting  light  palm-leaves  for  her  brother's  brow, 

The  dark -eyed  damsel  sits ; 
The  old  man  tranquilly 

Up  his  curl'd  pipe  innales 

The  tranquillizing  herb. 
So  listen  they  the  reed  of  Thalaba ; 

While  his  skill'd  fingers  modulate 
The  low,  sweet,  soothing,  melancholy  tones. 

Or  if  he  strung  the  pearls  of  poetry, 

Singing  with  agitated  face 

And  eloquent  anus,  and  sighs  that  reach  the  heart, 
A  tale  of  love  and  woe." 

A  shadow  seemed  to  pass  before  mine  eyes,  a  cloudy  indistinctness;  and 
when  the  objects  began  to  settle,  and  become  fixed,  I  perceived  a  lonely  tra- 
veller passing  by  moon-light  through  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  city.  He,  at 
length  seemed  to  pause,  and  lo  !  a  dark  figure  approached  him, — a  cloud  came 
down,  and  took  them  from  my  sight.  Turning  to  my  mysterious  attendant, 
I  asked  him,  who  were  these  that  we  saw  ?  Without  deigning  directly  to  an- 
swer me,  he  ran  on : 

"  Through  the  broken  portal, 
Over  weedy  fragments, 
Thalaba  went  his  way. 
Cautious  he  trod,  and  felt 
The  dangerous  ground  before  him  with  his  bow. 
The  chacal  started  at  his  steps ; 
The  stork,  alarm'd  at  sound  of  man, 
From  her  broad  nest  upon  the  old  pillar  top, 
Affrighted  fled  on  flapping  wings. 
The  adder  in  her  haunts  disturb'd, 
Lanced  at  the  intruding  staff  her  arrowy  tongue. 
Twilight  and  moon-shine  dimly  mingling  gave 
An  awful  light  obscure, 
Evening  not  wholly  closed. 
The  moon  still  pale  and  faint. 
An  awful  light  obscure, 
Broken  by  many  a  mass  of  blackest  shade ; 
Long  column  stretching  dark  through  weeds  and  mo,ss, 
Broad  length  of  lofty  walk, 
Whose  windows  lay  in  light, 
And  of  their  former  shape,  low-arch'd  or  square, 
Rude  outline  on  the  earth 
Figured,  with  long  grass  fringed. 
Reclined  against  a  column's  broken  shaft, 
Unknowing  whitherward  to  bend  his  way 
He  stood  and  gazed  around. 
The  ruins  closed  him  in ; 
It  seem'd  as  if  no  foot  of  man 
For  ages  had  intruded  there. 
Soon  at  approaching  step, 
Starting,  he  turn'd,  and  saw 
A  warrior  in  the  moon-beam  drawing  near." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said,  <e  Wilt  thou  go  on  with  me  ?" — I  did 
not  understand  the  question,  till  at  our  feet  I  observed  a  little  boat,  and  the 
wide  expanse  of  ocean.  He  took  me  by  the  hand,  arid  we  set  out  together. 
We  shot  off  from  the  land  like  a  lightning  flash  ;  and  my  companion  starting 
to  his  feet,  gazed  around  as  if  in  a  trance  of  ecstatic  admiration,  and  then  joy- 
fully exclaimed, 


Tke  Vision  by  Moon-light.  441 

"  The  moon  is  bright,  the  sea  is  calm, 

The  little  boat  rides  rapidly 

Across  the  ocean  waves ; 
The  line  of  moon-light  on  the  deep 
Still  follows  as  we  voyage  on ; 

The  winds  are  motionless ; 
The  gentle  waters  gently  part 

In  murmurs  round  the  prow. 
I  look  above,  I  look  around, 
The  boundless  heaven,  the  boundless  sea, 
The  crescent  moon,  the  little  boat, 

Nought  else  above,  below." 

He  then  resumed  his  seat,  and  resting  his  brow  upon  his  outspread  fingers, 
we  sailed  on  in  silence.  But  now  a  wonder  struck  me ;  the  little  boat  which, 
as  if  by  instinct  or  hidden  impulse,  had  traversed  the  deep,  "  without  an  oar, 
without  a  sail,"  had  expanded  into  a  large  vessel ;  and  when  the  person  by  my 
side  lifted  up  his  head,  1  observed  a  complete  metamorphosis,  his  countenance, 
his  voice,  and  his  dress  being  wholly  changed.  He  did  not  appear  to  observe 
me ;  and  leaning  his  back  against  the  railing  of  the  quarter-deck,  he  pensive- 
ly sung : 

"  Sweet  Moon  !  if  like  Crotona's  sage, 

By  any  spell  my  hand  could  dare 
To  make  thy  disk  its  ample  page, 

And  write  my  thoughts,  my  wishes  there  ; 
How  many  a  friend,  whose  careless  eye 
Now  wanders  o'er  that  starry  sky, 
Should  smile  upon  thy  orb  to  meet 

The  recollection,  kind  and  sweet,  t 

The  reveries  of  fond  regret, 
The  promise  never  to  forget, 
And  all  my  heart  and  soul  would  send 
To  many  a  dear-loved  distant  friend. 
Even  now  delusive  hope  will  steal 
Amid  the  dark  regrets  I  feel, 
Soothing  as  yonder  placid  beam 

Pursues  the  murmurers  of  the  deep, 
And  lights  them  with  consoling  gleam, 
And  smiles  them  into  tranquil  sleep ! 
Oh  !  such  a  blessed  night  as  this ; 

I  often  think  if  friends  were  near, 
How  we  should  feel,  and  gaze  with  bliss 

Upon  the  moon-bright  scenery  here  ! 
The  sea  is  like  a  silvery  lake, 

And  o'er  its  calm  the  vessel  glides 
Gently,  as  if  it  fear'd  to  wake 

The  slumber  of  the  silent  tides ! 
The  only  envious  cloud  that  lowers, 

Hath  hung  its  shade  on  Pico's  height, 
Where  dimly,  'mid  the  dusk,  he  towers, 

And  scowling  at  this  heaven  of  light, 
Exults  to  see  the  infant  storm 

Cling  darkly  round  his  giant  form  !'* 

He  then  looked  me  in  the  face,  politely  bowed,  and  stepped  down  to  the 
captain's  cabin  to  have  a  rubber  at  whist.  Another  person  of  tall  stature,  and 
younger  in  years,  who  had  been  at  the  poop  of  the  vessel  looking  into  the  wa- 
ter, as  I  thought,  stood  upright ;  and  pointing  to  the  full-orbed  regent  of  the 
night,  passionately  said, 

"  I  lift  my  eyes  upon  the  radiant  Moon 
That  long  unnoticed  o'er  my  head  has  held 
Her  solitary  walk,  and  as  her  light 


442  The  Vision  by  Moon-light.  £July, 

Recalls  my  wandering  soul,  I  start  to  feel 
That  all  has  been  a  dream.     Alone  I  stand 
Amid  the  silence.     Onward  rolls  the  stream 
Of  time,  while  to  my  ear  its  waters  sound 
With  a  strange  rushing  music.     O  my  soul ! 
Whate'er  betide,  for  aye  remember  thou 
These  mystic  warnings,  for  they  are  of  Heaven." 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  I  to  him,  "  did  not  you  observe  the  moon  long  ago  ?  What 
have  you  been  dreaming  about  ?" — "  Oh  !  I  have  been  gazing  on  the  passing 
tide,  till,  as  a  poet  of  the  hills  beautifully  observes  of  another  in  my  situa- 
tion; 

While  the  broad  green  wave  and  sparkling  foam 
Flash'd  round  him  in  images  and  hues  that  wrought 
In  union  with  the  employment  of  his  heart, 
He,  thus  by  feverish  passion  overcome, 
Even  with  the  organs  of  his  bodily  eye, 
Below  him  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep, 
Saw  mountains — saw  the  forms  of  sheep  that  grazed 
On  verdant  hills — with  dwellings  among  trees, 
And  shepherds  clad  in  the  same  coup  try  gray 
Which  he  himself  had  worn." 

"  I  can  easily  credit  it,"  said  I,  "  our  love  for  our  country  increases  with  our 
distance  from  it ;  we  never  love  it  more  than  when  we  have  small  chance  of 
seeing  it  soon.  It  is  a  hard  thing  thing  to  be  for  ever  beating  about  in  the 
weltering  sea.  A  sailor's  life  is  assuredly  a  hard  one."—"  Not  so  much  so  as 
you  would  suppose,"  returned  he ;  "  I  have  composed  a  few  lines  on  that  sub- 
ject, which  I  shall  repeat  to  you ;"  and  which  were  ' '  written  by  moon-light 
at  sea," 

ft  Weep,  weep  not  for  the  mariner, 

Though  distant  far  he  roam, 
And  have  no  lovely  resting-place 

That  he  can  call  his  home, 
Friends  hath  he  in  the  wilderness, 
And  with  those  friends  he  lives  in  bliss, 

Without  one  pining  sigh ! — 
The  waves  that  round  his  vessel  crowd, 
The  guiding  star,  the  breezy  cloud, 

The  music  of  the  sky. 
And,  dearer  even  than  heaven's  sweet  light, 
He  gazes  on  that  wonder  bright, 

When  sporting  with  the  gales, 
Or  lying  in  a  beauteous  sleep 
Above  her  shadow  in  the  deep, — 

The  ship  in  which  he  sails. 
Then  weep  not  for  the  mariner ! 

He  needeth  not  thy  tears  ; 
From  his  soul  the  ocean's  midnight  voice 

Dispels  all  mortal  fears, 
Quietly  slumber  shepherd  men 
In  the  silence  of  some  inland  glen, 
Lull'd  by  the  gentlest  sounds  of  air  and  earth ; 
Yet  as  quietly  rests  the  mariner, 
Nor  wants  for  dreams  as  melting  fair, 
Amid  the  ocean's  mirth." 

How  do  you  like  that  ?"  said  he,  on  finishing. — "  Very  much,  indeed," 
returned  I ;  "it  is  soft  and  beautiful,  and  sheds  a  halo  of  peace,  and  resig- 
nation, and  tranquillity,  around  the  adventurous  life  of  a  sailor." 

"  Mariner !"  re-echoed  a  wild,  unearthly  voice,  which  was  wholly  dif- 


1821.3  The  Vition  by  Moon-light.  443 

ferent  from  that  which  had  BO  sweetly  spoken.    "  Have  not  I  sung  his  mar- 
vellous voyage  ?  Here  is  part  of  the  song  :— 

The  sun's  rim  dips,  the  stars  rush  out, 

At  one  stride  comes  the  dark ; 
With  far-heard  whisper,  o'er  the  sea 

Off  shot  the  spectre  bark. 
We  listen'd,  and  look'd  sideways  up  ; 
Fear  at  my  heart,  as  at  a  cup, 

My  life-blood  seem'd  to  sip  ! 
The  stars  were  dim,  and  thick  the  night : 
The  steersman's  face  by  his  lamp  gleam  a  white ; 

From  the  sails  the  dews  did  drip ; 
Till  clombe  above  the  eastern  bar, 
The  horned  moon,  with  one  bright  star 

Within  the  nether  tip." 

There  was  a  strange  wildness,  mingled  with  a  poetical  fervour,  in  his  lan- 
guage, which  made  me  involuntarily  start  from  him.  "  O  do  not  discomfort 
yourself,"  observed  he ;  "  we  shall  soon  be  at  home  again ;  for  behold,  yon- 
der is  the  kirk,  and  the  ancient  village,  and  the  harbour,  and  all  the  well- 
known  objects  which  we  have  often  dreamed  about  during  our  adventurous 
and  awful  voyage,  and  which  we  dreaded  never  more  to  feast  our  eyes  upon. 
But  our  infatuation  has  been  cured, 

And  sadder  men,  and  wiser  men, 
We'll  rise  to-morrow  morn." 

In  an  instant,  methought  we  were  landed  in  a  beautiful  wooded  region,  in- 
terspersed with  mountains,  rivers,  and  lakes ;  and,  with  a  stranger  of  a  sublime, 
contemplative  appearance,  I  sauntered  leisurely  up  to  the  top  of  a  green  emi- 
nence. "  Who  would  imagine,"  he  observed, <f  that  hi  this  beautiful  and  se- 
rene night,  the  voice 

Of  battle,  and  the  breath 
Of  stormy  war,  and  violent  death, 

should  haunt  and  hang  over  this  seeming  peaceful  region  ?  But  true  it  is,  tkat 

From  cloudless  ether  looking  down, 

The  moon,  this  tranquil  evening,  sees 
A  camp,  and  a  beleaguer 'd  town, 
And  castle  like  a  stately  crown, 

On  the  steep  rocks  of  winding  Tees ; 
And,  southward  far,  with  moors  between, 
Hill-tops,  and  floods,  and  forests  green. 
The  bright  moon  sees  that  valley  small, 
Where  Rylstone's  old  sequester' d  hall 
A  venerable  image  yields 
Of  quiet  to  the  neighbouring  fields ; 
While,  from  one  pUlar'd  chimney  breathes 
The  silver  smoke,  and  mounts  in  wreaths. 
The  courts  are  hush'd ;  for  timely  sleep 
The  greyhounds  to  their  kennel  creep ; 
The  peacock  in  the  broad  ash  tree 

Aloft  is  roosted  for  the  night, — 
He  who  in  proud  prosperity, 

Of  colours  manifold  and  bright, 
Walk'd  round,  affronting  the  day  light. 
And  higher  still,  above  the  bower 
Where  he  is  perch 'd,  from  yon  lone  tower, 
The  hall-clock,  in  the  clear  moonshine, 
With  glittering  finger  points  at  nine, 


441  Tlie  Vision  by  Mwm-light. 

Ah !  who  could  think  that  sadness  here 
Had  any  sway  ?  or  pain,  or  fear  ; 
A  soft  and  lulling  sound  is  heard 

Of  streams,  inaudible  by  day  ; 
The  garden  pool's  dark  surface  stirr'd 

By  the  night  insects  in  their  play, 
Breaks  into  dimples  small  and  bright ; 
A  thousand,  thousand,  rings  of  light, 

That  shape  themselves,  and  disappear 
Almost  as  soon  as  seen." 

"  Bless  me !"  exclaimed  a  young  man  of  a  noble  aspect,  that  stepped  from 
behind  us ;  "  that  is  much  finer  than  I  could  possibly  have  conceived  your 
milk-and-water  genius  capable  of  producing.  I  am  ashamed  of  having  said 
some  contemptuous  things  of  you,  to  whom  I  am  under  more  actual  obligation 
than  to  any  other  person  alive.  The  beautiful  description  you  have  just  given 
us,  vividly  recals  to  my  mind  the  recollection  of  an  evening,  which  still  holds 
its  place  in  my  mind  as  '  the  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky,'  and  which  I  have 
endeavoured  to  give  to  the  world  in  the  lines  which  I  now  recite  to  you.  I  was 
at  that  time  romantically  wandering  through  foreign  climes  ;  it  was  during  the 
days  of  my  ardent  passions  and  youthful  fervour ;  and,  as  I  gazed  on  the  dis- 
tant towers  of  Corinth,  I  could  not  help  feeling  a  yearning  after  the  magnifi- 
cence that  had  passed  away,  and  perished  from  the  earth,  and  yet  which  was 
sacred  to  mankind  in  general,  by  many  holy,  and  to  me,  by  mauy  classicul  re- 
collections.— 

'Tis  midnight : — on  the  mountains  brown 

The  cold  round  moon  shines  deeply  down ; 

Blue  roll  the  waters;  blue  the  sky 

Spreads  like  an  ocean  hung  on  high, 

Bespangled  with  those  isles  of  light, 

So  wildly,  spiritually  bright. 

Who  ever  gazed  upon  them  shining, 

And  turn'd  to  earth  without  repining, 

Nor  wish'd  for  wings  to  flee  away, 

And  mix  with  the  eternal  ray  ? 

The  waves  on  either  side  lay  there, 

Calm,  clear,  and  azure  as  the  air ; 

And  scarce  their  foam  the  pebbles  shook, 

But  murmur'd  meekly  us  the  brook. 

The  winds  were  pillow'd  on  the  waves ; 

The  banners  droop'd  along  their  staves ; 

And,  as  they  fell,  around  them  furling, 

Above  them  shone  the  crescent  curling ; 

And  that  silence  was  unbroke, 

Save  where  the  watch  his  signal  spoke  ; 

Save  where  the  steed  neigh'd  oft  and  shrill, 

And  echo  answcr'd  from  the  hill. 

And  the  wide  hum  of  that  wild  host 

Hustled  like  leaves  from  coast  to  coast, 

As  rose  the  Muezzin's  voice  in  air, 

In  midnight  cull  to  wonted  prayer; 

It  rose,  that  chaunted  mournful  strain, 

Like  some  lone  spirit's  o'er  the  plain : 

'Twas  musical,  but  sadly  sweet, 

Such  as  when  winds  and  harp-strings  meet, 

And  take  a  long  unmeasured  tone, 

To  mortal  minstrelsy  unknown. 

It  seem'd,  to  those  within  the  wall, 

A  cry  prophetic  of  their  fall : 

It  struck  even  the  besieger's  ear 

With  somt'thinp  ominous  and  drear, 


1821/]  The  Vision  by  Moon-light.  445 

An  undefined  and  sudden  thrill, 
Which  makes  the  heart  a  moment  still, 
Then  beat  with  quicker  pulse,  ashamed 
Of  that  strange  sense  its  silence  framed ; 
Such  as  a  sudden  passing  bell 
Wakes,  though  but  for  a  stranger's  knell. 

You  have  had  enough  of  it,  I  presume.  I  see  by  your  looks  that  you  are 
both  tired  of  me.  My  hours  of  inspiration  are  the  only  tolerable  ones  I  pass 
on  earth.  Popularity  is  an  idle  breath.  Disappointment  and  pain  accompany 
me,  whatever  I  do,  and  wherever  I  go ;  then 

Farewell,  a  word  that  hath  been,  and  must  be ! 

The  gales  of  foreign  seas  shall  expand  my  sails,  and  the  soil  of  distant  climes 
shall  bear  my  footsteps.  I  shall  wander  amid  the  ruins  of  ancient  magnificence, 
and  indulge  my  heart  in  melancholy  musings !  Pooh !  do  you  think  me  such  a 
spoonie  ?  How  do  you  like  this,  pray  ?  and  especially  you,  Seignor  Grave- 
face? 

Oh,  Mirth  and  Innocence  !  Oh,  Milk  and  Water  ! 

Ye  happy  mixtures  of  more  happy  days ! 
In  these  sad  centuries  of  sin  and  slaughter, 

Abominable  man  no  more  allays 
His  thirst  for  such  pure  beverage.    No  matter ; 

I  love  you  both,  and  both  shall  have  my  praise. 
Oh,  for  old  Saturn's  reign  of  sugar-candy  ! 
Meantime,  I  drink  to  your  return  in  brandy." 

Methought  that  the  graver  of  my  companions  looked  at  the  younger  and 
more  volatile,  with  a  sorrowful,  but  forgiving  eye ;  as  if  he  pitied,  yet  admi- 
red ;  as  if  he  saw  it  was  in  vain,  yet  wished  to  expostulate  with  him.  I  fore- 
saw that  some  altercation  would  ensue ;  so  I  stepped  forward,  that  I  might 
not  be  thought  to  overhear  their  altercation. 

There  was  a  fine  clump  of  oak  trees  before  me  ;  so  I  endeavoured  to  get  to 
the  other  side  of  them.  I  had  just  turned  down  the  little  avenue  which  they 
formed,  when  I  was  accosted  by  a  most  melodious  voice.  "  Is  not  that  a  most 
beautiful  landscape  beneath  our  eyes  ?"  it  said ;  "  a  moon-light  reflection  of 
paradise !"  I  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  expressed  my  agreement  with  him  in 
his  remarks.  "  Yet  it  is  the  scene  of  a  melancholy  tale/'  he  continued ;  "  and 
yon  distant  rock,  which  commands  a  view  of  the  sea,  is  the  nocturnal  haunt  of 
a  poor  maniac ;  yes, 

Hark !  the  wild  maniac  sings,  to  chide  the  gale 

That  wafts  so  slow  her  lover's  distant  sail ; 

She,  sad  spectatress,  on  the  wintry  shore 

Watch'd  the  rude  surge  his  shroudless  corse  that  bore ; 

Knew  the  pale  form,  and,  shrieking  in  amaze, 

Clasp'd  her  cold  hands,  and  fix'd  her  maddening  gaze. 

Poor  widow'd  wretch  !  'twas  then  she  wept  in  vain, 

Till  memory  fled  her  agonizing  brain ; 

But  Mercy  gave,  to  charm  the  sense  of  woe, 

Ideal  peace,  that  Truth  could  ne'er  bestow ; 

Warm  on  her  heart  the  joys  of  Fancy  beam, 

Aud  aimless  Hope  delights  her  darkest  dream. 

Oft,  when  yon  moon  has  climb'd  the  midnight  sky, 
And  the  lone  sea-bird  wakes  its  wildest  cry, 
Piled  on  the  steep  her  blazing  faggots  burn, 
To  hail  the  bark  that  never  can  return ; 
And  still  she  waits,  but  scarce  forbears  to  weep. 

Do  you  love  a  good  song?"  he  abruptly  ejaculated.  "  I  have  only  a  very  few 
of  them,  but  they  are  select.  Two  or  three  good  are  worth  a  dozen  of  indif- 
ferent ones. 


446  The  Vision  by  Moon-light. 

'Twas  the  hour  when  rites  unholy 

Calls  eath  Paynim  voice  to  prayer  ; 
And  the  star  that  faded  slowly, 

Left  to  dews  the  freshen'd  air. 
Day  his  sultry  fires  had  wasted ; 

Calm  and  sweet  the  moon-light  rose  ; 
Even  a  captive's  spirit  tasted 

Half  oblivion  of  his  woes. 

A  lazy  fit  has  seized  me ;  I  can't  go  on ;  but  t  will  probahly  give  you  the 
remainder  afterwards,  if  you  remind  me.  But  if  you  wish  to  hear  something 
at  present  worth  your  while,  step  down  to  the  river  bank  opposite  yon  Gothic 
castle.  A  magician  who  wanders  there  will  shew  you  the  wonders  of  the 
place."  I  obeyed  his  injunctions,  and  proceeding  to  the  bank,  I  beheld  a  tall 
figure  in  the  attitude  of  listening ;  his  shadow  was  dark  on  the  ground ;  and 
as  I  neared  him,  he  held  up  his  hand,  as  a  signal  of  silence,  at  same  time, 
beckoning  me  to  approach  him.  The  scene  was  picturesque,  wild,  romantic 
beyond  description.  The  large  tall  trees  threw  around  a  black  intensity  of 
shade,  and  the  dark  overhanging  mountain  banks  obscured  the  bed  of  the  ri- 
ver, which  rushed  on  with  a  deep,  low,  hollow  sound.  A  wildness  glanced  in 
the  magician's  eye,  as  we  caught  the  first  sounds  of  this  unearthly  dialogue. 

RIVER  SPIRIT. 
Sleep'&t  thou,  brother  ? 

MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT. 

Brother,  nay. — 

On  my  hills  the  moon-beams  play, 
From  Craikcross  to  Skelfield-pen, 
By  every  rill  in  every  glen, 
Merry  elves  their  morrice  dancing, 

To  aerial  minstrelsy ; 
Emerald  rings  on  brown  heath  tracing, 

Trip  it  deft  and  merrily ; 
Up,  and  mark  their  nimble  feet ! 
Up,  and  list  their  music  sweet  I 

RIVER  SPIRIT. 

Tears  of  an  imprison'd  maiden 

Mix  with  my  polluted  stream  ; 
Margaret  of  Branksome,  sorrow-laden, 

Mourns  beneath  the  moon's  pale  beam. 
Tell  me,  thou  who  view'st  the  stars, 
When  shall  cease  these  feudal  jars  ? 
What  shall  be  the  maiden's  fate  ? 
Who  shall  be  the  maiden's  mate  ? 

MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT. 

Arthur's  slow  wain  his  course  doth  roll, 
In  utter  darkness  round  the  pole  ; 
The  northern  bear  lowers  black  and  grim ; 
Orion's  studded  belt  is  dim ; 
Twinkling  faint,  and  distant  far, 
Shimmers  through  mist  each  planet  star. 

Ill  may  I  read  their  high  decree  ! 
But  no  kind  influence  deign  they  shower 
On  Teviot's  tide  and  Branksome's  tower, 

TU1  pride  be  quell'd,  and  love  be  free. 

The  sounds  then  suddenly  ceased,  and  we  stood  together  for  some  time, 
breathlessly  silent,  in  the  pale  moonlight;  but  nothing  was  to  be  heard  bat 
the  rush  of  the  river.  "  We  may  now  depart,"  said  the  magician,  "  for  we 

15 


1821 /]  The  Vision  by  Moon-light.  447 

shall  hear  no  more.    Is  not  this  a  beautiful  night  ?  it  strongly  reminds  me  of 
that  in  which  Thomas  the  Ilhymer  set  out  on  his  pilgrimage  to  Fairyland." 

"  The  elfin  harp  his  neck  around, 

In  minstrel  guise  he  hung ; 
And  on  the  wind,  in  doleful  sound, 

Its  dying  accents  rung. 
Then  forth  he  went,  yet  turn'd  him  oft 

To  view  his  ancient  hall ; 
On  the  grey  tower,  in  lustre  soft, 

The  autumn  moon-beams  fall, 
And  Leader's  waves,  like  silver  sheen, 

Danced  shimmering  in  the  ray ; 
In  deepening  mass,  at  distance  seen, 

Broad  Soltra's  mountains  lay." 

Here  the  delightful  verse  was  interrupted  by  a  voice  that  shouted  to  my 
conductor  from  a  knoll  not  far  distant.  I  observed  a  person  rapidly  approach- 
ing us. 

"  It  is  all  to  no  purpose,"  he  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  he  got  within  distinct 
hearing.  "  One  might  lie  and  wait  there  till  doomsday,  before  any  of  the 
green-coated  people  would  favour  one  with  a  peep  at  their  revels.  I  am  certain  it 
was  not  always  so,  as  many  creditable  old  people  of  my  acquaintance  can  attest. 
But  old  things  have  passed  away,  and  every  thing  has  become  new.  I  would 
not  be  surprised,  if,  in  the  course  of  another  twenty  years,  the  people  were  to 
doubt  of  the  existence  of  ghosts,  witches,  or  even  brownies,  altogether.  But 
we  must  take  things  as  they  go.  It  is  full  time  that  we  were  all  .in  bed,  for 
see 

The  bright  morning  star,  day's  harbinger, 
Comes  dancing  from  the  east. 

The  watch-dog  rests  with  folded  eye 

Beneath  the  portal's  grey  festoon  ; 
The  wilder'd  Ettrick  wanders  bye, 

Loud  murmuring  to  the  careless  moon. 
The  warder  lists  with  hope  and  dread 

Far  distant  shout  of  fray  begun  ; 
The  cricket  tunes  his  tiny  reed, 

And  harps  beside  the  embers  dun. 
Was  that  the  blast  of  bugle,  borne 

Far  on  the  night- wind,  wavering  shrill  ? 
'Tis  nothing  but  the  shepherd's  horn, 

That  keeps  the  watch  on  Cacra  hill. 
What  means  the  warder's  answering  note  ? 

The  moon  is  west,  'tis  near  the  day  ; 
I  thought  I  heard  the  warrior's  shout, 

'Tis  time  the  abbot  were  away  ! 
The  bittern  mounts  the  morning  air, 

And  rings  the  sky  with  quavering  croon  ; 
The  watch-dog  sallies  from  his  lair, 

And  bays  the  wind  and  setting  moon. 
'Tis  not  the  breeze,  nor  bittern's  wail, 

Comes  Tushilaw  and  all  his  men." 

He  here  broke  short ;  we  heard  the  secret  expedition.  But  instead  of  Tu- 

sound  of  innumerable  tongues,  the  shilaw  and  all  his  men,  what  was  my 

low,  the  loud,  the  shrill,  the  hoarse,  surprise  to  see  a  motley  crowd  turn  the 

the  musical,  the  discordant,  which  I  corner  of  a  walk  full  in  front.  There 

thought  shewed  a  great  want  of  gene-  was  no  possibility  of  retreat,  so  we 

ralship  in  the  border  chief  when  on  a  were  forced  to  abide  the  storm.  .Good 

VOL.  IX.  3  K 


The  Vition  by  Moon-light. 


448 

heavens  !  what  a  babel  of  sounds  ; 
what  a  beating  of  the  earth  with  feet ; 
what  a  sawing  of  the  air  with  hands  ! 
but  still  the  uppermost  sounds  were, 
(c  Hear  me  first," — "  Hear  me  first,'' 
— "  I  insist  on  having  the  best  claim," 
— "  OhMoon !"— "DelightfulMoon!" 
— "  Hail  to  thee,  Phoebe  !"— "  Silver 
Phingari !" — "  Queen  of  the  Night !" 
— "  Pale  Lamp  of  Eve !" — "  Diana 
chaste !" — "  Regent  of  the  Silver  Bow ! " 
— I  pressed  my  hands  against  the  sides 
of  my  head  to  prevent  my  ear-drums 
from  being  broken.  Some  of  them 
had  their  hair  combed  over  their 
shoulders,  in  imitation  of  the  an- 
cients ;  some  with  sock  and  buskin 
on  ;  some  with  fool's-cap  bonnets  on 
their  heads  ;  some  without  neckcloths, 
and  others  scantily  supplied  with  other 
even  more  necessary  parts  of  dress. 
Females  were  likewise  mingled  with 
the  crowd,  all  of  whom,  I  observed, 
wore  blue  stockings,  and  sorry  am  I 
to  add,  that  they  were  not  the  least 
obstreperous  division  of  the  multitude. 


CJuly, 


"  Will  they  not  give  preference  to  the 
ladies  ?"  vociferated  a  loud  shrill  voice ; 
— "  For  shame  to  them,''  echoed  ano- 
ther, in  a  key  still  more  treble;— 
"  Ungallant  indeed,"  re-echoed  an 
old  lady,  who  in  vain  strove  to  elbow 
herself  forward. 

It  was  a  thing  that  could  not  be 
suffered ;  every  one  insisted  on  his 
claims  to  be  heard  first,  and  felt  asto- 
nished that  precedence  was  not  quiet- 
ly awarded  him.  Some  knelt  down  on 
their  bare  knees  in  humble  supplica- 
tion before  me ;  some  begged  for  mer- 
cy's sake;  some  insisted,  and  others 
threatened.  Some  pulled  me  by  the 
arms ;  some  tugged  me  by  the  coat ; 
and  one,  intent  to  make  short  work  of 
it,  was  in  the  attitude  of  trying  whe- 
ther his  own  fist  or  my  head  was  hard- 
est. I  observed  the  blow  descending 
— I  jerked  aside  to  avoid  it,  and  hit 
my  head  against  the  stump  of  the  haw- 
thorn with  such  a  violence  as  instant- 
ly to  awake  me,  and  dispel  the  multi- 
tude into  thin  air. 


THE  EMBALMER. — No.  I. 

Pero  con  todo  esto  me  parece,  que  el  traducir  de  una  lengua  en  otra,  como  no  sea  de 
las  Reynas  de  las  lenguas,  Griega  y  Latina,  es  como  quien  mira  los  tapices  Flamencos 
por  el  rev6s  que  aunque  se  veen  las  figuras  son  llenas  de  hilos  que  las  obscurecen,  y  no 
se  ven  con  la  lisura  y  tez  de  la  haz  ;  y  el  traducir  de  lenguas  faciles  ni  arguye  ingenio, 
ni  elocucion,  como  no  le  arguye  el  que  traslada  ni  el  que  copia  un  papel  de  otro  papel ; 
y  no  por  esto  quiero  inferir  que  no  sea  loable  este  exercicio  del  traducir  porque  en  otras 
cosas  peores  se  podria  occupar  el  hombre,  y  que  menos  provecho  le  truxessen. 

Don  Quixote,  p.  2.  c.  62. 


DEAR  CHRISTOPHER, 

IN  spite  of  the  angry  motto  against 
translators  which  I  have  prefixed  to 
my  letter,  I  yet  must  say  that  I  look 
upon  them  as  a  very  valuable  body  of 
men,  and  you  may  take  my  word  for 
it,  that  my  respect  for  the  corps  is  not 
at  all  diminished  by  the  circumstance 
of  my  having  occasionally  figured  in  it 
myself.  But  I  do  not  much  value  those 
of  our  brotherhood  who  are  contented 
with  oversetting,  as  the  Germans 
phrase  it,  works  into  the  mere  verna- 
cular. They  are  only  writers  for  a 
day— nothing  but  epnemerals.  Non 
sic  ituradastra.  If  the  original  be  worth 
knowing,  people  will  read  itin  its  native 
tongue,  so  that  there  is  no  good  done 
for  any  but  the  ignorant  or  lazy  part 
of  mankind. 

My  department,  I  flatter  myself,  is 
.  rather  higher.  It  has  been  long  com- 
plained, that  all  living  languages  are 
in  a  state  of  such  continual  flux,  that 


it  is  almost  wasting  a  man's  talents  to 
write  in  them.  Geoffry  Crayon,  if  I 
do  not  mistake,  most  pathetically  la- 
ments this  affair  in  his  Sketch  Book. 
Chaucer  strikes  us  as  more  antique 
reading  than  Homer  ;  and  a  man  finds 
more  difficulty  in  getting  through 
Gawain  Douglas  than  through  Virgil. 
It  is  a  melancholy  reflection  for  the 
thousand-and-one  writers  of  the  pre- 
sent day,  that  even  such  of  them  as 
have  the  good  luck  to  survive  half  a 
dozen  centuries,  must  submit  to  the 
misfortune  of  being  read  through  the 
musty  medium  of  comments  and  glos- 
saries. 

I  have  often  turned  my  thoughts 
towards  the  prevention  of  this  cala- 
mitous event,  but,  until  a  few  days 
ago,  in  vain.  An  idea  then  sud- 
denly struck  me,  as  I  lay  in  bed  one 
morning,  so  felicitous,  that  I  instantly 
jumped  up,  and  set  about  putting  it 
into  execution.  My  project  is,  to  trans- 


Tfi£  Embulmer.     No.  I. 


119 


18210 

lute  all  works  of  modern  tongues  at  to  be  meddling  with  the  kings  and 
once  into  ancient ; — a  dead  language,  emperors  of  Hebrew  accentuation — 
as  my  Lord  Byron  very  properly  re-  withZakeph-Katons,  Telisha  Gedolaa, 
marks,  in  his  late  gossiping  pamphlet,  Schalschelets,  and  other  grim-titled 
being  the  only  immortal  thing  in  this  little  flourishes.  And  if  the  thing  were 
world.  By  this  means  we  should  em-  to  be  done  at  all,  it  should  be  done  Ma- 
balm  our  authors;  and  I  intend  to  soretically;  for  I  look  on  the  Anti-Ma- 
take  upon  me  at  once  the  office  of  sorites  to  be  complete  Whigs  (i.e.  very 
EMBALMER  GENERAL,  in  which  ca-  contemptible  persons)  in  literature, 
pacity  I  may  perhaps  appear  at  the  With  respect  to  Greek,  it  is  a  very  fit 


coronation,  and  offer  the  King  a  mum- 
my case,  as  an  appropriate  homage  fee. 
The  works  of  our  poets — for  our  prose 
writers  I  leave  to  Dr  Bellendenus — 
will,  I  trust,  be  preserved  by  my  pre- 


language.  We  all  remember  Porson's 
elegant  translation  of  Three  Children 
Sliding  on  the  Ice ;  and  I  have  read 
two  or  three  neat  versions  of  Shake- 
speare, done  by  Cambridge  men  for  the 


parations,  at  least  as  effectually  as  bo-  prize  founded  by  him.  God  save  the 
dies  are  by  the  antiseptic  drugs,  or  King,  too,  has  been  done  for  the  Class- 
gross  unguents  of  Sir  Everard  Home,  ical  Journal  passably ;  and  Mr  Casciliug 
or  that  most  magnificent  personage  Metellus  has  given  the  commencement 
William  Thomas  Brande,  Esquire,  Se-  of  John  Gilpin  so  well,  in  the  same  pe- 
cretary  to  the  Royal  Institution,  and  nodical,  that  I  wish  he  would  finish  it; 
chief  concocter  of  that  highly  amusing  after  which,  he  might  try  his  hand  at 
and  agreeably  authentic  miscellany,  the  celebrated  imitation  of  Cowper's 
the  Quarterly  Journal  of  Science.  philosophical  poem,  Lord  Byron's  Ma- 
It  may  be  said,  that  translations  al-  zeppa.  I  was  inclined  to  follow  these 
ways  fall  far  short  of  the  original,  and  examples,  but  it  most  unluckily  hap- 
sacrifice  numberless  graces.  Perhaps  pened,  that  hi  the  very  first  poem  I 
this  is  true  of  all  other  translators  now  took  up,  I  had  occasion  to  look  for  the 
extant ;  but  in  my  particular  case,  all  precise  signification  of  a  word  begin- 
that  I  am  afraid  of  is,  that  I  may  ning  with  omega,  which  I  wanted  to 
beautify  the  original  too  much,  and  use ;  and  not  being  quite  satisfied  with 
that  the  channs  of  my  style  and  com-  Stephanus's  interpretation,  I  am  obli- 
position  may  make  the  readers  of  my  ged  to  wait  until  I  see  the  opinion  of 
translations  apt  to  value  inferior  pro-  the  new  Thes.  on  the  point,  which  will 
ductions  too  highly,  from  the  beauty  delay  my  Greekish  intentions,  until 
of  the  amber  in  which  I  shall  enwrap  somewhere  in  the  year  1835.  Latin, 
them.  For  instance,  I  translated  a  then,  being  all  that  remained,  I  have 
Song  by  Willison  Glass  the  other  day,  commenced  operations  on  a  grand  scale, 
and  I  passed  it  on  the  Bailie,  a  man  of  Vincent  Bourne,  honest  dear  fellow, 
letters  you  know,  for  Tibullus.  How-  has  done  a^great  deal  already  in  that 
ever,  as  in  such  cases  the  originals  will  way,  but  I  shall  soon  surpass  his  la- 
perish,  the  world  will  be  the  better  for  hours. 

having  my  versions  in  their  place ;        I  was  dubious,  too,  with  respect  to 

and  a  regard  to  the  general  interest  of  the  metres,  whether  I  should  only  use 

mankind  ought  to  pervade  the  breast  those  of  ancient  Rome,  or  conform  my- 

of  every  good  and  benevolent  person,  self  to  the  modern  versification.  There 

I  had  some  doubt  as  to  what  Ian-  are  great  authorities  on  both  sides.  Dr 

guage  I  should  patronize.     Hebrew  is  Aldrich  translated 
by  far  too  crabbed  to  write,  and  is,  be-  A  soldier  and  a  sail 

side,  lying  under  high  professorial  cen-  A  tinker  and  a  ^  '  ^ 

sure.     I  understand,  indeed,  that  a 

gentleman  in  Italy  has  translated  the  into  Latin  of  similar  structure  with  the 

Satires    of  Horace  successfully   into  English,  and  DrPetre  has  done  Chevy- 

the  language  of  Zion ;  and  that  it  is  Chace  in  the  same  way.    Many  infe- 

capable  of  beautiful  and  harmonious  rior  names  might  be  also  adduced.  The 

melody,  every  body  who  has  read  the  objection  to  it  is,  that  Latin  lines  to 

pathetic  dirge,  in  your  thirty-eighth  English  tunes,  are  as  much  out  of 

Number,  by  the  vice-provost  of  Trini-  place,  as  English  lines  of  Latin  form, 

ty  College,    Dublin,   must  acknow-  But  that  objection,  not  more  than  bare 

ledge.  But,  in  spite  of  all  this,  a  man's  assertion  at  best,  whatever  might  have 

fingers  get  horribly  cramped  in  jot-  been  its  weight  formerly,  is  of  no  avail 

ting  and  dotting.   It  is  tiresome  work  now,  since  the  splendid  success  of  the 


450  The  Embalmcr.     No.  I. 

laureate,  and  the  much  grander  effort  for  your  pi-irate  inspection.  Below  are  a 
of  the  great  poet  who  addressed  YOU,  part  of  "Take  thy  old  cloak  about  thee," 
Mr  North,  in  that  divine  hymn,  nave  of  "July  the  First,"  of  "  The  Groves  of 
proved  that  the  hexameter  may  be  na-  Blarney,"  of  "  Mary  Ambree,"  of"  Sir 
turalized  in  our  language.  By  a  pari-  Tristrem,"  and  the  epitaphs  on  Sir  Pa- 
ty  of  reasoning,  our  verses  might  be  trick  Sarsfield,  John,  Duke  of  Marl- 
naturalized  in  Latin — at  least  the  ex-  borough,  Henry,  Duke  of  Grafton,  Ik>- 
periment  is  worth  trying.  bin  Hood,  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  and 
I  send  a  few  fragments,  sweepings  Sir  Daniel  Donelly,  champion  of  Ire-" 
of  my  portfolios,  as  samples.  The  great  land.  I  have  used  both  Latin  and 
works  I  am  employed  in,  I  shall  keep  English  metres. 

I. 

VERSE  OF  "  TAKE  THY  OLD  CLOAK  ABOUT  THEE.'"* 

Sung  by  logo  in  the  Second  Act  of  Othello. 

King  Stephen  was  a  worthy  peer, 

His  breeches  cost  him  but  a  crown, 
He  held  them  sixpence  all  too  dear, 

And  so  he  call'd  the  tailor  loon. 
He  was  a  king,  and  wore  a  crown, 

Thou  art  a  squire  of  low  degree ; 
*Tis  pride  that  pulls  the  country  down, 

So  take  thy  old  cloak  about  thee. 


Rex  Stephanas  princeps  fuit  illustrissimus  olim, 

Sexque  decem  braccse  constiterunt  obolis. 
Assibus  hoc  pretium  reputans  sex  charius  eequo> 

Sartorem  jurgat  nomine  furciferi. 
Ille  fuit  dominus  celso  diademate  cinctus, 

Et  tu  demissi  nil  nisi  verna  loci ; 
Eheu  !  sternit  humi  nunc  nostra  superbia  regnum, 

Veste  igitur  trita  contege  terga  precor. 

II.   » 

VER8K8  Or  JULY  THE  FIRST,  THE  GREAT  ORANGE  SONG  IN  IRELAND. 

July  the  first,  in  old  Bridge  town, 

There  was  a  grievous  battle, — 
Where  many  a  man  lay  on  the  ground, 

And  the  cannon  they  did  rattle. 
King  James,  he  pitch  a  his  tents  between, 

His  lines  for  to  retire,  t 
But  William  threw  his  bomb-balls  in, 

And  set  them  all  on  fire.t 

*  «  w  * 

The  horse  and  cannon  cross'd  the  stream, 

And  the  foot  came  following  a'ter, 
But  brave  Duke  Schomberg  lost  his  life 

In  crossing  the  Boyne  Water. 

*  *  *  * 

A  bullet  from  the  Irish  came, 

And  grazed  King  William's  arm— t 
They  thought  his  majesty  was  slain, 

But  it  did  him  little  harm.t 

•  After  a  diligent  collation  of  MSS.  I  have  fixed  on  readings  which  differ  somewhat 
from  the  received  text  of  this  poem. 

•f  To  be  pronounced — more  Hibernico — retUer,  fi-er,  ar-rum,  har-rum. 


The  Enibalmer.    No.  I.  431 

*  *  « 


The  Protestants  of  Drogheda 
Have  reason  to  be  thankful, 

That  they  were  all  preserved  that  day, 
Though  they  were  but  a  handful. 


In  veteris  pontis  vico,  Julique  calendis 
Atrox  pugna  fuit,  morientia  millia  campuin 
Sternebant :  Sonitum  horribilem  tormenta  dedere. 
In  medio  spatio  tendebat  rex  lacobus, 
Posset  ut  ex  acie  subducere  longius,*  autera 
Igniferos  jecit  glandes  Gulielmus  in  hostem, 
Exussitque  statim  flammis  tentoria  cuncta. 
#  #  •  # 

Flumen  transivere  equites  tormentaque  primum, 
His  instant  pedites ;  Dux  Schonenbergius  acer, 
Duin  transit)  vitam  deperdit  in  amne  Bubinda. 

»  #  »  * 

Strinxit  mox  humerum  Gulielmi  glans  ab  Hibernis  ; 
Nil  nocuit,  quanquam  de  regis  morte  timerent. 

«  *  *  » 

Sint  Protestantes  Drohedse  super  omnia  laeti, 
Quod  parvi  numero,  salvi  tune  Marte  fuerunt. 

III. 

GROVES  OF  BLARNEY.'f      " 

The  groves  of  Blarney  they  are  most  charming 

Blarnffii  nemoraj  sunt  jucundissima  visu. 
But  I  prefer  the  next  verse. 

'Tis  lady  Jeffries,  that  owns  this  station, 

Like  Alexander  or  Hel,en  fair  ; 
There  is  no  lady  in  all  the  nation 

For  emulation  can  with  her  compare. 
She  has  castles  round  her,  that  no  nine-pounder 

Can  dare  to  plunder  her  place  of  strength, 
But  Oliver  Cromwell  he  did  her  pummel, 

And  made  a  hole  in  her  battlement. 


Jeffrisa  castellum  regit,  perpulchra  virago, 
Par  et  Alexandro  pulchrse  Helenaeque  simul, 


*  I  fear  I  may  have  misunderstood  this  line — the  original  being  rather  obscure — 
something  like  Sir  R.  Phillips's  common  sense 

f  Blarney  certainly  is  a  most  interesting  part  of  the  world.  Its  famous  old  castle — 
"  the  statues  gracing  this  noble  place  in" — its  Charles  the  Twelfth,  &&— the  various 
stories  connected  with  it — but,  above  all,  its  celebrated  stone,  render  it  highly  worthy 
of  public  attention.  The  stone  is  on  the  top  of  the  battlements  of  the  castle,  and  is 
bound  with  iron  ;  being  struck,  as  it  is  mentioned  in  the  above  quoted  verse,  by  a  can- 
non shot,  when  Oliver  Cromwell  attacked  the  place  ;  but  we  believe  the  story  of  his  be- 
ing there  rests  on  rather  weak  foundations.  Any  person  who  kisses  that  stone,  is  pri- 
vileged to  talk  blarney  all  his  life ;  and  many  a  gentleman  we  have  seen  from  Ireland 
who  has  proved  the  efficacy  of  the  ceremony.  It  is  said,  but  the  doctrine  is  not  quite 
so  authentic,  that  a  dip  in  the  Shannon  gives  the  privilege  of  never  blushing  while  in 
the  act  of  committing  blarney.  Certain  specimens,  however,  have  come  under  our  no- 
tice of  ingenious  Irishmen,  who,  all  unbapti2ed,  were  quite  free  from  the  sin  of  chan- 
ging complexion.  Blarney  (not  the  place,  but  the  thing)  is  quite  a  distinct  affair  from 
humbug,  as  lexicographers  must  well  know.  Its  fame  is  widely  extended  all  over  the 
world,  as  it  was  the  only  English  word  that  the  King  of  Abyssinia  was  acquainted  with, 
as  you  may  see  by  Salt's  Travels.  Would  Mr  OTogarty,  on  his  recovery,  favour  us 
with  an  article  on  the  place  of  his  nativity  ?  C.  N. 

J  Nemora — a  long  by  caesura.— See  Dr  Carey. 


The  Embalmcr.     No.  7. 

Cui  cunctas  inter  peperit  quas  dulcis  lerne, 

Dicere  se  similem  faemina  nulla  potest. 
Hffic  castella  tenet  qua?  non  tormenta  timerent, 

Qua?  ter  tres  libras  horrida  ferre  solent. 
Sed  Cromwellus  earn  graviter  concussit,  hiatum 

Jn  nido  patulum  conficiens  dominae. 

IV. 

VERSE  OF  MARY  AMBREE.* 

When  our  brave  commanders,  whom  death  could  not  daunt, 
March'd  off  to  the  siege  of  the  city  of  Gaunt ; 
They  counted  their  forces  by  two  and  by  three, 
But  the  foremost  in  battle  was  Mary  Ambree. 

Cum  nostri  ductores  qui  mortem  spernebant, 
Ad  Gantii  turres  cingendas  pergebant, 
Et  copias  legebant  per  duos  et  tres, 
Fuit  prima  in  pugna  Maria  Ambres. 

V. 

VEESE  OF  SIR  TRISTREM. 

£/  have  translated  the  entire  poem.^ 

Geten  and  born  was  so, 

The  child  was  fair  and  white, 
Nas  never  Rohan  d  so  wo, 

He  wist  not  what  to  wite ; 
To  childbed  ded  he  go, 

His  owhen  wiif  al  so  tite, 
Said  he  had  children  to, 

On  hem  was  his  delite, 

Bi  Crist, 

In  court  men  cleped  him  so, 
Tho  Tram  bifor  the  Trist. 

Sic  genitus  et  satus, 

In  mundum  infans  it ; 
Rohantius  contristatus 

Quid  facere  non  scit. 
In  lecto  qui  fuit  stratus, 

Partus  uxoris  fit, 
Quasi  filius  fuit  natus 

Quern  multum  dilexit. 
Per  Christum 
Et  fuit  appellatus 
Cum  Tramo  ante  Tristum. 

VI. 

ON  SIR  P.  SARSFIELD.t 

Oh  !  Patrick  Sarsfield,  Ireland's  wonder, 
Who  fought  in  field  like  any  thunder, 


*  In  Percy's  Reliques.  The  lady  is  mentioned  also  by  Ben  Jonson,  as  Mary  Am- 
bree, who  marched  so  free,  &c. 

-f-  Under  a  very  fine  print  of  Sir  Patrick,  engraved,  if  I  do  not  mistake,  by  Lady 
Bingham,  his  daughter.  If  she  also  wrote  the  epitaph,  it  reflects  great  credit  on  her 
poetical  powers  Sir  Patrick  fought  gallantly  for  James  II.  in  Ireland,  and  left  it  on 
the  overthrow  of  his  party.  On  the  continent  he  continued  his  aversion  to  William  III., 
and  was  killed  in  the  battle  of  Landen,  in  which  that  monarch  was  defeated.  He  was 
a  brave  man. 


1821.3  The  Embalmer.     No.  I.  453 

One  of  King  James's  chief  commanders, 
Now  lies  the  food  of  crows  in  Flanders. 

Ohone ! 

O !  Patrici  Sarsfield,  decus  mirantis  lernes, 

Cui  tom'tru  simili  cernere  usus  erat : 
Jacobi  heroas  quo  non  prsestantior  inter, 

Belgarum  corvis  mortuus  esca  jaces. 

Eheu! 

VII. 

ON  JOHN,  DUKE  OF  MARLBOROUGH, 

By  Doctor  Evans. 

Here  lies  John,  Duke  of  Marlborough, 

Who  ran  the  Frenchmen  thorough  and  thorough ; 

Married  Sarah  Jennings,  spinster, 

Died  in  Saint  James's,  and  was  buried  in  Westminster. 

Hie  jacet  Dux  Marleburiensis, 
Qui  Gallos  secuit  tanquam  ensis, 
Virginem  duxit  Jenningiam  Saram, 
Mortuus  Jacobi  ad  regiam  claram, 
Sepultus  ad  Stephani  Martyris  aram  ! 

I  must  apologize  for  introducing  a  supernumerary  line,  and  also  for  bring- 
ing "  regiam  claram"  rhythmi  gratia.  Both  practices,  however,  are  justifiable 
by  high  poetic  authority  in  this  and  other  countries. 

VIII. 

CONCLUSION  OP    THE   EPItAPH    ON    HENRY,   DUKE    OF   GRAFTON,    SON   OF 
CHARLES  II.,    KILLED  AT  THE  SIEGE  OF  CORK,  1690.*, 

Yet  a  bullet  of  Cork 
It  did  his  work, 
Unhappy  pellet ! 
With  grief  I  tell  it, 
It  has  undone 
Great  Caesar's  son ! 
A  statesman's  spoil'd ; 
A  soldier  foil'd ; 
God  rot  him 
Who  shot  him, — 

A  son  of  a ,f 

I  say  no  more. 
Here  lies  Henry,  the  Duke  of  Grafton ! 

Sed  glans  Corcensis  stravit,  miserabile  telum, 

Heu !  natum  rapuit  Csesaris  egregii,j 
Excelsum  pariter  vel  bello  consiliisve : — 

Csedentis  manus  occupet  atra  lues  ! 
Dispereat  scorti  soboles. — Nil  amplius  addam. 

Hie  sunt  Henrici  Graftonis  ossa  Ducis. 


*  Shot  by  a  blacksmith,  who  turned  out,  quoth  the  Cork  Remembrancer,  from  a 
forge  in  the  Old  Post  Office  lane,  as  he  was  crossing  the  river  Lee.  The  place  where 
he  fell  is  called  Grafton's  alley.  The  epitaph  is  taken  from  a  book  published  in  1702, 
called  Poems  on  Affairs  of  State,  &c.  2  vols.  It  is  written  by  Sir  F.  S d. 

•f  There  is  a  pleasant  equivoque  here.  We  are  left  in  the  dark  whether  this  oppro- 
brious name  is  applied  to  the  blacksmith,  or  the  Duke,  of  whom  we  know  it  was  quite 
true.  Verbruggen,  the  comedian,  cracked  a  similar  joke  on  the  Duke  of  Saint  Albans, 
which  I  believe  is  in  Joe  Millar.  I  have  endeavoured  to  preserve  the  equivoque. 


454 


The  Embalmer.    No.  I. 


CJuly, 


IX. 

QN  ROBIN  HOOD.* 

Underneath  this  little  stone, 
Lies  Robert,  Earl  of  Huntingdon  ; 
He  was  in  truth  an  archer  good, 
And  people  call'd  him  Robin  Hood. 
Such  outlaws  as  he  and  his  men 
England  never  will  see  again. 


Parvo  Robertus  hie  situs  est  comes 
Huntingdonensis  sub  lapide  obrutus  ; 
Nemo  negabit  quam  peritus, 
Missilibus  fuerit  sagittis. 
Vulgo  vocatus  Robin-a-Hoodius 
Exlex  in  agris  vivere  maluit, 
In  Anglia  nun  quam  Roberto 
Vel  sociis  similes  videbis. 

X. 

ON  SIR  DANIEL  DONNELLY,  C.  I.t 

Underneath  this  pillar  high, 

Lies  Sir  Daniel  Donnelly  ; 

He  was  a  stout  and  handy  man, 

And  people  call'd  him  buffing  Dan. 

Knighthood  he  took  from  George's  sword, 

And  well  he  wore  it  by  my  word  ! 

He  died  at  last,  from  forty-seven 

Tumblers  of  punch  he  drank  one  even. 

O'erthrown  by  punch,  unharm'd  by  fist, 

He  died  unbeaten  pugilist. 

Such  a  buffer  as  Donnelly, 

Ireland  never  again  will  see. 

Hie  jacet  sub  columna  stratus, 
Daniel  Donnellius  eques  auratus  ; 
Fortis  et  acer  ab  omnibus  ratus, 
Plagosus  Daniel  cognominatus, 
Eques  a  Georgio  f  uit  creatus, 
Ornavitque  ordinem  equitatus  ; 
Quadraginta  septem  trucidatus, 
Cantharis  punchi  hie  est  allatus  ; 
Potu,  non  pugno,  ita  domatus,  J 
Cecidit  heros  nunquam  jequatus  ; 
Hibernise  insulte  qua  fuit  natus 
Vir  talis  non  erit  posthac  datus. 
Manum  quod  aiunt  de  tabula. 


Enough  of  these. 

I  strongly  recommend  any  poet  who 
wishes  for  immortality,  to  take  advan- 
tage of  my  recipe.  I  am  ready  to  trans- 
late for  any  gentleman  at  a  fair  and 
reasonable  rate.  Nor  shall  I  be  over 
hard  in  requiring  any  conditions  from 
him,  except  that  there  be  a  slight  de- 
gree of  intelligibility  in  what  he  writes, 


— say  about  four  degrees  above  Matu- 
rin's  Universe, — which,  I  hope,  is  not 
too  much.  As  for  your  own  work, 
Christopher,  I  know  it  will  live  through 
ages  everlasting;  but  do  you  think 
that  readers  in  the  2821  will  be  able 
fully  to  comprehend  its  admirable  con- 
tents, through  the  natural  obsoleteness 


*  In  Percy's  Reliques. 

+  From  that  great  work  '•  Blackwood's  Magazine,"  No.  XXXVIII. 

£  More  antique  for  domitus.  f 


1821.;]  The  Embalmer.    No.  I.  455 

of  the  tongue  in  the  space  of  ten  ccn-  did,  that  very  article  (the  tete-a-tete) 

turies  ?  I  shall  do  your  verse  parts  for  was  executed  in  a  respectable  style ; 

you  into  most  Augustan  Latinity  ;  and  but  his  Latin,  after  all,  is  commentato- 

I  promise,  old  Parr  will  be  able  to  rial.     *  Again,  offering  myself  to  your 

give  your  prose  pretty  fair  effect.     In  service, 

the  Hour's  tete-a-tete,  you  observed  I  remain, 

that  the  Latin  translation  of  your  work  Dear  Christopher, 

at  Leyden^is  rather  lumpish;  and  in  Yours,  most  sincerely, 

spite  of  it's  editor's  long  pamphlet  in  MUMMIUS. 

defence  of  his  Latinity,  I  am  inclined  Glasgow,  July  9,  1821. 

to  agree  with  you,  though,  to  be  can- 

*  To  morrow  morning  we  expect  our  friend  to  breakfast,  and  we  shall  then  talk  over 
the  matter.  For  our  parts,  however,  we  do  not  see  any  chance  of  our  ever  becoming  obso- 
lete. In  fact,  we  consider  ourselves  as  having  fixed  the  language. 

C.  N. 


THE  STEAM-BOAT. 

Respontiue  Notices  to  Correspondents. 

WE  have  endeavoured  as  much  as  possible  to  satisfy  the  objections  of  our  Port-Glas- 
gow correspondents.  None  can  regret  more  than  we  do,  that  Mr  Duffle  should  have 

said  so  much  about  their  highly  respectable  town  and  steeple  ;  but  our  friend  Mr  B 

may  rely  upon't  that  we  shall  attend  to  his  suggestion.  Indeed  we  have  requested  the 
author  to  spare  them  for  the  future. 

Our  systematic  abhorrence  of  every  thing  that  may  be  considered  personal,  has  indu- 
ced us  to  suppress  Mr  Duffle's  account  of  the  party  with  whom  he  dined  at  Greenock, 
although  we  must  confess  that  our  readers  suffer  by  our  rigid  virtue  in  this  instance,  for 
it  was  by  far  the  most  humorous  sketch  that  we  have  yet  received  of  local  manners  and 
parochial  self-importance.  The  description  of  "  the  funny  man  that  made  the  punch," 
is  inimitable.  Particular  friends  may  have  a  peep  in  the  back-shop,  but  the  article  is 
too  spicy  for  the  public. 

We  are  at  all  times  obliged  by  the  hints  of  our  correspondents ;  but  really  Mr  Colin 
M'Kempock  of  Gourock  hits  a  little  too  hard.  In  his  former  letter,  and  we  gave  it  all 
due  acknowledgment,  he  seemed  possessed  of  more  urbanity  than  on  the  present  occa- 
sion. As  for  the  facetious  Mr  Buchannan  Bogle  of  Glasgow,  we  can  only  say,  that  we 
never  wished  for  any  thing  more  earnestly,  than  permission  to  publish  his  letters.  They 
will  do  credit  to  his  learned  and  manufacturing  town.  Do  pray,  Mr  Bogle,  allow  us  to 
insert  the  last.  Nothing  in  English  literature  can  exceed  your  description  of  the  confabu- 
lation between  you  and  Mr  Sweeties  in  the  sample-room  ;  where  bon  rrtots  are  as  plenti- 
ful as  coffee-beans,  and  wits  as  various  as  the  skantling  of  a  cargo  of  rum,  to  say  no- 
thing of  heads  as  well  rilled  as  cotton  bags. 

Our  personal  friend  and  correspondent,  Mr  C of  Liverpool,  need  be  under  no 

anxiety.  Should  there  be  any  thing  calculated  to  wound  his  feelings  in  Mr  Duffle's  ac- 
count of  that  town,  it  will,  out  of  our  particular  respect  for  him,  be  assuredly  sup- 
pressed. 


THE  STEAM-BOAT. 

No.  V. 


BY  this  time  the  afternoon  was  far  through  ;  and  as  I  had  promised  to  Mrs 
M'Lecket  to  be  at  home  to  my  own  bed  by  the  retour  of  the  steamboats,  I  was 
obligated  to  leave  the  company  round  the  bowl ;  so  I  came  away,  and  found  my 
old  friend  the  Waterloo,  at  the  custom-house  quay,  on  the  point  of  departure, 
with  a  various  assortment  of  characters  on  board,  some  of  whom-,  as  I  was  in  a 
blythe  mood  by  reason  of  the  goodness  of  Mr  Tartan's  punch  and  hospitality, 
entered  into  a  jocose  conversation  with  me,  the  which  was  really  very  facetious 
for  a  time,  and  lasted  till  we  paid  our  respects  to  the  douse  town  of  Port-Glas- 

Vor..  IX.  3  L 


456  The  Steam- Lout.     No.  V. 

fcow.  After  landing  such  of  the  cargo  as  were  belonging  to  that  sea-port,  the 
paddles  were  set  a-going  again,  and  away  we  went.  By  the  time  we  had  pass- 
ed the  old  castle,  I  observed  a  man  sitting  by  himself,  that  I  took  a  curiosity 
to  converse  with. 


TALE  VII. 

THE  DUMBIE'S  SON. 


HE  was  a  pale  thin  man,  very  fair 
in  the  complexion,  with  light  grey 
eyes,  and  an  odd  and  unsound  look. 
By  his  talk  I  gathered  he  had  come 
from  among  the  lakes  of  Cumberland 
and  the  hills  of  Westmoreland,  and 
that  he  had  been  out  on  an  adventure 
to  the  Highland  lochs  and  islands,  on 
some  superstitious  inquiry  anent  their 
poetical,  and  other  monuments  of  times 
past,  and  forgotten  antiquity.  Having 
satisfied  his  curiosity,  fie  was  bound 
homeward,  and  I  jealoused  by  his  cackle, 
that  he  was  hard  with  egg  for  the 
publication  of  a  book  concerning  Icolm- 
kiln,  Staffa,  and  other  fantastical  pla- 
ces, where  the  monks  and  druids  were 
wont  to  hold  their  houffs  and  congre- 
gations. 

As  we  sailed  along,  I  rehearsed  to 
him  at  great  length,  and  with  the  ut- 
most particularity  in  my  power  to  do, 
the  whole  tot  of  the  history  that  Deu- 
calion of  Kentucky  had  told  me  in  the 
morning  ;  to  the  hearing  of  which  he 
gave  great  heed,  declaring,  that  surely 
the  man  had  a  colouring  of  genius  in 
his  thought's  part,  beyond  the  common 
prosaic  nature  of  the  American  mind, 
with  other  high  mystical  touches  of  a 
phraseology  that  had  the  same  sort 
of  resemblance  to  ordinary  discourse, 
which  the  flavour  of  grouse  has  to 
barn-door  hens,  a  difference  which  I 
late  had  occasion  to  observe  in  some  of 
my  voyages  and  travels.  He  then  said 
to  me  that  there  was  certainly  some- 
thing very  wonderful  in  the  reflections 
of  the  human  understanding  when  left 
to  itself,  and  that  natural  enthusiasm 
was  but  a  state  of  vision  in  which  the 
mind  passed  on  to  the  contemplation 
of  the  result  of  certain  considerations, 
without  pausing  to  compare  them  with 
worldly  circumstances.  I  replied  to  him , 
that  really  his  remark  was  above  my 
reach  ;  but  no  doubt  it  had  a  founda- 
tion somewhere,  and  if  not  in  the  order 
of  things,  without  question  in  his  own 
imagination,  which  was  still  a  some- 
thing wherein  thepowersof  nature  must 
be  allowed  to  inherit,  and  possess  some 
sort  of  sway  and  dominion.  At  this 


observe,  which  he  said  was  exceeding- 
ly just  and  philosophical,  he  said  that, 
without  entering  upon  any  controver- 
sy, he  would  relate  to  me  some  anec- 
dotes of  his  own  life,  which  he  was 
sure  would  convince  me  of  the  sound- 
ness of  his  opinion. 

"  You  must  know,"  resumed  he,  af- 
ter some  farther  digression  from  the 
point,  "  that  I  do  not  consider  myself 
as  a  common  man  of  this  world,  for  I 
have  been  brought  up  under  circum- 
stances, which,  perhaps,  no  other  ever 
experienced.  I  am  the  only  child  of 
a  dumb  man  and  dumb  woman — dumb 
and  deaf  they  were  both  from  their 
birth,  and  I  was  seven  years  old  before 
I  heard  the  intellectual  voice  of  man 
^that  voice  and  organ  by  which  his 
spirit  communes  with  its  fellows.  I 
had,  it  is  true,  heard  the  babble  and 
jabber  of  tongues  from  those  clods  of 
the  valley  that  bear  the  impress  of  hu- 
manity, like  the  counters  of  base  met- 
tal,  stamped  with  the  mintage  of  the 
guinea — but  no  vocal  effusion  of  soul 
had  passed  in  my  hearing. 

"  My  father  and  mother  lived  in  a 
small  cottage  by  themselves  on  the 
banks  of  the  Combermt  re.  No  path  led 
to  their  dwelling.  Nature  had  impo- 
sed silence  upon  them,  and  interdict- 
ed them  from  holding  communion  with 
their  species.  I  was,  in  consequence, 
left  without  any  instructor.  They  could 
tell  me  nothing  ;  and  the  scenes  chan- 
ged around  me,  and  objects  daily  pass- 
ed which  I  viewed  with  wonder,  but 
sought  not  to  discover  whence  or  what 
they  were.  The  boats  that  sailed  on 
the  lake  I  thought  were  birds,  but  I 
understood  the  mute  intelligence  of 
the  eyes  of  the  cattle  and  sheep  on  the 
pastures  around,  as  I  did  the  looks  of 
my  silent  parents. 

"When  I  was  about  six  years  old  my 
mother  died.  I  knew  not  then  what 
death  was,  but  I  have  since  acquired 
the  painful  knowledge.  I  saw  her 
weak  and  moaning,  and  my  father  sit- 
ting by  her  pillow,  and  constantly  ho- 
vering over  her  bed.  His  tears  fell  fast 
as  he  looked  at  her ;  at  last  she  gave  a 


1821.3 


The  Steam-Dual.     No.  V. 


457 


faint  struggle,  and  from  that  moment 
she  moved  no  more.  My  father  watch- 
ed her  for  some  time  with  eager  and 
sorrowful  eyes,  and  then,  as  if  sudden- 
ly awakened  from  a  slumber,  he  start- 
ed up  from  the  place  where  he  was  sit- 
ting, and  taking  me  by  the  hand,  led 
me  out  of  the  cottage,  which  he  care- 
fully fastened  behind  me,  and  lifting 
me  in  his  arms,  carried  me  to  a  hamlet, 
about  three  miles  from  our  house  in 
the  solitude.  By  signs,  he  made  the 
peasants  understand  that  they  were  to 
take  care  of  me,  and  he  stretched  him- 
self on  the  ground,  and  strewed  earth 
over  him.  Every  one  looked  on,  and 
seemed  dejected.  He  then  went  away, 
and  I  never  saw  him  again. 

"About  a  week  after  this  event,  an 
old  man,  whom  I  have  since  learnt 
was  the  pastor  of  the  parish,  came,  and 
took  me  by  the  hand,  and  conducted 
me  to  a  house  where  a  great  number 
of  the  country  folks  were  assembled, 
and  when  they  saw  us,  they  brought 
out  two  large  black  chests  from  the 
house,  and  having  placed  them  on  their 
shoulders,  they  all  mutely  followed. 
I  could  not  divine,  in  my  young  won- 
der, what  the  solemnity  meant,  but  I 
was  moved  with  an  awful  fear,  and  my 
heart  beat  so  thickly,  that  I  could  with 
difficulty  breathe. 

"  They  marched  on  to  a  green  enclo- 
sure, in  the  middle  of  which  an  old 
large  house  was  situated.  It  had  a 
strange  and  deserted  look,  and  in  the 
furniture  there  was  nothing  of  which, 
in  my  simplicity,  I  could  discover  the 
use.  In  it,  however,  they  placed  the 
two  black  chests;  and  the  old  man,  who 


had  led  me  by  the  hand,  performed  a 
strange  ceremony  over  them.  I  knew 
not  its  purport ;  his  lips  moved.  I 
heard  a  sound,  but  it  only  made  my 
spirit  hungry,  while  it  chilled  it  with 
an  indescribable  dread. 

"  When  this  was  done,  the  two  awful 
black  chests  were  removed  into  the 
enclosure.  I  then  remarked,  that  al- 
though it  was  greener  than  the  fields, 
it  was  nothing  like  them,  but  heaved 
up  unto  turfy  pillows,  some  of  which 
were  adorned  with  stones,  mossy  and 
furred  with  the  impress  of  many  years. 
I  could  not  imagine  for  what  use  they 
were  placed  there,  but  there  was  a  sad- 
ness in  the  countenances  of  the  people 
that  oppressed  my  spirit. 

When  we  had  traversed  this  strange 
enclosure,  close  to  the  wall  I  saw  a 
deep  hole  trenched  out, — into  this  the 
two  black  boxes  were  slowly  lowered, 
and  a  little  earth  was  thrown  upon 
them.  How  dreadful  to  me  was  the 
rattle  of  that  little  earth  on  these  mys- 
terious arks. — I  had  heard  the  sum- 
mer thunder  answered  by  all  the 
echoes  of  the  mountain,  but  it  was 
not  so  dreadful  as  the  sound  of  that 
shovel-full  of  earth. — Then  the  hole 
was  filled  up,  and  I  was  led  back, 
and  placed  by  the  old  pastor  under 
the  charge  of  a  poor  woman  in  the 
hamlet,  by  whom  I  was  taught  to 
speak  and  to  commune  with  my  fel- 
lows; but  the  memory  of  that  spectacle 
was  ever  before  me, — it  was  in  my 
heart,  although  1  knew  not  till  long 
after  that  it  was  the  funeral  of  my 
dumb  parents." 


There  was  something  in  this  tale,  and  in  the  way  the  Lake  man  told  it, 
that  made  all  who  heard  it  eirie,  and,  as  it  were,  afraid  of  something  no  one 
could  tell  what.—  Besides,  the  night  was  set  in,  and  though  it  was  as  beauti- 
ful as  the  summer  ever  showed,  nature  being  in  a  state  of  composure,  the 
heavens,  with  all  their  eyes  of  light,  looking  calm  upon  the  world,  and  the 
moon  shining  on  the  water,  yet  there  was  a  silence  in  the  air  that  was  felt  at  the 
heart,  and  the  sound  of  the  steam-boat's  paddles  was  likened  by  the  Dumbie's 
son  to  the  wheels  of  the  world  that  bearjis  along  the  tide  of  time.  In  short, 
I  know  not  how  it  was,  but  we  all  fell  into  a  kind  of  religious  charm  about 
the  depths  and  wonders  of  nature,  and  the  unfathomable  sympathies  of  the 
heart  of  man.  At  last  Mr  Gauze  of  Paisley,  who  was  of  our  company,  a  well 
read  paukie  carl,  that  kens  more  than  he  lets  on,  seeing  the  frame  of  our  re- 
flections, began,  in  a  far  off  way,  to  cast  about  his  cantrips,  with  the  which  I 
leave  the  courteous  reader  to  guess  what  he  did,  by  the  rehearsal  of  the  fol- 
lowing story,  in  the  telling  of  which  it  is  not  to  be  described  what  he  effected, 
not  only  by  his  awsome  look  and  voice,  but  the  aids  and  helps  he  got  from  the 
scene  of  night,  and  the  solemn  waters  through  which  our  vessel  was  ettling 


458  The  Steam-Boat.     No.  V.  DJuly, 

her  weary  way  towards  the  Renfrew  ferry,  for  by  this  time  we  had  left  Dum- 
barton Castle  far  behind,  and  had  passed  Dunotter,  that  ancient  ruin,  of  which 
I  have  never  been  able  to  get  any  further  account,  than  that  it  is  supposed  to 
have  been  bigget  by  the  Picts,  and  doutless  has  had  the  curse  of  God  pro- 
nounced against  its  owners,  since  they  are  all  utterly  perished  from  off  the 
face  of  the  earth.  However,  to  return  to  Mr  Gauze — 

TALE  VIII. 
KING  CHARLES  AXD  THE  WITCHES. 


"  Once  on  a  time,"  said  he,  "  when 
the  funny  King  Charles  was  in  great 
straits,  and  jeopardy  of  fortune,  as  he 
was  sitting  in  the  midst  of  his  courtiers 
and  counsellors  after  supper  in  his  pa- 
lace, heavy  and  worn  out  in  spirit,  he 
declared  on  his  honour  as  a  prince, 
that  he  felt  himself  so  oppressed  and 
weighed  down,  he  would  grant  to  any 
one  of  them  the  first  reasonable  peti- 
tion he  might  have  occasion  to  pre- 
sent, who  would  lighten  his  fancy  that 
night :  whereupon,  all  the  courtiers 
and  counsellors  began  to  strive  with 
one  another  to  divert  his  majesty, 
every  one  telling  something  that  was 
to  he  more  comical  than  the  tales  which 
had  gone  before.  But  their  endeavours 
•were  all  in  vain  ;  the  more  tribulation 
they  put  themselves  to  in  order  to 
make  the  king  laugh,  and  grow  again 
jocose,  the  more  they  saddened  his 
royal  spirit,  till  he  said  in  the  words 
of  Solomon,  "  vanity  of  vanities,  all  is 
vanity." 

"  Butithappened,  that  there  was  that 
night  in  the  presence  a  learned  dis- 
creet doctor  of  divinity,  from  the  west 
country,  on  some  concern  of  the  kirk 
which  required  a  canny  handling  to 
bring  to  a  proper  issue ;  and  he,  seeing 
the  weak  and  feckless  striving  of  the 
lords  and  gentlemen,  said,  "  May  it 
please  your  majesty,  I  would  do  the 
part  of  a  loyal  subject  in  this  matter  ; 
but  the  stories  I  have  to  tell  are  no 
such  wonderful  as  those  which  your 
majesty  has  graciously  endeavoured  to 
indure."  The  words  of  which  address 
so  drew  the  king's  attention,  that  he 
desired  the  doctor  (llalket,  I  believe, 
was  his  name,)  to  tell  him  one  of  his 
talcs. 

"  I  doubt,  most  dread  monarch,"  re- 
plied the  doctor,  "  that  what  I  have 
to  tell  will  obtain  little  credit  here; 
but  as  your  majesty  is  well  known  to 
be,  in  the  words  of  the  prayer-book,  a 
most  religious  sovereign,  perhaps  it 
may  be  blessed  on  your  majesty's  pious 
frame  of  mind,  with  a  salutary  impres- 


sion and  effect.  What  I  have  to  say, 
is  of  an  adventure  that  befell  myself, 
when  I  ivas  a  lad,  before  going  to  the 
College  of  Glasgow. 

"  Your  majesty  has  belike  heard  that 
there  are  certain  mystical  women  in 
the  world  called  witches.  In  the  shire 
of  Renfrew,  we  have  had  both  in  time 
past,  and  at  present,  no  small  trouble 
with  their  pranks,  and  it  is  as  tho- 
roughly believed  among  the  country 
folk  as  the  gospel,  that  the  witches  are 
in  the  practice  of  gallanting  over  field 
and  flood  after  sun-set,  in  the  shape  of 
cats  and  mawkins,  to  dance  the  La  Vol- 
ta,  with  a  certain  potentate  that  I  shall 
not  offend  your  majesty  by  naming. 

"  I  should  here  explain,  that  the 
witches,  when  they  take  the  shape  of 
hares,  charm  away  the  power  of  pou- 
ther  and  lead,  so  that  unless  the  gun 
be  loaded  with  silver,  it  will  not  go  off, 
or,  if  it  does  go  off,  it  will  not  kill,  es- 
pecially in  the  hands  of  a  young  sports- 
man ;  and  that  the  best  antidote  to 
their  charm,  is  for  the  sportsman,  when 
he  is  an  experienced  hand,  to  put  a 
pair  of  silver  sleeve-buttons  in  his 
fowling-piece.  When  he  does  this,  and 
fires  with  effect,  it  is  said,  and  the  fact 
is  often  well  attested,  the  hare  will  ne- 
ver be  seen  again ;  but  beyond  the 
next  hedge,  some  dubious  carlin  will 
in  all  human  probability  be  found  rid- 
dled in  the  hips,  saying  her  prayers 
backwards :  what  I  have  to  tell  is  an 
undoubted  proof  of  this,  for  it  happen- 
ed to  myself  in  the  presence  of  the  late 
Logan  of  that  ilk,  a  man  of  singular 
piety,  and  one  of  the  best  shots  in  the 
Shire  of  Ayr. 

' '  Being  8  laying  with  him,  we  one  day 
went  out  to  shoot.  It  was  in  the  after- 
noon. We  started  nothing,  and  we  staid 
late,  not  easily  content,  as  your  majesty 
may  well  think,  with  such  profitless 
sport.  But  I  trow  we  have  both  had 
cause  to  remember  long  that  after- 
noon ;  for  in  the  gloaming,  as  we  were 
coursing  with  our  dejected  dogs,  the 
which  were  as  disappointed  as  our- 


The  Steam-Boat.    No.  V. 


1921.;] 

selves,  we  started,  as  we  thought,  a 
hare  out  of  a  whin  hush.  It  ran  be- 
fore us,  in  every  gesture,  lith,  and 
limb,  just  like  a  hare,  and  the  dogs 
pursued  it  as  if  it  had  been  nothing 
less  natural.  We  followed,  never  doubt- 
ing that  it  was  a  hare. 

"  A  fine  har'st  evening  had  set  in,  and 
the  new-moon,  the  sickle  of  Time,  be- 
tokened, in  the  western  heavens,  that 
Nature  was  binding  up  the  sheaves  of 
our  days ;  but,  nevertheless,  we  fol- 
lowed our  game,  never  suspecting  that 
it  was  any  thing  but  a  poor  terrified 
inawkin.  Logan  took  a  vizy,  and  fired, 
but  his  gun  flashed  in  the  pan  :  1  like- 
wise presented,  and,  in  the  same  mo- 
ment, my  hand  was  smitten  with  a 
cramp,  or  something  no  canny,  but 
neither  of  us,  for  all  that,  entertained 
any  doubt  of  the  hare  being  what  it 
appeared — a  hare. 

"  Well,  sir,  please  your  majesty, 
Logan  primed  again,  and  I,  having 
beaten  the  life  into  my  fingers,  follow- 
ed the  game,  and  fired,  but  missed. — 
This  set  Logan  foremost,  and  he  short- 
ly after  also  fired.  He  might  as  well 
have  whistled ;  what  we  had  at  first 
thought  a  hare  continued  to  scamper 
on  unhurt. 

"  By  this  time  I  had  loaded  again,  and 
again,  after  running  on  some  twenty 
paces  in  the  track  of  the  beast,  confi- 
dent I  had  a  hare  in  view,  I  fired  a  se- 
cond time.  It  was  of  no  avail. — Logan 
having  in  the  meanwhile  loaded,  came 
up  to  me. 

"  In  the  pursuit,  we  had  followed  the 
hare,  as  we  thought  it  was,  to  the  walls 
of  an  old  abbey.  It  had  been  a  sancti- 
fied place  in  the  times  of  popery,  but 
it  was  burnt  down  when  Glencairn,  at 


459 


the  Reformation,  herrit  the  monks' 
nests  throughout  Coningham.  Many 
a  sad  story  was  told  of  that  place.  It 
would  crudle  the  royal  blood  in  your 
majesty's  sacred  veins,  were  I  to  relate 
what  is  told  and  believed  concerning 
the  deeds  done  by  the  popish  friars  in 
that  ruinous  monastery.  One  day,  when 
a  farmer,  whom  I  knew,  was  pulling 
down  a  piece  of  the  wall  to  help  to 
mend  a  dike,  he  found  the  skeleton  of 
a  human  hand  built  in  with  the  stones. 
What  more  he  discovered  he  never 
would  reveal,  but  from  that  day  he  was 
an  altered  man.  However,  to  return 
from  this  degression,  please  your  ma- 
jesty, the  moon  and  twilight  shone 
bright  on  the  abbey  walls,  and  we  saw 
the  hare,  as  we  thought,  as  perfect  as 
possible,  cowering  along  the  bottom  of 
the  wall.  I  would  have  fired,  but  Logan 
stopped  me.  He  was  a  worthy  pious 
man. 

"  Lend  me  your  sleeve-buttons," 
said  he.  They  were  Bristol  stones  set 
in  silver.  The  manner  in  which  he 
spoke  was  very  solemn.  It  made  the 
flesh  crawl  on  my  bones,  and  my  hair 
to  rise.  I  said  nothing,  but  took  the 
buttons  from  my  shirt-sleeves,  keeping 
my  eye  stedfast  on  the  hare,  as  we  both 
thought  it  was.  He  did  the  same.  The 
buttons  out  of  my  right  sleeve  he  put 
intohisgun.  "Put  the  others  in  yours," 
said  he. — I  did  so. — "  In  the  name  of 
the  Lord,"  cried  he,  "  take  aim."  We 
presented  together  ;  we  both  fired  in 
the  same  moment,  and  ran  to  the  spot 
where  we  thought  a  hare  had  been. — 
"  And  what  the  devil  was  it?"  critd 
the  king. — "  Please  your  majesty,"  re- 
plied the  doctor,  "  It  was  just  a  fine 
fat  hare." 


During  the  time  of  this  recital,  one  Mrs  M  Treat,  a  decent  carlin  from  Oban, 
was  particularly  attentive ;  but  at  the  end,  when  we  were  all  laughing  at  King 
Charles'  disappointment,  she  said,  with  a  very  serious  countenance,  that  we 
were  no  doubt  free  to  guff  awa  as  we  pleased,  but  for  her  part,  she  had  reason  to 
know  and  ken  that  there  was  many  a  thing  in  this  world  that  required  an  ex- 
planation :  and  then  she  proceeded  and  told  us  how,  one  morning  in  the  last 
summer — but  I  will  relate  what  she  said  at  full  length,  in  her  own  words. 

TALE  IX. 
THE  WRAITH. 


"  A  fine  morning  it  was,"  said  she, 
"  the  lift  clear,  and  the  air  brisk,  and 
every  thing  without  young  and  fresh, 
and  quickened,  as  it  were,  with  the 
sense  of  a  living  power.  My  youngest 
dochter,  Flora,  a  bairn  o'  ten  years  and 


three  months,  but  a  thoughtful  lassie 
for  her  time  o'  life,  could  na  rest  in 
her  bed ;  she  was  eirie  and  unco,  and 
fain  and  fu',  under  the  constraint  and 
pushing  on  of  an  invisible  hand, — in 
short,  she  could  na  be  mastered,  and 


460 


The  Steam-Boat.     No.  V. 


we  were  obligated  to  let  her  run  her 
race ;  so  up  she  rose  out  of  her  bed, 
and  putting  on  her  clothes,  went  out 
to  the  kail-yard  to  play  hersel,  and  by 
hersel ;  she  had  na  been  there  long, 
when  back  she  came,  crying  that  she 
had  seen  a  bonny  wee  white  lambie  in 
the  eye  of  the  morning,  but  that  when 
she  went  to  touch  him,  he  vanished 
awa. — There  was  something  like  daft- 
ness in  this,  and  I  canna  tell  the  ef- 
fect it  had  on  me,  that  was  her  mo- 
ther. I  thought  the  poor  bairn  was 
sairly  gane  by  hersel. — Then  she  went 
out  again,  and  back  she  came,  wi'  a 
face  o'  terrification,  pale  and  wan,  her 
een  standing  in  her  head,  and  her 
looks  raised,  and  no  canny. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Flora,  my 
dear,"  quo*  I. 

"  O,  I  hae  seen  death,"  quo'  she. 
"  And  what  was  he  like,  my  sweet 
lamb  ?"  I  said,  scarcely  kennan  what  I 
said,  for  a  power  was  upon  my  spirit, 
and  I  trembled  at  every  linab. 


"  He's  just  like  Jamie  Campbell 
Lorn,"  quoth  the  ghastly  lassie,  "  only 
he  has  no  flesh  on  his  legs,  and  his  bel- 
ly's a'  banes,  just  like  a  creel, — and  he 
looked  at  me  wi'  holes  in  his  head, 
where  he  should  have  een." 

"  Gude  guide  us,"  said  both  the 
gudeman  and  me,  "  the  bairn's  surely 
seen  a  wraith,  or  got  a  waff  o'  the  se- 
cond sight.  And  what  did  he  say  to 
you,  Flora  ?" 

"  He  said  nothing,"  quo'  she,  "  but 
walked  before  me,  looking  round  at  me. 
O  he  was  a  dreadful  like  thing !" 

"  When  we  heard  this,  we  said  no 
more,  but  thought  wi'  seriousness  that 
it  couldna  but  betoken  something ;  and 
the  gudeman  put  it  down  in  his  book, 
wi'  day  and  date,  and  think  what  was 
the  outcome.  About  a  week  after,  we 
heard  frae  Greenock  that  poor  Jamie, 
on  the  same  day,  and  at  the  same  hour, 
fell  frae  a  scaffold  in  Scott's  yard,  or 
the  dry  dock,  and  was  killed  cold  dead 
on  the  spot." 


To  this  nobody  made  reply,  but  all  sat  silent ;  and  I  canna  say  I  was  com- 
fortable ;  for,  in  the  meantime,  while  Mrs  M'Freat  was  speaking,  I  saw  before 
us  a  tall  white  figure,  standing  high  on  the  deck — higher  than  the  sons  of 
men ;  and  the  lights  at  the  Broomielaw,  to  which  we  were  now  drawing  near, 
shone  dimly  through  the  apparition.  O,  but  I  was  glad  when  the  vessel  stop- 
pit,  for  I  kent  na  what  to  mak  o'  the  spectacle,  till,  lo  and  behold,  it  was  no- 
thing but  a  fizzing  fume  of  the  boiler.  There  ne'er,  however,  was  any  thing 
seen  liker  to  a  true  ghost  in  a  winding  sheet,  than  it  was ;  so  I  was  exceeding- 
ly rejoiced  when  I  found  myself  once  more  safely  on  the  dry  land,  and  tread- 
ing the  ground  o'  Glasgow.  Mrs  M'Lecket,  when  I  reached  the  house,  was 
wearying  and  wondering  what  could  have  detained  me,  and  had  a  bit  nice  sup- 
per waiting  my  partaking.  Thus  ended  my  second  voyage — the  which,  how- 
ever, although  more  abundant  in  personalities  of  adventure  towards  myself, 
was  not  upon  the  whole  so  pleasant  as  the  first,  so  that  my  thirst  of  travelling 
to  see  foreign  sights  was  in  a  manner  cooled  ;  and,  for  the  remainder  of  the 
season,  I  comforted  myself  dousely  in  the  Saltmarket. 


1821-3 


Parliament. 


461 


PARLIAMENT. 


THE  progress  of  the  late  Session  has 
left  little  for  history.  It  was  occupied 
with  the  routine  of  public  business 
sufficiently  important  to  the  day,  but 
signalized  by  no  peculiar  impression 
on  the  spirit  of  public  affairs.  The 
Session  began  and  closed  with  the 
Queen.  The  decision  of  the  Lords 
was  more  than  sustained  in  the  Com- 
mons, for,  by  the  time  of  their  assem- 
bling, public  folly  had  found  leisure 
to  evaporate ;  the  artifices  of  the  po- 
pular disturbers  had  been  understood ; 
the  Queen's  personal  conduct,  as  the 
alarm  was  removed,  had  become  more 
illustrative  of  the  truth ;  and,  in  con- 
sequence, the  Commons  rejected,  by 
great  majorities,  all  cognizance  of  her 
complaints  and  claims.  The  "  Man- 
chester riots,"  a  portion  of  the  same 
system  of  revolutionary  tactics,  were 
brought  forward  under  the  same  dis- 
advantages of  exhausted  oratory,  and 
detected  misrepresentation.  The  old 
./?<,'•'/ ranis  displayed  their  attitudes  of 
defiance  and  supplication,  till  the 
House  dismissed  them  with  ridicule, 
and  the  topic  was  extinguished  for 
ever.  Mr  Scarlett  was  among  the  most 
persevering  candidates  for  the  honours 
of  this  laughter.  The  business  of  a 
barrister  would  be  a  formidable  ob- 
stacle to  the  political  partizanship,  ex- 
cept for  a  barrister's  pliancy.  Mr  Scar- 
lett had  at  York  fairly  enough  proved 
Hunt  to  be  a  public  disturber,  and,  as 
such,  had  been  the  instrument  of  fling- 
ing him  into  a  dungeon. 

The  proceedings  of  the  Constitution- 
al Association  became  the  frequent  sub- 
ject of  discussion.  The  arguments  on 
both  sides  have  been  expanded  through 
too  many  debates,  and  sent  out  to  the 
world  in  too  many  newspapers,  to  be 
worth  detailing.  The  justice  of  the 
question  is  narrow.  Is  the  association 
legal  ?  On  this  point  the  strongest  au- 
thority of  law  has  been  quoted  in  the 
affirmative ;  and,  in  fact,  no  man  but 
Mr  Ex-SherifF  Parkins,  an  absurd 
struggler  for  popularity  among  the 
mob,  has  ventured  to  question  the 
right  of  the  association.  The  pru- 
dence of  their  proceedings  is  a  matter 
of  another  dye.  It  was  undoubtedly 
desirable,  for  the  sake  of  public  peace, 
that  the  perpetual  insults  to  the  person 
and  character  of  the  King,  should  be 
extinguished,  and  that  the  gross  and 


infamous  falsehoods,  on  which  the 
whole  trade  of  rebellion  was  fed,  should 
be  made  the  subject  of  punishment. 
Libel  is  infectious.  The  same  spirit 
which  assaulted  the  King,  would  have 
gradually  descended  through  society, 
until  the  private  life  of  every  indivi- 
dual must  have  been  at  the  mercy  of 
the  pens,  which  would  have  trans- 
mitted them  to  the  mercy  of  the  dag- 
gers of  revolution.  Personal  feelings, 
as  well  as  public,  were  palpably  inte- 
rested in  the  restraint  of  this  desperate 
system ;  but  it  has  been  doubted,  whe- 
ther the  proceedings  of  the  Association 
would  not  have  been  eventually  more 
effective,  by  determining  their  chief 
weight  to  prevention,  rather  than  to 
punishment.  Their  original  resolu- 
tions certainly  gave  the  impression  of 
their  combatting  the  evil  by  the  force 
of  argument. 

No  permanent  influence  can  be  esta- 
blished upon  the  general  mind  but  by 
reasoning ;  it  may  be  necessary  to  rend 
away  an  incorrigible  offender  by  the 
arm  of  the  law ;  but  the  work  is  to 
be  begun  again ;  the  root  is  prolific, 
and  the  probability  is,  that  the  crime 
of  a  revolutionary  and  scandalous  press 
will  become  only  more  desperate  by 
the  more  determined  system  of  legal 
infliction.  The  two  stimulants  to  re- 
volutionary writing  are  profit  and  po- 
pularity. To  a  mind  of  unsettled  ho- 
nesty, there  is  an  almost  irresistible 
temptation  in  being  quoted  and  caress- 
ed by  the  multitude,  and  of  being 
raised  from  obscurity  and  beggary  into 
comparative  opulence.  The  true  wis- 
dom is  to  cut  off  the  temptation,  by 
instilling  knowledge  and  principle  into 
the  people.  Then  the  libel  will  find 
no  readers,  and  the  scribbler  will  be 
driven  to  some  of  the  hundred  harm- 
less and  obscure  occupations  which  are 
made  for  narrow  intellects  and  vulgar 
habitudes.  The  publications  of  the 
Constitutional  Association  seem  tohave 
occupied  a  very  inferior  portion  of  their 
diligence.  Some  tracts  of  merit  have 
been  issued;  but  their  pledge  of  making 
a  direct  application  to  the  intelligence 
of  the  literary  body  of  the  empire, 
has  been  but  imperfectly  redeemed. 
It  should,  undoubtedly,  have  been 
among  their  first  steps  to  have  origi- 
nated some  periodical  publication, — 
some  journal,  to  which  the  contribu- 


462 


Parliament. 


tions  of  the  friends  of  the  Constitution 
should  have  been  drawn,  by  liberal 
encouragement  and  personal  applica- 
tion. There  is  no  literary  name  in 
England  which  ought  not  to  feel  ho- 
noured by  such  an  application.  It  is 
more  than  probable  that  a  great  num- 
ber of  accomplished  minds  would  have 
given  their  assistance,  and  a  work 
would  thus  have  been  formed  of  the 
highest  utility  to  the  public  cause. 
All  discussion,  in  this  country,  to  be 
popularly  effective,  must  come  through 
the  public  journals,  and  the  newspaper 
of  the  Association  might  be  made  a 
performance  of  the  highest  interest, 
from  the  spirit,  taste,  and  manly  know- 
ledge that  wait  only  for  an  opportu- 
nity of  coming  forward  in  the  battle  of 
a  good  cause.  A  very  able  journal  has 
for  some  time  been  adopted  as  the  de- 
fender of  the  Society,  and  the  sound 
reasoning  and  extensive  legal  know- 
ledge of  its  columns  have  been  of  the 
highest  service  in  vindicating  the  ob- 
jects of  the  Society.  But  even  this 
journal  has  obviously  been  left  to  its 
own  resources,  and  the  Constitutional 
Association  has  to  thank  its  unassisted 
.defence  for  the  triumph.  It  is,  how- 
ever, certain,  that  valuable  results  have 
followed  from  the  prosecutions ;  the 
more  offensive  caricatures  of  the  King 
have  been  withdrawn ;  the  grossness 
of  libel  has  been  seriously  diminished ; 
some  of  the  more  refractory  libellers 
have  been  brought  to  justice,  and,  what 
is  still  more  commendable,  arrange- 
ments are  understood  to  have  been 
made  with  others  under  prosecution, 
by  which  the  process  of  law  is  stopped, 
on  condition  of  their  abandoning  their 
culpable  trade.  The  society  has  con- 
tinued to  receive  the  addition  of  many 
honourable  and  eminent  names,  and  it 
may  be  looked  on  as  established  in  a 
high  rank  of  public  opinion. 

A  question  of  privilege  produced 
some  strong  discussion  in  the  later 
sittings  of  Parliament — Mr  Bennet's 
motion  for  the  committal  of  the  edi- 
tor and  printer  of  the  John  Bull 
newspaper.  The  subject  has  been  al- 
ready too  largely  talked  of  in  the  pu- 
blic prints,  to  be  worth  a  repetition. 
But  the  general  feeling  was,  that  Mr 
Bennet  showed  himself  as  thorough 
a  Radical  as  he  had  been  in  the  liubit 
of  avowing  himself  to  be.  What  all 
honest  men  dread  in  the  reign  of  a  mob, 
is  its  remorseless  cruelty.  Mr  Ben- 
net's  extraction  of  their  parliamentary 


misdoings  from  the  printer,  &c.  fol- 
lowed by  his  proposal  of  prosecution 
by  the  Attorney-General,  was  in  the- 
true  spirit  of  mob  mercy.  Danton 
might  take  a  lesson  from  some  of  the 
modern  Whig  orators.  But  John  Bull's 
defence  was  disadvantageously  made. 
If  the  editor  had  plainly  avowed  his 
knowledge  of  the  facts,  the  House 
would  have  acquitted  him ;  if  he  had, 
in  the  presence  of  parliament,  demand- 
ed of  Mr  Bennet,  whether  his  recan- 
tation had  been  voluntary,  whether  it 
had  not  been  delayed  for  a  fortnight, 
•whether  his  charge  had  not  excited 
the  indignation  of  the  parties,  and 
whether  his  recantation  had  not  been 
the  direct  and  positive  consequence  of 
a  demand  that  an  ample  explanation 
should  be  made  to  the  public,  the  edi- 
tor would  have  compelled  Mr  Bennet, 
in  all  his  glorying,  to  wish  that  he  had 
left  this  business  undisturbed.  The 
whole  affair  seems  to  have  been  an 
equivoque  between  apology  and  expla- 
nation. The  editor  said  in  his  journal, 
that  the  former  had  been  demanded  ; 
Mr  Bennet  allowed  that  the  latter  had 
been  demanded.  Let  the  Court  of 
Honour  settle  this  minute  punctilio. 
But  the  notorious  friend  of  liberty  all 
round  the  world,  the  adorer  of  Napo- 
leon, the  perpetual  orator  of  the  Man- 
chester rabble,  or,  to  sum  up  all  in  one, 
the  modern  Whig;  sent  the  editor  and 
his  coadjutor  to  Newgate,  by  a  vote  of 
the  House,  as  a  practical  illustration 
of  the  libert)  of  the  press,  and  the 
rights  of  the  subject. 

The  death  of  Napoleon  was  the  most 
prominent  circumstance  of  the  time. 
At  another  period,  it  must  have  ex- 
cited strong  feeling ;  but  now  the  em- 
pire was  thinking  of  the  coronation ; 
and  in  France,  nobody  thinks  of  any 
thing  that  is  out  of  sight.  Napoleon 
should  have  died  at  Waterloo.  He  has 
been  from  that  hour  worse  than  dead. 
Here,  too,  the  pens  of  the  public  jour- 
nalists have  so  belaboured  the  topic 
with  their  whole  unwieldy  strength  of 
praise  and  censure,  that  nothing  but 
common-place  would  venture  on  the 
detail  of  his  character.  But,  in  the 
praise  of  his  talents,  we  are  not  to  for- 
get their  desperate  perversion.  His 
whole  power  was  for  purposes  of  hu- 
man affliction. 

He  was  unquestionably  a  man  of 
great  military  talents.     But  there  his 
panegyric  must  close.  As  a  politician, 
12 


1821. 


Parliament. 


463 


he  utterly  failed  in  his  chief  object  — 
the  overthrow  of  England  ;  and  he 
failed,  not  from  the  calamities  of  time 
and  seasons,  but  from  the  defect  of  po- 
litical sagacity.  He  was  unacquainted 
with  the  first  principles  of  a  strength 
compounded  of  commercial  opulence 
and  public  spirit.  With  the  crude 
learning  of  a  military  academy,  and  the 
classic  affectation  which  seems  to  be 
engrafted  in  every  Frenchman,  he  call- 
ed England  Carthage  ;  and  thought, 
that,  like  Carthage,  the  magnificent 
vigour  of  England  was  to  be  ruined  by 
battles  and  sieges,  and  paltry  attempts 
to  draw  a  line  of  circumvallation  round 
her  trade.  He  was  unable  to  see  the 
distinction  between  a  small  continental 
power,  sustained  by  mercenaries,  and 
cut  off  by  a  jealous  policy  from  the 
good-will  of  other  nations,  and  a 
mighty  empire,  commanding  the  seas, 
shutting  the  gates  of  the  ocean  upon 
France,  defended  by  a  vast,  free,  and 
valorous  population,  and  with  every 
people  of  the  earth  bound  by  a  strong 
self-interest  to  the  success  of  its  cause. 
This  was  a  grand  mistake,  and  one 
which  totally  degrades  the  political 
wisdom  of  Napoleon.  When  the  af- 
ter-time shall  come,  in  which  we  shall 
be  able  to  look  upon  the  field  of  battle 
as  the  field  of  history,  our  astonish- 
ment will  be,  not  that  Napoleon  had 
failed  to  conquer,  but  that  he  had  been 
able  to  resist.  He  was  altogether  over- 
matched in  power  by  England,  and  he 
would  have  been  crushed  in  war  if  her 
whole  policy  had  not  been  defensive. 
She  never  put  out  her  force.  She  look- 
ed upon  herself  from  the  commence- 
ment as  the  protectress  of  Europe;  and 
the  blows  that  might  have  smitten  the 
French  usurpation  were  held  in  sus- 
pence  by  a  noble  reluctance  to  involve 
the  innocent  with  the  guilty.  She 
'  '  check'd  her  thunders  in  mid-  volley." 
The  command  of  the  sea  is  the  com- 
mand of  the  earth.  England  might 
have  revolutionized  every  maritime 
country  upon  the  globe,  and  have 
thrown  the  weight  of  their  fury  upon 
the  dominions  of  Napoleon.  She  might 
have  made  the  whole  circle  of  islands 
round  Europe  a  chain  of  fire.  She 
might  have  inflamed  every  wild  pas- 
sion, and  secret  revenge,  and  bloody 
ambition  of  the  earth,  and  turned  the 
whole  burning  torrent  upon  France 
and  its  revolution.  But  this  she  could 
not  have  done  without  loss  of  princi- 
ple, without  infinite  injury  to  man- 
VOL.  IX. 


kind,  and  without  hazarding  the  hope 
of  restoration.  She  more  than  realized 
the  i  fable  of  the  hero's  spear  —  if  her 
weapon  smote,  it  was  only  to  heal. 
Napoleon's  commercial  decrees  were 
the  feeble  opposition  of  a  self-willed 
ignorance  ;  and  in  the  face  of  their  im- 
potence, the  commerce  of  England  in- 
creased fourfold.  When  she  at  length 
exerted  her  partial  force  against  him, 
he  was  driven  from  all  contention.  She 
crushed  him  at  sea,  and  stripped  him 
of  the  hope  of  a  navy.  She  finally,  in 
a  single  encounter,  broke  his  strength 
into  fragments  at  land,  and  turned  him 
into  a  puppet  and  a  mockery.  If  there 
had  been  a  highway  from  Dover  to 
Calais  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  Wa- 
terloo would  have  been  anticipated  by 
five-and-twenty  years.  The  strength 
of  England,  —  a  strength  which,  with 
reference  to  all  human  uses,  may  be 
called  unlimited,  would  have  arisen 
like  the  giant  refreshed,  and  pour- 
ed over  the  strait,  and  left  nothing 
of  the  frivolous  and  fickle  resist- 
ance of  Frenchmen,  but  the  feelings 
that  survive  in  prostrate  minds  and 
fettered  limbs.  It  is  almost  idle  to 
talk  of  England  as  having  been  at  war. 
Within  the  borders  of  the  Empire  all 
was  peace.  We  read  of  harvests  tramp- 
led, and  cities  in  conflagration,  but  it 
was  with  the  remote  feeling  of  the 
sufferings  of  another  sphere.  We  never 
saw  an  enemy's  banner  but  as  a  trophy, 
we  never  heard  the  sound  of  a  cannon 
but  as  the  signal  of  a  triumph.  We 
heard  of  war  as  the  scourge  of  other 
nations  ;  but  the  sufferings  of  war 
came  to  our  ears  only  as  matter  of  cu- 
riosity. Melancholy  and  painful  in- 
deed, but  only  as  a  pain  in  which  we 
indulged,  from  the  common  sympathy 
with  human  misfortune.  For  this 
magnificent  strength  and  glorious  ex- 
emption, we  have  to  be  grateful  to  a 
higher  Source  than  the  wisdom  or  for- 
tune of  man.  But  they  were  built  on 
ancient  foundations  of  national  pros- 
perity, and  not  to  have  estimated  their 
depth  and  solidity,  shewed  nothing 
but  weakness  and  narrowness  in  the 
mind  of  their  enemy. 

Napoleon  is  now  beyond  the  power 
of  disturbing  the  world  ;  he  ought  to 
receive  the  measure  of  lenity  which 
belongs  to  a  man  beyond  the  power  of 
defending  himself.  But  it  would  be 
gross  injustice  to  human  nature,  to  at- 
tribute his  guilt  to  its  mere  common 
weaknesses.  He  was  selfish,  perfidious, 
3M 


464 


Fariiament. 


bloody.    He  had  no  value  for  any  life 
but  his  own  —  to  secure  that  life  he 
spared  no  crime.  He  never  had  an  ob- 
ject of  suspicion  whom   he   did  not 
make  away  with,  and  that  privately. 
Villeneuve  was  summoned  to  Paris,  to 
account  for  fighting  at  Trafalgar  with- 
out orders  —  he  had  the  orders  in  Na- 
poleon's own  hand;  he  shewed  them 
in  England,  and  was  advised  not  to 
venture.     The  unfortunate    admiral 
set  out,  and  was  found  half  way  to 
Paris,  with  three  mortal  wounds  in 
his  back.     Wright  was  found  with  his 
throat  cut,  and  with  a  razor  and  news- 
paper beside  him,  while  it  was  notori- 
ous that  neither  razors  nor  newspapers 
were  allowed  within  the  Temple.  His 
other  barbarities,  the  deaths  of  Palm, 
Pichegru;  andD'Enghien  ;  the  poison- 
ing of  his  sick  soldiers,  and  the  mas- 
sacre of  his  prisoners  in  Syria  ;   all 
things  of  notoriety,  are  each  sufficient 
to  give  the  name  of  any  man  down  to 
the  execration  of  posterity.   With  the 
power  of  good  and  evil,  he  chose  evil. 
There  is  not  on  record  a  single  act  of 
his  clemency,  or  generosity,  or  public 
spirit.      He    crushed    the    hope    of 
freedom   in  France,  and  would  have 
crushed  it   through  the  world.     He 
was   a   tyrant  in   the   darkest  sense 
of  the  name.     He  established  eight 
prison   houses  for  political   offences, 
and  from  those  there  was  to  be  no 
redemption  but  the  grave.     In  1814, 
the  return  of  the  imprisoned  on  state 
charges  was  50,000.     He  kept  70,000 
of  ,  his  own  subjects  in  English  prisons, 
for  the  mere  purpose  of  keeping  as 
many  English  and  Spaniards  in  French 
prisons.  A  word  from  him  would  have 
extinguished  this  mighty  mass  of  mi- 
sery ;  but  he  had  no  feeling  for  human 
misery.     His  seizure  of  the  English 
families  travelling  under  his  own  pass- 


ports,  was  an  unheard-of  perfidy,  still 
more  cruel  than  the  imprisonment  of 
his  military  captives.  Of  those  12,000 
English,  not  more  than  one  third  ever 
returned.     In  the   thirteen  years  of 
their  bondage,   the  prospects  of  the 
majority  were  totally  destroyed  ;  the 
mature  had  been  separated  from  their 
professions  and  habits  of  life,  the  old 
died  at  a  distance  from  their  families, 
and  the  young  grew  into  manhood 
without  a  pursuit.  Innumerable  hearts 
in  England  were  made  wretched  by 
the  separation  of  those  on  whom  their 
happiness   or  subsistence  depended  ; 
and  for  this  misery,  which  plunged 
many  a  one  to  an  early  grave,  the  ty- 
rant of  France  solely  had  to  answer. 
His  private  life  was  the  fitting  root  for 
his  public  enormities.   His  conduct  to 
Josephine  was  of  the  most  heartless  in- 
gratitude ;  he  was  an  adulterer  and  an 
apostate.   Passion  has  with  some  men 
served  as  a  feeble  excuse  for  the  one, 
and  prejudice  for  the  other  ;  with  him, 
the  cause  of  both  crimes  was  selfish- 
ness, and  his  punishment  came  from 
his  selfishness.  It  made  him  shrink, 
when  to  shrink  was  to  be  undone;  and, 
finally,  it  sent  him,  stripped  of  empire, 
fame,  and  public  commiseration,  from 
a  hopeless  dungeon  to  a  dishonoured 
grave.   If  his  oath  could  have  been  be- 
lieved by  any  power,  he  might  have  sat 
free  and  prosperous  to  the  last,  but  his 
perfidy  extinguished  all  compromise. 
He  was  felt  to  be  that  enemy  of  man- 
kind, whom  no  faith  could  bind  ;  —  to 
have  suffered  him  on  a  throne  would 
have  been  only  to  prepare  new  mis- 
fortunes for  theearth.  He  was  declared 
an  outlaw  by  the  hearts  of  all  nations, 
before  he  was  by  their  lips  ;  and  after 
having  run  the  career  of  a  villain,  he 
died  the  death  of  a  slave. 


A  few  wordt  to  our  Contributors.  *W 

A  FEW  WORDS  TO  THAT  IMMENSE  BODY  OP  MANKIND  WHICH  FORMS  THE 
MASS  OF  OUR  CONTRIBUTORS. 

LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN, 

IT  is  an  amazingly  long  period  since  we  had  any  private  conversation  with 
you.  We  were,  in  fact,  quite  sick  of  seeing  every  thing  we  did  in  the  way  of 
notices  imitated  by  the  barbarians  of  Cockneyland,  and  other  savage  countries. 
In  consequence,  your  unnoticed  favours  have  actually  grown  into  the  size  of 
a  stack  of  chimneys ;  but  we  are  determined  to  lessen  the  bulk  by  writing  you 
a  note  on  the  subject,  which  will,  no  doubt,  carry  joy  into  all  your  hearts. 

Above  all  things,  dear  people,  take  care  of  your  health.  This  is  summer 
weather, — so  go  down  into  the  country  such  of  you  as  live  in  towns  ;  and  such 
of  you  as  live  in  the  country  take  the  fields  at  once.  Hunt,  shoot,  fish,  course, 
leap,  run,  walk,  ride,  wrestle,  box,  (with  the  gloves  of  course,)  et  cetera.  Let 
the  ladies  amuse  themselves  lady-like ;  but  not  the  slightest  approach  to  blue- 
stockingism,  which  is  a  vile  vice.  Do  not  drink  over  much  in  the  warm  wea- 
ther,— say,  not  above  two  bottles  per  diem.  Whisky  is  inflammatory  in  this 
season  of  the  year,  so  stick  as  close  as  possible  to  claret.  We  hope  the  hams, 
and  other  such  affairs,  which  we  sent  you,  came  safe,  and  proved  acceptable. 
Our  worthy  friend  Oman  executed  a  prodigious  order  for  us,  at  the  house  of 
those  excellent  persons,  Hadens  and  Oseland,  352,  Wapping,  whom  we  recom- 
mend as  very  fair  fellows,  and  our  constant  readers. 

Seventeen  of  you  have  sent  us  articles,  prose  and  verse,  on  Buonaparte.  We 
have  put  in  two  of  the  verse-people's  contributions ;  but  as  we  wrote  a  very 
fine  article  ourselves  on  politics,  we  could  not  afford  to  put  in  any  of  the 
unrhymed  prose  writers.  Entre  nous,  some  of  you  are  bitter  bad ;  none,  how- 
ever, equal  to  the  enormity  of  the  Examiner.  As  you  do  not  read  that  paper, 
we  shall  just  give  you  the  commencement  of  our  friend  Leigh's  Elegy  : — 

"  The  age  has  lost  its  greatest  name  !  Napoleon, 

But  lately  the  most  powerful  and  splendid 

Of  Monarchs,  has  expired  upon  a  little 

Rock,  in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean  !" 

And  so  on,  for  nine  columns.   We  are  ashamed  of  you,  King  of  the  Cockneys  ! 

As  we  are  on  the  subject,  we  may  just  ask  Marshal  Bertrand  and  Count 
Montholon,  or  whomsoever  it  most  concerns,  to  send  us  those  papers  which  we 
perceive  by  the  prints  Napoleon  has  ordered  to  be  sent  to  us.  By  the  way,  we 
may  as  well  correct  a  mistake  of  the  newspapers,  with  respect  to  the  Ex-Em- 
peror's last  words.  They  were  not  tete—armee,  but  a  la  Magazin  ;  which  some 
interpreted  in  a  military  way,  rather  erroneously,  as  you  well  know. 

We  never  insert  puffs,  so  must  return  Mr  Kennedy,  F.T.C.D.  the  review 
of  his  new  edition  of  Homer.  Or,  on  second  thoughts,  as  we  wish  to  oblige 
the  young  man,  we  shall  send  it  to  some  of  the  inferior  Magazines, — perhaps 
the  New  Monthly,— so  let  him  keep  his  eye  out  for  next  month. 

Our  Calcutta  correspondent  shall  see  his  article  soon.  Could  he  not  give  us 
something  on  Hindoo  literature  ? 

A  peep  into  the  Parliament-House  is  good — very  good — but  bitter.  We 
must  consider  of  it. 

Murder  will  out,  or  the  Sentimental  House-breaker,  is  a  fine  tragedy ;  too 
long  for  our  pages  however.  The  author  may  have  it  on  application  at  Prince's 
Street.  We  recommend  him  to  try  it  in  Drury-Lane,  and  endeavour  to  shew 
the  public  that  there  is  tragic  talent  in  the  country. 


466  A  few  words  to  our  Contributors.  £.July, 

A  clever  paper,  on  A  plan  for  observing  the  Day  of  Coronation  with  Festive 
Solemnity,  is  too  late.  The  day  will  have  passed  before  we  publish.  The  plan 
would  have  been  an  excellent  one.  Our  correspondent  suggests,  that  a  sum  to  en- 
tertain 10,000  poor  people,  at  a  shilling  a-head,  should  be  raised  ;  that  a  table 
should  be  extended  in  the  High-Street,  from  the  Mount  of  Proclamation  to  the 
Palace  of  Holyrood  ;  that  the  whistling  master  of  arts,  or  any  other  great  ora- 
tor, should  be  in  the  chair ;  and  the  greasy  advocate  croupier  ;  that  as  speeches 
are  indispensibly  requisite  at  a  great  dinner,  and  as  it  would  be  impossible  for 
any  human  being  to  send  sweet  music  to  such  a  distance,  every  ten  yards 
there  should  be  stationed  a  repeater,  who  should  give  out  to  his  district  the 
discourse  from  the  chair ;  that  these  telegraph-orators  should  convey  the  speech 
to  the  croupier,  who  should  give  it  from  the  bottom  of  the  table,  &c.  The 
picture  of  10,000  people  eating — of  the  High-Street  one  continued  line  of  mas- 
tication— is  overpoweringly  sublime.  It  would  be  a  fine  subject  for  the  ima- 
ginative pen  of  Wordsworth.  Lord  Byron  would  not  do  it  so  well. 

Haggart's  Memoirs,  by  ******  Esq.  have  come  to  hand.  We 
shall  think  about  them.  We  knew  Haggart  well,  and  respected  him;  for, 
though  somewhat  absurdly  addicted  to  murder  and  robbery,  he  was  an  amiable 
young  man  in  the  main.  His  book  discovers  great  powers ;  is  far  superior,  as  a 
piece  of  autobiography,  to  the  similar  production  of  Bishop  Watson  ;  and  evin- 
ces talents  which  we  think  would  have  marked  him  peculiarly  for  a  lecturer 
on  natural  philosopy. 

Doctor  Scott  on  Gum-boils,  smells  horribly  of  shop. 

If  Mr has  done  wrong  in  marrying  his  servant  lassie,  what  is  that  to 

us  ?  Verax  had  better  mind  his  own  affairs. 

"  Description  of  the  New  Church  of  Auchtermuchtie,"  is  sent  to  the  Gen- 
tleman's Magazine. 

Spare  us,  good  poets  !  "  Sonnet  to  the  Moon" — not  bad — "  Ode  to  Nep- 
tune"— trash.  "  To  Mary" — Psha  !  "  On  Things  in  General" — a  fine  poem 
on  a  fine  subject,  but  not  polished.  Would  the  author  give  us  leave  to  re- 
touch ?  "  On  a  Wooden  Spoon" — nonsense.  "  On  the  Edinburgh  Troop" — 
so  fine  a  body  of  men  require  a  finer  poem.  We  shall  do  one  ourselves.  But 
we  could  not  by  any  possibility  get  through  it,  if  we  were  to  notice  half  the 
poets  we  have  on  hands.  Briefly  we  thank  them  all,  good,  bad,  and  indiffe- 
rent. 

Carter's  Lecture  on  Antemundane  Pugilism,  delivered  in  the  Hall  of  the 
Cork  Scientific  and  Literary  Society,  Faulkner's  Lane,  is  received.  We  re- 
member seeing  something  about  this  in  the  Literary  Gazette.  It  reflects  cre- 
dit on  the  taste  of  that  learned  body,  that  they  patronize  so  eminent  a  man  as 
Carter.  We  shall  insert  it  when  we  have  room. 

Sir  T.  C.  Morgan  must  wait. 

Our  friend  in  Canada  shall  see  his  article  in  our  next. 

When  will  Z.  send  us  his  Cockney  School  of  Science,  No.  I.  Sir  R.  Phil- 
lips ?  He  promised  it  long  ago.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  let  the  Series  on  the  Cock- 
ney School  go  down — it  was  so  benevolent  and  agreeable  to  every  body. 

Hyman  Hurwitz's  book  in  answer  to  Bellamy  is  good,  learned,  and  witty. 
He  has  completely  overthrown  his  charlatan  antagonist.  But  we  do  not  wish 
to  get  into  biblical  controversy,  and  must  therefore  reluctantly  refuse  Doctor 
Petre's  learned  and  excellent  letter  on  the  subject.  We  are  sorry  to  refuse  the 
Doctor.  Would  he  have  the  goodness  to  favour  us  with  his  present  address  ? 

A.  S.  should  put  another  S.  to  his  name.    He  amply  deserves  it. 


1821.]]  A  few  words  to  our  Contributors.  467 

Oddly  enough,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  we  had  gone  so  far,  when  the  fol- 
lowing letter  reached  us.  Mr  Trott,  (from  whom  we  hope  to  hear  frequently) 
will  see  we  anticipated  his  wishes.  With  the  letter  we  conclude. 


VERILY,  Mr  North,  I  fear  that 
you're  growing  rich  and  lazy.  A  pret- 
ty cavalier  manner  you  use  to  your  in- 
dustrious correspondents — not  even 
deign  them  an  answer.  I  could  laugh, 
but  for  spite  at  myself,  and  some  of 
my  friends,  when  they  catch  hold  of  a 
new  No.  at  Warren's,  which  they  dare 
not  cut,  the  halt-crowns  not  being 
plenty — roaming  '  o'er  columned  page 
and  advertising  cover,' — insinuating 
their  vision,  with  pick-pocket  ingenu- 
ity, into  each  maiden  sheet,  in  search 
of  l  Notice  to  Correspondents' — all  in 
vain — no  pleasing  doubt — no  happy 
intimation — '  A.  B.  will  hear  from  us 
shortly/  or  '  X.  X.  X.  is  under  con- 
sideration.' Christopher,  open  thy 
mouth,  or  thy  ruin  is  certain.  Amicus, 
Verax,  and  Philo-Verax,  plot  daily 
against  thy  life, — the  whole  tribe  of 
Z7's,  Ax's,  and  Constant  Readers  are 
sworn  enemies  to  thee,  and  all  the  let- 
ters of  the  alphabet  stand  up  in  bat- 
tallia  to  overthrow  thee.  Therefore 
I  say,  friend  Kit,  take  warning,  and 
let  thy  longed-for  pages  convey  glad 
tidings  to  the  anonymous  of  the  age. 

I  speak  for  my  brethren,  myself 
will  no  more  on't,  but  speak  in  proprid 
persona,  lest,  like  the  cockneys,  I 
should  break  my  nose  in  playing  at 
'  hide  and  go  seek'  with  thee.  And  if 
this  last  and  open  resource  fail  me, — 
if  thou  still  remainest  inexorable,  then 
the  curse  of  Campbell  be  upon  thee,— • 
id  est,  to  be  the  talented  leader  of  a 
string  of  blockheads.  (This,  however, 
like  all  curses,  cum  grano  sails,  the 
Nympholept  botanizes  prettily,  and 
the  whole  concern  makes,  as  Gray 
says  of  Spence's  Polymetis,  "  the 


sweetest  reading  in  natiur  for  young 
gentlemen  who  are  learning  to  dance.") 
But  for  myself,  I've  sent  thee  every 
thing  my  brain  could  suggest, — essays, 
as  mystical  as  Coleridge,  and  witty  as 
O'Dogherty,  translations  that  might 
almost  vie  with  those  of  Mr  Gillies, 
and  "  the  accomplished  gentleman 
from  Dublin,"  (though  I  suspect  he's 
from  Limerick,  and  ought  to  be — 
'  neat  as  a  Limerick  glove,') — songs, 
fully  as  good  as  Moore's  last  number 
of  Irish  melodies,  as  my  friends  here 
say  ;  indeed,  if  Mr  Anacreon  goes  on 
at  this  rate,  he  had  better  swallow  the 
grape-stone  at  once,  and  not  anticipate 
punishment,  by  being  d — mn'd  before 
he  dies :  all  old  women,  save  Mr 
Power,  vote  his  ditties  to  be  growing 
marvellously  stupid.  How  could  his 
Irish  heart  become  petrified,  or  French- 
ified, over  the  manes  of  Grattan? 
or  is  it  to  laziness  we  are  to  impute 
the  appearance,  in  his  last  number, 
of  a  wretched  imitation  of  Byron's 
'  Good  Night?'  o  M» ?o?.  Mr  Charles 
Philips,  we  hear,  has  been  lauding 
this, — for  the  same  reason,  we  sup- 
pose, that  he  thinks  proper  to  abuse 
Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  and  babble  of 
the  arts,  of  which  he  knows  just  as 
much  as  the  bow-wow-looking  con- 
noisseur of  the  Examiner,  Mr  Robert 
Hunt, — par  nobile  fratrum.  But  we 
grow  animose,  Christopher ;  therefore, 
recalling  your  attention  to  the  advice 
at  the  commencement  of  this  epistle, 
I  remain, 

Your's,  unremittingly, 

ALEX.  SYDNEY  TROTT. 
July  8th. 


Adieu,  then,  dear  Contributors,  and  believe  us  to  be, 

Your  most  obedient  and  humble  servant, 

C.  NORTH. 
17,  Prince's  Street.    July  19,  1821, 


408 


IForkt  preparing' for  Publication, 


WORKS  PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 
LONDON 


To  be  published  by  Subscription,  Ser- 
mons on  the  Divine  Revelation,  and  on  the 
Canonical  Rules  of  the  Old  Testament ;  by 
Robert  Jones,  D.D. 

Amidst  the  Volume  of  Sermons  that  is- 
sue from  the  press,  there  seems  yet  want- 
ing a  plain  detail  of  Divine  Revelation,  as 
more  especially  evidenced  in  the  pages  of 
Holy  Scripture. 

To  furnish  a  succinct  and  convincing 
view  of  the  different  manifestations  of  God's 
will  to  man,  appears  the  best  means  of  pre- 
paring the  mind  for  a  due  consideration  of 
the  truth,  contents,  and  connection  of  the 
sacred  books. 

Such  are  the  objects  attempted  in  this 
volume.  The  Sermons  were  suggested  by 
the  infidel  temper  and  blasphemous  publi- 
cations of  the  day,  and  were  expressly  writ- 
ten for  a  large  and  very  mixed  congrega- 
tion, to  which  they  have  been  preached,  it 
is  to  be  at  least  hoped,  with  some  portion 
of  benefit. 

Though  the  author,  in  the  wide  field 
which  presented  itself,  has  not  scrupled  to 
become  indebted  to  the  historical  and  cri- 
tical labours  of  others,  it  has  been  his  in- 
dividual aim  to  inculcate  through  every 
Sermon  the  doctrines  and  duties  of  the 
Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ. 

The  Work  will  be  comprised  in  one  oc- 
tavo volume,  Price  12s.  and  will  be  put  to 
press  as  soon  as  an  adequate  number  of  sub- 
scribers is  obtained, 

*,*  A  second  volume,  containing  the 
Apocrypha  and  the  New  Testament,  is  in 
preparation,  and  will  hereafter  be  publish- 
ed, should  encouragement  be  given  to  the 
present  undertaking. 

Mr  Roscoe  has  issued  proposals  for  pub- 
lishing by  subscription  a  Collection  from 
the  Works  of  the  most  celebrated  Poets  of 
Italy,  from  the  end  of  the  12th,  to  the  be- 
ginning of  the  19th  century  ;  arranged  in 
chronological  order,  and  accompanied  by 
Biographical  and  Critical  Accounts  of  their 
Lives  and  Writings,  extracted  from  the 
most  distinguished  writers  on  the  literary 
history  of  Italy.  It  will  be  printed  in  48 
Parts,  8vo. ;  each  to  average  400  pages,  and 
12  to  be  delivered  in  the  year.  It  will  also 
be  ornamented  with  portraits. 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  Messrs  Crabbe,  Southey, 
Milman,  Heber,Wrangham,  and  other  po- 
pular poets  of  the  day,  are,  it  is  said,  em- 
ployed in  framing  Hymns  and  Psalms  for 
the  use  of  the  Established  Church  of  Eng- 
land. This,  it  is  expected,  will  confer  a 
character  on  our  religious  poetry,  which  it 
has  long  wanted. 

Shortly  will  be  published,  in  8vo.,  by 
John  Cochrane,  Esq.  a  Treatise  on  the 
Game  of  Chess,  including  the  games  of  the 


Anonymous,  Modenese,  and  the  Traitfc  des 
Amateurs  ;  and  containing  many  remark- 
able situations,  original  as  well  as  selected. 
Illustrated  by  numerous  diagrams,  and  an 
engraved  frontispiece. 

Mr  Ackermann  proposes  to  publish,  in 
1  vol.  imperial  fJvo.,  a  History  of  Madeira, 
with  a  series  of  twenty-seven  coloured  en- 
gravings, illustrative  of  the  costumes,  man- 
ners, and  occupations  of  the  inhabitants  ; 
containing  upwards  of  sixty  characteris- 
tic figures,  accompanied  by  historical  and 
descriptive  letter-press. 

In  an  Qvo.  volume,  a  Translation  of  the 
greater  part  of  the  Faust  of  Goethe,  with 
Moser's  Etchings  of  the  celebrated  Outline 
Plates. 

Mr  Charles  Marsh  has  in  the  press  a 
Life  of  the  Right  Honourable  W.  Wind- 
ham,  comprising  Interesting  Correspond- 
ence, and  Memoirs  of  his  Time. 

In  the  press,  a  Novel,  called,  The  Sol- 
dier's Child  ;  or,  Virtue  Triumphant ;  by 
Charlotte  Caroline  Richardson,  author  of 
Harvest,  a  poem  ;  also  of  Isaac  and  Re- 
becca, and  other  Poems. 

Mr  Lowe,  the  author  of  the  Statistical 
Articles  on  England  and  France,  in  the 
New  Supplement  to  the  Edinburgh  Ency- 
clopaedia Britannica,  is  preparing  for  the 
press,  a  volume  on  the  Situation  and  Pros- 
pects of  England,  in  regard  to  Agriculture, 
Trade,  and  Finance. 

Preparing  for  the  press,  a  new  edition  of 
the  Dramatic  Composition  of  Gambold, 
entitled,  the  Martyrdom  of  Ignatius  ;  with 
a  Prefatory  Dissertation. 

The  History  of  the  Roman  Empire,  from 
the  Accession  of  Augustus,  to  the  Death  of 
the  younger  Antoninus. 

Shortly  will  be  published,  the  Life  of 
Colley  Gibber,  with  Additional  Notes,  Re- 
marks, &c. ;  by  Mr  E.  Bellchambers. 

The  Rev.  Robert  Hall  has  in  the  press 
a  new  edition  of  his  Apology  for  the  Free- 
dom of  the  Press,  with  some  Additions. 

Mr  Ackermann  will  shortly  publish,  in 
six  elegant  pocket  volumes,  illustrated  with 
seventy-three  coloured  engravings,  con- 
taining upwards  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
costumes,  a  Concise  History  of  Turkey — a 
Description  of  the  Court  of  the  Grand  Sig- 
nior — of  the  Officers  and  Ceremonies,  Ci- 
vil, Military,  and  Religious ;  and  of  the 
Costumes,  Manners,  and  other  Peculiari- 
ties characteristic  of  the  Turkish  Empire, 
being  the  third  division. 

Preparing  for  the  press,  by  Mr  Maxwell, 
author  of  the  Plurality  of  Worlds,  a  Trans- 
lation of  a  Latin  Work  of  A.  S.  Calcott, 
L.L.B. ;  being  an  Attempt  to  Recover  the 
Principles  of  the  Ancient  or  True  Philoso- 
phy, collected  from  the  Sacred  Writings, 


18210 


Works  preparing  for  Publication. 


and  lately  explained  by  John  Hutchinson, 
Esq.,  with  a  New  Preface,  and  many  Ad- 
ditional Notes ;  and  illustrated  by  plates, 
which  clearly  elucidate  the  different  pheno- 
mena connected  with  die  annual  and  diur- 
nal motions  of  the  Earth. 

On  the  1st  of  July,  1821,  will  be  pub- 
lished, No.  I.  of  Zoological  Researches  in 
the  Island  of  Java,  &c.  with  Figures  of 
Native  Quadrupeds  and  Birds ;  by  Tho- 
mas Horsficld,  M.D.  F.L.S. 

In  the  press,  The  Triple  Aim,  or  The 
Improvement  of  Leisure,  Friendship,  and 
Intellect,  attempted  in  Epistolary  Corre- 
spondence. 10s.  6d. 

Alexander  Jamieson,  author  of  a  Trea- 
tise on  the  Construction  of  Maps,  and  a 
Grammar  of  Geography  and  Elementary 
Astronomy,  has  now  in  the  press  a  Celestial 
Atlas,  being  an  exact  representation  of  the 


469 

Starry  Firmament,  as  It  appears  to  the  eye 
of  an  observer  on  the  earth. 

This  Work  comprises  general  construc- 
tions of  the  hemispheres  and  zodiac,  with 
particular  projections  of  the  successive  con- 
stellations from  pole  to  pole,  in  thirty  cop- 
perplate engravings.  Each  plate  is  accom- 
panied by  a  scientific  description  of  its  con- 
tents ;  with  the  method  of  finding  in  the 
heavens  the  places  of  the  constellations  it 
developes ;  and  the  solution  of  such  pro- 
blems, usually  performed  on  the  celestial 
globe,  as  may  be  accomplished  by  a  map. 
And  it  is  further  illustrated  by  a  catalogue 
of  the  stars,  (in  the  constellation  or  constel- 
lations it  contains)  from  the  first  to  the  se- 
venth magnitude  inclusive,  indicated  by  ta- 
bles of  their  right  ascension  and  declination, 
with  such  other  notices  of  astronomical  phe- 
nomena as  are  most  worthy  of  observation. 


EDINBURGH. 


Dr  Hooker,  Professor  of  Botany  in  the 
University  of  Glasgow,  is  employed  in  col- 
lecting materials  fora  Work  on  Exotic  Ve- 
getables, which,  under  the  title  of  Select 
Plants,  is  intended  to  comprise  such  indivi- 
duals (principally  cultivated  in  the  rich  col- 
lection of  the BotanicEstablishmentof  Glas- 
gow) as  recommend  themselves  by  their 
beauty,  their  history,  their  novelty,  or  some 
remarkable  and  little  known  characters  in 
their  flowers  and  fruit. 

The  greatest  pains  will  be  taken  in  de- 
signing the  different  parts  of  the  fructifica- 
tion ;  the  general  neglect  of  which,  in  simi- 
lar Works,  has  caused  an  obscurity  which 
renders  the  ascertainment  of  a  genus  very 
difficult,  and  has  greatly  retarded  the  pro- 
gress of  science. 

The  cultivation  also,  and  the  soil  best 
suited  to  the  individual,  will  not  be  omit- 
ted, nor  the  history  of  the  plant,  so  far  as 
it  can  be  ascertained ;  so  that  the  utility  of 
the  Work  will  not  be  confined  to  the  botani- 
cal student,  but  extend  likewise  to  the  hor- 
ticulturist and  general  admirer  of  plants. 

Although  it  is  trusted  that  this  publica- 
tion will  recommend  itself  to  all  who  are 
engaged  in  the  study  of  the  vegetable  crea- 
tion, yet,  in  an  especial  manner,  as  a  Na- 
tional Work,  it  is  hoped  that  it  will  meet 
with  encouragement  in  this  portion  of  the 
kingdom,  where  the  taste  for  science  is  so 
extensively  diffused.  It  will  be  the  first 
Work  of  the  kind,  executed,  in  all  its  de- 
partments, entirely  in  Scotland.  The  draw- 
ings and  descriptions  will  be  made  by  Dr 
Hooker  himself,  and  the  engravings  will 
be  executed  upon  copper,  and  the  colour- 
ing superintended  by  Mr  Lizars  of  Edin- 
burgh, whose  abilities  as  an  artist  need  no 
comment  here,  and  who  has  undertaken  his 
portion  of  the  work  with  a  zeal  which  does 
him  high  credit. 

It  is  particularly  expected  that  a  publica- 
tion of  this  nature  will  be  patronized  by 


those  who  have  been  the  founders,  and  are 
still  the  supporters  of  the  Botanic  Garden 
at  Glasgow  ;  from  which  the  greater  num- 
ber of  the  subjects  will  necessarily  be  se- 
lected. It  will  surely  be  agreeable  to  them 
to  see  figures  and  descriptions  of  the  plants 
which  they  have  been  the  means  of  collect- 
ing together ;  and,  in  some  instances,  have, 
by  their  own  immediate  exertions,  introdu- 
ced into  the  country. 

The  Work  will  be  on  a  quarto  size,  in 
order  to  admit  specimens  on  a  handsome 
scale.  One  Number,  containing  four  plates, 
will  appear  monthly,  commencing  on  the 
the  1st  January,  1822,  and  sets  wiU  be  pre- 
pared both  plain  and  coloured. 

Specimens  of  the  work  will  shortly  be 
seen  at  the  publishers,  William  Black- 
wood,  Edinburgh  ;  T.  Cadell,  Strand, 
London ;  and  William  Turnbull,  Glas- 
gow. 

Speedily  will  be  published,  in  one  hand- 
some volume  8vo.,  Sketches  of  Upper  Ca- 
nada, Domestic,  Local,  and  Characteristic ; 
to  which  are  added,  Practical  Details  for 
the  Information  of  Emigrants  of  every 
Class,  and  some  Recollections  of  the  Uni- 
ted States  of  America ;  by  John  Howison, 
Esq. 

Speedily  will  be  published,  a  Report  of 
the  Trial  in  the  Cause  Scott  v.  M 'Gavin, 
(The  Protestant)  in  the  Jury  Court,  Edin- 
burgh, the  25th  ultimo,  taken  in  short- 
hand, by  Mr  Dow. 

Greek  Gradus ;  by  an  eminent  Greek 
Scholar.  Printing  at  the  Edinburgh  Uni- 
versity Press,  Lexicon  Gracco  Poeticum  j 
or,  a  New  Greek  Prosodiac  Lexicon,  in 
which  the  reading  or  primary  signification 
of  the  words  is  given  inLatin — the  doubtful 
vowels  carefully  marked,  and  the  autho- 
rities subjoined,  in  an  extract  from  some 
of  the  poets ;  together  with  synonymous 
epithets  and  phrases,  arranged  after  the 
manner  of  the  Latin  Gradus. 


470  Monthly  Lift  of  Neiu  Publications. 

MONTHLY  LIST  OF  NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


LONDON. 


ASTRONOMY. 

The  Excursions  of  a  Spirit ;  with  a 
Survey  of  the  Planetary  World,  a  Vision  ; 
with  four  illustrative  Plates.  l'2mo.  5s. 

Elements  of  Astronomy.  By  A.  Picquot. 
12mo.  ?s.  fid. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

R.  Beckley's  Supplement  to  his  Cata- 
logue. 

R.  Baynes's  Catalogue  of  Books  for 
1821-22,  of  nearly  9000  articles,  contain- 
ing many  rare  and  curious  Books  in  Divi- 
nity, Sermons,  MSS.  &c.  3s. 

BIOGRAPHY. 

A  Biographical  Dictionary  of  the  Wor- 
thies of  Ireland,  from  the  earliest  period 
to  the  present  time.  By  Rich.  Ryan.  8vo. 
2  vols.  3()s. 

A  Short  Account  of  the  Life  of  Sir 
Joseph  Banks,  K.  B.  By  A.  Duncan,  M.D. 
8vo.  Is.  fid. 

Life  of  the  Hon.  W.  Pitt.  By  Dr  Tom- 
line,  Bishop  of  Winchester.  3  vols.  8vo. 
36s. 

BOTANY. 

Collectanea  Botanica;  containing  Fi- 
gures and  Botanical  Illustrations  of  rare 
and  curious  exotic  Plants,  chiefly  culti- 
vated in  the  Gardens  of  Great  Britain. 
By  John  Lindley,  F.  L.  S.  and  H.  S.  No.  4. 
8vo.  Coloured.  12s. 

THE  CORONATION. 

Collections  relative  to  the  Claims  at  the 
Coronations  of  several  of  the  Kings  of 
England,  beginning  with  King  Richard  II. 
8vo.  5s. 

A  Key  to  the  Regalia ;  or  the  Emble- 
matic Design  of  the  various  Forms  obser- 
ved in  the  Ceremonial  of  a  Coronation ; 
interspersed  with  unpublished  Anecdotes 
of  the  lateKing.  By  the  Rev.  Jonas  Dennis, 
Prebendary  of  Kerswell,  Exeter.  8vo. 

An  Account  of  the  Coronation  of  the 
Kings  of  England,  with  a  Description  of 
the  Dresses,  &c.  Is.  fid. 

The  Glory  of  Regality  ;  an  Historical 
Treatise  of  the  Anointing  and  Crowning 
of  the  Kings  and  Queens  of  England.  By 
Arthur  Taylor,  F.  S.  A.  8vo.  15s.  Large 
paper,  £1,  10s. 

A  Faithful  Account  of  the  Procession 
and  Ceremonies  observed  in  the  Coronation, 
&c.  of  George  III.  and  Queen  Charlotte. 
Edited  by  Rich.  Thomson.  8vo.  Plates. 
7s. 

The  Round  Table ;  the  Order  and  So- 
lemnities of  Crowning  the  King,  &c.  8vo. 

Coronation  Ceremonies  and  Customs. 
By  T.  31antell,  Esq.  F.  R.  S. 

DOMKSTIC  ECONOMY. 

Culinary  Chemistry ;  exhibiting  the 
Scientific  Principles  of  Cookery ;  with  Con- 


cise Instructions  for  preparing  good  and 
wholesome  Pickles,  Vinegar,  Conserves, 
Fruits,  Jellies,  31annalades,  and  various 
other  Alimentary  Substances  employed  in 
Domestic  Economy  ;  with  Observations  on 
the  Chemical  Constitution  and  Nutritive 
Qualities  of  different  kinds  of  Food  ;  with 
Copperplates.  By  Fred.  Accum.  8vo. 
Us.  fid. 

DRAMA. 

Saul,  a  Tragedy  ;  translated  from  the 
Italian  of  Alfieri ;  and  Jephtha's  Daugh- 
ter, a  Scriptural  Drama.  By  a  Lady.  5s. 

Damon  and  Pythias ;  a  Tragedy  in  five 
acts.  By  John  Banim.  8vo.  3s.  fid. 

Ethel  wolf;  or  the  Danish  Pirates,  a 
Tragedy.  By  J.  F.  Pennie.  8vo.  3s.  fid. 

EDUCATION. 

The  Student's  Pocket  Dictionary  of  Li- 
terary and  Scientific  Words.  3s.  fid. 

A  Manuel  of  I/ogic.  By  J.  W.  Carvil. 
3s. 

FINE  ARTS. 

The  Martial  Achievements  of  Great  Bri- 
tain and  her  Allies,  during  the  most  me- 
morable Period  of  Modern  History.  Ele- 
phant 4to.  embelished  with  51  Engravings, 
coloured  in  imitation  of  the  Drawings. 
£13,  13s.  half-bound,  or,  on  large  paper, 
£27,  Gs. 

The  Naval  Achievements  ;  with  51  co- 
loured Engravings  ;  half-bound,  £13,  13s. 
or,  on  large  paper,  £27,  6s. 

The  Banks  of  Loire  Illustrated,  No.  I. 
with  Descriptions,  and  four  Plates  and 
a  Vignette,  etched  from  drawings.  By  Geo. 
Lewis.  Royal  4to,  10s.  fid.  Proofs  on  In- 
dia paper,  15s. 

Picturesque  Scenery  of  the  River  Dart, 
in  Devonshire,  being  a  Series  of  35  Views, 
and  three  Vignettes.  Drawn  and  engraved 
by  F.  C.  Lewis.  Fol.  £2,  8s. ;  with  the 
Etchings,  £4. 

Letters  on  the  Scenery  of  Wales  ;  in- 
cluding a  series  of  Subjects  for  the  Pencil, 
and  Instructions  to  Pedestrian  Tourists. 
By  the  Rev.  R.  H.  Newell ;  with  numerous 
Plates.  Royal  8vo.  15s. 

Physiognomical  Portraits,  Part  II.  con- 
taining Biographical  Notices  in  French 
and  English,  and  10  Portraits,  printed  on 
French  paper.  Imperial  8vo.  £1,  Is. 

Cabinet  of  Arts,  No.  XXX.     3s. 

Repository  of  Arts,  No.  G5.     4s. 

Sixteen  Engravings  from  real  Scenes, 
supposed  to  be  described  in  the  Novels  and 
Tales  of  the  Author  of  Waverley,  &c. 
12mo.  18s.  8vo.  10s. 

A  Series  of  Historical  Portraits,  for  the 
Novels  and  Tales  of  the  Author  of  Wa- 
verly,  No.  II.  12mo.  8s.  8vo.  10s.  proof*. 


18210 


Monthly  Litt  of  New  Publications. 


A  Series  of  Portraits  of  the  Poets  of 
Great  Britain,  No.  IX.  8vo.  14s.  4to.  18s. 
proofs  28s. 

HISTORY. 

A  Chronological  Retrospect;  or  Me- 
moirs of  the  principal  Events  in  Mahome- 
dan  History,  from  the  death  of  the  Ara- 
bian Legislator,  to  the  accession  of  Em- 
peror Akbar,  and  the  Establishment  of  the 
Mogul  Empire  in  Hindostaun  ;  from  the 
original  Persian  authorities.  By  Major  Da- 
vid Price,  of  the  East  India  Company  Ser- 
vice. 4to.  3  vols.  £7,  17s.  6d. 

LAW. 

A  Summary  of  the  Law  of  Lien  ;  with 
an  Appendix  of  Cases  ;  by  Basil  Montagu, 
Esq.  8vo.  12s. 

Corbett  and  Daniel's  Cases  of  Contro- 
verted Elections,  complete.  8vo.  14s. 

MEDICINE. 

The  Transactions  of  the  College  of  Phy- 
sicians in  Ireland.  Vol.  III.  8vo.  14s. 

A  Syndesmological  Chart ;  or  Table  of 
the  Ligaments  of  the  Human  Skeleton ;  by 
J.  Dickinson,  M.  D.  Is. 

MISCELLANIES. 

The  Principles  and  Doctrines 'of  Assu- 
rances, Annuities,  and  Contingent  Rever- 
sions, stated  and  explained  ;  by  W.  Mor- 
gan, Esq.  F.  R.  S.  8vo.  12s. 

The  Retrospective  Review,  No.  VII.  5s. 

Warwick's  Spare  Minutes ;  or  Resolved 
Meditations,  and  Meditated  Resolutions, 
royal  IGmo.  6s. 

Maurice  Morgann's  Essay  on  the  Dra- 
matic Character  of  Falstaff.  8s.  6d. 

Farewell  Letters  to  a  few  Friends  in 
Britain  and  America,  on  returning  to 
Bengal  in  1821 ;  by  Wm.  Ward,  of  Se- 
rampore.  12mo.  6s. 

Journal  of  Science,  No.  XXII.   7s-  6d. 

Classical  Journal,  XLVI.     6s. 

Quarterly  Review,  No.  XLIX.    6s. 
NATURAL  HISTORY. 

A  Selection  of  the  Correspondence  of 
Linnaeus  and  other  Naturalists,  from  ori. 
ginal  MSS. ;  by  Sir  J.  E.  Smith  M.  D. 
F.  R.  S.  8vo.  2  vols.  £1,  10s. 

Zoological  Researches  in  the  Island  of 
Java,  &c. :  with  Figures  of  Native  Quad- 
rupeds and  Birds  ;  by  T.  Horsfield,  M.  D. 
F.  L.  S.  No.  I.  royal  4to.  (eight  coloured 
plates.)  21s — To  be  comprised  in  8  Nos. 
NOVELS. 

Fidelia ;  or,  the  Prevalence  of  Fashion. 
12mo.  5s.  6d. 

Heraline ;  or  Opposite  Proceedings ;  by 
Lai.  Mat.  Hapkins.  4  vols.  8vo.  £1,  12s. 


471 

The  Hermit's  Care ;  or  The  Fugitive'! 
Retreat;  by  Laura  Wentworth.  4  vols. 
12mo.  £1. 

The  Life  of  a  Boy  ;  by  the  Author  of 
"  The  Panorama  of  Youth."  2  vols.  12mo. 
14s. 

POETRY. 

Napoleon,  and  other  Poems ;  by  Samuel 
Gower,  Esq.  7s.  6d. 

Christina's  Revenge ;  or,  The  Fate  of 
Monadelschi ;  with  other  Poems ;  by  J. 
M.  Moffatt.  f.  cap.  ?s.  6d. 

The  Union  of  the  Roses ;  a  Tale  of  the 
Fifteenth  Century,  in  Six  Cantos,  with 
Notes.  8vo.  7s.  6d. 

Cleone ;  and  other  Poems ;  by  Oscar, 
Author  of  Zayda.  f.  cap.  8vo.  6s.  6d. 

Eidespernox  ;  and  other  Poems  ;  by  the 
Rev.  C.  F.  Watkins,  curate  of  Windsor, 
f.cap.  8vo.  7«- 

The  Old  English  Squire ;  a  Poem,  in 
Twenty  Cantos,  (with  24  humorous  colour- 
ed prints,)  8vo.  £1,  11s.  6d. 

My  Note- Book  ;  or,  Sketches  from  the 
Gallery  of  St  Stephen's ;  by  Wilfred  Wood- 
fall,  Esq.  8vo.  5s. 

The  Garden  of  Florence;  and  other 
Poems ;  by  John  Hamilton,  f.  cap.  8vo. 
7s.  6d, 

POLITICAL  ECONOMY. 

An  Essay  on  the  Production  of  Wealth ; 
with  an  Appendix,  in  which  the  Principles 
of  Political  Economy  are  applied  to  the 
actual  circumstances  of  this  Country  ;  by 
R.  Torrens,  Esq.  F.  R.  S.  8vo.  12s. 

THEOLOGY. 

Metrical  Version  of  the  Collects  for  every 
Sunday  in  the  year ;  by  the  Rev.  C.  H. 
Beatson.  12mo.  4"s. 

Sermons  by  the  Rev.  Thomas  Boys,  A.M. 
8vo.  10s.  6d. 

The  Old  Testament  arranged  on  the 
basis  of  Lightfoot's  Chronicle,  in  Histori- 
cal and  Chronological  Order;  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  Books,  Chapters,  Psalms, 
Prophecies,  &c.  may  be  read  as  one  con- 
nected History,  in  the  words  of  the  autho- 
rized Translation ;  by  the  Rev.  G.  Towns- 
end,  M.  A.  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
8vo.  2  vols.  £1,  16s. 

The  Book  of  Enoch,  the  Prophet ;  an 
apocryphal  production,  supposed  to  have 
been  lost  for  ages ;  but  discovered  at  the 
close  of  the  last  century  in  Abyssinia ;  now 
first  translated  from  an  Ethiopic  MS.  in 
the  Bodleian  Library;  by  Richard  Law- 
rence,  L.  L.  D.  8vo.  9s. 


EDINBURGH. 


The  Edinburgh   Christian   Instructor, 
No.  CXXXII.  for  July. 

Acts  of  Sederunt  of  the  Lords  of  Coun- 
cil and  Session,  from  3d  April,  1810,  to  10th 
February,  1821.  Published  by  authority  of 
the  Court,  folio  12s.  6d. 
VOL.  IX. 


Dr  Chalmer's  Christian  and  Civic  Eco- 
nomy of  Large  Towns,  No.  VIII.  "  On 
Sabbath  Schools."  8vo.  Is.  This  Number 
concludes  the  First  Volume,  which  may  be 
had,  boards,  price  8s.  6d.  No.  IX.  will  be 
published  on  the  1st  of  October. 
3N 


Juridical  Society's  Styles,  voL  2d  of  the 
new  edition,  containing  Moveable  Rights. 
4to.  £2,  2s. 

A  Discourse  between  a  Lover  and  a 
Mourner  in  Zion.  12mo.  3s.  6d. 

A  Catechism  for  the  Instruction  and  Di- 
rection of  Young  Communicants ;  by  John 
Colquhoun,  D.  D.  Leith.  9d. 

The  Protestant,  No.  CLVI,  which  con- 
cludes the  Third  Volume,  containing  a 
farther  account  of  the  Trial :  Slanderous 
Language  of  the  Catholic  Vindicator  ex- 
posed ;  reasons  why  Papists  are  incapable 
of  holding  places  of  Power  and  Trust; 
with  title  page  and  contents  for  volume 
third.  On  Saturday  next,  the  14th  July, 


QJuly, 


472  Monthly  List  of  New  Publications. 

the  volumes  or  numbers  may  be  had  se- 
parately. 

Volume  Third  of  the  Protestant  may  be 
had  complete,  price  !Js.  boards. 

This  work,  which  originated  in  mere 
accident,  without  any  plan  in  the  mind  of 
the  Author,  will  be  found  to  contain  a 
more  complete  view  of  the  Errors  of  Po- 
pery than  any  work  that  has  been  written 
since  the  happy  Revolution  in  1688.  The 
following  topics  have  been  discussed  at 
length  : — Excommunication  — Withhold- 
ing the  Scriptures — No  Faith  with  He- 
retics— Idolatry  of  Worshipping  Dead  Men 
and  Women,  Dead  Men's  Bones  and  Rot- 
ten Rags — Transubstantiation — Sacrifice  of 

will  commence  the  fourth  volume — to  be     the  Mass — Purgatory — Clerical   Celibacy 
continued  weekly  as  heretofore.     Any  of    — The  Inquisition — The  Jesuits,  &.C.  &c. 


MONTHLY  REGISTER. 


COMMERCIAL  REPORT.— July  10,  1821. 

Sugars — The  sugar  market  has  for  some  time  past  been  in  a  very  languid  state,  and 
greatly  depressed,  which  depression  seems  to  continue.  The  very  considerable  arrivals 
which  continue  to  take  place,  has  augmented  the  stock  on  hand  considerably  beyond  what 
it  was  at  the  same  period  last  year.  The  demand  has  of  late  considerably  decreased,  which 
circumstance  has  occasioned  an  anxious  desire  on  the  part  of  the  holders  to  facilitate 
sales,  and  has  tended  to  depress  the  market  2s.  per  cent.  The  buyers  evidently 
contemplate  a  still  further  reduction  in  price,  as  they  evince  no  wish  to  purchase.  The 
state  of  the  market  for  refined  goods  is  equally  depressed  and  unsatisfactory.  The  de- 
mand is  limited,  and  the  prices  have  considerably  declined.  Indeed,  the  principal  pur- 
chases have  been  made  on  account  of  the  exceeding  low  prices  at  which  the  article  was 
offered,  and  affords  no  true  criterion  of  the  state  of  the  market. 

Coffee — The  demand  for  Coffee  has  for  sortie  time  past  been  considerable,  and  con- 
sequently the  sales,  both  by  public  auction  and  private  contract,  have  been  extensive, 
and  an  advance  of  Is.  per  cwt.  was  readily  realized  for  finer  qualities.  The  market 
afterwards  became  more  languid,  but  without  any  material  alteration  in  price.  Planta- 
tion Coffee  lias  been  more  sought  after  than  Foreign. 

Cotton. — The  Cotton  market,  from  considerable  activity,  has  become  more  languid, 
yet  the  prices  are  steady  in  London,  and  continue  to  be  supported  in  Liverpool.  The  finer 
East  India  Cottons  are  in  limited  request  for  home  consumption  ;  but  the  inferior  kinds 
find  a  readier  sale  for  exportation.  Upon  the  whole,  the  Cotton  market  may  be  stated 
to  be  steady  at  our  quotations.  The  prices  of  Baltic  produce  have  been  lately  declining 
considerably,  and  were  forced  into  the  market  at  reduced  prices.  The  holders  of  Tallow, 
however,  have  within  these  few  days  evinced  less  inclination  to  effect  sales ;  the  con- 
sequence of  which  is  that  the  market  has  become  more  steady.  The  price  of  Flax  is 
merely  nominal.  Tar  may  be  quoted  at  a  reduction  in  price.  In  Pitch  and  Rosin 
there  is  little  alteration ;  and  there  are  no  parcels  of  rough  Turpentine  at  market — Oil. 
The  price  of  Greenland  and  other  fish-oil  remains  merely  nominal,  until  something 
is  heard  of  the  state  of  the  fisheries  for  this  season.  Linseed  is  a  shade  lowered ;  and 
Rape  oil  may  be  stated  as  improved — It  is  very  scarce.  The  price  of  Brandy  is  less 
steady  than  it  had  previously  been.  Geneva  continues  neglected  ;  and  the  Rum  market 
is  in  a  most  ruinous  and  depressed  state.  The  stock  on  hand  is  nearly  doubled,  com* 
pared  with  the  quantity  on  hand  at  the  same  period  last  year.  Jamaica's,  twenty-six 
and  twenty -seven  over  proof,  have  been  sold  as  low  as  2s.  2d.,  and  Leeward  Island  has 
been  purchased  at  Is.  3d.,  and  is  expected  to  sink  to  Is.  per  gallon.  At  the  price  of 
Is.  3d.  per  gallon,  it  must  bring  the  shipper  into  debt,  even  if  he  get  it  for  nothing  in 
the  Islands ;  what  then  must  be  condition  of  the  merchant  who  is  forced  to  take  it  as  a 
remittance  at  the  current  prices  in  the  islands,  of  Is.  6d.,  exclusive  of  40s.  for  the  pun- 
cheon, for  which  latter  he  obtains  nothing  in  Great  Britain  ?  Scarcely  any  state  can  be 
eonsidered  more  deplorable  or  ruinous. 


18210 


Register. — Commercial  Report. 


4TS 

The  state  of  our  West  India  colonies,  on  which  the  prosperity  of  the  mother  country 
so  greatly  depends,  is  become  of  the  most  distressing  nature.  Every  day  tends  to  add 
to  their  encumbrances  and  their  distresses  ;  and  yet,  strange  to  say,  not  only  is  nothing 
done  to  relieve  them,  but  schemes  the  most  inimical  to  their  interests  and  safety,  and  at 
an  enormous  and  increasing  expence  to  the  country,  without  any  benefit,  or  even  the 
possibility  of  a  benefit  arising  from  such  schemes,  are  eagerly  adopted  and  prosecuted. 
The  average  price  of  sugar  does  not  afford  the  planter  a  farthing  of  interest  for  his  ca- 
pital employed,  and  his  rum,  which  he  calculated  upon  as  defraying  much  of  his  inter, 
nal  expences,  now  brings  him  into  debt ;  or,  when  sold  in  the  islands,  is  sold  at  a  price 
which,  from  its  ruinous  nature  to  the  merchant,  compels  the  latter  to  make  it  up,  in 
some  measure,  by  the  enhanced  price  at  which  colonial  supplies  are  furnished. 

The  Revenue  for  last  quarter  is  considerably  decreased,  particularly  in  the  Excise ; 
but  at  this  we  are  not  surprised,  when  we  consider  the  numerous  frauds  which  are  prac- 
tised upon  this  branch  of  the  revenue,  and  when  we  see  foreign  Rum  openly  sold  at  8s. 
per  gallon,  (3s.  7d.  below  the  duties,)  and  foreign  Geneva  at  16s.  (3s.  below  the  duties,) 
and  the  like  may  be  said  of  every  article  of  spirits  and  wines  throughout  the  United 
Kingdom. 


'Wheat. 
1st,  32s.  Od. 
2d,  30s.  Od. 
3d,  28s.  Od. 

EDINBURC 
Barley. 
1st,  23s.  Od. 
2d,  21s.  Od. 
3d,  19s.  Od. 

m  —  JULY  11. 
Oats. 
1st,  20s.  Od. 
2d,  18s.  Od. 
3d,  16s.  Od. 

Pease  &  Beans. 
1st,  19s.  6d. 
2d,  18s.  Od. 
3d,  16s.  Od. 

Average  of  Wheat,  £1  :  11  :  Id.  7-12ths.,  per  boll 
Tuesday,  July  10. 


Beef  (17£oz.  per  Ib.)  Os.  4d.  to  Os.  7d. 

Mutton     .     .     .     .     Os.  5d.  to  Os.  7d. 

Veal Os.  Gd.  to  Os.  9d. 

Pork Os.  5d.  to  Os.  tk\. 

Lamb,  per  quarter  .     2s.  Od.  to  4s.  Od. 

Tallow,  per  stone    .     8s.  6d.  to  9s.  Od. 


Quartern  Loaf  .  .  Os. 
New  Potatoes  (28  Ib.)  2s. 
Fresh  Butter,  per  Ib.  Is. 
Salt  ditto,  per  stone  17s. 
Ditto,  per  Ib.  .  .  Is. 
Eggs,  per  dozen  . '  Os. 


9d.  to 
6d.  to 
3d.  to 
Od.  to 
Id.  to 
{id.  to 


Os.  Od 
Os.  Od 
Os.  Od 
Os.  Od 
Is.  2d 
Os.  Od 


HADDINGTON — JULY  6. 


Wheat.  Barley.  Oats.  Pease.  Beans. 

1st, 32s.  Od.     1st, 23s.  Od.     1st, 20s.  Od.     1st, 19s.  Od.     1st, 18s.  6d. 

2d, 30s.  (id.     2d, 21s.  Od.     2d, 18s.  Od.     2d,  17s.  Od.     2d, 16s.  Od. 

3d, 29s.  Od.     3d, 18s.  Od.     3d, 16s.  Od.     3d, 15s.  Od.     3d, 14s.  Od. 

Average,  £1  :  10s.  Od.  5-12ths. 
Average  Prices  of  Corn  in  England  and  Wales,  from  the  Returns  received  in  t/ie  Week 

ended  June  30th. 

Wheat,  51s.  Gd— Rye,  33s.  5d.— Barley,  25s.  4d.— Oats,  17s.  8d.— Beans,  30s.  2d.— Pease,  30s.  2d. 
Beer  or  Big,  Os.  Od.— Oatmeal,  18s.  3d. 


London,  Corn  Exchange,  June  4.                           Liverpool,  June  5. 

s.       s.                          t.        t. 

r.    rf.    s.  d 

s.  d.    t.  d. 

Wheat,  red,  new  36  to  46 

Hog  pease  .     .  27  to  29 

Wheat,  per  70  Ib. 

Amer.  p.  196  Ib. 

Fine  ditto  .    .   48  to  52 

Maple    .     .     .  29  to  32 

Eng.  Old      8     0  to    8    9 

Sweet,  U.S.  —  0  to  —    0 

Superfine  ditto  53  to  55 

White     .     .    .  32  to  36 

Foreign      —  —      

Do.  in  bond  20  0  to  22  — 

Ditto,  old  .    .    —  to  — 

Ditto,  boilers  .  40  to  42 

Waterford  7    2  to    7     4 

Sour  do.  .   30  0  to  32    0 

White,  new    .    40  to  46 

New  ditto,  .    .  —  to  — 

Limerick  .7    2  to    7    4 

Oatmeal,  per  240  Ib. 

Fine  ditto  .     .   48  to  56 

SmallBeans,new50  to  33 

Drogheda    7    2  to    7     4 

English        25  0  to  26    0 

Superfine  ditto  60  to  61 

Ditto,  old  .    .  —  to  — 

Dublin   .    6  10  to    7    0 

Scotch  .  .    20  0  to  24    t 

Ditto,  old  .    .    —  to  — 

Tick,  new  .    .  22  to  27 

Scotch   .  .  7    9  to    8    3 

Irish  ...    20  0  to  23    0 

Foreign,  new  .  —  to  — 

Ditto,  old  .    .   —  to  — 

Irish  Old  .7     2  to    7     4 

Bran,p.241b.l  0  to  1    o 

Rye  .    .    .    .   27  to  30 
Fine  ditto,  .    .  —  to  — 

Foreign  .    .    .  —  to  — 
Feed  oats  .    .    16  to  18 

Bonded  .  .  4    0  to   5    0 
Barley,  per  60  Ibs. 

Butter,  Beef,  $c. 

Barley  .    .    .    20  to  22 

Fine  .    .    .    .  20  to  22 

Eng.  ...   3    9  to    4    0 

Butter.p.cwt.  t.  d.     s.  d. 

Fine,  new  .    .  23  to  24 

Poland  ditto  .    18  to  21 

Scotch  .  .   3    2  to   3    6 

Belfast,  new  82  0  to  83  0 

Superfine  .     .    24  to  25 

Fine  .     .     .     .  22  to  23 

Irish  ...  3  0    to   3    3 

Newry  .  .     81  0  to  82  0 

Malt  .     .     .     .  42  to  52 

Potatoe  ditto  .  22  to  24 

Oats,  per  45  Ib. 

Waterford  .  77  0  to  79  0 

Fine  .    .    .    .  54  to  56 

Fine  .    .    .    .  25  to  2? 

Eng.  pota.  2    4  to   2    8 

Cork,pic.2d,  85  0  to  86  0 

Irish  do.  .    2    9  to    2  10 

3d  dry    72  0  to  —  0 

Scotch  do.  2  10  to    2  11 

Beef,  p.  tierce. 

Seeds,  §c. 

Malt  per  b. 

—  Mess      110  0  to  115  0 

—  Fine  .  .  8    0  to   8    6 

—  per  brl.    65  0  to    70  0 

t.     *.  d. 

s.         t. 

Beans,  per  qr. 

Pork,  p.  brl. 

Must.  Brown,  7  to  12  6 

Hempseed  .  .   —  to    — 

English    .31     0  to  34    0 

—  Mess    .   58  0  to    60  0 

—White  ...  5  to    80 

Linseed,  crush.  48  to    52 

Irish   .  .    31     0  to  33    0 

—  Middl.     54  0  to    55  0 

Tares,  new,  .  36  to  44  0 

New,  for  Seed  —  to    — 

Rapeseed,  p.  1.  £34  to  36 

Bacon,  p.  cwt. 

Turnips,  bsh.  24  to  52  0 
—Red  &  green  —  to  —  0 

Uyegrass,  .  .     16  to    40 
Clover,redcwt.54  to    64 

Pease,grey26    0  to  28    0 
—White  .38    0  to  44    0 

Short  mids.  43  0  to    44  0 
Sides  .    .     38  0  to    40  0 

—Yellow,       —  to  —  0 

—White  ...    66  to  108 

Flour,  English, 

Hams,  dry,  50  0  to    56  0 

Caraway,  cwt.  64  to  72  0 

Coriander  .  .      8  to    14 

p.2401b.fine35    Oto37    0 

Green    .  .    33  0  to   St 

Canary,  qr.     42  to  48  0 

Trefoil  ....  14  to   28 

Irish   .   .    33    0  to  36    0 

Lard,rd.p.c.«  0  to   SO  9 

Rape  Seed,  per  last,    .    £33  to  £10. 

+74 


SUGAR,  Mu«o. 

B.  P.  Dry  Brown,  .  cwt. 

Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 

Fine  and  very  fine,     .     . 
Refined  Doub.  Loaves,     . 

Powder  ditto, 

Single  ditto, 

Small  Lumps,   .     .     . 

Large  ditto 

Crushed  Lump*,    .     . 
MOLASSES,  British,    cwt. 
COFFEE,  Jamaica,  .  cwt. 

Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 

Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 
Dutch  Triage  and  very  ord. 

Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 

Mid.  good,    and  fine  mid. 

St  Domingo, 

Pimento  (in  Bond,)  .    .    . 
SPIRITS, 

Jam.  Rum,  16  O.  P.  gall. 

Brandy, 

Geneva,        ... 

Grain  Whisky,        . 
WINES, 

Claret,  1st  Growths,  hhd. 

Portugal  Red,  pipe. 

Spanish  White,         butt 

Teneriffe,  pipe. 

Madeira 

LOGWOOD,  Jam.        ton. 

Honduras,     .... 

Campeachy,       .    .    . 
FUSTIC,  Jamaica,   . 

Cuba, 

INDIGO,  Caraecas  fine,  Ib. 
TIMBER,  Amer.  Pine, foot. 

Ditto  Oak, 

Christiansand  (dut.  paidr) 

Honduras  Mahogany, 

St  Domingo,  ditto,     .     . 
TAR,  American,  brl. 

Archangel, 

PITCH,  Foreign,          cwt. 
TALLOW,  Rus.  Yel.  Cand. 

Home  melted,    .... 
HEMP,  Riga  Rhine,     ton. 

Petersburgh,  Clean,    .     . 
fLAX, 

Riga  Thies.  &  Druj.  Rak. 

Dutch, 

Irish,        .        .        , 
MATS,  Archangel,        100. 
BRISTLES, 

Petersburgh  Firsts,    cwt. 
ASHES,  Peters.  Pearl,  .    . 

Montreal,  ditto,     .        . 

Pot, 
OIL,  Whale,        .        tun. 

Cod 

TOBACCO,  Virgin,  fine,  Ib. 

Middling, 

Inferior,        .        .        . 
COTTONS,  Bowed  Georg. 

Sea  Island,  fine, 
Good, 

Middling,       .      . 
Demerara  and  Berbice, 
West  India,       .       ,       . 
Pernambuco,         •         . 
Maranham,       . 


Register. — Commercial  Report. 
PRICES  CURRENT  July  7. 


LEITH. 

GLASGOW. 

LIVERPOOL. 

LONDON. 

57      to      60 

56              60 

57              59 

58               62 

7<>               80 

60              71 

66                67 

64               75 

80              80 

—  .               _ 

68               78 

77               81 

130             145 

_.               — 

_                _ 

106             110 

_               — 

_                — 

88              100  . 

102             106 

—               _ 

—                — 

_                — 

94              98 

_               _ 

—                — 

_                — 

91              94 

—               _ 

_                — 

_                _ 

44              56 

—               _ 

—                _ 

__                — 

23               — 

22              24 

28               — 

22s          23s  6d 

112             120 

114              120 

108              118 

110             136 

120             138 

121             134 

ItlO              128 

137            1*7 

—                — 

—               __ 

95              114 

__              — 

120               l."5 

—               _ 

115              121 

_              _ 

135              140 

_               

122             129 

—              — 

122              li'6 

_               _ 

110             114 

_              — 

8i                83 

7i               71 

7i              8 

—              — 

2s    4d    2s   8d 

23           2s  2d 

Is  9d    Is  lid 

Is  lOd  3s  0 

4346 

—                _ 

__               __ 

3036 

1  10             0 

_                _ 

_ 

14          — 

66       68 

—                — 

—               — 

—     '          — 

45              55 

_                

_               __ 

£20            £60 

50               46 

_                _ 

__               _ 

30              34 

34               55 

_               _  _ 

_               — 

_               — 

30              32 

_                __ 

_               _ 

__               _ 

55               65 

_               __ 

_               _ 

_               — 

£7          77 

7    10     8    0 

7  15     8    5 

£6  10     70 

8              — 

_              _ 

8    0     8  10 

7  15     8    5 

8              — 

—              __ 

9    0     9  10 

8  10    10    0 

7                8 

6  10       70 

6670 

6  10     7    0 

9              11 

85       8  10 

9095 

9          10   0 

6s  6d  10s  6d 

76       86 

8090 

9    0    11    6 

1618 

_               — 

_               __i 

_               

3034 

_               _ 

__               _ 

_               _ 

2                                                             -™j 

_               _ 

_ 

_               _ 

1418 

12       18 

0  10     1     1 

0  11       1  — 

_               — 

14       30 

1316 

18      1  10 

—               —  . 

_               _ 

16 

16               — 

18               — 

__               _ 

—               — 

16    6          — 

10               11 

_               _ 

__               __ 

80          — 

49              50 

51               52 

49               — 

_               — 

53              55 

_               _ 

_                — 

—               —  . 

44              — 

_               _ 

_                — 

£40               — 

39               -10 

—               — 

—                — 

36  10         — 

55               — 

_               - 

,                   __ 

£50              52 

50              90 

__               _ 

_                _ 

44               47 

41                46 

_  —               _ 

__                _ 

M               ._ 

75               80 

—               — 

—               — 

65           '    — 

13  10         14 

_               _ 

._                _  _ 

13               — 

40              — 

_               _ 

_                _ 

40               42 

41               46 

43                44 

41                 — 

42           42  6 

37              36 

35              36 

33     8         34 

42                43 

£24              — 

25               — 

—  .               _ 

22  10          — 

84s  (p.  brl.)— 

21               22 

—                _ 

6J               7 

<*               7 

0    5}   0    8 

0  6d            7 

6                61 

5                 5} 

0    4J    0    5 

0  2J       0    3J 

5                5J 

4J                5 

0    2J    0    3 

_                _ 

—                — 

0    9J       11$ 

0     8}    0  10J 

09}        0  11 

—                — 

1820 

1518 

1  2|        24 

—                —  - 

1    61    1    8 

1214 

—               — 

—                — 

1416 

1214 

_               _ 

—                — 

1012 

0  lOJ    1     1 

0  11      11} 

—                •— 

0  10     0    11 

09      0  10} 

_               — 

—                — 

1112 

10}      11} 

1     li    1    2 

—               «"" 

1011 

10       1    Oi 

Hi    1    0} 

ALPHABETICAL  LIST  of  ENGLISH  BANKRUPTCIES,  announced  between  the  20th 
of  May  ar.d  the  20th   of  June,  1821,  extracted  from  the  London  Gazette. 


Airey,  J.  Liverpool,  soap  boiler. 
Archer,  J.  Ware  Park  Mill,  Hertford,  miller. 
Atkinson,  J.  Burton  in  Kendal,  manufacturer. 
.Atkinson,  T.  and  Spark,  J.  Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 

linen-drapers. 
Baghott,  Sir  P.  Kt.  Lypiatt  Park,  Gloucestershire, 

banker. 

.Baker,  (J.  A.  Blackman  Street,  cheesemonger. 
Bass,  .1.  Holbeach,  Lincoln,  brewer. 
Battier,  J.  J.  Mincing-lane,  broker. 
Bean,  B.  Hickling,  Norfolk,  dealer. 
BiDingham,  J.  Uttoxetter,  nail  manufacturer. 


Blain,  H.  and  Co.  Adam's-court,  Broad-street, 
merchants. 

Bliss,  N.  Water-lane,  Fleet-street,  bookseller,  Sic. 

Broad,  W.  Bristol,  post-master. 

Bolden,  C.  J.  Duke-street,  WestSmithfield,  paint- 
er. 

Boromar,  J.  Golthe,  Lincolnshire,  grazier. 

Broomhead,  T.  late  Sheffield,  grocer. 

Brown,  A.  J.  Portsmouth,  grocer. 

Bumpus,  J.  Holborn,  bookseller. 

Burrows,  E.  W  arson,  Nottingham,  miller. 

Bury,  E.  and  Co.  Liverpool,  merchant*. 


1821/3 


Register.— Commercial  Report. 


Carberry,  R.  and  Co.  St  James's-etreet,  hatters. 

Carver,  J.  Lancing,  Sussex,  farmer. 

Chestham,  T.  Stockport,  surgeon. 

Corry,  D.  Piercy-street,  Bedford-square,  dealer  in 
music. 

Croft,  J.  Hull,  draper. 

Cross,  R.  Bridlington,  druggist. 

Davidson,  A.  G.  Racquet-court,  Fleet-street,  mer- 
chant. 

Dawson,  T.  Upton,  Norfolk,  merchant. 

Day,  T.  Blackman-street,  stockbroker. 

Deane,  J.  Accrington,  Lancaster,  cotton-spinner. 

Downes,  W.  Cheadle,  Cheshire,  calico-printer. 

Eastwood,  J.  Liverpool,  haberdasher. 

Eddington,  J.  Lower  Thames-street,  stationer. 

Edwards,  K.  L.  Cardigan,  linen-draper. 

Etches,  J.  Bury,  Suft'olk,  haberdasher. 

Fairchild,  J.  L.  late  of  Thurlby,  Lincoln,  farmer. 

Fletcher,  J.  P.  and  B.  Eccles,  cotton-spinners. 

Ford,  G.  S.  Great  Bush-lane,  Cannon-street,  wine- 
merchant. 

Ford,  W.  Holt,  Worcestershire,  farmer. 

Foster,  W.  Liverpool,  grocer. 

Fox,  J.  Dartmonth,  ship-owner. 

Franklyn,  F.  Leamington  Priors,  surgeon. 

Gibbons,  J.  and  Hibbert,  R.  Great  Prescott-street, 
bricklayers. 

Girdlestone,  M.  Norwich,  baker. 

Glover,  G.  Lower  East  Smithfield,  oilman. 

Goff,  W.  Brighton,  linen-draper. 

Gordon,  J.  Liverpool,  merchant. 

Gorely,  T.  W.  of  Dover,  felt-maker. 

Hall,  H.  and  J.  Sun  Wharf,  Upper  Thames-street, 
iron -merchants. 

Hammond,  V.  Ludlow,  wine-merchant. 

Hancock,  W.  Bury,  cabinet-maker. 

Hardwick,  J.  Clare-street,  Clare-market,  butcher. 

Hart,  W.  B.  late  of  King-street,  Cheapside,  mer- 
chant. 

Hayncs,  S.  Liverpool,  flour-dealer, 

Hayward,  T.  Cheltenham,  builder. 

Henley,  J.  Sols  Row,  Hampstead-road,  rectifier. 

Holland,  S.  Bexhill,  Sussex,  coal-merchant. 

Holis,  J.  P.  of  St  Mary,  Newington,  oil  and  co- 
lourman. 

Hopkins,  W.  Bristol,  victualler. 

Horndall,  J.  Bristol,  haberdasher. 

Hughes,  J.  Cheltenham,  wine-merchant. 

Jackson,  J.  Halifax,  shoemaker. 

Jacobs,  J.  Bristol,  glass-manufacturer. 

Jenks,  F.  Bromyard,  Hereford,  tanner. 

Jones,  J.  Mount-street,  Lambeth,  and  Jones,  J. 
H.  of  the  Kent  Road,  linen-drapers  and  part- 
ners. 

Jones,  F.  Redcliff-hill,  Bristol,  mason. 

Irving,  J.  jun.  Carlisle,  grocer. 

Kay,  T.  Prince's-square,  Ratcliff  Highway,  coal- 
merchant. 

Kirkman,  C.  F.  Deal,  linen-draper. 

Kent,  W.  Bridlington-street,  ironmonger. 

Lowes,  J.  Angel-court,  Throgmorton,  bill-broker. 

MacCorquodale,  H.  of  Liverpool,  merchant. 

Manson,  D.  Throgmorton-street,  merchant. 

Mason,  J.  Manchester,  hat-manufacturer. 

Mason,  E.  Worcester,  tea-dealer,  and  Penn,  J. 
Dale  End,  in  Birmingham,  soap-boiler. 


474 

Masters,  R.  Coventry,  tailor. 

Middleditch,  J.  Bury,  plumber. 

Munck,  W.  St  Saviour's,  South wark,  brandy-mer- 
chant. 

Nichols,  T.  Birmingham,  dealer  and  chapman. 

Nicholson,  W.  Wakefield,  coal-factor. 

Nicoll,  T.  Ware,  Herts,  sack-maker. 

Park,  R.  jun.  Portsea,  coal-merchant. 

Parker,  W.  Newark-upon-Trent,  wireworker. 

Payne,  J.  Wormwood-street,  Bishopgate-street, 
smith. 

Peters,  J.  and  Weston,  F.  Bristol,  maltsters. 

Pilling,  J.  Huddersfield,  currier. 

Pollock,  J.  Adam's-court,  Broad-street,  merchant*. 

Preston,  J.  Torquay,  Devon,  merchant. 

Ramsay,  T.  Mark-lane,  wine-merchant. 

Ravis,  N.  Gracechurch-street,  tin-plate  worker. 

Reiley,  R.  Southampton-row,  Bloomsbury,  man- 
miHiner. 

Renaud,  E.  Birmingham,  whipmaker. 

Rex,  G.  Great  Driffield,  grocer. 

Robinson,  S.  Huddersfield,  hosier. 

Rowe,  H.  Amen-comer,  bookseller  and  printer. 

Rudkin,  T.  H.  Charlotte-street,  Islington,  malt- 
ster. 

Savile,  J.  Limehouse,  timber-merchant. 

Sawyer,  T.  Ramsgate,  chemist. 

Shaw,  J.  late  of  Stratford,  Essex,  dealer  in  flour, 
and  late  of  Battersea,  dealer  in  oil. 

Shoobridge,  G.  Cheapside,  tailor. 

Simpson,  R.  Newcastle  upon  Tyne,  perfumer. 

Skinnerley,  G.  Gorleston,  Suffolk,  grocer. 

Smith,  J.  Frome,  Somerset,  clothier, 

Stabb,  T.  Torquay,  Devon,  merchant. 

Storr,  J.  Batley,  York,  clothier. 

Tarleton,  J.  Liverpool,  merchant. 

Tidy,  M.  Southgate,  dealer  in  corn  and  coals. 

Tinson,  T.  Elbow-lane,  London,  merchant. 

Tothill,  C.  Mecklenburgh  Square,  merchant. 

Trollop,  H.  Reading,  linen-draper. 

Turton,  J.  Roll's  Buildings,  Fetter-lane. 

Waddington,  J.  Reading,  bootmaker. 

Ward,  J.  of  Beech,  in  the  parish  of  Stone,  Staf- 
ford, farmer. 

Warneford,  J.  York,  grocer. 

Welburn,  S.  late  of  Sculcoates,  York,  grocer. 

Weston,  M.  London  Wall,  livery-stable  keeper. 

Wharton,  R.  E.  and  Brooks,  M.  Bridge  Road, 
Vauxhall,  plumbers. 

Wheatley,  H.  Coventry,  silk-dyer. 

White,  H.  Gracechurch-street,  merchant. 

Wight,  S.  and  Co.  Leadenhall-street,  hat  manu- 
facturers. 

Williams,  J.  P.  Lambeth  Road,  slater. 

Woffender,  T.  and  Elliott,  W.  New  Malton,  corn- 
factors. 

Wood,  P.  Kingston,  Surrey,  gardener. 

Woodhead,   M.  late  of  Liversedge,  York,  mer- 
chant. 

Woolrich,  G.  and  J.  Spital-square,  silk-manufac- 
turers. 

Wroots,  R.  late  of  Sleaford,  linen-draper. 

Youden,  S.  Dover,  carpenter. 

Young,  W.  Brading,  Isle  of  Wight,  fanner. 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  of  SCOTCH  BANKRUPTCIES,  announced  between  the  1st  and 
31st  May,  1821,  extracted  from  the  Edinburgh  Gazette. 

Cochran,  Archibald,  of  Ashkiik,  some  time  mer- 
chant in  Fisher-row. 

Harley,  Duncan  Forbes,  vinegar  and  fire-brick 
manufacturer,  Tradestown,  Glasgow. 

Honeyman,  Thomas,  mill-master  and  meal -seller, 
Bairsie  Mills. 

Macfarlane,  Robert,  and  Co.  merchants  and  agents, 
Glasgow. 

Steel,  Robert,  toll-keeper,  spirit-dealer,  and  vic- 
tualler, Tradestown,  Glasgow. 

Tod,  Robert,  ship-broker  and  merchant,  Glasgow. 

Walker,  James,  grocer,  spirit-dealer,  and  grain- 
dealer,  Lochwinnoch. 

Weatherley,  John  Blair,  merchant,  Jedburgh. 
DIVIDENDS. 

Brown,  William,   late  of  Longbedholm,  cattle- 
dealer;  a  2d  dividend  50th  June. 

Buchanan,  P.  G.  late  bookseller,  Edinbur     ;  a 
dividend  5th  July. 


Dick,  James,  bookseller,  Edinburgh ;  a  dividend 

of  6d.  per  pound  50th  July. 
Gillies,  Colin,  merchant,  Brechin ;  a  dividend  of 

Is.  6d.  per  pound  14th  August. 
Graham,  Alexander,  and  Co.  merchants  in  Glas- 
gow ;  a  dividend  17th  July. 
Henderson,  Thomas,    merchant,  Anstruther;  a 

2d  dividend  6th  August. 
Lamb,  Kerr,  and  Co.  merchants,  Glasgow ;  and 

Kerr,  Lamb,  and  Co.  merchants,  Gibraltar ;  a 

dividend  of  5s.  per  pound  20th  July. 
Lang  and  Cochrane,  haberdashers,  Glasgow ;  a 

final  dividend  30th  June. 
Macduff,  Peter,  late  tanner,   Edinburgh ;  a  first 

and  final  dividend  llth  July. 
Miller,  James,  merchant,  Glasgow ;  a  dividend  on 

25th  July. 
Richardson,  James,  late  cattle-dealer  and  tanner, 

Auchtermuohty  ;  a  second  dividend  23d  July. 


478 


Registers-Commercial  Report. 


Ritchie,  Wm.  merchant,  Edinburgh  ;  a  dividend 
of  4s.  per  pound  after  6th  July. 

Taylor,  Henry,  merchant,  Irvine;  a  dividend 
23d  July. 

Thorn,  James,  marble-cutter  or  manufacturer, 
and  buyer  and  seller  of  marble,  Glasgow  ;  a  di- 
vidend after  20th  July. 


Watt,  James,  merchant,  Kelso ;  a  dividend  after 

llth  July. 
Whyte,   Alexander,  formerly  candle-maker  and 

merchant,  Dundee;  a  dividend  27th  July. 
Wright,  Francis,  jeweller,  Edinburgh ;  a  dividend 

of  Is.  per  pound,  after  4th  August. 


Weekly  Price  of  Slocks,  from  1st  to  22d  June,  1821. 


1st. 

8th. 

15th. 

22d. 

Banlr    st^ck,  „„„-,„„   MW<fe«*MM»M»««.  •, 

233} 

200 

229 

3  per  r.ent.  rfA\if.fi\^frrr,,l.rnf,nM.J.ffrff^^ 

765     75i 

703         l 

753         I 

-:Cf!                 i 

3  percent.  c.nnso]$,r,rr,™,,™JUJVW,irjJUJ  „ 

7  71       61 

3^  per  r.ent.  P.(mKni]^r,frrrnn^rlJJJ.JTJfJflJ. 

864 

86  3 

871 

m\ 

4  per  cent,  consols,  „„„ 
A  per  r.ent..  navy  Wfm-r,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,^,,,  . 

9-r>g 
1101 

94| 

94 
IIO^ 

94| 
111 

Imperial  3  per  cent,  ann  
Jnrlifi  stnrlt,  nnr,,,T,t^^,T,rr,,r,I,r,rtr,^JJJJ 

75£ 
•2384 

75 

m 

754 

v  bond8v,^j^.r.rJ-r,^,,,j  ,  Mj  nj  -a. 

f>2  pr. 

52  pr 

50  pr 

F,vrheqner  b'llsK,^^^^^^,  MjMMUi  j     IP 

4  or. 

3  pr. 

3  nr. 

(  ^nnsnls  for  ace-  „„„„„„„ 

781 

Amer.  3  per  ?-&&,„„„„„,-„  v  -j  -,  --, 

7l| 

71 

704 

701 

French  5  per  fpnt^..r.rrrrJJJJJJJJJJJJ  . 

86fr.    . 

87fr.  30e. 

85fr.  7.5c. 

Course  of  Exchange,  July  10 — Amsterdam,  12  :  18.  C.  F.  Ditto  at  sight,  12  :  15. 
Rotterdam,  12:  19.  Antwerp,  12:  12.  Hamburgh,  38:  10.  Altona,  38:  11.  Paris,  3 
d.  sight,  25  :  85.  Ditto  2(5 :  20.  Bourdeaux,  26  :  20.  Frankfort  on  the  Maine,  159. 
Petersburgh,perrble.  8| :  3  17*.  Vienna,  10 :  28Eff~.Jto.  Trieste,  10 :  28 E/.flo.  Madrid, 
36.  Cadiz,  35f.  Bilboa,  35J.  Barcelona,  35.  Seville,  35^.  Gibraltar,  3o|.  Leghorn, 
47.  Genoa,  433.  Venice,  27 :  60.  Malta,  45.  Naples,  39|.  Palermo,  116.  Lis- 
bon, 50.  Oporto,  50.  Rio  Janeiro,  49.  Bahia,  59.  Dublin,  9£  per  cent. 
Cork,  9  per  cent. 

Prices  of  Gold  and  Silver,  per  oz — Foreign  gold,  in  bars,  £3  :  17  :  104d.  New 
Dollars,  4s.  9£d.  Silver  in  bars,  stand.  4s.  104d. 


METEOROLOGICAL  TABLE,  extracted  from  the  Register  kept  at  Edinburgh,  in  the 
Observatory,  Calton-hill, 

N.B. — The  Observations  are  made  twice  every  day,  at  nine  o'clock,  forenoon,  and  four  o'clock,  after- 
noon.—The  second  Observation  in  the  afternoon,  in  the  first  column,  is  taken  by  the  Register 
Thermometer. 


Attach. 

Attach. 

Ther. 

Barom. 

Ther. 

Wind. 

Ther. 

Barom. 

Ther. 

Wind. 

June  1  1 

M.35J 
A.52 

29.958 
.932 

M.54\ 
A.  53  / 

E. 

Sunsh.  but 
cold. 

June  16  / 

M.40 
A.  58 

30.152 
.195 

M.63\ 
A.  59  / 

E. 

Warm,  with 
sunshine, 

2{ 

M.31 
A.  50 

.915 
.920 

M.54  \ 
A.54/ 

E. 

Ditto,  and 
warm. 

17{ 

M.39 

A.52 

Mi 
.250 

M.58\ 
A.  65  / 

E. 

Ditto. 

3{ 

M.32J 
A.  49 

.898 
.645 

M.56\ 
A.56/ 

E. 

Ditto,  but 
cold. 

18{ 

M.3.5 
A.  57 

.297 
.255 

M.63\ 
A.  60  / 

E. 

Ditto. 

*{ 

M.42 
A.  49 

.543 

.682 

M.57\ 
A.52/ 

E. 

Ditto,  cold 
morn. 

19{ 

M.35 
A.53 

.192 
29.99,3 

M.59\ 
A.  61  / 

E. 

Ditto. 

s{ 

M.37 
A.  47 

.525 

M.52\ 
A.54/ 

Cble. 

Dull  morn, 
rainy  day. 

20  / 

M.35J 
A.55 

.980 
.905 

M.60) 
A.59/ 

E. 

Dull  foren. 
warm  aftern. 

•{ 

A.*52 

.485 
.460 

M.571 
A.55/ 

W. 

Fair,  with 
sunshine. 

ftj 

M.35J 
A.53 

.945 
.965 

M.58\ 
A.55/ 

E. 

Ditto. 

JJ 

M.38 
A.52 

.512 
.515 

M.5l\ 
A.54/ 

E. 

Sun  foren. 
dull  aftern. 

22  1 

M.35 
A.55 

.976 
.984 

M.58\ 
A.55/ 

Cble. 

Ditto. 

M.32 
A.  -17 

.626 
.579 

M.52X 
A.52/ 

N.E. 

Dull,  cold, 
with  hail. 

23{ 

M.35 
A.53 

.993 
.999 

M.60  \ 
A.59/ 

Cble. 

Cold  foren. 
warm  aftern. 

9{ 

M.30J 
A.  49 

.418 
.47.3 

M.53) 
A.51/ 

Cble. 

Dull  day, 
with  hail. 

24  / 

M.35 
A.  53 

30.105 
.105 

M.G'J\ 
A.  56  / 

E. 

Dull  day. 

10/ 

M.34J 

.521 

M.53\ 

Fair,  with 

I 

M.46 

.131 

M.54  X 

Dull  foren. 

X 

A.  48 

A.  50  / 

k 

sunshine. 

**i 

A.56 

.116 

A.  58  / 

• 

clear  aftern. 

»{ 

M.3G 
A.  45 

.950 
.998 

M.50\ 
A.  50  / 

N. 

Ditto. 

26{ 

M.37 
A.52 

29.999 
.992 

M.57X 
A.59/ 

E. 

Dull  morn, 
clear  day. 

M.35 
A.  50 

30.157 
29.997 

M.53X 
A.53/ 

CWe. 

Ditto. 

27{ 

M.3G 
A.  53 

.991' 
.999 

M.60X 
A.  61  / 

E. 

Sunsh.  day. 

J 

M.37J 
A.54 

.999 

M.58X 
A.  5<>  / 

Cble. 

Warm,  with 
sunshine. 

28J 

M.37 
A.  58 

.999 
.952 

M.63\ 
A.  58  / 

E. 

Warm,  wiHi 

sunshine. 

14/ 

M.37 

30.158 

M.5G\ 

ifHli* 

Dull  foren. 

M.38 

.976 

M.52  X 

\ 

A.  54 

.125 

A.62/ 

i^uie. 

sun  aftern. 

29  J 

A.  57 

.811 

A.  61  / 

E. 

Ditto. 

15{ 

M.40 
A.  58 

.162 
.101 

M.64\ 
A.64/ 

E. 

Warm,  with 
sunshine. 

30{ 

M.42J 
A.54 

.776 
,55i 

M.C21 
A.  59  / 

Cble. 

Ditto. 

Average  of  Rain,  .608  inches. 


1821/3 


Appointments,  Promotions, 


471 


APPOINTMENTS,  PROMOTIONS,  &c. 


Brevet 
7  Dr.  O. 
4  Dr. 


18 
Coldst.  G 

2F.' 


11 


37 
39 
43 
•H 


S3 
60 
70 

77 


Capt.  W.  B.  Hulme,  1  F.  to  be  Major 
in  the  Army  Dec,  23,  1817 

Paym.  Perry,  from  h.  p.  2 1  Dr.  Paym. 
vice  Jennings,  h.  p.    June  2.5,  1821 
Capt.  Walton,  Major  by  purch.  vice  Lt. 
Col.  Hugonin,  ret.  May  31 

Lieut.  Kirby,  Capt.  by  pureh.  do. 
Cornet  Grant,  Lieut,  by  purch.  do. 
C.  Agnew,  Cornet,  by  purch.  do. 

Lieut.  Sneyd,  from  8  Dr.  Lieut,  vice 
Gibbs,  h.  p.  8  Dr.  rec.  diff.     June  11 
Ens.  and  Lieut.  Murray,  from  h.  p. 
Ens.  and  Lieut,  vice  Douglas,  dead 

May  31 

Ens.  Lyster,  Lieut  vice  Jenkins,  Qua. 
Mast.  June  14 

J.  R.  Crawford,  Ens.  do. 

Lieut.  Jenkins,  Qua.  Mast,  vice  Jones, 
dead  do. 

Hon.  C.  D.  Blayney,  Ens.  vice  Gamble, 
dead  do.  7 

Ens.  Fry,  Lieut  vice  Johnson,  dead 

do. 

C.  Coote,  Ens.  do. 

Lieut  Crawford,  Capt.  by  purch.  vice 

Lodder,  ret  May  17 

Ens.  Griffiths,  Lieut,  by  purch.        do. 

Ens.  and  Adj.  Downie,  rank  of  Lieut. 

do.  18 

H.  Foley,  Ens.  do.  17 

Ens.  Peck,  Lieut,  vice  Cameron,  dead 

do.  24 

Moore,  from  h.  p.  Ens.  do. 

Lieut.  Pode,  Capt.  by  pureh.  vice  Gore, 
ret  do.  17 

Ens.  Lowe,  Lieut.  do. 

Gent.  Cadet  J.  Paterson,  from  R.  Mil. 
Coll.  Ens.  do. 

Ens.  Gibson,  from  h.  p.  57  F.  vice  Pi- 
gott,  59  F.  June  14 

Hon.  A.  C.  J.  Browne,  Ens.  vice  Tay- 
lor, dead  do. 
Ens.  Pigott,  from  33  F.  Ens.  vice  Bal- 
four,  h.  p.  57  F.                             do. 

Estcourt,  from  41  F.  Ens.  vice 

Sharpe,  h.  p.  1  Vet  Bat.  do.  7 

Bt.  Major  Guthrie,   Major  by  purch. 
vice  Lieut.  Col.  Gregory,  ret. 

May  31 

Lieut.  O'Neill,  Capt.  by  purch.        do. 

Capt.  Kitson,  from  2  Ceyl.  R.  Capt. 

vice  Bt.  Major  Jessop,  h.  p.  60  F. 

June  1 

Ens.  Wilson,  Lieut,  by  purch.  May  31 
H.  D.  Carr,  Ens.  by  purch.  do. 

Ens.  Shaw,  from  60  F.  Ens.  vice  Est- 
court, 43  F.  June  7 
Lieut.  Fennell,  from  58  F.  Lieut.  Ro- 
binson, cancelled                     May  17 
Serj.  Maj.  Brew,  Qua.  Mast,  vice  Har- 
pur,  dead  do. 
Bt.  Maj.  Campbell,  Major  by  purch. 
vice  Thwaites,  ret.                          do. 
Lieut.  Flamanck,  Capt.  by  purch.    do. 
Ens.  Hamilton,  Lieut,  by  purch.      do. 
J.  Murray,  Ens.  by  purch.                 do. 
Lieut.  Mouins,   Adj.  vice  Winterbot- 
tom,  res.                                          do. 

Cosby,  from  77  F.  Lieut,  vice 

Smith,  h.  p.  Rifle  Brig.  do.  24 

Winterbottom,  from  h.  p.  Paym. 

vice  Clarke,  cashiered  do.  51 

• Bristow,  from  h.  p.  68  F.  Lieut. 

vice  Fennel,  4S  F.  do.  17 

Ens.  Gilchrist,  from  1  Vet.  Bn.  Ens. 

vice  Shaw,  44  F.  June  7 

Lieut  Landon,  Capt.  vice  Bt  Major 

Howard,  dead  May  51 

Ens.  Gaston,  Lieut.  do. 

K.  A.  Mackenzie,  Ens.  do. 

Lieut.  Douglas,  from  h.  p.  Rifle  Brig. 

vice  Cosby,  52  F.  do.  24 

Capt.  Bethune,  Major  by  purch.  vice 

Bt  Lt.  Col.  Macbean,  ret     June  14 

Lieut.  Pennycuick,  Capt  by  purch. 

Ens.  Sinclair,  Lieut,  by  purch.         do. 
J.  Morritt,  Ens.  by  purch.  do. 


Surg.  Peacocke,  from  3  Vet  Bn.  Sunr. 

vice  Miller,  h.  p.  May  24 

As.  Surg.  O'Donel,  from  4  Vet.  Bn.  As. 

Surg.  vice  M'Lachlan,  h.  p.  4  Vet. 

Colon.  C.pd  Lieut.  J.  A.  Campbell,  fromTV 

at  the     }.     Bourbon  R.  2d  Lt.  via.  C.  Gamp, 

Mauritius  J     bell  A      Mav  ft 

2  Ceyl.  R.  Capt  Goldicutt,  from  .       V-0  F.  ( ;apt. 

vice  Kitson,  44  F.  June  1 

Miscellaneous. 

Col.  J.  P.  Lloyd,  late  of  the  10  F.  Gov. 
of  Fishguard,  (without  pay)  vice 
Vaughan,  dead  May  31,  1821 

Sir  John  Owen,  Bt.  M.  P.  Gov.  of  Mil- 
ford  Haven,  (without  pay)  vice  Lord 
Cawdor,  dead  June  13 

Major  Bowles,  Coldst.  Gds.  Dep.  Adj. 
Gen.  Jamaica,  with  the  Rank  of  Lt 
Col.  vice  Freemantle,  res.  do.  24 

R.  J.  Macdonald,  from  h.  p.  Apothecary 
to  the  Forces  April  26 

Exchanges. 
Lieut.  Col.  Meyrick,  from  47  F.  with  Lieut  Col. 

Cotton,  3  F.  G. 
Bt.  Lt.  Col.  Leggatt,  from  36  F.  with  Major 

Browne,  h.  p.  1 01  F. 
Capt  Gamble,  from  2  Dr.  G.  with  Capt.  Paeet 

90  F. 
Macbean,  from  6  F.  with  Capt  Kirwan,  h. 

Fraser,  from  8  F.  with  Capt.  Moriarty,  h. 

p.  71  F. 

Gregory,  from  16  F.  with  Capt  Trydell,  2 

Ceylon  Regt. 

Boyle,  from  42  F.  with  Capt.  Ross,  h.  p. 

7  F. 

— —  W.  Madden,  from  92  F.  with  M.  Madden, 
h.  p.  100  F. 

Carroll,  from  Ins.  of  Mil.  in  Ion.  Isls.  with 

Capt  Macphail,  h.  p. 

Lieut.  Quillinan,  from  3  Dr.  G.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt. 
Rolland,  h.  p.  22  Dr. 

Foster,  from  14  Dr.  with  Lt.  Vandeleur, 

IS  Dr. 

— Pattison,  from  33  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt.  Mac- 

kay,  h.  p.  6  F. 

— - —  Jeboult,  from  41  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt  Craw- 
ford, h.  p.  Rifle  Br. 

Gardiner,  from  41  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt  Sim- 
mons, h.  p.  Rifle  Br. 

——-Moore,  from  45  F.  with  Lt  Irwin,  h.  p. 

——-Douglas,  from  45  F.  with  Lt.  Minter,  h,p. 

Winterbottom,  from  52  F.  with  Lt  Snod- 

grass,  h.  p. 

— - —  M*I  ver,  from  70  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lt.Thorp, 
n.  p.  77  F. 

Green,  from  85  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lieut. 

Monckton,  h.  p.  22  Dr. 

Cornet  De  Lisle,  from  4  Dr.  G.  with  Cornet  Faeir 
19  Dr. 

Bulkley,  from  7  Dr.  G.  with  Cornet  Green- 
land, 4  Dr. 

Ensign  Bayly,  from  19  F.  with  Ensign  Cheney, 

Macdonnell,  from  35  F.  with  Ensign  Mor- 

tashed,  h.  p.  52  F. 
Whitney,  from  62  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Ensign 

Jones,  h.  p.  45  F. 
Paym.  Moulson,  from  35  F.  with  Capt.  Newton. 

h.  p.  4  W.  I.  R. 
Surg.  Fisher,  from  6  F.  with  Surg.  Harrison,  h.  p. 

Resignations  and  Retirements. 
Lieut  Col.  Hugonin,  4  Dr. 

Gregory,  44  F. 

M'Bean,  78  F. 

Major  Thwaites,  ,51  F. 
Capt.  Lodder,  6  F. 

Gore,  53  F. 

Paym.  Lacy,  Shropshire  Mil. 

Adj.  Capt.  Bennett,  King's  Co.  Mil. 

Capt.  Goodwin,  Sligo  Mil. 

Butler,  Wicklow  Mil. 


478 


Appointments,  Promotions,  fyc. 


, 


Appointment  Cancelled. 
Lieut.  Robison,  48  F. 

Deaths. 

Col.  Graham,  h.  p.  Cape  Corps. 
Lieut.  Col.  Campbell  2  Vet.  Bn.  Dublin, 

19  June,  1821 

Paumier,  h.  p.  108  F. 

Major  Johnson,  35  F.  Antigua,  May  2 

Bennett,  Roy.  Eng.  Portsmouth,  June  18 

Capt.  M'Pherson,  late  Insp.  Gen.  of  Barracks  in 

North  Brit.  Edinburgh,  Oct.  1,  1820 
-A'Browne,  Invalids,  Pinchbeck,  near  Spal- 

ding1,  June  2,  1821 
Hadden,  h.  p.  20  Dr.  previously  of  6  Dr. 

London. 

Gitterick,  h.  p.  Staff  Corps  of  Cav.  Sligo, 

May  8 

Considine,  h.  p.  60  F.  previously  of  13  Ur. 

Gordon,  h.  p.,  6  W.  I.  R.  Aberdeen,  May  16 

Lieut  Douglas,  Coldst.  Gds.  May  29 
Marriot,  67  F.  of  wounds  received  at  the 

escalade  of  the  fort  of  Dwarka  in  the  province 

of  Oka  Mundel,  Nov.  25,  1820 

— —  Cameron,  11  F.  Plymouth  Dock, 

May  16, 1821 


Lieut.  Magee,  Invalids,  Walworth,   May  13,  1820 

Coghlan,  h.  p.  36  F.  London,  June,  20, 1 8'.'  1 

Carr,  h.  p.  5;,  F.  France,         Oct.  20,  1820 

Stretch,  h.  p.  67  F.  Limerick,  May  24,  Ih2l 

Gordon,  h.  p.  100  F.  Aberdeen,       Feb.  14 

Ensign  Taylor,  37  F.  Quebec,  Apr.  14,  1821 

Paym.  Patrickson,  h.  p.  4  Dr. 

D.  Campbell,  Argyll  Mil. 

Macklin,  Tyrone  Mil. 

Adj.  Lieut.  Ferrall,  h.  p.  Rifle  Brig,  previously  of 
11  F. 

Era.  Packer,  h.  p.  60  F.  Sept.  23,  1820 

Quarter-Mas.  Jones,  2  F.  on  passage  from  Deme- 
rara  to  Barbadoes,  Apr.  15,  1821 

Wood,  h.  p.  9  Dr.  Westport,  Ireland, 

Oct.  31,  1820 

Orr,  h.  p.  Mid  Lothian  Fen.  Cav. 

Leith,  May  17,  1821 

Brilland,  Waterford  Mil. 

Surg.  Edm.  Taylor,  Windsor  Castle,  Apr.  18, 1821 

Pritchard,  Anglesea  Mil. 

Purveyor  Turnbull,  h.  p.  Mid  Calder,  North  Bri- 
tain, Feb.  6,  1821 
Hospital  Assist.  Bingham,  h.  p.          May  31,  1821 
Cocco,  h.  p.  Messina,    Aug.  1820 


BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BIRTHS. 

Orf.  11,  1829.  At  Barrackpore,  the  lady  of  Lt. 
Anderson,  paymaster  of  the  native  pensioners  at 
Allahabad,  of  a  daughter. 

May  23, 1821.  At  Aix,  the  lady  of  James  Skene, 
Esq.  of  Rubislaw,  of  a  daughter. 

25.  At  Boyle,  Mrs  Colonel  Farquharson,  of  a 
daughter. 

27.  At  Kirkcaldy,  Mrs  Archibald  Dow,  of  a  son. 

June  1.  At  2.5,  Hill  Street,  Mrs  Bell,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Chesterhall,  Mrs  Gray,  of  a  son. 

—  Mrs  Ramsay,  44,  Hanover  Street,  of  a  son. 

2.  At  Camberwell,  Surrey,  Mrs  Dudgeon,  of  a 
daughter. 

3.  At  Maitland  Street,  Mrs  Fordyceof  Aytoun, 
of  a  daughter. 

—  At  the  Manse  of  Kinghorn,  Mrs  Paterson, 
of  a  daughter. 


21.  At  South  Castle  Street,  the  lady'of  G.  Mac- 
pherson  Grant,  Esq.  of  Ballindalloch   and  Inver- 
shie,  M.  P.  of  a  daughter. 

—  Lady  Dunbar  of  Boath,  of  a  son. 

22.  At  Paris,  Lady  Buchan,  of  a  son. 

23.  At  York,  the  lady  of  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Gordon,  of  the  5th  dragoon  guards,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Bonjedward-house,  Mrs  Jerdon  of  a  son. 

—  Mrs  Auld,  Argyll  Square,  of  a  daughter. 

24.  At  Deal,  the  lady  of  Captain  M'Culloch, 
R.  N.  of  a  daughter. 

28.  At  his  house  in  Marlborough  Square, 
Brompton,  the  lady  of  Thomas  Mackenzie,  Esq. 
of  a  son. 

Lately— At  Paris,  the  lady  of  Earl  Poulett,  of  a 
son. 

MARRIAGES. 
Oct.  50,  1820.  At  Calcutta,   John  Low,   Esq. 


—  At  nis  house  in  the  Canongate,  the  lady  of     merchant,  to  Frances,  daughter  of  Mr  Robert 


Henry  Prager,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

4.  At  Shandwick  Place,  Mrs  Miller  of  Glenlec, 
of  a  son. 

5.  At  Maize  Hill,  Greenwich,  the  lady  of  Cap- 
tain Forbes  Macbean,  Royal  Artillery,  of  a  son. 

7.  At  Crossmount,  the  lady  of  Capt.  Stewart, 
of  a  son  and  heir. 

8.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Lockhart  of  Castlehill, 
of  a  son. 

—  At  Ballinaby,  Mrs  Campbell,  of  a  son. 

10.  At  Callander,  Mrs  Macgregor  of  Glengyle, 
of  a  son. 

—  Mrs  Ivory,  Prince's  Street,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Dunmore,  Mrs  Campbell  of  Dunmore, 
of  a  daughter. 

12.  At  Norton,  Mrs  Pearson  of  Myrecairnie,  of 
a  daughter. 

13.  The  Right  Hon.  Mrs  Thomas  Erskine,  of 
a  daughter,  who  did  not  long  survive. 


Low,  Dundee  Bank. 

Feb.  27,  1821.  At  Dacca,  Bengal,  Alexander 
Maclean,  Esq.  son  of  A.  Maclean,  Esq.  of  Ard- 
gour,  and  nephew  to  the  Earl  of  Hopetoun  and 
the  late  Countess  Melville,  to  Elizabeth  Margaret, 
eldest  daughter  of  Richard  Owen  Wynne,  Esq. 
Chief  Judge  of  Dacca. 

May  30.  Captain  James  Murray,  of  his  Majes- 
ty's ship  Valorous,  to  Rachel,  daughter  of  Ben- 
jamin Tucker,  Esq.  Surveyor-general  of  the  D  uchy 
of  Cornwall. 

—  At  Barking,  John  Campbell,  Esq.  to  Louisa, 
daughter  of  John  Shuttleworth,  Esq.  of  Aldbo- 
rough  Hall,  llford,  Essex. 

June  4.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Charles  Spence,  So- 
licitor in  the  Courts  of  Session  and  Admiralty,  to 
Isabella,  daughter  of  the  late  Mr  Joseph  Mordue 
of  Wallsend. 

—  At  Swinton  Hill,  Edward  Russel  Bell,  Esq. 


claugnter,  who  did  not  long  survive.  —  At  Swinton  Hill,  n;awara  Kussei  Ben,  tsq. 

—  Mrs  William  Wyld,   Cassels'  Place,  Leith     sugar-refiner  in  Glasgow,  to  Sarah,  second  (laugh- 


Walk,  of  a  son. 

14.  At  Leith,  Mrs  James  Smith,  Yardheads,  of 
a  son. 

—  At  Sundrum,  Mrs  Hamilton  of  Sundrum, 
of  a  son. 

—  The  lady  of  James  Cathcart,  Esq.  of  a  son. 

—  At  Kindeace-house,  the  lady  of  Charles  Ro- 
bertson, Esq.  of  a  son. 

—  Mrs  Gordon,  22,  Buccleuch  Place,  of  a  son. 


ter  of  William  Bell,  Esq.  Swinton  Hill. 

5.  At  Hawthorn  Brae,  Wester  Duddingston, 
Thomas  M.  Foggo,  M.  D.  late  surgeon  of  the 
royal  artillery,  to  Anne,  eldest  daughter  of  James 
Scott,  Esq.  merchant  in  Leith. 

8.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Thomas  Richardson,  up- 
holsterer, to  Helen,  only  daughter  of  the  late  Mr 
James  Anderson,  surgeon,  Scots  Brigade. 

10.  At  Marlingdcn,  near  Brechin,  the  Rev.  Ro- 


16.  At  Stockbridge,  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Parker,  of     bert  Smith  of  Dreghorn,  to  Mary,  daughter  of 


a  daughter 

17.  At  Little  Mill,  the  lady  of  Colonel  Renny, 
late  of  the  15th  foot,  of  a  daughter. 

18.  Mrs  Bethune  of  Blebo,  of  a  daughter. 

19.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Burn  Murdoch  of  Gar- 
tincaber,  of  a  son. 

"M.  At  London,  the  lady  of  Major  Younghus- 
band,  royal  regiment  of  artillery,  of  a  son. 
—  At  Manar,  Mrs  Gordon,  of  a  daughter. 


Thomas  Molleston,  Esq.  late  Provost  of  Urechin. 

11.  At  Edinburgh,  Dr  William  Cumin,  physi- 
cian, Glasgow,  to  Ann  Johnston,  youngest  daugh- 
ter of  the  deceased  William  Ker,  Esq.  of  Kerrield. 

12.  At  21',  Dublin  Street,  Robert  Montgomery, 
Esq.  of  Craighouse,  to  Jane,  eldest  daughter  of 
the  late  John  Haldane,  Esq. 

13.  At  Kilmichael,  Inverlussa,  Mr  James  Reid, 
of  the  Exchequer,  to  Miss  Elizabeth  Campbell. 


21.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Robertson,  75,  Great     second  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Dugald  Cami>beU  of 


Kin  g  Street,  of  a  daughter. 


Auchnellan. 


1821-3  Register. — Marriages  and  Deaths.  4?9 

14.  At  London,  Lieutenant-Colonel  Bell,  De-  29.  At  his  lodgings  in  Portsmouth,  Lord  Fran- 
puty  Quartermaster-general  at  the  Cape  of  Good  cis  Thynne,  late  midshipman  of  his  Majesty's  ship 
Hope,  to  Lady  Catherine  Harris,  daughter  of  the  Roehefort,  son  of  the  Marquis  of  Hath. 


late  Earl  of  Malmesbury. 

—  At  Walsale,  J.  S.  Brown,   Esq.  merchant, 
Edinburgh,  to  Maria,  youngest  daughter  of  the 
late  John  Badger,  Esq.  Laymore-house,  .Stafford- 
shire. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Joseph  Gibson,  merchant 
m  Leith,  to  Wilhelmina,  daughter  of  the  Rev» 
William  Innes,  Edinburgh. 

18.  At  Inchree,  Major  Hugh  Stewart,  75th  re- 
giment, to  Ann,  sceond  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Mr 
M'ColU 

—  At  Leith,   Mr  Andrew  Graham,  merchant, 
Hawick,  to  Christian,  youngest  daughter  of  the 
late  Mr  John  Nixon,  manufacturer  there. 

19.  At  Berwick,   William  Waring  Hay,   Esq. 
W.  S.  to  Miss  Jane  Francis  Gregson  of  Blackburn. 


—  Mr  Stothard,  son  of  T.  Stothard,  Esq.  R.  AJ 
and  brother  of  Mr  H.  Stothard.    This  gentleman, 
well  known  as  an  artist  of  considerable  talent,  was 
killed  by  a  fall  from  a  ladder,  upon  which  he  was 
standing,  while  copying  a  window  in  the  church 
of  Beerferris  in  Devon.   Although  not  more  than 
ten  feet  from 'the  ground,  yet,  being  precipitated 
on  his  head,  he  fractured  his  skull  and  expired  on 
the  spot. 

31.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  James  Wood  Raney. 
aged  24. 

—  At  Castle  Street,  Edinburgh,  Elizabeth,  the 
youngest  child  of  Mr  Michael  Anderson,  solicitor. 

June  1.  At  Cherrybank,  near  Newhaven,  Mrs 
Elspeth  Simpson,  spouse  of  Alexander  Mitchell, 
Esq. 


—  At  Peebles,   the  Rev.   Benjamin   Mardon,          —  At  No.  4,  Antigua  Street,  Edinburgh,  Miss 
Mi  A.  minister  of  Union  Chape),  Glasgow,  to  Isa-      Helen  Cunningham;  _ 


bella,  daughter  of  Mr  Cairns,  writer. 

—  At  the  Manse  of  Ardhill,  Alexander  Allan 
Mackenzie,  Esq.  to  Charlotte,  daughter  of  the  late 
Rev.  Dr  Alexander  Downie,  minister  of  Lochalsh. 

—  At  Burgh  Lodge,  Thomas  Gilford,  Esq.  late 
of  the  Honourable  East  India  Company's  service, 
to  Jessie,  only  daughter  of  the  late  John  Scott, 
Esq.  of  Milbie. 

20.  At  Seton,  Mr  Charles  M'Laren,  merchant, 
Edinburgh,  to  Margaret,  second  daughter  of  Mr 
Charles  Burnet. 

26.  At  Montrose,  Captain  William  Hunter,  of 
the  Honourable  East  India  Company's  naval  ser- 
vice, to  Miss  Knox,  eldest  daughter  of  Andrew 
Knox,  Esq. 

29.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  John  Wilson,  teacher  of 
music,  to  Miss  Mary  Veitch. 


DEATHS. 

Nov.  7,  1820.  At  Madras,  aged  42,  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Sutherland  M'  Douall,  youngest  son  of  the 
late  John  M'Douall,  Esq.  brother  of  the  late  Earl 
of  Dumfries,  of  the  Honourable  East  India  Com- 
pany's native  infantry,  on  the  Madras  establish- 
ment, and  British  Resident  at  the  court  of  Tra- 
vancorc. 

30.  At  Bombay,  Joseph  William  Cumine,  Esq. 
of  the  Honourable  East  India  Company's  medical 
lervice,  second  son  of  Archibald  Cumine,  Esq.  of 
Auchry. 

Ftb.  7,  1821.  At  Colombo,  Alexander  Cadell, 
Esq.  paymaster-general  of  Ceylon. 

24.  At  Rio  de  Janeiro,  Captain  William  Pear- 
son, of  the  ship  Cheerful  of  Kirkaldy. 

March  17.  At  Wynberg,  Cape  of"  Good  Hope, 
Colonel  John  Graha'm  of  Fintry,  late  of  the  Cape 
regiment,  commandant  of  Simon's  Town. 

April  6.  At  Fellowshiphall,  in  St  David's,  Ja- 
maica, Margaret  Darby,  a  free  black  woman,  at 
the  advanced  age  of  1  .>()  ycjjrs.  She  retained  all 
her  faculties  till  the  last  moment. 

May  23.  At  Winstcr,  Mr  Win.  Cuddie,  surgeon. 
This  unfortunate  gentleman's  death  was  occasion- 
ed by  a  wound  receive^  the  preceding  day  in  a 
duel,  which,  it  appears,  he  wiis  induced  to  fight 
with  Mr  W.  Brittlebank,  of  the  same  place.  The 
Corner's  Jury  returned  a  verdict  of  wilful  murder 
against  all  the  parties  concerned,  three  of  whom 
are  now  confined  in  Derby  gaol ;  but  Mr  Brittle- 
bank,  the  principal,  has  absconded. 

—  25.  At  Dundee,  Miss  Christian  Sandieman  ; 
and,  on   26th  May,  Mrs  Elizabeth  Sandieman, 
relict  of  David  Ramsay,  merchant  in  Dundee; 
both  daughters  of   thr-   late  David  Sandieman, 
also  merchant  in  Dundee, — the  former  aged  se- 
venty-four, the  latter  seventy-six  years. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  aged  76,  Mr  George  Edmon- 
ttone,  ordained  measurer,  tor  many  years  a  re- 
spectable cabinetmaker  in  Kelso. 


—  At  Newington,  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Janet  Dick- 
son,  wife  of  the  Reverend  Dr  M-Crie. 

—  Mary,  daughter  of  the  late Mills,  Esq.  of 

Ripley,  Yorkshire,  and  the  bride  of  Mr  J.  House- 
man, of  Clint,  to  whom  she  had  been  married  trie 
preceding  Tuesday,  when  she  was  given  away  by 
Sir  Wm.  Ingilby,  the  present  High  Sheriff.     Im- 
mediately after  the  ceremony  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom set  off  with  a  party  of  friends  to  York.  On 
their  arrival  the  unfortunate  lady  was  attacked  by 
apoplexy,  which  terminated  her  life. 

2.  Miss  Eliza  Cameron,  aged  25,  daughter  of 
Mr  Robert  Cameron,  Springfield  paper-mill. 

—  At  Glasgow,  Mr  John  Cross,  teacher  of  ma- 
thematics, superifitendant  of  the  Glasgow  Obser- 
vatory, and  member  of  the  London  Astronomical 
Society,  &c.     His  eminence  as  a  mathematician 
was  universally  known,  and  his  loss  will  be  deeply 
regretted  by  the  lovers  of  science. 

4.  At  Penzance,  Cornwall,  Miss  Agnes  Colqu- 
houn,  eldest  daughter  of  the  Lord  Clerk  Register. 

—  At  Stafford  Street,  Edinburgh,  Henrietta, 
wife  of  Robert  Boog,  Esq. 

—  At  his  house,  No.  8,  Broughton  Place,  Edin- 
burgh, James  Jackson,  Esq.  one  of  the  Honourable 
Commissioners  of  Excise  for  Scotland. 

—  After  a  few  days  illness,  in  Edward  Street, 
Portman  Square,  London,  Sir  George  Douglas, 
Bart,  of  Sprmgwood  Park,  Roxburghshire,  which 
county  he  had  formerly  represented  in  several  suc- 
cessive Parliaments. 

5.  At  her  son's  house,  North  James's  Street, 
Edinburgh,  Mrs  Margaret  Knox  Beveridge,  relict 
of  Mr  James  Beveridge,  writer  in  Dunfermline,  in 
her  85d  year. 

—  At  Leith,  in  child-bed,  Mrs  Jane  Kisbue. 

—  At  Inglismaldie,  the  Honourable  Alexander 
Keith,  son  of  the  late  Earl  of  Kintorc. 

—  At  Beverley  Lodge,  near  Colchester,  Lachlan 
Robert  Mackintosh,  Esq.  of  Dalmunzie,  Peith- 
shire. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mary  Jane,  second  daughter 
of  the  late  Alexander  Fergusson,  Esq.  of  Daled- 
mund. 

—  Aged  nine  years  and  one  month,  Ann  Eliza, 
eldest  daughter  of  Mr  JohnLavigny,  Luggate,  East 
Lothian. 

b.  At  Edinburgh,  aged  18,  Richard  Archibald 
Houison;  eighth  son  ot  the  late  Reverend  Alexan- 
der Huison,  of  Auchtergaven. 

7.  At  Alloa,  James  Laurie,  Esq. 

—  At  the  residence  of  the  Earl  of  Mexborough, 
in  Picadilly,  London,  after  a  few  hours  illness,  the 
Countess  of  Mexborough. 

&  Mrs  Cuninghame,  relict  of  the  deceased  John 
Cuninghame,  Esq.  of  Port-Glasgow. 

—  At  Banks  of  Troqueer,  Robert  Halliday,  ESQ. 
of  Banks,  aged  68. 

10.  At  St  Andrews,  aged  19,  Mr  James  Jarvis, 
student  of  divinity. 

—  At  Southgat'e,   Middlesex,   Charles  Pasley, 


—  Suddenly,  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  John  Camp-     Esq.  late  majorin  the  Honourable  East  India  Corn- 
bell,  Esq.  of  Conduit  Vale,  Hlackheath.  pany's  service,  am 


At  Dunfermline,  Dr  Stenhouse  of  Comely 
Park. 

26.  At  Park,  Robert  Covane,  Esq.  of  Drum- 
quhassie,  aged  72. 

—  At  Wlutehouse,  Isle  of  Man,  Daniel  M 'Queen, 
Esq.  of  Netherwoodbank,  late  Collector  of  Cess 
for  the  City  of  Edinburgh. 

VOL.  IX. 


d  Charge  d' Affaires  at  the  Court 
of  Persia. 

—  At  West  Wemyss,  Fifeshire,  Robert  Penning 
Barker,  Esq.  of  Nanwich. 

11.  At  his  father's  house,  No.  20,  George  Street, 
Edinburgh,  Charles  Hope  Stewart,  in  the  16th 
year  of  his  age. 

12.  At  Glasgow,  Thomas  Arnot,  Esq. 

3  O 


Register. — Dca  tlis. 


4,30 

12.  At  Fife  House,  London,  the  Right  Hon.  the 
Countess  of  Liverpool. 

—  At  London,  Frances,  the  wife  of  Sir  Jenison 
William  Gordon,  Bart. 

—  At  Kirkcaldy,  in  the  prime  of  life,  James 
Swayne,  Esq.  writer  there,  and  agent  for  the  Fife 
Banking  Company. 

—  At  Dunfermline,  Mrs  Ann  Gerl,  aged  9.",  the 
last  of  the  ancient  family  of  Ged  of  Ged  and  Bald- 
sidge,  and  relict  of  Mr  John  Buntine. 

—  Miss  Elizabeth  Peat,  third  daughter  of  Mr 
John  Peat,  writer,  Forth  Street,  Edinburgh. 

13.  At  Ivy  Lodge,  Alexander  Dalyell,  Esq.  aged 
86. 

—  At  No.  2,  North  St  David's  Street,  Edin- 
burgh, Jessie,  the  infant  daughter  of  Dr  William 
Campbell. 

14.  At  Edinburgh,    Mr  William  Frier,  wool- 
merchant,  West  Bow. 

—  Mr  Myles  Macphail,  vintner,  Edinburgh. 

—  At  Brussels,  the  Ex-Conveutionali:st  Quirette. 
He  was  one  of  the  four  Deputies,  who,  v.'ith  the 
Minister  at  War,  Bournonville,  went,  on  the  5<1 
April,  1793,  to  the  head-quarters  of  General  Du- 
mourier  to  arrest  that  General,  and  to  take  him  to 
Paris  to  be  tried ;  but  were  themselves  arrested, 
and  delivered  by  Dumourier  to  the  Austrian  Ge- 
neral Clairfait,  and  were  kept  in  prison  in  Ger- 
many two  years  and  a  half,  until  they  were  ex- 
changed for  the  Duchess  of  Angouleme  in  179(J. 

15.  At  his  father's  house,  Meet-hill,   Mr  Stuart 
Hay,  student  in  theology,  aged  '•2-',  youngest  son 
of  the  Reverend  James  Hay,  of  Alyth. 

—  At  Law  of  Newton,   Mr  David  Mitchell, 
fanner. 

16.  At  his  house,  No.  10,  St  John  Street,  Edin- 
burgh, Mr  John  Ballantyne,  bookseller  to  his  Ma- 
jesty for  Scotland.     Brilliant  natural  talents  were 
combined  in    Mr   Ballantyne  with    the   utmost 
warmth  and  kindliness  of  disposition  ;  and  there 
are  not  a  few  who  will  long  remember  him  with 
affectionate  regret,  as  one  of  the  truest  of  friends, 
as  well  as  the  most  delightful  of  companions. 

—  At  Lendal,  Yorkshire,  Marion  Christiana, 
wife  of  George  Lloyd,  Esq.  of  Hatton  Lodge,  and 
daughter  of  Alexander  Maclean  of  Coll,  Esq. 

—  At  Muthill,  Mr  Joseph  Macpherson,  writer, 
Perth. 

—  At  his  house,  9,  North  St  David  Street,  Edin- 
burgh, Mr  James  Stewart,  late  of  the  British  Lineu 
Company's  Bank. 

—  At  Hermitage,   Leith  Links,  Miss  Eleanor 
Primrose,  daughter  of  the  deceased  Sir  Archibald 
Primrose  of  Dunipace,  Bart. 

17.  Suddenly,   Mrs  Jane  Watson,  wife  of  Mr 
Thomas  Watson,  chair  maker,  Leith  Walk. 

»—  At  Mid-Calder,    Mr  William   Kippen,  sen. 
innkeeper  there. 

—  At  Linlithgow,  after  a  lingering  illness,  Chris- 
tiana, eldest  daughter  of  Mr  John  Henley,  of  the 
Excise  there. 

—  At  Boulogne-sur-Seine,  near  Paris,  in  her 
24th  year,  Mary,  daughter  of  W.  Errington,  Esq. 
of    Camden   Place,    Bath,    and    High   Wardeu, 
Northumberland. 

19.  At  Bl.ickhiils,  near  Nairn,   Mrs  Falconer, 
wife  of  Mr  jEneas  Falcone:*,  surveyor  of  taxes  for 
vacant  districts  in  Scotland. 

—  At  Craigie-house,  Ayrshire,  Mrs  MaryOehany 
Fotheringham,  wife  of  j'ames  Campbell,"  Esq.  ad- 
vocate. 

—  At  Dunfermline,    Helen  Anderson  Spence, 
daughter  of  Mr  George  Spence. 

—  At  Gosport,  aged  58,  Major  W.  Bennet,  royal 
engineers. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  John  Symeof  Cartmore,  Esq. 
W.  S. 

20.  At  his  house,  Fitzroy  Square,  London,  in  the 
"8th  year  of  his  age,  John  Forbes,  Esq.  of  New, 
in  Strathdon,   Aberdeenshire,   and  formerly  of 
Bombay. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  James,  eldest  son  of  Thomas 
Ramsay,  Esq.  155,  Prince's  Street. 

21.  At  Leith,  Mrs  Janet  Wilson,  aged  73. 

—  At  Hallam,  Mr  Win.  Woodhouse,  aged  95. 


CJuly. 


I  Ie  carried  straw  to  the  King's  troops  on  Doncas- 
ter  Moor  during  the  rebellion  of  1~45.  He  beheld 
as  his  descendants,  13  children,  ':•>  grandchildren, 
8  )  great-grandchildren  ;  in  all  108.  The  united 
ages  of  three  old  persons  who  attended  his  funeral, 
amounted  to  'Jlo. 

i'i!.  In  North  Richmond  Street,  Mr  James  Cun- 
ningham, merchant,  Edinburgh. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  after  a  long  illness,  Rachel, 
daughter  of  the  Reverend  David  Jardinc,  aged  H 
years. 

25.  At  Paris,  the  Duchess  Dowager  of  Orleans. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  the  virtuous  Duke  de 
Penthievre  and  Maria  Therese  Felicite  D'Est,  and 
great-great-grand-daughter  of  Louis  XIV. 

—  At  St  Stephen's,  near  Plymouth,  Capt.  Tho- 
mas Gordon  Caulfield,  R.  N.  and  of  the  Windsor 
Castle,  in  that  harbour 

25.  At  Springhill,  Douglas  James  Hamilton, 
Esq. 

—  At  Dalmellington,  Mr  John  Watt,  aged  86, 
and  for  upwards  of  seventy  years  a  public  per- 
former on  the  violin.     His  wife  and  he  lived  to- 
gether in  unison  for  sixty  years. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Elizabeth,  eldest  daughter  of 
John  Sandilands,  Esq. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Miss  Jenny  Broughton,  aged 
19,  eldest  daughter  of  Mr  Charles  Broughton,  W. 
S.  Elder  Street. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Margaret  Graham,  relict 
of  Alexander  Bower,  Esq.  ot  Kincaklrum,  aged 
85. 

t'6.  At  Edinburgh,  Miss  Jean  M 'Queen,  daugh- 
ter of  the  late  George  M'Queen,  Esq.  Collector  of 
Cess  of  the  City  of  Edinburgh. 

27.  At  Arbroath,  Mrs  Colvill,  widow  of  John 
Colvill,  Esq.  late  town-clerk. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Margaret  Smith,  widow 
of  Thomas  Smith,  Esq.  one  of  the  Principal  Clerk* 
to  the  Bills. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  David  Swan,  of  the  Green- 
side  Company. 

1.9.  At  Glasgow,  Robert  Carrick,  Esq.  of  Braco. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Alexander  Dalmahoy. 
30.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  James  Stewart,  late  mer- 
chant. 

July  5.  At  his  house,  in  York  Place,  Portman 
Square,  London,  in  the  75th  year  of  his  age,  Lieut.- 
General  Robert  Nicholson,  of  the  Hon.  East  India 
Company's  Service,  on  the  Bombay  Establish- 
ment ;  whose  many  virtues  had  endeared  him  to  a 
numerous  circle  of  friends,  and  in  whom  the  poor 
have  lost  a  most  liberal  benefactor. 

Lately — Three  children  of  a  labouring  man,  of 
the  name  of  Dale,  residing  at  Aspe  Heath,  Isle  of 
Wight.  On  returning  from  the  burial  of  the  first, 
another  was  found  dead  ;  and  on  returning  from 
his  funeral,  the  third  had  brwathed  his  last.  Their 
death  was  occasioned  by  the  disorder  called  the 
croup. 

—  At  his  seat,  near  Clonmel,  in  Ireland,  Sir 
Thomas  Osborne,  Bart.    His  son,  only  four  years 
of  age,  succeeds  to  his  title  and  estates. 

—  At  his  house,  in  Portland-Place,  London,  the 
Earl  of  Sheffield,.  His  Lordship  closed  a  long  and 
active  life,  in  the  86th  yeat  of  his  age.   His  Lord- 
ship is  succeeded  in  his  titles  and  estates  by  his 
son,  George  Augustus  Frederick  Charles  Holboyd, 
Viscount  Pevensey. 

—  At  his  seat  in  Devonshire,  Abel  Worth,  Esq. 
He  has  bequeathed  £3000  to  the  Episcopal  School 
for  Boys  at  Exeter  ;  £3000  to  the  same  Establish- 
ment for  Girls ;  £3  '00  to  the  School  of  St  John's 
Hospital  in  that  city ;  and  a  handsome  legacy  to 
the  Devon  and  Exeter  Hospital. 

—  At  his  country-house,  near  Berlin,  theceU- 
brated  Prussian  Naturalist,  Achard,  the  discoverer 
of  the  process  of  making  sugar  from  beet-root. 

—  On  board  the  Duke  of  Kent  Packet,  on  his 
passage  from  Lisbon  to  Falmouth,  the  Right  Hou. 
Lord  Clifford. 

—  In  London,  after  a  short  illness,  Capt.  Wm. 
Hadden,  of  the  Gth,  or  Inskilling  regiment  of  dra- 
goons, eldest  son  of  the  late  Major-General  i  lad- 
den  of  the  royal  artillery. 


BLACKWOOD'S 

EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


No.  LIII.  AUGUST,  1821.  VOL.  X. 

HOIUE  GERMANICS. — No.  XII. 

I 

THE  PILGRIMAGE,  a  Drama.   By  the  Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouque'. 

IN  this  number  of  the  "  Horse  Ger-  much  from  the  accusations  of  con- 
wanicffi,"  we  propose  to  give  some  ex-  science,  and  thinks  that  his  only 
tracts  from  THE  PILGRIMAGE,  a  ro-  chance  of  salvation  depends  on  the 
mantic  drama  by  the  Baron  de  la  performance  of  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Motte  Fouque,  who  has  been  intro-  Holy  Land ;  the  journey  presenting 
duced  to  our  readers  by  Mr  Gillies's  too  many  difficulties  to  himself  ir  his 
beautiful  translation  of  one  of  his  infirm  state  of  health,  he  wishes  to 
Kleine  Komane.  Our  present  extracts  transfer  it  to  one  of  his  two  sons.  The 
are  transcribed  from  the  papers  of  an-  circumstances  which  occasion  the  fa- 
other  friend.  ther's  remorse,  and  the  reasons  which 
For  the  purpose  of  explaining  the  prevent  the  sons  from  at  first  comply- 
passages  we  select,  it  is  only  necessary  ing  with  his  wishes,  are  explained  in 
to  state,  that  THURING,  an  old  knight,  our  extracts, 
feeling  the  approach  of  death,  suffers 

SCENE — a  Wood. 
Enter  FLORUS,  (Thuring's younger  son.) 

Forth  wandering  with  thee,  rich  h'ght  of  morning, 
Who  now,  in  glory,  o'er  the  wood  of  firs 
Dost  rise,  and  brighten  into  living  gold 
The  vaporous  clouds,  I  tread  again  this  loved 
And  lonely  valley — sweet  secluded  haunt, 
Which  none  intrudes  on! — My  sick  father  still 
Is  slumbering, — fearful  dreams  stand  round  his  bed, 
Disquieting  his  rest,  and  torturing  me, 
The  constant  witness  of  his  agonies. — 
But  every  creature  has  its  load  to  bear, 
And  every  creature  has  its  source  of  comfort. — 
The  bee,  who  revels  here  'mong  perfumed  flowers 
Voluptuously,  will  soon,  fatigued,  return, 
A  burthen'd  labourer,  to  her  fragrant  cell. — 
Why,  Floras,  then  complain  of  thy  hard  task  ? 
Thou  likewise  hast  thy  source  of  consolation — 
Enjoyments  that  refresh  thy  languid  spirit 
In  the  blest  hours  of  silent  dewy  morn. 
Now,  master,  deeply  loved,  ah !  linger  not ; — 
The  castle's  far  away, — the  hour's  at  hand 
That  wakes  my  father  from  his  spectral  dreams. — 
Ah,  master  !  thou  whose  dear  society 
Restores,  re-animates  me,  linger  not. 
VOL.  IX.  2  P 


482  Horce  Germaniccc.    No.  XII. 

How  shall  I  call  thee  ?  should  I  sing  thy  song, 
The  fearful  ballad  of  "  the  Guest  Betray  d," 
Thou  would'st  perhaps  then  come,  but  come  in  anger- 
Displeased  with  him  who  ventured  to  repeat 
That  serious  secret  to  the  woods ; — how  angry 
Thou  wast,  when  first  I  overheard"  the  words, 
And  said'st,  that  only  by  thy  ear  and  voice 
Such  sounds  ought  ever  to  be  heard  or  utter 'd ; 
But  still  the  song  deep  in  my  memory 
Remain'd,  exciting  strange  mysterious  horror, 
And  my  heart,  while  it  shudder'd,  felt  that  fear 
Gave  an  increased  delight ; — ah,  linger  not, 
Dear  master  ! — What  ?  can  I  endure  the  want 
Of  thy  society  ?•  live  even  one  day, 
Unheard  the  charm  of  thy  sweet  solemn  voice  ? — 
Unfelt  the  pleasures  of  alternate  song? — 

This  shall  I  suffer  ? — never — I  will  venture 

(Sings.) 
On  the  battlements  'tis  sweet  to  stand, 

In  the  morning  beam  or  the  evening  dew ; 
For  the  eye  can  range  o'er  wooded  land, 

And  meadow  green,  and  water  blue. 

Hither  the  King  hath  led  his  guest — 

His  guest,  who  sought  for  shelter  here, 
Confiding  to  the  King,  his  friend, 

The  keeping  of  his  gold  and  gear. 

My  guest  look  over  the  battlements— 

Look  out,  as  far  as  you  can  see, 
You  hear  below  the  waters  flow, 

And  the  maiden  singing  merrily. 

The  guest  did— — 

ANTONIUS.  (entering) 
No  more  of  this !  Who  bids  thee  sing  my  song  ? 

Flor.  Master! 

Ant.   Now  thou  art  trembling — now  thy  cheek  grows  pale ; — 
What  childish  folly  to  awake  the  wrath 
That  makes  thee  shudder  in  such  pain  ! 

Flor.  Yes  !  yes ! 

'Tis  true  I  shudder — do  but  look  upon  me, 
Even  with  those  fiery  eyes — oh  !  far  more  soon 
Would  I  beneath  their  glow  consent  to  wither, 
To  crumble  into  dust,  than  home  return 
Without  beholding  thee. — O  noble  spirit ! 
To  conjure  and  to  call  thee  up  before  me, 
I  used  a  daring  spell, — and  thou  hast  come 
In  wrath — but  thou  liast  come,  and  all  my  wish 
Is  satisfied. 

Ant.  Rash  boy  !  who  thus  will  hazard 
And  throw  away,  by  juvenile  impatience, 
The  object  of  his  passionate  desire — 
Lose  it  for  ever,  sooner  than  sustain 
An  hour's  delay.     To-day  the  woods  are  throng'd 
With  many  an  ardent  follower  of  the  chase  ; 
Thy  song  might  well  be  heard — and  such  a  song 
Which  to  the  rocks  I  scarcely  could  confide, — 
Some  one  may  place  himself  to  watch  thy  steps, 
To  overhear  thy  words. 

Flor.  Oh,  fear  it  not. 
They  deem  me  a  reserved  and  distant  boy, 
Not  worth  a  thought— scarce  good  enough  to  tend 


1821.^  The  Pilgrimage,  a  Drama.  483 

My  father's  bed  of  sickness— in  the  feats 

Of  hunting,  or  of  horsemanship,  Tin  nothing ! 

Ant.  You  know  them  not: — if  a  man  haunts  the  woods, 
Deserts  th'  amusements  of  his  school  associates, 
Forms  friendships  with  old  trees,  prefers  a  song 
To  idle  conversation,  soon  a  crowd 
Will  follow  him, — they  not  alone  deride 
Him,  but  become  continual  spies  upon 
His  every  motion ; — if  thy  rashness  brings 
A  throng  of  busy  followers  thus  to  trace 
My  steps,  oh  !  dearly — dearly  as  I  love  thee, 
My  child !  we  yet  must  part,  to  meet  no  more  ! 

Flor.   Ah  !  spare  such  threats. 

Ant.   Oh,  this  would  be  a  fine  discovery  ! — 
Thuring's  romantic  son  found  all  alone 
Among  the  mountains  with  this  grey  old  man, 
These  verses  on  his  lips, — 'tis  not  enough 
That  this  vain  chattering  may  expose  my  life, 
But  peace  of  mind,  bought  with  such  difficulty, 
Is  scared  away  for  ever. — No !  in  vain 
Would'st  thou  beseech  me  then ;  I  could  not  meet 
These  waves  of  trouble.     Sooner  than  endure 
What  I  foresee,  we  should  for  ever  part. 

*  *  *  » 

Flor.  Ah  !  why  thus  tortnre  me  with  fears  like  these  f 
Why  pain  thyself  by  such  severity  ? 
Here  in  the  lonely  forest  none  can  hear  us—- 
E'en I  myself,  I  know  thee  not — thy  songs 
Alone  are  mine, — thy  converse,  that  restores 
Health  to  my  heart ;  O  let  me  listen,  therefore, 
Now  to  some  song  of  thine,  or  story  old, 
That  may  re-animate  my  fear-scared  spirits ; 
Then  wilt  thou  speak  of  elevating  science, 
And  how  the  ingenuous  mind  should  seek  its  depths. 
Charm'd  by  thy  words  divine,  I  bear  away 
In  memory  each  dear  and  treasured  thought, 
Fair  flowers  to  cheer  the  thorny  wastes  of  life. 

Ant.  Sit  down  beside  me,  then,  on  this  green  sod ; 
Oh,  it  relieves  me  from  the  weariness 
Of  solitude,  recalls  me  into  life, 
Thus  to  instruct  thee  in  the  tales  of  old, 
The  wisdom  breathing  in  the  minstrel's  song ; 

Then  listen. 

IRWIN,  Thuring's  elder  son,  (unseen.) 
Winfred,  Winfred! 

Ant.  Ha !  the  voice 

Of  a  huntsman  in  the  woods,  and  near ! 

Flor.  My  brother's ; 

At  times  he  here  pursues  the  chace,  and  Winfred, 
The  husband  of  the  beautiful  Verena, 
Is  his  companion  on  the  mountain  heights  ; 
Be  not  disturb'd  at  this,  my  dear,  dear  master. 

Ant.  And  a  young  warrior  know  it  ? 

Irwin.  (unseen.)  Farewell,  Winfred, 

A  pleasant  journey. 

Ant.  All  is  over  now, 

This  vale  no  longer  is  a  solitude. 

Irwin.  (From  a  rock  above.)  Ha!  yonder  in  the  copse-skreen  see 

my  brother ! 

And  close  to  him,  is  that  the  mountain-fiend, 
With  his  long  hoary  beard  ?     This  makes  all  plain ; 
From  that  direction  came  the  song,  with  which 


Hora  Germanics.     No.  XII. 

The  forest  rang.— Your  pardon,  my  good  brother ! 
A  few  steps  off,  the  rock  is  not  too  steep, 
And  then  I  have  your  secret. 

(He  pastet  o».) 

Ant.  See'st  thou,  now  ? 
Thou  foolish  idle  hoy — Ah  !  see'st  thou  now, 
Thy  thoughtless  act  has  parted  us  for  ever — 
For  ever. 

Flo.  Master,  master,  leave  me  not. 

Ant.  I  must— I  fear  I  must;  it  grieves  me  sorely; 
Farewell — thou  never  wilt  behold  me  more !  (Exit. 

Flo.  And  was  he  then  in  earnest  ?  No  !  oh,  no ! 
The  storm  will  threaten  oft  in  sultry  days, 
Yet  pass  away  uninjuring ;  yea,  at  times 
Reviving  the  parch'd  earth ;  thus  thou,  dear  master, 
Would'st  terrify  me  now,  but  not  destroy. 

Irw.  Where  is  he  gone,  that  spectre  old  and  gray  ? 
Vanished  ? — air  melted  into  air ! 

Flo.  Alas, 
Vanished ! 

Irw.  And  is  it  this  that  makes  thee  mournful  ? 

Flo.  You  came,  dear  brother,  at  an  ill-timed  moment. 

Irw.  A  pretty  secret  this  to  guard  so  closely ; 
Our  father  torturing  us  to  go  as  pilgrims 
To  Palestine  ;  you  still  refuse  to  go ; 
I  thpught  a  pretty  girl  was  in  the  case, 
But  here  I  find  you  squatting,  side  by  side, 
With  an  old,  dull,  ill-humour'd  fool,  who  flies 
Into  his  bushes  to  conceal  himself. 

Flo.  Nay,  speak  not  thus ;  I  will  not  listen  to  it. 

Irw.  Why,  this  sounds  well.    How  long  is't  since  you've  learn'd 
This  loud  and  passionate  language  ?  My  fine  fellow, 
That  baby-arm,  it  terrifies  me  not. 

Flo.  What  mean  you  ?  art  thou  not  my  brother  ?    Yet 
Thy  skill  in  arms,  thy  fame  for  knightly  deeds, 
Were  no  restraint  to  me,  if  holy  anger 
Seized  me. 

Irw.  Well,  when  it  comes,  we're  ready  for  it. 
But  tell  me  now,  why  do  you  thus  resist 
This  pilgrimage  ?  You'll  meet  with,  in  the  East, 
I  should  imagine,  woody  vales  enough, 
And  good  old  gentlemen  with  long  gray  beards. 

Flo.  My  dear,  dear  brother,  cease  this  ridicule ; 
And  I  entreat  thee,  never  to  betray 
In  merry  mood,  or  random  conversation, 
What  thou  just  now  hast  seen  ; — that  good  old  man 
(I  know  no  more  of  him,  than  that  each  morning 
We  meet,  to  enjoy  the  stillness  of  the  wood, 
And  the  delight  of  song,)  has  taught  me  much 
That  other  masters  strive  in  vain  to  teach, 
The  high  ennobling  art  of  poetry. 
Each  chooses  for  himself  some  guide  in  life, 
And  he  is  mine.     Oh  !  tear  me  not  from  him  ! 
Divorced  from  him,  I  think  I  could  not  live. 
Here  will  I  stay,  and  nurse  my  dying  father  ; 
The  joys  of  battle,  and  the  chace  be  thine, 
Be  thine  our  steeds,  our  armoury. 

Irw.  Oh,  yes ! 
Because  your  woman  heart  would  tremble  at  them. 

Flo.  Irwin,  I  too  am  Thuring's  genuine  son. 

Irw.  Then  prove  it ;  shew  thyself  a  warrior. 

' 


1821.3  The  Pilgrimage,  a  Drama.  48i 

Flo.  Why,  I  should  think  a  mind  like  thine,  delighted 
With  hold  adventures,  would  enjoy  a  journey 
Into  the  land  of  Morning. 

Irw.  What  can'st  thou 
Know  of  such  feelings  with  your  housewife  heart  ? 

Flo.  Ah !  brother,  thou  art  cruel,  quarrelsome. 
Farewell,  then,  thou  hast  sent  me  mournful  home  ; 
I  go  to  nurse  my  father — fare  thee  well. 

Irw.  How  mild  he  is — ah !  pardon  me,  dear  boy, 
In  me  my  father's  stormy  passions  rise. 
But  thou,  whose  heart  reflects  the  piety 
And  meekness  of  our  sweet  dead  mother's  spirit, 
'        Ah !  bear  with  me.  My  own  !  my  Florus.  (Embracing  him. 

Flo.  Tears,  Irwin  ?  thou  in  tears  ? 

Irw.  Thou  knowest  them  not, 
The  passions  that  are  torturing  my  sick  heart. 
O,  woe  is  me,  for  I  am  driven  along 
Where  ruin  beckons  me ;  and  with  a  smile 
So  sweet,  expressive  of  such  love,  allures  me, 
That  Sin  seems  something  bright  and  beautiful, 
And  Suffering  for  such  cause,  even  enviable  ! 

Flo.  I  hear  your  words,  but  understand  them  not — 
Words  in  a  foreign  tongue,  they 

Irw.  Happy  boy, 

Ah  !  never  learn  it.     Passion's  language  soon 
Is  taught ;  we  lisp  the  sounds  with  ease ;  the  lessons, 
Soon  understood,  can  never  be  forgotten — 
Never  forgotten,  though  the  heart  should  sigh 
Eagerly  for  oblivion. 

Flo.  Brother,  brother ! 

Irw.  Is  Winfred  not  my  friend  ?  my  fellow-soldier  ? 
Is  not  his  bride  a  consecrated  image  ? 

Flo.  Who  said  she  was  not  ? 

Irw.  And  to  me  he  leaves  her ; 
Confides  her  to  my  care ;  sets  out  upon 
A  distant  journey,  leaving  me  the  guardian 
Here  of  his  castle,  and  of  his  Verena. 
Oh  !  that  he  were  return'd,  this  conflict  over, 
This  struggle  between  Virtue,  Friendship,  Passion, 
This  agony  that  tortures,  yet  delights  me — 
Oh !  that  the  victory  were  won,  and  yet — 
Farewell.  (Exit. 

Flo.  What  can  he  mean  ?  these  words,  these  starts, 
Rapture  and  Fear  ?  I  can't  conceive  his  meaning  ! 

(Exit  in  the  opposite  direction. 

SCENE — A  chamber  in  THURING'S  Castle. 

Thur.  (Coming  out  from  a  side  door.)  Ho !  Florus,  Florus,  still  these 

evil  dreams 

Come  back  and  terrify  my  senses.     Florus, 
Chase  them  away.     Ho  !  Florus,  where  is  he  ? 
He  hears  me  not ;  the  empty  vaults  re-echo 
My  voice ;  what — gone — gone  out,  to  amuse  himself. 
Ah  !  Thuring,  desolate  old  man,  thy  cares 
Are  well  repaid  ;  two  sons  thou  hast  brought  up, 
Two  dutiful  sons,  who,  when  the  question  is 
Of  my  salvation,  which  this  pilgrimage 
Would  render  certain — love  their  home,  forsooth, 
So  well,  they  would  not  live  if  absent  from  it, 
Attach'd  as  branches  to  the  parent  tree. 
But  let  the  arch  glance  of  a  merry  eye, 
Or  war,  or  tournament,  attract  the  one, 

. 


486  flora?  Germanicce.     No.  XII.  £Aug. 

Or  let  an  old  song  catch  the  other's  fancy, 
The  castle-hearth  is  noon  abandon'd  then. 
Take  care,  lest  these  my  cruel  sufferings 
Draw  down  from  my  pale  lips  a  father's  curse ; 
And  this,  as  oft  of  old  has  been  experienced, 
Will  weigh  you  down  with  horror  to  the  grave, 
And  from  the  grave  to  hell— hell — hell ! 

Cursed  word ! 

Hark,  was  not  that  a  step — a  low  light  step 

Upon  the  stairs,  that  lead  to  the  dark  chamber  > 

What,  if 'twere  he! — fool— ghosts  glide  noiselessly, 

And  yet,  there's  many  an  old  ti*ue  tale,  that  tells 

How  the  dead  body  shakes  his  white  dry  limbs 

To  terrify  the  murderer.    Florus,  Florus— 

They  leave  me  all  alone.     Oh  !  take  my  life, 

Torture  me  not  with  this  prolong'd  suspense, 

Dread  object  of  my  fear  !  come  let  me  venture, 

Supported  on  my  staff,  to  reach  the  door 

Which  separates  me  from  my  tortures. 

Again  that  step — it  sounds  more  heavily.       (Bursting  open  the  door. 

Hurra  !  what  art  thou  ? 

Ant.  God  of  mercy,  save  me  ! 

Thur.  It  prays. 

Ant.  Poor  phantom-haunted,  sick,  old  man ; 
And  is  it  thou  ? 
^  Thur.  Antonius,  come  nearer, 
I'm  all  alone. 

Ant.  Old  man,  you  frighten'd  me. 

Thur.  Yes !  yes !  you  shrank,  and  trembled  at  my  sight. 

Ant.  How  could  I  but  be  terrified  ?  thy  cries 
Expressed  insanity  and  agony 
Of  conscience — this  might  make  a  pure  heart  shudder. 

Thur.  Where  wert  thou  going  ?  why  with  such  a  light, 
And  stealing  step,  did  you  glide  by  the  door  ? 

Ant.  Poor  man,  I  dreaded  to  disturb  thy  sleep. 

Thur  This  is  derision ;  then  thou  callest  me  poor ; 
Me — me — this  castle's  powerful  master  ;  me 
Thy  patron — thy  protector — who  conceals  thee 
Even  from  his  children ;  at  thy  strange  desire, 
Shelters  the  perpetrator  of  a  crime, 
God  only  knows  how  great ;  for  in  thy  heart 
Some  crime  must  be  concealed,  else  why  this  strict 
And  jealous  secrecy  ?  deny  it  not. 

Ant.  Pure  am  I  in  the  eye  of  God. 

Thu.  Why  then 
This  torturing  concealment  ? 

Ant.  Ask  me  not. 
This  secrecy  but  gratifies  your  wishes ! 

From  the  continuance  of  this  dialogue,  we  learn,  that  in  return  for  the  shel- 
ter, and  concealment  afforded  to  Antonius,  Thuring,  whose  conscience  reproaches 
him  with  the  murder  of  Lother,  the  betrayed  guest,  insists  on  his  client's  interce- 
ding for  him,  by  prayer  and  penance,  and  thus  endeavouring  to  appease  the 
spirit  of  Lother,  which  he  is  persuaded  continues  to  haunt  him. 

Thu.  But  thou  should'st  pray,  pray  zealously,  unceasingly. 
Instead  of  this,  thou  loiterest  away 
The  morning  hours,  in  rambling  through  the  forest. 

Ant.  This  will  no  longer  be  the  case.     Alas ! 
That  I  should  say,  no  longer. 

Thu.  Let  me  know 
The  truth — speak  out — does  not  the  shade  of  Lother 


1821.3  Tlte  Pilgrimage,  a  Drama.  487 

Still  walk  in  that  dark  chamber  ?  Thou  art  shuddering ! 
Hast  thou  ?  thou  must  have  seen  him ;  for  thy  features 
Of  his,  methinks,  have  caught  the  stern  expression, 
And  mirror  his  with  horrible  resemblance. 
Go — go — into  that  dread  and  lonely  chamber. 
Let  me  not  see  again  that  face  of  his  ! — > 
Go !  I  conjure  thee,  go  ! 

Ant.  Peace  be  with  thee.  (Exit. 

Thu.  The  gaze  of  this  mysterious  man  at  times 
Affects  me  with  strange  terror  ;  and  a  word — 
'Tis  wonderful — a  little  word  from  him — 
"  Peace  be  with  thee/' — A  common  phrase  like  this — 
Said  with  that  tone,  will  give  me  back  again, 
My  health  of  spirit,  will  restore  my  life — 
Ha !  Florus  comes !  Quick  bolt  the  door  at  once  ! 

{He  bolts  the  door  through  which  Antonius  has  gone  out) 

Enter  FLORUS. 

Thuring  (to  himself.')  Oh !  how  this  beautiful  and  blooming  fece, 
Reflecting  every  motion  of  the  spirit, 
Reminds  me  of  the  days  that  have  gone  by  ! — 
I  too  was  gay,  and  innocent  as  he ; 
I  too  had  nothing  to  conceal.     It  seems 
When  I  behold  him,  as  if  I  myself 
Came,  in  the  brightness  of  my  better  days, 
Here  to  reproach  the  gray  old  man  with  crimes 
Done  in  the  melancholy  interval ! 

Florus.  My  father,  only  tell  me  in  what  way 
To  lighten  of  their  load  the  dreary  hours ; 
To  make  thee  cheerful, — shall  I  pray  ?  or  sing  ? 
Or  read  some  old  romance  ?  or  chronicle 
Of  days  that 

Thu.  Woe  is  me,  my  son,  far  more 
Than  prayer,  or  song,  romance,  or  chronicle, 
One  word — that  one  word  I've  so  oft  demanded — 
One  word  from  thee,  said  from  thy  heart  sincerely, 
"  /  go  a  pilgrim  to  Jerusalem," 
Will  please  thy  father — save  thy  father's  soul. 
Wilt  thou  refuse  me  ? 

Flo.  Let  me  ask  my  father, 
Does  the  old  warrior  hate  his  peaceful  son 
So  much,  as  thus  o'er  sea  and  land  to  banish  him  ? 

Thu.  Oh  think  not  thus !  my  dear,  dear  son,  best  staff 
Of  my  old  age ;  but  where  does  Irwin  rove  ? 

Flo.  Sir  Winfred  has  set  out  on  a  long  journey, 
And  left  in  Irwin's  charge  his  wife  ind  castle. 

Thu.  Winfred's  a  fool ! 

Flo.  A  fool  say  you,  to  trust 
The  friendship  of  the  honourable  Irwin  ? 

Thu.  Why  think  yourself— Verena  loveliest 
Of  women — Irwin  the  most  valiant  knight. 

Flo.  What  mean  you? 

Thu.  Can  you  not  conceive  ?    'Tis  this 
That  makes  your  brother  to  his  native  land 
Thus  constant. 

Flo.  How  ?  to  guard  his  friend's  effects  ? 

Thu.  Oh  tranquil,  clear,  unsullied  stream  !  my  Florus, 
Why  wilt  thou  not  in  pious  pilgrimage, 
Now  in  the  fragrant  time  of  budding  youth, 
With  ardent  bosom,  seek  the  holy  grave  ? 


488  Horce  Germanicce.     No.XIL 

Flo.  Each  man  has  some  one  object  of  pursuit, 
Which  wins  his  love,  to  which  his  heart  impels  him, 
With  force,  that  will  not  be  opposed,  to  which 
He  eagerly  devotes  his  faculties, 
And  lavishes  his  thoughts  delightedly 
On  the  dear  idol : — Poetry  to  me 
Has  thus  been  consecrated,  rules  my  heart 
Like  a  pervading  passion,  claims  the  homage 
Of  all  my  powers.     Oh  knit  not  thus  thy  brows, 
My  father  !  often  hath  my  song  dispell'd 
Thy  savage  dreams ;  and  often  hath  it  soothed 
Thy  senses,  lulling  thee  to  sweet  oblivion, 
Diffusing  its  own  magic  dreams  around  thee : 
Such,  father,  is  the  charm  of  poetry 
In  every  place  where  there  is  man  to  feel. 
Through  the  wide  world  the  soother's  voice  is  felt, 
And  me  the  charmer  call'd,  and  me  she  summon'd ; 
And  while  with  timid  eye  and  heart  confused, 
Unable  to  interpret  my  own  feelings, 
I  gazed  around  me,  doubtful,  diffident, 
There  met  me  an  old,  pious,  worthy  man, 
Affectionate  and  cheerful ;  he  became 
My  master,  taught  me  the  loved  mystery 
Of  song — instructed  me  how  man  should  seek 
And  learn  to  know  his  God  !    Many  a  rich  tale 
He  told— delightful  narratives  to  hear, 
Flowing  so  sweetly  from  those  reverend  lips  ! 
Oh,  father,  tear  me  not  from  him  ;  in  truth, 
I  feel  my  conduct  different  on  the  days 
I  speak  to  him.     Then  am  I  mild  and  good ; 
Unsteady,  languid,  harsh,  dissatisfied, 
When  I  have  miss'd  the  old  man's  company. 
'Tis  said,  that  in  man's  purest  thoughts  there  is 
Some  evil  mingled.     This  he  drives  away. 
Nothing  unholy  can  endure  his  presence. 
Let  me  each  morning  seek  the  lonely  valley  ; 
FindHhere  the  balm  that  heals  the  soul.     Thus,  father, 
Thy  son's  affections,  and  his  happiness, 
Will  be  secured. 

Thu.  Ha  !  ha !  and  this  is  Virtue  ! 
The  thing  men  boast  of— here  is  one  whose  wishes 
And  outward  seeming  speak  of  purity, 
And  yet  the  devil  is  living  in  his  heart, 
As  in  all  other  men's. 

Flo.  You  chide  me,  father, 
'Tis  but  a  moment  since  you  spoke  with  praise ; 
And  praise  and  blame— so  given — alike  perplex  me. 

Thu.  I  have  not  blamed  thee,  boy — I  bkme  mankind. 
How  they  do  speak  of  crime,  (for  thus  they  call  it) 
And  thou,  who  canst  not  understand  what's  meant 
By  an  allusion  to  the  least  transgression, 
(I  scarce  should  call  it  by  so  harsh  a  name,) 
To  the  least  rashness,  thou  wilt  say  that  Evil 
Dwells  in  thy  heart !    Ye  all  are  hypocrites. 

Flo.  No,  father  !  Of  this  rashness,  as  you  call  it, 
I  nothing  know,  nor  feel  I  self-convicted 
Of  any  thing,  the  thought  of  which  should  stain 
My  cheek  with  shame ;  but  in  the  book  of  God 
We  read,  that  man  is  fallen. 

Thu.  The  book  of  God  ! 
Ay,  thus  the  monks,  your  master  hypocrites 
Will  talk.    And  is  it  there  you  skreen  yourself? 
8 


|~Aug. 


1821/3  The  Pilgrimage,  a  Drama.  ±M 

We  are  forgetting,  however.,  that  a  great  portion  of  the  play  is  still  before 
us,  and  we  must  unwillingly  confine  our  extracts  from  this  scene  to  a  few  sen- 
te  nces  more.  On  Florus's  continuing  to  maintain  the  natural  depravity  of  the 
he  art  of  man,  Thuring  congratulates  himself  on  not  being  naturally  worse 
than  others,  and  represents  his  crimes  as  being  those  of  all  men,  which,  in  his 
case,  owing  to  accidental  circumstances,  were  more  fully  developed. 

Ay,  'tis  those  old  chaotic  elements 

Ill-mix'd  in  man's  original  formation, 

That  are  for  ever  raving.     They  deform 

The  purest  soul— cloud  even  the  heart  of  Floras. 

Within,  within  the  train  is  laid ;  and  if 

The  lightning  from  abroad  should  come,  Oh  who, 

Who  can  resist  it  ?  Kindling  thoughts  are  changed 

To  fiery  acts ;  and  this  is  accident. 

Oh,  we  are  all  the  same — alike  in  nature  ; 

Essentially  alike  ;  guiltless  or  guilty-- 

Let  none  of  woman  born  abhor  his  brother  ! 

The  son  of  God  upon  the  cross  hath  died 

For  us ;  and  to  his  grave  a  pilgrimage 

Atones  for  all ;  I  am  too  old  and  weak  ; 

Then  journey  in  my  stead,  my  dearest  son. 

But,  why  I  urge  the  point  so  anxiously, 

I  should  inform  thee-^listen  to  my  crimes  ! 
Flor.  Oh !  speak  not,  I  entreat  thee. 

Thu.  I  must  tell 

This  tale  of  crime,  or  rather  misery — 
The  evil  of  my  nature  was  call'd  forth, 
By  accident,  to  light — the  light  of  hell ! 
Condemn  me  not,  thy  heart  is.  not  secure, 
Its  wicked  will  may  ripen  into  act — 
The  fiend  may  make  his  habitation  there. 
A  friend  came  hither  from  a  distant  land, 
One  whom  I  loved  and  valued,  and  whose  love 
Had  well  been  proved — companions  we  had  been 
In  youth's  gay  morning — wearied  he  did  come, 
And  faint,  and  follow'd  close  by  murderous  foes — • 
Came  to  his  old  friend's  home  to  seek  for  refuge ; 
Oh,  how  the  gates  flew  open  to  receive  him  ! 
Oh,  how  they  closed  against  his  hot  pursuers  ! 
His  mind,  that  would  not  bend  to  man's  controul, 
His  language  free,  his  proud  and  princely  bearing; 
Drew  down  in  vengeance  on  that  noble  head 
The  curses  of  the  Church,  the  Empire's  ban — 
He  brought  with  him  a  heavy  sum  of  gold, 
With  which,  in  days  to  come,  in  happier  days, 
He  hoped  to  build  once  more  his  fallen  castle. 
That  gold  was  laid  for  safety  in  my  chamber — 
The  devil  made  his  bed  upon  that  gold, 
I  saw  him  lying  there  and  grinning  at  me — 
Shrink  not  with  horror  yet — what  crime  was  yet 
Committed,  Florus  ?  that  is  yet  to  come. 
Oh,  Florus,  if  hereafter  you  should  build 
A  castle,  build  it  not  too  high,  nor  place  it 
Above  the  steep  and  rugged  precipice  ; 
For,  on  the  cold  and  scaring  heights,  the  brain 
Will  whirl ;  and  while  it  whirls,  the  evil  spirit 
Unseen  wheels  round  in  the  same  giddy  circle, 
And  if  one  chance  to  go  there  with  a  friend 

Flo.  Oh,  father,  but  you  did  nnf  ffn  ! 

VOL.  IX.  3  Q 


490  Horae  Germanicae.     No.  XII.  CAug- 

Thuring  completes  the  confession  of  his  guilt,  which  closes  the  scene.  The 
next  is  in  the  garden  of  Winfred's  castle.  While  Irwin  is  expressing  his  love 
to  Verena,  a  messenger  arrives,  who  announces  the  death  of  her  husband,  who 
is  very  opportunely  killed  by  a  hear. 


SECOND  ACT. 


Scene — A  Valley  near  Thuring  s  Castle. 
THUKING  sitting  on  a  rock,  IKWIN  standing  before  him. 

Thu.  Well,  well !  whate'er  they  say  of  rhyme  and  song, 
And  sound  of  harp,  and  how  the  poet  s  art 
Subdues  the  soul  of  man  through  all  the  world, 
The  sword  is  still  the  noble's  proper  weapon, 
His  only  honourable  ornament ! 
Why,  what  are  all  these  pretty  lullabies 
Of  Florus's,  compared  with  the  delight 
That  I  receive  from  such  a  sight  as  this  ? 
My  son  array 'd  in  splendid  arms — the  colours 
Of  our  old  family  once  more  display'd — 
And  at  thy  heels  the  tinkling  spurs  of  gold — 
In  yonder  copse  the  impatient  war-horse  panting, 
Gazing  with  eager  eye  towards  thee,  as  longing 
To  bear  his  princely  master  to  the  battle — 
Even  I  myself,  as  thou  didst  lead  me  hither, 
Felt  in  my  veins  again  the  heroic  blood 
Burning — the  frost  of  age  dissolved  away, 
When  I  but  touched  thy  warrior  arms — the  thoughts, 
Whose  horrid  presence  wither'd  me,  are  gone — 
Thou  art,  indeed,  old  Thuring's  genuine  son  ! 

Irw.  Thus  be  it  ever,  father — may  thy  youth 
Return,  restored  in  thy  son's  deeds  of  glory — 
And  every  morning  shall  this  well-knit  arm 
Win  for  thy  brow  another  wreath  of  honour.      N 
Life  thus  made  happy — and  when  life  is  over, 
The  high-arched  vault,  where  we  must  lie  at  last, 
Hung  round  with  shields,  which  tell  of  high  achievements, 
And  many  a  well- won  banner  proudly  streaming. 

Thu.  Would  death  were  come  !  but,  oh  !  beyond  the  grave 
There  is  a  land  that  rings  not  with  the  fame 
Of  warriors  !  where  none  speak  of  shield  or  standard — 
Irwin,  Eternity  hi  hell  is  long — 
Fearfully  long— long  inexpressibly  ! 

Irw.  Who  prays  more  piously  than  gentle  Woman  ? 
Is  there  a  saint,  whose  voice  Heaven  hears  more  soon 
Than  the  effusions  of  a  female  heart, 
Breathing  in  tender  prayer  ? — thou  hast  no  daughter — 
Oh,  let  me  give  a  daughter  to  thy  house, 
One  who,  with  violence  of  burning  prayer, 
Will  open  heaven  to  thee  ! 

Thu.  And  'twas  for  this 
That  thou  to-day  didst  offer  me  thine  arm — 
For  this  invitedst  me  to  breathe  the  air 
Of  the  cold  morn — for  this  didst  flatter  me — 
Is  Winfred's  widow  this  selected  daughter  ? 

Thuring  makes  the  performance  of  the  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land  by 
Irwin  the  condition  of  his  assent  to  the  proposed  union ;  and  the  son,  equally 
determined,  leaves  Thuring,  expressing  his  resolution  never  to  undertake  such 
a  journey,  till  Verena  becomes  his  wife,  or  he  has  wept  over  her  grave.  The 
next  scene  introduces  Verena. 


1821.;]  Tlte  Pilgrimage,  a  .Drama.  401 

Verena,  (not  observing  Thuring).  Whisper  not  thus  reproach- 

ingly,  ye  branches ! 

Gaze  not  on  me  with  such  a  conscious  look, 
Ye  wildflowers  of  the  wood !  The  tall  grass  seems, 
As  the  breeze  comes,  with  an  upbraiding  voice, 
To  speak  of  me  !  How  is  it  that  every  thing 
Seems  still  distinctly  saying,  "  Irwin — Irwin," 
Repeating  always  the  loved  dreaded  name — 
And  my  heart  echoes  it  unceasingly. 

Oh,  Wiufred  !  from  thy  cold  and  narrow  bed 
Appear,  and  chill  this  frantic  feverish  passion — 
Ghost  of  the  dead,  arise !  and  from  the  world, 
Drive  to  the  pensive  solitary  cloister 
Thy  wife,  unfaithful  to  thy  memory — 
Force  from  those  burning  lips  a  binding  vow 
Inviolable — immure  me  in  the  darkness, 
The  dungeon  dreariness  of  the  cold  convent — 
Compel  me,  for  my  soul  shrinks  back  in  horror 
Irresolute — my  sinful  bosom  feels 
Too  deep,  too  Render  love  for  the  young  hero, 
The  beautiful  Irwin. 

Thuring  appears,  reproaches  Verena  bitterly,  and  succeeds  in  affecting  her 
imagination  so  much,  that  she  at  last  consents  to  gratify  him,  by  taking  mea- 
sures to  have  it  believed  that  she  has  died,  and  by  remaining  a  prisoner  in  his 
castle.  She  thus  hopes  to  escape  the  passion  of  Irwin,  and  live  mt>re  entirely 
separated  from  the  world,  than  she  could  be  in  a  convent.  Thuring,  by  this 
means,  secures  the  performance  of  the  pilgrimage,  and  also  has  the  advantage 
of  Verena's  prayers  in  addition  to  those  of  Antonius.  He  is,  however,  mortified 
by  the  determination  of  Florus,  who,  now  that  he  has  lost  his  master,  is  as  eager 
for  the  pilgrimage,  as  he  was  before  averse  to  it.  The  father,  whose  wishes  would 
be  fully  gratified  by  the  pilgrimage  of  one  of  his  sons,  is  unable  to  prevail  on 
either  of  them  to  relinquish  the  pursuit. 

Thuring  to  Florus.  I  must  confess  to  thee,  my  son,  that  oft, 
Oft  as  I  wish'd  this  pilgrimage  of  thine — 
And  'twas  my  theme  by  day, — and  when  I  slept, 
Dreams  mock'd  me  with  its  vain  accomplishment — 
Oft  as  I  blamed  thy  lingering,  thy  refusal- 
Yet  now,  when  I  behold  thee  standing  here, 
Prepared  for  travel,  'tis  with  grief  I  gaze 
Upon  my  son — with  heaviness  of  heart — 
And  shall  I  lose  thee — thee,  who  still  hast  been 
My  gentle,  kind,  unweariable  attendant — 
Thee,  the  reflected  image  of  my  youth ! 
And  shall  I  lose  thee,  and  survive,  my  Florus  ? 

Flo.  Hast  thou  not  said  that  thou  art  apprehensive 
For  thy  soul's  dear  salvation  ?  that  thy  hope 
Was  rested  on  this  pilgrimage  ? 

Thu.  There  my  own  weapon  hast  thou  turn'd  against  me  ; 
Well,  be  it  so !  I  lose  thee,  then,  my  Florus  !         {Embracing'  him. 

Flo.  Oh,  father,  if  thou  always  wert  so  mild ! 

Tku.  That  cannot  be ;  however,  I  may  strive  !— 
Hell  often  whispers  me  in  gloom  and  vapour, 
And  often  will  it  rave  perceptibly, 
And  then  my  wild  eyes  sparkle  with  strange  fire, 
And  then  my  lips  are  loud  with  blasphemy . — 
Go  then,  my  son,  redeem  thy  father's  soul : 


402  llur<£  Gtf/nanicit'.     No. 

IHWIN  enters,  alludes  to  Verena's  death,  and  announces  his  intended  journey. 

Irw.  Then  to  the  Holy  Land  we  both  will  go, 
But  not  together — Warrior  and  Pilgrim 
Would  only  prove  unsuitable  companions. 
Let  him,  if  so  he  loves,  in  palmer-weeds 
Wander  through  foreign  lands  !  In  such  a  dress, 
In  such  demure  and  pensive  guise,  I  would 
Go  mad. — Farewell,  I  follow  my  own  way ! 

Thn.  Irwin,  my  dear,  my  first-born  son,  oh,  go  not  \ 

Irw.  Here  to  remain  !  to  see  of  Winfred's  castle 
The  dear-loved  battlements  !__ to  rove  the  woods 
In  solitude,  where  I  was  wont  to  meet  her 
Lingering  till  I  came  !  on  every  bank 
To  weep  upon  the  flowers  ehe  loved, — oh,  no  ! 
This  cannot  be.     I  must  away, — must  hear 
Lances,  and  swords,  and  heathen  scymitars, 
Ring  round  my  head  ;  this  only  will  restore  me 
To  rest,  or  else  the  honourable  grave  ! — 

Thu.  Oh,  Irwin,  Irwin,  can'st  thou  not  remain  ? 
And  yet  I  know  a  way,  but  dare  not  use  it, — 
One  offering  will  not  satisfy  Heaven's  justice  ; 
I  must  lose  both, — must  linger  here  deserted, — 
I  cannot  bear  the  dreams,  that  haunt  and  scare  me  ; 
And,  therefore,  must  I  seal  ray  lips, — must  send 
All  that  I  love  away, — must  sacrifice, 
In  this  dread  pilgrimage,  all  that  remains. 
Depart.— 

Flo.  I  hear  already  the  glad  waves 
Welcoming  me,  with  animating  voice  ! — 

Irw.  Travel  by  land  for  me — its  many  dangers  ! 
Through  many  a  hostile  country  will  I  go, 
Search  out  each  day  some  desperate  enterprise, 

That  may  conclude  this  miserable  life. 

*  *  *  * 

Thu,  My  sons,  it  was  a  brilliant  day,  when  I 
First  wore  a  warrior's  arms. 
Like  thee,  my  noble  Irwin,  I  was  strong ; 
Like  thee,  my  gentle  Florus,  kind,  romantic ; 

Like  both,  was  young, 

And  in  this  very  chamber 
My  father  stood,  a  grey  hair'd  man,  and  old 
As  is  your  father  now,  but  stronger  far, 
And  far  more  cheerful, — he  was  ever  cheerful, 
—He  might  be  cheerful ! — then  he  bade  me  look 
Upon  the  portraits  of  our  ancestors, 
Told  me  their  deeds,  and  dwelt  on  every  name  ! 
Then  did  he  call  me  nobleman  and  knight ; 
And,  as  he  spoke,  the  blood  of  the  old  heroes 
Burn'd  in  my  glowing  frame.     Alas  !  that  fire 
In  these  dead  ashes  now  no  longer  glimmers  ! 
My  children,  I  cannot  command  his  strong 
And  animating  language  ;  weak  am  I 
In  words, — a  poor,  old,  miserable  man  ; 
And  ye  must  leave  your  father's  halls,  ungifted 
With  benefits,  which  are  not  mine  to  give  ; 
But,  as  he  blest  me,  I  may  on  my  sons 
Bestow  my  blessing  : — Bend  your  knees,  my  children, — 
A  father's  blessing  rest  upon  your  heads  ! 

Thuring's  frenzy  again  seizes  him  ;  he  fears  that  a  blessing  bestowed  by  him 
will  become  a  curse,  and  call  down  destruction  upon  his  children  ;  he  drives 


J821/]  The  Pilgrimage,  a  Drama.  W3 

them  from  his  presence.     An  interview  between  him  and  Verena^  who  comes 
Jo  accomplish  her  extorted  vow,  closes  the  act. 

The  next  scene  is  a  valley  in  Arabia  Felix.     On  the  stage  are  seen  several 
scattered  groupes  of  youths  and  maidens,  attendants  of  Hormisdas,  a  magician. 

A  Youth.  Where  the  green  hill  softly  swelling, 
Rises  with  a  gentle  slope, 
Gladly  do  I  stand  and  gaze — 
A  noble  prospect ;  fields  in  cheerful  bloom, 
And  lakes  far  spread — gay  groves,  and  gardens  graceful ! 
There  I  linger,  there  1  gather 
The  brightest  drops  of  the  morning  dew, 
The  first  that  gleam  in  the  ruddy  dawn ! 
Buried  deep  in  his  lone  chambers, 
Wise  Hormisdas,  with  a  spell, 
Will  charm,  and  change  them  into  beads  of  pearl 
For  Zilia's  locks,  for  Zilia's  arms  and  breast. 

A  Maiden.  My  occupation  is  not  less  delightful  f 
Where  the  sunny  stream  flows  brightest, 
With  a  murmur  that  is  music, 
Many  a  colour'd  pebble  sparkling 
Through  the  gay  transparent  water 
Smiles  to  me  invitingly ; 
Down  I  dip  my  white  arm,  seeking 
The  stained  stone,  and  guard  securely 
In  my  hand  the  imprison'd  fluid, — 
The  cold  stream  of  stirring  crystal 
That  surrounds  the  brilliant  pebble, 
Gifting  it  with  added  lustre ; 
And  then  Hormisdas,  with  a  steady  gaze, 
Will  charm  the  circling  water  into  stone, — 
A  diamond  gem,  reflecting  the  clear  light 
From  its  calm  surface  crystalline, 
For  Zilia's  hair,  for  Zilia's  arms  and  breast ! 

A  Youth.  1  know  the  myrtle  copse,  where  hide 
The  sweetest  flowers,  too  delicate — 
Too  tender,  to  endure 
The  strong  rays  of  the  sun  : — 
There  the  brightest  butterflies, 
Whose  wings  of  purple  and  of  gold 
Shine  with  surpassing  brilliancy, 
Are  wandering,  gay  and  welcome  guests. 
Thither  with  light  step  I  steal, — 
I  catch  them  on  the  flowers'  soft  breast ; 
But  the  flower  I  do  not  break. 
Nor  wound  the  fluttering  lover's  wing,— 
From  both  the  golden  dust  I  steal, 
Touching  them  softly  with  the  plume 
I  plunder  from  the  peacock's  train, — 
The  tender  dust  I  bear  away. 
Then  from  Hormisdas'  lips,  there  comes, 
Slow  breathing  forth,  a  magic  song, 
By  all  the  glittering  atoms  felt  : 
They  move,  and  shining  in  the  silken  web, 
And  shining  in  the  thin  light  veil, 
Are  soon  a  graceful  ornament 
For  Zilia's  hair,  for  Zilia's  arms  and  breast ! 
A  Maiden.  O'er  the  happy  plains  for  ever 
Comes  the  breath  of  amber  fragrance, — 
A  sea  of  sweets,  that  soothes  the  spirit, 
Restores  the  powers  that  earth  has  wasted, — 
Diffuses  bliss  unutterable ; 


Horce  Gcrmanica;.     No.  XII.  CAug- 

But,  from  what  rich  flowers  delicious, 
From  what  tree,  whose  tears  are  perfume, 
Flows  the  aromatic  current  ? 
Who  can  tell  its  secret  fountain  ? 
I  can  tell  it ; — I  have  found  it, — 
And  I  fill  my  magic  phial 
With  the  prize  invaluable  : 
Hormisdas  bends,  and  gazes  in  the  glass, — 
The  unseen  gales  of  fragrance  rise 
And  fly  impatiently,  to  breathe 
Round  Zilia's  hair,  round  Zilia's  graceful  form  ! 

A  Maiden.  Oh,  what  a  happy  lot  is  mine  ! 
My  occupation  all  is  cheerful  play, 
And  after  occupation,  sweet  repose — 

Reward  of  happy  toils  ! 
How  happy  am  I  here,  removed  from  all 
That  once  I  loved,  an  ignorant  poor  child, — 
The  gloomy  wood,  and  the  moss-cover'd  cottage  ! 
The  tale  my  mother  told, 
(Poor  woman,  only  rich  in  fairy  tales,) 
Has  been  to  me  most  splendidly  accomplished : 
I  slept  one  evening  on  her  breast, — 
There  came  to  me  a  wond'rous  Dream, 
That  half  unclosed  my  eyes, 
And  gave  me  strength  to  run ; — 
It  led  me  far  away, 
Long  did  my  mother  sleep, 
And  wept  when  she  awoke, 
To  find  her  child  was  gone  ! 
And  I  beheld  her  tears  ! 
— But  the  Dream  Hormisdas  sent 
Enticed  me  to  this  pleasant  place, 
To  one  eternal  round  of joy ; 
Far  away  my  native  cottage 
Lies,  forgotten,  unregretted, 
In  the  gloom  of  poverty  ! 
And  I  play  with  pearls  and  diamonds, 
Happy,  happy  girl  that  I  am  ! 

A  Youth.  From  the  lofty  war-proof  fortress, 
Where,  from  the  high  hill,  in  splendour 
Shine  the  walls  and  battlements, 
Commanding  a  wide  range  of  prospect, 
I  ran,  a  happy  child,  delighted 
To  wander  in  the  pleasant  greenwood  ; 
I  thought  to  enjoy  the  huntsman's  pleasures. 
Which  I  oft  had  seen  my  father 
Seeking  with  his  boon  companions  ! — 
But  how  sweet,  how  heart-refreshing, 
Were  the  scenes  that  in  the  forest 
Sooth'd  my  captivated  senses ; 
All  that  wide  and  shadowy  meadow, 
Beneath  the  roof  of  meeting  branches, 
Was  echoing  a  stream  of  music, 
That  flow'd  forth,  as  from  a  fountain, 
From  the  breathing  lips  of  H  YMNUS  ; 
Who  there  was  standing  visibly  ; 
He  held  me  with  his  giant  arm  ; 
He  flatter'd  me  with  words  seducing, 
From  those  sweet  lips,  red  as  roses, 
And  I  was  his — a  willing  captive. 
He  bore  me  from  my  native  meadows, 
Up  into  the  blue  sky  starry, 


1821-3  The  Pilgrimage,  a  Drami.  405 

Holy  Night's  serene  dominions  ; 

Gliding  fast,  with  unfelt  motion, 

I  sank  down  'mong  flowers  and  fragrance, 

In  the  garden  of  Hormisdas  ! 

And  willingly  do  I  resign  the  chace, 

And  all  its  pleasures ;  lingering  happy  here, 

Singing  my  idle  songs  'mong  fragrant  flowers  ! 


Maiden.  I  was  playing 
In  the  garden,  on  the  roof 
Of  our  house,  in  Ascalon  ! 
When  a  butterfly  came  humming 
O'er  the  flowers,  and  I  was  tempted 
To  follow  the  bright  flutterer, 
And  the  slender  sounds  were  woven 
To  a  web  of  gold,  that,  rustling, 
Lifted  me  with  impulse  airy  ! 
And  they  then  were  changed  to  winglets 
That  grew  upon  my  shoulders  graceful. 
Hither  I  move  to  these  delightful  gardens, 
Happy  in  heart ;  and  think  of  Ascalon 
With  scorn — the  city  that  the  stranger  seeks, 
The  ornament  and  glory  of  the  East ! 

A  Youth.  I  know  the  land  of  the  evening  sun — 
The  fields  where  towers  the  giant  oak — 
The  countries  of  the  cloud  and  storm, 
Whose  lakes  are  often  roof 'd  with  ice  ; 
Where  the  morning  rises  chill, 
And  the  night,  from  dreary  wing, 
Showers  hoar-frost  on  the  shrinking  flowers ; 
And  there  are  warriors  to  be  seen,  in  arms 
Loud  sounding,  splendid  heavy  arms  of  steel ! 
Swords  in  their  hands,  unlike  the  scymitar ; 
The  bkde  unbent,  and  double-edged,  cuts  straight 
Into  the  faces  of  the  enemy  ; 
And  on  their  heads  the  heavy  visor'd  helm, 
From  which  a  cloud  of  many  colour'd  plumes 
Streams  in  the  playful  breeze  ; 
And  my  friends  wish'd  that  I  should  be  a  soldier. 
Already  had  I  learned  to  bend 
The  war-horse  to  my  will ; 
Already,  with  an  active  arm, 
Could  sway  the  warrior's  sword ; 
But,  as  I  rested  after  my  first  battle, 
There  came,  with  friendly  words,  a  gray  old  man ; 
He  sate  beside  me.     From  his  lips  stream'd  forth 
A  wondrous  tale.     Unceasingly  it  stream'd ; 
Holding  enchanted  my  surrender'd  soul, 
Till  the  sweet  stars  came  gemming  the  blue  sky ; 
And  then  he  rose,  but  still  the  tale  continued ; 
And  on  we  wander 'd,  and  the  narrative 
Was  still  unfinish'd,  and  we  reach'd  the  shore  ; 
I  following  him,  unable  to  resist 
The  magic  of  his  voice  ! 
Rapidly,  rapidly  he  went, 
Rapidly,  rapidly  I  follow'd  him  ; 
I  threw  away  the  shield  that  burthen'd  me, 
I  threw  away  from  me  the  encumbering  sword, 
And  we  embark'd,  and  still  the  tale  continued 
All  day  !  all  night !   The  moon  did  wex  and  wane, 


496  HOTOE  Germanicw.     No.  XII. 

I  cannot  tell  how  many  times,  while  he 

Was  busy  with  his  story ;  while  my  sold 

Lived  on  its  magic  ;  and  I  felt  no  want 

Of  food,  or  drink,  or  sleep.    At  last  we  came 

Here  to  Hormisdas,  the  magician's  garden  ; 

And  when  we  reach'd  this  silver  rivulet, 

The  tale  was  ended — the  old  man  was  vanish'd. 

And  now,  for  iron  arms  I  wear 

The  soft  silk,  light  and  delicate, 

And  feel  no  wounds  but  those  of  love  ! 

Their  songs  are  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  FLORUS.     They  conceal 
themselves  among  the  trees,  while  he  comes  forward. 

Floras.  Enchanted  vale,  at  every  step  thy  magic 
Still  tempts  me  onward,  while  my  way  becomes 
More  and  more  intricate.    Each  turn  presents 
Some  object  to  amuse  or  win  the  senses, 
Varying  eternally,  like  some  romance 
That  charms  the  mind  with  ever-new  delusion, 
By  constant  change  of  scene  and  incident, 
And  thus  dost  thou  enchant  the  soul,  for  ever 
Promising  pleasure ;  and,  with  lavish  bounty, 
For  ever  yielding  more  than  thou  hast  promised  ! 
Where,  where  am  I  ? — Where  shall  my  wanderings  end  ? 
When  was  it  that  I  lost  my  way  ? 

Days,  weeks, 

Methinks,  have  past  since  then,  and  yet  I  meant 
But  to  have  rested  in  the  fragrant  shade 
A  little  while,  and  then  pursue  my  way  ; 
But  step  on  step,  scarce  consciously,  I've  wander 'd 
Through  scenes  of  beauty  irresistible. 
Ay,  speak  of  prudence,  ye  who  never  stirr'd 
From  home.     Ay,  speak  of  virtuous  resistance 
In  your  cold  countries,  destitute  of  beauty. 
Ye  cannot  tell  the  charms  that  tempt  man  here. 
What  a  rich  breath  have  I  inhaled  !  The  air 
Sporting  o'er  beds  of  fragrance— Oh,  I  drink, 
In  deep  long  draughts,  the  sweet  intoxication  ! 
A  butterfly,  from  dark  imprisonment 
Released,  enjoying  light,  and  life,  and  love. 

Florus  is  soon  surrounded  by  the  company,  of  whom  the  preceding  songs  have 
given  so  full  an  account.  They  are  delighted  and  amused  by  his  beauty,  his 
foreign  manners,  and  unusual  dress — they  lead  him  away  to  Zilia. 

Irwin  also  arrives  in  Arabia ;  and  while  he  is  resting  in  a  wood,  a  heathen 
warrior  seizes  his  horse,  which  he  is  very  unceremoniously  about  to  appropri- 
ate. In  the  combat  which  ensues,  Irwin  is  the  conqueror — he  learns  from  his 
vanquished  adversary  that  his  defeat  has  interrupted  an  enterprize  in  which  he 
was  engaged.  His  previous  good  fortune  had  convinced  the  misbeliever,  that  he 
was  the  knight,  destined  to  slay  the  magician  Hormisdas,  and  release  Zilia,  who, 
with  several  of  the  most  beautiful  women  of  Asia,  was  confined  in  his  castle. 
Astrologers  and  prophets  had  declared  that  the  spell  could  only  be  broken  by 
the  bravest  warrior  in  flfe  East.  Irwin  spares  his  adversary's  life,  and  takes 
him  as  his  guide  to  Hormisdas's  palace,  as  he  is  himself  determined  to  essay 
the  adventure.  They  arrive  before  the  palace  of  Hormisdas.  Irwin  exclaims, 

What  a  strange  building  !  Neither  doors  nor  windows  ! 
On  every  side  a  circle  of  high  walls 
That  shine  like  silver — and  how  smooth.     No  mark 
•  Of  workman's  hand — no  trace  of  tool  ;  but  all 
Polish 'd,  as  if  'twere  molten  in  a  furnace. 


1821-3  The  Pilgrimage,  a  Drama.  *97 

But  where  could  its  inhabitants  have  enter'd  ? 
Is  there  no  opening,  whence  their  eyes  may  gaze 
On  the  sun's  lovely  light — on  the  blue  sky  ? 
How  can  their  lips  imbibe  the  enlivening  breath 
Restorative,  from  meadow  or  from  grove  ? 
For,  without  this,  I  cannot  think  a  beast, 
Much  less  a  man,  can  live  in  happiness. 

Abdul.  Be  not  misled,  brave  knight,  this  is  no  onore 
Than  a  mere  mockery,  to  cheat  the  senses. 
'Tis  but  a  bright  delusive  cloud  you  gaze  on, 
That  skreens  from  sight  the  high  arched  gates  and  windows  ! 

The  next  scene  represents  the  garden  of  Hormisdas's  palace.  In  the  back 
ground  is  a  watch-tower,  from  the  roof  of  which  Hormisdas  contemplates  the 
stars.  Zilia  is  seen  in  the  garden  below. 

Zilia.  Before  the  calm  breath  of  this  silent  night 
My  cares  are  past  away.     The  strange  delusion 
That  dazzled  and  enslaved  my  soul  so  long, 
Is  vanish'd.     It  was  not  our  pleasant  dance 
Under  the  plane  trees,  near  the  smiling  lake — 
'Twas  love,  felt  deeply,  never  felt  before  ; 
'Twas  Florus  that  has  fill'd  my  breast  with  life. 
Oh,  where  my  love,  where  dost  thou  wander  now  ? 
Scarce  may  I  dare  to  breathe  a  sigh  to  thee. 
On  the  old  tower,  in  the  white  moonshine,  stands 
The  dread  magician,  reading  in  the  stars 
The  secret  wishes  that  employ  the  heart  ; 
Perhaps  he'll  send  one  of  his  spirits  here 
To  punish  me,  because  I  love  this  youth. 
Cease,  treacherous  tears,  or  fall  in  secret  here 
Upon  the  dark  green  myrtle's  dewy  leaf. 
The  faithfnl  myrtle-leaf  will  not  betray  thee. 

Hormisdas.  (Above.)  Ye  golden  glories  of  the  firmament ! 
Ye  faithful  friends  !  Ye  silent  counsellors  ! 
Your  warning  light  still  intimates  some  danger ; 
Yet  if  'tis  true,  (and  who  can  doubt  its  truth 
That  understands  the  language  of  your  looks ;) 
If  it  be  true,  that  I  interpret  rightly 
Your  secret  meaning,  I  need  fear  no  longer. 
Even  at  this  moment,  the  dark  womb  of  Earth 
Hath  closed  upon  the  Black  Knight — the  Avenger — 
The  Adversary,  named  by  Destiny. — 
What  can  this  mean,  but  that  my  foe  is  dead  ? 

Hormisdas  continues  his  astrological  inquiries  till  the  appearance  of  Irwin, 
who  having  entered  the  castle  by  a  subterraneous  passage,  explains  the  language 
of  the  stars— he  kills  Hormisdas— the  enchantments,  as  in  all  such  stories,  are  at 
an  end.  Irwin,  however,  with  an  inconstancy  which  we  are  afraid  will  be  con- 
sidered quite  unpardonable  in  the  devoted  lover  of  Verena,  asserts  his  right  as 
conqueror  to  the  possession  of  Zilia.  She  and  Florus  fly  to  Europe ;  but  have 
scarcely  arrived  at  Thuring's  castle,  when  they  are  overtaken  by  Irwin.  Thu- 
ring's  raving  fit  returns,  when  he  sees  both  his  sons,  and  discovers  that  the  pil- 
grimage is  still  unaccomplished.  The  reader  anticipates  the  conclusion  of  the 
drama.  Irwin  is  reconciled  to  the  loss  of  Zilia,  by  the  re-appearance  of  Verena. 
The  hermit  Antonius,  is  Lothen,  the  betrayed  guest.  Thuring's  conscience  is 
thus  relieved  from  the  weight  of  his  supposed  guilt,  and  he  dies  uniting  the 
hands  of  his  sons  and  their  brides. 


VOL.  IX.  3  R 


198  Ode  on  the  Olden  Time.  CAug- 

ODE  ON  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 

Somnia,  terrores  magicos,  miracula,  sagas, 
Nocturnes  Lemures,  portentaque  Thessala. — Ho  a. 

THE  skies  are  blue ;  the  moon  reclines 
Above  the  silent  grove  of  pines, 

As  if  devoid  of  motion ; 
The  ivied  abbey  frowns  forlorn  ; 
And  stilly  to  the  ear  are  borne 

The  murmurs  of  the  ocean. 

The  nightshade  springs  beside  the  walk  ; 
Luxuriantly  the  hemlock  stalk 

Expands  its  leaves  unthwarted, 
Above  the  monumental  stones, 
Above  the  epitaphs,  and  bones, 

Of  beings  long  departed. 

No  human  dreams  disturb  the  soul, 
Whose  thoughts,  like  giant-billows,  roll 

'Mid  darksome  ages  hoary  ; 
When  light  upon  the  human  mind 
Dawn'd  faintly,  and  the  world  was  blind 

With  superstitious  story. 

When  fairies,  with  their  silver  bells, 
Were  habitants  of  earthly  dells, 

All  sheathed  in  emerald  dresses : 
,      And  mermaids,  from  the  rock,  were  seen 
At  sea,  and  every  wave  between, 

Combing  their  dewy  tresses. 

When  wither'd  hags  their  orgies  kept, 
'Mid  darksome  night ;  when  Nature  slept, 

And  tempests  threaten'd  danger ; 
Sheer,  from  the  precipice  to  throw 
Down — down  among  the  rocks  below, 

The  lorn,  benighted  stranger. 

When  grim,  before  the  vision  stalk'd 
Such  figures,  as  no  longer  walk'd 

The  upper  world,  and  faces 
Of  men,  that  on  their  deathbeds  lay, 
As  Twilight  spread  her  shades  of  grey, 

Were  seen  in  desart  places. 

Then,  glittering  to  the  morning  sun, 
With  casque,  and  sable  morion, 

And  greaves,  and  cuirass  glancing, 
The  knight,  and  vassals  at  his  call, 
On  battle  feud  forsook  the  hall, 

A  thousand  chargers  prancing. 

Dark  deeds  were  done — and  blood  was  shed 
In  secret — and  the  spirit  led 

To  fury,  and  to  madness  ; 

Hearths  quench'd  ;  and  black  walls  smoking  round  ; 
And  children's  blood  upon  the  ground  ; 

And  widows  left  in  sadness. 


1821-3  Ode  on  the  Olden  Time.  499 

Then  from  her  cloister  wall,  the  Nun 
Gazed  anxious  toward  the  setting  sun, 

Descending  o'er  the  ocean  ; 
Till  startled  by  the  deep- toned  bell, 
That  summon'd  her  from  lonely  cell 

To  even-tide  devotion. 

Then  from  the  tilt,  and  tournay,  came 
The  youthful  knight,  with  soul  of  flame, 

His  lady's  rights  defending ; 
The  glove  upon  his  cap  on  high  ; 
And  love  unto  his  falcon  eye 

Redoubled  ardour  lending. 

Or  at  the  Louvre — while  his  steed 
Shot  forward  with  the  lightning's  speed, 

'Mid  courtly  crowds  assembled, 
The  gallant  bore  the  ring  away, 
And  turning  to  his  mistress  gay, 

Their  meeting  glances  trembled. 

Now  all  have  pass'd — their  halls  are  bare—- 
The ravens  only  harbour  there ; 

And  restless  owls  are  whooping 
Around  the  vaults,  as  if  to  bring, 
Day's  rosy  lustre  withering, — 

Departed  spirits  trooping. 

A  giant  ruin  ! — grimly  frown 

Its  walls  of  grey,  and  roof  of  brown  ; 

Its  watch-towers  dimly  throwing 
Their  shadows  in  the  pure  moonlight 
Far  from  them,  and  to  wizard  night 

A  doubled  power  bestowing. 

No  voice  is  heard — 'tis  silent  all, 

The  steed  hath  vanish'd  from  the  stall ; 

The  hawk  and  hound  have  perish'd  ; 
The  orchard  trees  have  all  grown  wild ; 
The  flowers  and  shrubs  for  turf  are  piled 

O'er  all  who  fondly  cherish'd. 

With  hound  in  leash,  and  hawk  in  hood, 
The  forester,  through  pale  and  wood, 

From  morn  till  eve  was  roaming 
'Mid  scenes  majestically  wild — 
Dark  mountains  huge,  o'er  mountains  piled, 

Begirt  with  torrents  foaming. 

And,  o'er  the  precipices  bleak, 

At  pride  of  place,  the  eagle's  shriek, 

Beneath  the  tempest  scowling, 
Dismal  he  heard,  afar  from  men, 
In  wastes  where  foxes  made  their  den, 

And  famish'd  wolves  were  howling. 

Hark ! — 'twas  the  boding  owl  that  scream'd — 
Too  long  my  spirit  hast  thou  dream'd 

Of  ages,  far  reclining 
Amid  the  shadows  of  the  past  ; 
And,  fitful  as  the  lightning  blast, 

On  wakeful  memory  shining. 


500  Ode  on  the  Olden  Time. 

Thou,  holy  moon,  hast  seen  them  nil, 
While  clouds  came  o'er  thee,  but  their  thrall 

Is  passing,  an<l  in  glory, 
Stedfastly  on  the  verdant  ground 
Thou  shinest — on  the  graves  around, 

And  mouldering  arches  hoary  ! 

'Tis  pleasant  to  revert  the  eye 
From  life  in  its  reality — 

From  living  things  around  us — 
And,  for  a  season,  break  the  chain, 
Which,  ah  !  too  soon  will  knit  again — 

With  which  the  world  hath  bound  us. 

The  grassy  court — the  mossy  wall — 
Vault — bartizan — and  turret  tall — 

With  weeds  that  have  o'ergrown  them 
Though  silent  as  the  desart  air, 
Yet  have  their  eloquence,  and  bear 

Morality  upon  them. 

Yes !  these  are  talismans,  that  break 
The  sleep  of  visions,  and  awake 

Long  silent  recollections ; 
That  kindle  in  the  mental  eye, 
Romantic  feelings  long  gone  by, 

And  glowing  retrospections. 

By  them  the  mind  is  taught  to  know, 
That  all  is  vanity  below ; 

And  that  our  being  only 
Is  for  a  day, — and  that  we  pass — 
And  are  forgotten, — and  the  grass 

Will  wave  above  us  lonely. 

Yea,  all  must  change — we  cannot  stay 
The  spoiler.     Time,  with  onward  sway, 

All  human  pride  defaces  ; 
A  few  brief  years  revolve,  and  then 
We  are  no  more, — and  other  men 

Shall  occupy  our  places. 

And  I,  now  resting  on  a  tomb, 

Shall  sleep  within  its  breast,  the  gloom 

Of  dark  oblivion  o'er  me ; 
And  beings,  yet  unborn,  shall  tread, 
On  moonlight  eves,  above  my  head, 

As  I  o'er  those  before  me. 


NOTES  ON  ODE  ON  THE  OLDEN  TTME. 

Note  I. 

Wlicn  fairies,  with  their  silver  bells, 
Were  habitants  of  earthly  dells, 

All  sheathed  in  emerald  dresses. 

The  Fairies  of  Scotland  are  represented  as  a  diminutive  race  of  beings,  of  a  mixed  or 
rather  dubious  nature ;  capricious  in  their  dispositions,  and  mischievous  in  their  resent- 
ment. They  inhabit  the  interior  of  green  hills,  chiefly  those  of  conical  form,  in  Gaelic 
termed  sighan,  on  which  they  lead  their  dances  by  moon-light ;  impressing  upon  the  sur- 
face the  marks  of  circles,  which  sometimes  appear  yellow  and  blasted,  sometimes  of  a 
deep  green  hue,  and  within  which  it  is  dangerous  to  sleep,  or  to  be  found  after  sun-set. 
— Dr  Leyden's  u  Dissertation  on  the  Fairy  Superstition,"  in  BORDER  MIXSTBEI.SY. 


1821/3  Qde  on  the  Olden  Time.  501 

Like  the  Feld-Elfen  of  the  Saxons,  the  usual  dress  of  the  Fairies  is  green ;  though, 
on  the  moors,  they  have  been  sometimes  observed  in  heath-brown,  or  in  weeds  dyed  with 
ttonc-raw,  or  lichen.  They  often  ride  in  invisible  procession ;  when  their  presence  is 
discovered  by  the  shrill  ringing  of  their  bridles. — Hid. 

Note  II. 

When  withered  hags  their  orgies  kepi 
Mid  darksome  night. 

Such  as  wish  to  revel  among  the  intricacies  of  witchcraft,  may  do  so  to  surfeiting  in 
that  delightful  miscellany  "  Satan's  Invisible  World,"  by  the  Glasgow  Professor;  Ar- 
not's  celebrated  "  Criminal  Trials;"  Sharpe's  "  Memorials  of  Law;"  and  in  sundry 
numbers  of  old,  decent,  blue-coated  Maggie  Scott. 

Note  III. 

When  grim  "before  the  vision  stalk'd 
Such  figures,  as  no  longer  walked 
The  upper  world. 

"  The  wraith,  or  spectral  appearance,  of  a  person  shortly  to  die,  is  a  firm  article  in 
the  creed  of  Scottish  superstition.  Nor  is  it  unknown  in  our  sister  kingdom." — SIR 
WALTER  SCOTT. 

To  those  who  are  curious  in  these  matters  we  relate  the  following  illustration,  ha- 
ving heard  it  repeatedly  from  the  very  lips  of  the  person  to  whom  it  occurred : 

"•  When  the  lady  alluded  to  was  a  girl,  she  had  an  acquaintance,  perhaps  a  lover,  in 
the  person  of  a  midshipman  on  board  the  Royal  George. 

"  One  morning  she  awoke  suddenly  from  sleep,  and,  looking  to  the  foot  of  her  bed, 
she  saw  the  figure  of  the  midshipman  standing,  in  boyish  beauty,  with  closed  eyes, 
dressed  in  his  naval  uniform,  and  with  a  black  silk  handkerchief  round  his  neck.  She 
gazed  for  an  instant,  and  then  plunged  her  head  under  the  bed-clothes,  uttering  a  loud 
shriek.  When  she  ventured  again  to  look  up,  the  apparition  had  vanished. 

"  She  arose,  and  dressed  herself;  but  remained  during  the  whole  day  disconsolate, 
and  could  not  help  often  bursting  into  tears  when  left  alone.  Ori  the  forenoon  of  that 
day,  when  walking  with  a  friend,  who  remarked  her  sorrowful  appearance,  she  related 
the  circumstance,  and  said,  that  it  certainly  foreboded  death ;  and  was  not  to  be  laugh- 
ed out  of  her  fears. 

"  In  a  few  days  arrived  the  awful  news  of  the  loss  of  the  Royal  George,  and  her  gal- 
lant crew ;  among  whose  number  was  the  young  midshipman." 

If  the  reader  is  anxious  to  learn  whether  the  writer  believes  this  anecdote,  I  beg  eva- 
sively to  answer  him  in  the  words  of  the  old  Border  Minstrel, 
"  I  telt  the  tale,  as  told  to  me." 

For  further  instances  of  Wraiths,  see  the  story  of  Diana  Rich,  in  Aubrey's  "  Mis- 
cellanies ;"  that  of  Mrs  Veale,  in  many  a  six-penny  and  three-penny  pamphlet ;  and 
the  instance  recorded  by  Mr  Duffle,  as  related  to  him,  during  his  second  voyage,  in  our 
last  Number. 

Note  IV. 

Of  men,  that  on  their  death-beds  lay, 
Were  seen  in  dcsart  places. 

These  are,  to  use  the  words  of  the  divine  Milton,  the 

calling  shapes,  and  beck'ning  shadows  dire. 

And  airy  tongues,  that  syllable  men's  names 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desart  wildernesses. 

"  These  spirits  often  foretell  men's  deaths,"  saith  old  Burton,  "  by  severall  signs,  as 
knocking,  groanings,  &c.  though  Rich.  Argentine,  c.  18.  De  Pracstigiis  Dcmonum,  will 
ascribe  these  predictions  to  good  angels,  out  of  the  authority  of  Ficinus  and  others ; 
"  prodigia  in  obitu  principium  sccpius  contigunt,  &c.  as,  in  the  Lateran  Church  in 
Rome,  the  Popes'  deaths  nre  foretold  by  Sylvester's  tomb.  Near  Rupes  Nova,  in  Fin- 
land, in  the  kingdome  of  Sweden,  there  is  a  lake,  in  which,  before  the  governour  of  the 
castle  dyes,  a  spectrum,  in  the  habit  of  Arion,  with  a  harp  appears,  and  makes  excellent 
musick ; — like  those  blocks  in  Cheshire,  which  (they  say)  presage  death  to  the  master 
of  the  family ;  or  that  oks  in  Lanthradran  Park,  in  Cornwall,  which  foreshows  as  much." 
— ANATOMY  OF  MELANCHOLY,  Part  I.  sect.  2. 

"  Ambuloncs,  that  walk,  about  midnight,  on  great  heaths  and  desart  places  ;  which, 
saith  Lavater,  draw  men  out  of  the  way,  and  lead  them  all  night  by  a  bye-way, 
l>ar  them  of  their  way." — Idem. 


502  Ode  on  the  Olden  Time.  £Aug. 

Note  V. 
Casque,  and  table  morion, 

And  greaves  and  cuirass  glancing, 

For  an  account  of  the  rise,  progress,  institutions,  and  decline  of  Chivalry,  vide  Pre- 
liminary Dissertation  to  Robertson's  "  Charles  V."  passim.  For  specimens  of  its  prose 
details,  the  reader  may  consult  Froissard's  "  Cronicle ;"  and  for  examples  of  its  poeti- 
cal, the  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  and  the  "  Marmion,"  of  Sir  Walter  Scott, — may 
we  add  likewise  his  "  Ivanhoe."  See,  by  the  same,  the  article  Chivalry,  in  the  supple- 
ment to  the  "  Encyclopaedia  Britannica;"  for  he  has  made  the  subject  his  own  in  all  its 
bearings. 

Note  VI. 

Then,  from  her  cloister-wall,  the  Nun 
Gazed  anxious  toward  the  setting  sun, 
Descending  o'er  the  ocean. 

Savary,  in  his"  Lettres  sur  la  Grece,"  presents  us  with  a  most  interesting  description 
of  the  convent  of  Acrotiri,  and  its  inhabitants.  They  were  three  in  number  ;  one  ad- 
vanced in  years,  another  of  middle  age,  and  a  novice  of  sixteen, — without  seeing  the  last 
of  whom,  he  informs  us,  it  would  be  impossible  to  form  any  adequate  conception.  All 
that  could  beautify  the  form,  or  dignify  the  mind,  of  the  fairest  of  nature's  works,  seem 
to  have  centred  in  one  doomed  forever  to  solitude  and  to  sorrow.  "  Je  vous  avouerai," 
says  he,  "  que  cette  pensee  m'affligoit.  Tant  de  charmes  ensevelis  pour  jamais  au  fond 
d'une  triste  solitude !  Celle  qui  etoit  nee  pour  faire  la  felicite*  d'un  mcrrtel,  separe'e  pour 
jamais  de  la  societe  des  hommes  ! " 

Note  VII. 
"  At  pride  of  place,"  the  eagle's  shriek. 

A  term  of  falconry ; — the  highest  pitch  of  the  eagle's  flight.  Shakespeare,  in  his 
Macbeth,  says, 

An  eagle,  towering  to  his  pride  of  place, 
Was  by  a  mousing  owl  hawked  at,  and  killed. 

Note  VIII. 

Yes  !  these  are  talismans,  that  break 
The  sleep  of  visions. 

Amulet,  a  charm,  or  preservation  against  mischief,  witchcraft,  or  diseases.  Amulets 
were  made  of  stone,  metal,  simples,  animals,  and  every  thing  that  fancy  or  caprice  sug- 
gested ;  and  sometimes  consisted  of  words,  characters,  and  sentences,  ranged  in  a  parti- 
cular order,  and  engraved  upon  wood,  and  worn  about  the  neck,  or  some  other  part  of 
the  body.  At  other  times,  they  were  neither  written  nor  engraved  ;  but  prepared  with 
many  superstitious  ceremonies,  great  regard  being  usually  paid  to  the  influence  of  the 
stars.  The  Arabians  have  given  to  this  species  of  amulets  the  name  of  talismans.  All 
nations  have  been  fond  of  amulets.  The  Jews  were  extremely  superstitious  in  the  use 
of  them  to  drive  away  diseases ;  and  even  among  the  Christians  of  the  early  times,  amu- 
lets were  made  of  the  wood  of  the  Cross,  or  ribbons  with  a  text  of  Scripture  written  in 
them,  as  preservatives  against  diseases. — Note  by  the  Translator  of  Schiller's  Ghost 
Seer. 


MORSELS  OF  MELODY. 

1st  August,  1821. 

DEAR  CHRISTOPHER, 

I  WONDER  what  could  make  you  sup-  requires  a  vivida  vis  animi, — an  active 
pose  that  I  would  write  a  good  song ;  power,  amounting  to  an  overflowing  of 
but  you  extorted  a  promise  from  me  mind  in  the  sentiment,  and  a  particu- 
to  try,  and,  behold,  I  send  you  a  proof  lar  delicacy  and  terseness  in  the  ex- 
that  even  you,  with  all  your  sagacity,  pression  ;  and  the  whole  winded  up 
are  not  infallible, — a  frailty  which  you  tightly  round  the  nucleus  of  some  lead- 
need  not  take  deeply  to  heart,  as  your  ing  thought.  Besides,  it  induces  dan- 
general  discrimination  is  well  known,  gerous  comparisons, — and  you  know 
and  as  you  share  it  with  the  Roman  comparisons  are  odious,— for  every 
pontiff.  song-reader  thinks  of  Burns  and 

Let  me  tell  you,  friend,  that  it  is  no  Moore, 
easy  matter  to  write  a  good  song ;  it         I  have  said  my  say,  and  done  my 


1821.]]  Morsels  of  Melody.  603 

best.     Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  let  me  know  that  the  present  are  the 

tried  it ;  hut  who  can  resist  the  win-  very  best  songs  you  have  ever  seen, 
ning  smiles  of  Christopher  ?  Poets  love  Believe  me, 

praise ;  so  if  you  wish  another  half-  Dear  Christopher, 

dozen,  you  have  no  more  to  do  than  to  Your  sincere  friend, 


P.  S. — The  hams  came  safely  to  hand :  they  have  the  true  Westphalia 
flavour. 

No.  I. 

THE  INVITATION. 

OH  come,  with  thy  blue  eyes  of  beaming, 

Thou  nameless  one,  whom  I  love  best ; 
When  the  sun-beam  of  crimson  is  streaming 

Through  the  lattice  that  looks  to  the  west : 
Oh  come,  when  the  birds  with  their  singing 

Fill  every  recess  of  the  grove, — 
And  such  thoughts  in  the  bosom  are  springing, 

As  kindle  the  spirit  to  love  ! 

Oh  come,  where  the  elm-tree  incloses 

The  mossy  green  seat  in  its  shade, — 
And  the  perfume  of  blossoming  roses 

Is  borne  on  the  breeze  of  the  glade ; 
The  streamlet  is  sparkling  beneath  us, 

The  briar-cover 'd  banks  are  above,- — 
Around  are  young  lilies,  and  with  us 

Soft  thoughts  that  speak  to  us  of  love  ! 

Oh  come,  for  afflictions  are  thronging 

To  darken  my  life  to  a  waste ; 
Oh  come,  for  my  spirit  is  longing 

The  bliss  of  thy  presence  to  taste  ! 
Though  dark  disappointments  have  wrung  me, 

And  though  with  my  fate  I  have  strove, 
Whate'er  were  the  arrows  that  stung  me, 

I  have  found  a  resource  in  thy  love  ! 

Oh  come,  for  thy  smiling  has  cheated 

The  woes  of  my  breast,  and  so  well 
The  darkness  of  sorrows  defeated, 

That  nought  else  on  earth  could  dispel ; 
Without  thee  my  being  would  wither, 

And  pleasure  a  bauble  would  prove, — 
Forget  not,  my  sweet,  to  come  hither, 

And  solace  my  heart  by  thy  love  ! 

No.  II. 

THE   SEPARATION. 

IN  youth  our  hearts  together  grew, 
And  Life  seem'd  Eden  to  our  view ; 
But  disappointment,  sighs,  and  tears, 
Were  the  sole  fruits  of  after  years. 

The  hopes  that  glitter'd  round  our  way, 
With  rainbow  colours  died  away ; 
The  feelings  graven  on  my  heart, 
Though  thwarted  all,  shall  ne'er  depart. 


501 


The  Separation. 

Oh  !  would  that  thee  I  ne'er  had  seen, 
Or  that  our  fate  had  kinder  been  ! 
Oh  !  would  that  thou,  the  dearest — best, 
Had  been  by  other  lips  carest ! 

Yet  know — though,  ah  !  I  need  not  tell — 
That  he  who  bids  thee  now  farewell, 
Hath  loved  with  all  the  warmth  and  zeal 
That  tongue  can  tell,  or  heart  can  feel ! 

That  thou  hast  been,  for  many  a  year, 
Unto  his  soul  the  thing  most  dear ; — 
That  thou  hast  been,  all  pure  and  bright, 
His  thought  by  day,  his  dream  by  night ! 

That  my  heart's  summer  only  knew 
One  flower,  and  that  of  matchless  hue  ; — 
That  nought,  beneath  the  arching  skies, 
So  won  my  heart — so  charm'd  mine  eyes. 

And  also  know, — as  thus  I  tear 
Love  from  my  heart,  to  leave  it  bare, — 
Cold  as  the  rock,  where  flowers  ne'er  smile, 
And  barren  as  a  polar  isle  ; 

'Tis  only  that  I  love  thee  more, 
And  dearer,  for  these  troubles  o'er  ; 
And  that  I'd  hold  it  crime  to  mate 
Thy  goodness  with  so  dark  a  fate  ! 

No.  III. 


Oug. 


THE  DREARY  MOOR. 

THE  blinding  rain  falls  heavily 

Upon  the  wide,  waste  moor, — 
Far,  far  and  onward  must  I  hie 

To  gain  a  human  door : 
The  twilight  gathers  dim  and  dark  ; 

The  winds  and  waters  jar  ; 
No  heart  shall  leap  this  night  to  mark 

The  glorious  evening  star  ! 

Yet,  as  the  wind  sighs  o'er  the  heath, 

And  as  the  rain  pours  down, 
And  as  the  swoln  streams  rush  beneath 

Their  banks,  all  weed-o'ergrown, 
I  think  of  thee,  young  Ellen  dear, — 

I  doat  on  every  charm, — 
And  with  such  thoughts,  'mid  wilds  so  drear, 

Can  keep  my  bosom  warm. 

I  think  me  of  thine  eyes  so  blue, — 

Thy  lips  so  cherry-red, — 
The  glossy  curls,  of  auburn  hue, 

That  cluster  round  thy  head  ; — 
Thy  graceful  form,  all  fairy  light  ; 

Thy  bosom's  snowy  heave ; 
Thy  smile,  that  makes  my  visions  bright, 

When  prone  to  droop  and  grieve. 


18S1/]  Moneli  of  Melody. 

Then  round  my  breast  my  plaid  I'll  fold, 

And  bravely  face  the  blast, 
Well  knowing  that  my  arms  shall  hold 

My  own  sweet  girl  at  last ; 
And  that  our  hearth  shall  brightly  blaze, 

To  tell  me  not  to  roam  ; 
And  that  my  Ellen'a  darling  gaze 

Shall  bless  my  coming  home  ! 

Xo.  IV. 

THE  EVEXIXG   LAKE. 

How  softly  o  er  the  silver  lake 

Our  little  pinnace  glides  along, 
As  if  its  prow  did  fear  to  break 
The  waveless  mirror — all  is  still 
Except  the  boatman's  song ! 

Fair  maid,  that  from  yon  castle  walls, 

Mayhap,  now  lookest  on  our  way, 
Thy  tender  looks  my  heart  recalls, 
Thine  anxious  eyes,  that  silently 
Did  seem  to  bid  me  stay  ! 

Far  from  the  world,  with  thee  remote, 
While  suns  did  brightly  set  and  rise, 

How  sweet  would  be  the  woodland  cot ; 

Envy  and  care  would  be  exiled, 
And  earth  seem  paradise  } 

Farewell !  ye  melancholy  towers ; 

Ve  forests  dark,  and  verdant  vales ; 
Ye  gardens,  rich  with  summer  flowers; 
Before  I  visit  ye  again, 

Far  winds  must  fill  my  sails. 

Maid  of  my  heart !  a  sad  adieu  ! 

When  evening  suns  are  beaming  bright, 
Take  of  this  lake  a  lingering  view, 
And  think,  'twas  last  on  yonder  lake 

He  faded  from  my  sight ! 

And  oft,  on  far  and  foreign  shore, 

I'll  rest  alome  at  eventide ; 
In  fancy  roam  these  vallies  o'er, 
And  see,  within  the  garden  bower, 

Thee,  sweet,  of  all  the  pride ! 

No.  V. 

THE  MARBLE   RBART. 

WHEN  Love's  first  flush  came  o'er  my  heart, 
'Twas  when  thy  beauty  seized  it; 

Nor  hath  it  let  that  flush  depart, 
Although  thy  coldness  freezed  it. 

Thou  stood'st  before  my  wondering  eye«, 

A  shape  of  magic  lightness, 
And,  in  my  midnight  dreams,  did  rise 

Array 'd  m  fairy  brightness. 

VOL.  IX.  3  S 


Morsels  of  Melody.  El  Aug. 

But  cold,  cold,  cold,  the  marble  stone 

Not  snowier,  and  not  colder ; 
A  glory  to  be  gazed  upon, 

That  chill'd  the  charm'd  beholder. 

Against  thy  charms  'tis  vain  to  war, 

'Tis  vain  to  try  resistance ; 
The  kneelers  in  thy  temple  are 

All  kept  at  holy  distance. 

But  know — for  bards  may  speak  the  truth — 

And  list  the  voice  of  reason, 
Though  fair  the  rosebud  be  of  youth, 

'Tis  only  for  a  season. 

The  chilling  winds  of  winter  haste 

O'er  time's  rough  ocean  hither, 
And,  like  the  weeds  upon  the  waste, 

The  fairest  rose  must  wither. 

No.  VI. 

THE  EVENING  STAR. 

OH  sweetly  shines  the  summer  sun, 

When  heaven  from  clouds  is  free, 
And  brightly  gleams  the  moonlight  on 

Field,  rock,  and  forest  tree : 
But  to  the  pensive  heart  of  love, 

Oh  sweeter  than  these  by  far, 
It  is  with  devious  step  to  rove 

Beneath  the  evening  star ! 

To  others  give  the  festive  hall, 

Where  wine-cups  shine  in  light ; 
The  music  of  the  crowded  ball, 

With  beauty's  lustre  bright : 
But  give  to  me  the  lonely  dell, 

Oh  sweeter  than  these  by  far, 
Where  pine-trees  wave,  and  waters  swell, 

Beneath  the  evening  star  !* 

The  days  are  past  that  I  have  seen, 

And  ne'er  again  shall  see, 
When  Nature,  with  a  brighter  green, 

O'erspread  the  field  and  tree ; 
Though  joyless  not  the  present  day, 

Yet  sweeter  than  it  by  far, 
'Tis  on  the  past  to  muse,  and  stray 

Beneath  the  evening  star ! 

For  all  the  future  cannot  give 

What  spareless  time  hath  reft, 
And,  Jessy,  since  thou  ceaoed  to  live, 

A  vacant  world  is  left. 
I  turn  me  to  my  days  of  love, 

The  sweetest  on  earth  by  far, 
And  oft  in  thought  with  thee  I  rove, 

Beneath  the  evening  star ! 


Lamb't  Translation  of  Catullus. 


LAMB'S  TRANSLATION  OP  CATULLUS.* 


Ma  LAMB,  the  author  of  this  Trans- 
lation, is  a  Whig,  who  amuses  himself 
amidst  his  professional  duties  and  his 
fashionable  parties,  with  doing  into 
English  a  few  stray  epigrams  and  ama- 
tory poems,  and  now  graciously  has 
made  the  world  acquainted  with  the 
surprising  results  of  his  industry. 
Since  the  honourable  mention  made  of 
him  in  the  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch 
Reviewers,"  he  appears  to  have  enjoyed 
his  literary  propensities  in  quiet ;  and 
while  the  world  was  giving  him  credit 
for  his  attention  to  Lord  Coke,  he  has 
now  come  forth  to  unfold  in  English 
verse  the  luxurious  elegancies  of  Ca- 
tullus. By  what  happy  ordination  of 
his  hours,  or  partition  of  his  faculties, 
this  "  rhyming  Pleader"  can  manage 
to  reconcile  the  institutes  of  the  one 
with  the  hendecasyllables  of  the  other, 
it  is  impossible  for  us  to  conjecture  ; 
but  Mr  Lamb's  versatility  may  pro- 
bably reconcile  much  stranger  things. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  we  will  venture,  from 
our  examination  of  this  work,  to  pre- 
dict, that,  if  his  legal  pursuits  are  fol- 
lowed with  the  same  success  as  his 
classical  recreations,  and  his  opinions 
are  as  sound  as  his  translations  are 
true,  as  few  unfortunates  will  be  found 
to  inquire  for  the  one  as  to  peruse  the 
other,  and  his  chambers  will  hence- 
forth remain  as  desolate  and  as  solitary 
as  Tadmor  in  the  Wilderness. 

We  are  glad  to  have  this  opportuni- 
ty of  paying  a  little  tribute  to  the  un- 
fortunate subject  of  Mr  Lamb's  at- 
tempt ;  a  bard  who  excited  our  youth- 
ful enthusiasm,  and  will  ever  retain  a 
strong  hold  upon  our  maturer  affec- 
tions. We  have  always  esteemed  Ca- 
tullus the  first  amatory  poet  of  the  Ro- 
mans. With  more  than  Horace's  feli- 
citousness  of  language,  and  not  infe- 
rior to  Tibullus  in  truth  and  tenderness 
of  feeling,  he  had  gifts  in  addition 
which  justly  entitle  him  to  take  the 
pre-eminence  over  both.  In  several  of 
his  amatory  poems  there  is  a  languid 
voluptuousness,  an  airy  playfulness,  a 
delicate  transparency  of  thought,  a 
luscious  richness  of  expression,  an  in- 
describable charm,  which  he  who  looks 
for  elsewhere  is  sure  to  be  disappoint- 


ed. The  streaks,  too,  which  appear, 
amongst  the  riotings  of  his  sensual  in- 
dulgences, and  the  grossness  of  his 
least  defensible  expressions,  of  brother- 
ly love  and  chastened  affection,  shew 
delightfully  from  the  glowing  impuri- 
ty which  encircles  them.  No  poet  had 
ever  the  power  of  dignifying  little 
things  more  by  his  manner  of  treating 
them,  or  of  composing  from  the  incon- 
siderable floating  incidents  of  amatory 
converse,  creations  of  such  imperish- 
able splendour.  The  most  exquisite  of 
his  productions  in  this  class  are,  in 
their  subjects  and  occasions,  the  most 
trifling ;  yet  so  everlastingly  are  they 
inshrined  in  the  inimitable  language 
of  Catullus,  that  we  scarcely  look  at 
the  vase  itself,  delighted  with  the  beau- 
tiful flowers  that  garnish  and  adorn  it. 
Classical  poetry  cannot  supply  more 
delicate  and  graceful  pieces  of  compo- 
sition than  are  presented  in  his  works, 
nor  are  there,  amongst  its  multifarious 
treasures,  gems  of  more  sparkling  lustre 
than  blaze  in  the  richness  of  his  ama- 
tory verses.  Of  love,  which  some  of 
his  kindred  bards  have  obscured  with 
artificial  fucus,  or  weakened  by  indis- 
criminate admiration,  he  was  a  zealous 
and  single-hearted  proselyte,  in  whose 
descriptions  that  passion  is  pourtrayed 
in  all  its  variations,  as  it  is  invigorated 
by  hope,  or  withered  by  suspicion,  in 
all  the  flightinese  of  its  exaltation,  and 
the  sadness  of  its  depression.  Horace 
has,  perhaps,  more  of  the  cleverness  of 
one  who  wished  to  be  a  fine  writer, 
and  therefore  does  not  occasionally  re- 
fuse to  mix  up  with  the  pure  ore  of 
real  passion  a  proportion  of  the  alloy 
of  fiction  and  pretence,  in  order  to 
make  it  fitter  for  receiving  the  stamp 
and  impress  of  his  genius.  Catullus 
seldom  does  this.  There  is  a  freshness 
and  nature  in  his  conceptions,  which 
could  only  be  derived  from  a  constant 
irrigation  of  the  living  urns  and  flow- 
ing currents  of  the  heart.  Whether 
engaged  in  the  painting  of  the  passion 
of  love,  as  it  affected  himself  or  others, 
he  never  loses  sight  of  that  truth  which 
ought  to  influence  all  description,  and 
as  a  substitution  for  which  wit  is 
worthless,  and  fancy  out  of  place.  His 


*  The  Poems  of  Caius  Valerius  Catullus,  translated,  with  a  Preface  and  Notes,  by 
the  Honourable  George  Lamb.  2  vols.  foolscap  fjvo. — Murray.  11521. 


Translation  of  Catullus. 


CAug. 


Lesbia  bemoans  in  the  language  of  divided  between   sensual  indulgence 

real  passion;    her  lamentations   wilj    — J  1:i '  ^T-^_i^t_^    ,- 

never  cease  to  be  affecting  while  sorrow 
shall  claim  her  prerogative,  or  anguish 
and  desertion  go  together.  But  Catul- 
lus has  higher  pretensions  than  mere- 
ly to  pre-eminence  in  amatory  poetry, 
though  from  the  dissipation  of  his  life 
and  the  turn  of  his  disposition,  it  oc- 
cupied the  greatest  share  of  his  atten- 
tion. Such  was  the  high  character  of 
his  powers  and  inspiration,  that  no- 
thing but  his  love  of  ease  and  the 
•hortness  of  his  life  could  possibly  have 
prevented  him  from  taking  the  loftiest 
station  amongst  the  bards  of  his  coun- 
try, a  station  above  even  the  honoured 
«eats  of  Lucretius  and  Virgil.  Of  his 
possession  of  the  great  and  absolute 
characteristics  which  generate  epic 
poetry  of  the  highest  excellence,  subli- 
mity of  conception,  fervour  of  imagi- 
nation, and  energy  of  thought,  his 
Atys,  and  Pdeus,  and  Thetis,  are 
standing  proofs ;  the  one  is  alone  peer- 
less and  unparalleled,  and  the  other 
contains  the  finest  episode  in  any  poem 
whatever.  Short  as  these  productions 
are,  they  are  indications  of  such  a 
strength  of  fancy,  and  grandeur  of 
invention,  as  it  would  be  difficult  to 


and  literary  leisure.  Notwithstanding 
his  improvidence,  (for  who  of  this  sect 
ever  was  prudent,)  he  does  not  appear 
at  any  time  to  have  been  reduced  to 
servile  dependance  on  the  resources  of 
a  patron,  for  in  the  works  of  no  poet 
does  there  exist  a  more  lofty  and  dig- 
nified spirit  of  independence.  There  is 
much  less  of  plebeianism,  and  conse- 
quently less  of  plebeian  cringingness 
and  adulation  in  his  works  than  in  the 
works  of  his  successors  Horace  and 
Virgil,  whose  extraction  was  apparent- 
ly meaner  than  that  of  Catullus.  The 
latter  appears  to  have  somewhat  of  the 
pride,  and  much  of  the  elegant  taste 
and  ease  of  the  man  of  family  and  pa- 
trician education  ;  we  can  almost  fancy 
we  discern  in  his  writings  that  species 
of  hauteur  and  recklessness,  as  to  poet- 
ical fame,  which  Voltaire  attributes  to 
Coni^reve.  There  appear,  too,  in  his 
poetry,  at  times,  traces  of  that  listless 
ennui,  which  arises  from  the  indolent 
carelessness  and  sickened  sensuality  of 
the  fashionable  debauchee,  who  has 
misemployed  his  time,  and  suffered  his 
talents  to  run  to  waste.  Yet  there 
seems  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  cha- 
racter of  Catullus  was  amiable  upon 


show  an  example  of;  and  moreover  of    the  whole.  His  affection  to  his  brother 


such  a  versatility  of  genius  as  no  Latin 
author  exceptCatullus  possessed.  Who, 
but  he,  could  have  shone  at  once  as 
the  gay  trifler  and  the  solemn  and  su- 
blime poet — could  in  one  moment  have 
penned  bewitchingly  playful  verses  on 
the  sparrow  of  his  mistress,  and  in  the 
next  pictured  the  desolate  and  madden- 
ing Atys  in  all  the  depth  of  his  sorrow 
and  darkness  of  his  gloom  ? 

From  the  personal  character  of  the 
poet,  would  one  seek  explanation  for 
anomalies  so  singular  in  composition  ; 
yet  of  that,  it  is  to  be  lamented  little 
is  known,  and  that  little  chiefly  through 
the  medium  of  his  works,—  a  medium 
not  always  the  most  favourable  to  ac- 
curacy of  judgment.  In  undertaking 
many  descriptions  of  poetry  characters 
are  often  assumed,  sometimes  not  very 
congenial  to  the  writer's  mind,  and 
thus  where  there  is  no  authenticated 
memorial  or  traditional  report  to  con- 
troul  the  author's  own  expressions,  the 
confusion  and  inconsistency  are  often 
irremediable.  If  we  judge  of  Catullus 
by  his  writings,  he  appears  to  have 
been  a  man  of  voluptuous  habits, 
whote  chief  study  was  the  gratification 
of  his  passions,  and  whose  time  was 


appears  too  warm  and  sincere  to  admit 
of  question  ;  and  though  undoubtedly 
there  are  from  his  writings  inconsisten- 
cies, and  inconsistencies  too  of  no  very 
creditablenature,  discernible  in  his  cha- 
racter, yet  they  were  perhaps  hardly 
more  flagrant  than  those  of  every  man 
who,  with  a  natural  propension  to  vir- 
tue, is  led  by  example  into  the  com- 
mission of  actions  unworthy  of  it,  and 
who,  in  the  zeal  which  his  virtuous 
propensities  produce,  does  not  always 
remember  in  his  attackson  others,  that 
he  is  chastising  them  for  defects  which 
may  also  be  found  in  himself.  To  this 
cause,  must  be  referred  for  reconcile- 
ment, his  attacks  on  Caesar  for  incon- 
tinencies  which  he  acknowledges  to 
have  practised  himself,  and  his  self- 
complacent  and  eulogistic  gratulation 
to  himself  for  piety,  of  which  he  had 
perhaps  as  little  as  most  poets,  and  for 
constancy,  which  he  does  not  always 
appear  to  have  preserved. 

Catullus  has  been  less  fortunate  than 
most  of  the  Latin  poets,  in  meeting 
with  congenial  spirits  as  his  translators. 
Numberless  as  are  the  versions  of  his 
detached  amatory  pieces,  we  do  not 
recollect  one  which  is  excellent  enough 


Lamb's  Translation  of  Catullus. 


to  bear  comparison  with  the  original, 
if  we  except,  perhaps,  one  or  two  of 
Mr  Elton's ;  and  of  the  whole  of  his 
poems  but  one  English  translation, 
that  of  Dr  Nott's,  is  extant,  with  the 
exception  of  this  present  one  of  Mr 
Lamb's.  The  translation  of  Dr  Nott, 
we  believe,  has  long  been  acknowled- 
ged to  be  unsuccessful ;  it  is  in  fact  a 
meagre  and  inelegant  paraphrase,  with- 
out any  transfusion  of  the  graces  of 
poetry  or  felicities  of  diction.  If  it  have 
any  merit,  it  is  that  of  adhering  to  the 
simplicity  of  the  original,  without  dis- 
torting it  by  that  wretched  finicalness 
with  whicn  bad  taste  depraves  the 
structure  it  aims  to  embellish.  Nor  do 
foreign  translators  seem  to  have  suc- 
ceeded much  better  with  our  author. 
The  late  French  translation  of  Molle- 
vaut  is  unworthy  of  its  original,  and 
the  Italian  one  of  Pviccini  has  not  much 
more  of  the  spirit  of  Catullus.  And, 
indeed,  we  can  hardly  wonder  at  this. 
We  know  no  Latin  author  who  pre- 
sents so  many  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
translation  as  the  Lover  of  Lesbia.  He, 
more  than  any  other  poet,  is  gifted 
with  that  light  and  ineffable  grace, 
that  easy  yet  intranslateable  elegancy 
and  spirit,  which  mocks  all  attempts 
of  the  kind,  and  expires  like  the  beau- 
tiful and  delicate  shrubs  of  the  south, 
when  transplanted  to  the  gardens  of 
a  less  luxurious  climate.  There  are 
charms  in  language,  which  to  endea- 
vour to  rifle  is  as  dangerous  as  to  touch 
the  rose,  which,  while  you  pluck  it, 
falls  in  pieces.  Of  such  a  cast  are  those 
of  Catullus.  He  who  undertakes  the 
office  of  translator  to  this  author,  has 
not  only  to  struggle  with  the  difficul- 
ties of  idiomatic  delicacies,  which, 
through  the  variations  of  language, 
are  inextractible,  and  of  modes  of  ex- 
pression, which  are  confined  through 
the  peculiarities  of  feeling — buthasalso 
need  of  great  and  varied  poetical  pow- 
ers. Mr  Moore,  we  believe,  has  been 
recommended  to  take  this  poet  in  hand, 
and  we  might  also  subjoin  a  recom- 
mendation of  our  own,  did  we  not 
think  it  a  thankless  matter  to  persuade 
a  great  original  poet,  "  to  comment 
and  translate."  And  even  he,  how- 
ever capable  of  translating  the  lighter 
and  amatory  graces  of  Catullus,  would, 
we  think,  hardly  do  justice  to  his  lof- 
tier and  more  energetic  flights.  It  is 
not,  however,  very  likely  that  he  will 
ever  make  the  trial,  and  therefore  the 


503 

Bard  of  Verona  must  be  left  to  the 
chance  contributions  of  such  well-dis- 
posed persons  as  time  may  havein  store. 
The  field  has  long  been  open  ;  and  for 
the  satisfaction  of  those  whose  indus- 
trious labours  may  be  in  danger  of  be- 
ing prevented  by  the  present  transla- 
tion, we  inform  them  it  is  open  still. 

The  work  commences  with  a  poeti- 
cal address  to  the  reader,  which  the 
author  intitles,  "  Reflections  before 
Publication."  The  beginning  is  ami- 
able enough. 

*'  The  pleasing  task,  which  oft  a  calm  lias 

lent 

To  lull  disease  and  soften  discontent ; 
Has  still  made  busy  life's  vacations  gay, 
And  saved  from  idleness  the  leisure  day : 
In  many  a  musing  walk  and  lone  retreat, 
That  task  is  done ; — I  may  not  say,  com- 
plete." 

Nor  will  we.  These  reasons  are  good 
enough,  if  the  author  intend  them  as 
an  excuse  for  writing  the  book,  but 
very  bad  ones,  if  meant  as  a  justifica- 
tion for  publishing  it. 

The  stray  moments  which  Mr  Lamb 
can  spare  from  his  politics  and  profes- 
sion, may  be  very  creditably  spent  in 
amusements  of  this  description ;  but 
that  is  no  reason  why  the  valuable 
moments  of  others  should  be  consumed 
in  attending  to  them.  Let  them  satis- 
fy their  purposes,  and  be  put  by  with 
the  other  equally  meritorious  occupa- 
tions of  his  leisure  hours.  It  is  not 
from  the  dull  remnants  of  time,  which 
may  be  left  to  a  jaded  and  spiritless 
mind,  after  the  pursuit  of  an  harass- 
ing study,  that  the  fervid  and  recon- 
dite flashes  of  poetry  can  meet  with  a 
corresponding  warmth  to  represent  and 
transfuse  them.  All  that  can  be  ex- 
pected from  moments  so  employed, 
even  when  the  translator  is  possessed 
of  a  tolerable  portion  of  taste  and  fan- 
cy, is  an  equable  and  uninspirited  pa- 
raphrase, suffused,  perhaps,  with  a  rea- 
sonable portion  of  elegance  ;  and  ele- 
gance is  but  a  poor  substitute  for  ex- 
quisitely beautiful  poetry.  But  to  pro- 
ceed with  the  Introduction;  Mr  Lamb, 
after  conjuring  up,  by  the  force  of  his 
bad  translations, a  very  efficaciousspcll ! 
After  raising  up,  by  means  of  these  po- 
tent witcheries,  the  old  Bard  of  Vero- 
na for  his  and  our  satisfaction,  is  sud- 
denly suprised  by  an  apparition. 
"  Ha,  what  dark  shape  ?  I  view  that  form 

with  awe 
Which  calls  itself  tLc  Genius  of  the  Law ! 


Lamb's  Translation  of  Catullus. 


510 

His  well-wigg'd  visage,  wrapt  from  crown 

to  chin 
In  clouds  without,  to  shew  there's  none 

within ; 

On  calf-skin  volumes  at  each  step  he  stands, 
Toil-blanch'd  his  cheeks,  and  ink-imbrued 

his  hands ; 
And  points  the  Sergeant's  patch,  which 

blots  afar 
The  distant  day-light,  like  a  sable  star." 

This  legal  II  yperion  enters,  of  course, 
into  a  remonstrance  with  Mr  Lamb,  on 
the  classical  aberrations  which  have 
misled  his  footsteps,  and  enquires  very 
properly, 

"  Was  mine  a  call  to  climb  the  Aonian 

Hills? 
Do  I  teach  harmony  to  legal  quills  ?" 

When  Catullus  very  opportunely  steps 
in  for  the  defence  of  his  translator, 
and  after  arguing  the  matter  over  to- 
gether, the  two  break  up  the  confer- 
ence, apparently  very  well  pleased  with 
themselves,  and  each  other. 

A  Preface  of  some  length  next  fol- 
lows, which  contains  an  examination 
of  the  accounts  transmitted  to  us  of  the 
life  of  Catullus,  a  classification  of  his 
different  Poems,  and  a  discussion  on 
their  relative  excellency  and  merit. 
There  is  no  new  light  thrown  on  any 
of  the  difficulties  which  have  perplex- 
ed the  preceding  commentators  and 
translators,  though  Mr  Lamb  has  ma- 
naged to  fall  into  some  new  inaccura- 
cies, which  certainly  escaped  them. 
There  is  nevertheless  an  unpretend- 
ing ease  in  the  style,  which  renders  it 
at  least  readable.  As  we  wish  to  fa- 
vour Mr  Lamb,  we  will  give  what  we 
conceive  to  be  the  best  paragraph. 

"  There  is  no  feeling  more  overpower- 
ing or  painful  than  that  which  springs  from 
a  conviction  of  the  utter  worthlessness  of  a 
beloved  object,  when  the  infatuated  heart 
cannot,  at  the  same  time,  admit  the  con- 
tempt which  worthlessness  merits.  Then 
the  highest  enjoyments  of  life  can  only  be 
obtained  by  conscious  abasement :  solitude 
depresses  without  soothing,  society  irritates 
without  exhilarating ;  while  smiles  are  al- 
loyed, and  frowns  are  embittered,  by  shame 
and  self-reproach  at  being  subject  to  their 
influence.  We  find  Catullus  at  one  time 
upbraiding  Lesbia  bitterly  with  her  licen- 
tiousness ;  then  bidding  her  farewell  for 
ever ;  then  beseeching  from  the  gods  reso- 
lution to  cast  her  off;  then  weakly  confess- 
ing utter  impotence  of  mind,  and  submis- 
sion to  hopeless  slavery;  then,  in  the  Epis- 
tle to  M anlius,  persuading  himself  by  rea- 
son and  example  into  a  contented  acquies- 
cence in  her  falsehoods ;  and  yet,  at  last, 


Oug. 


accepting  with  eagerness  and  relying  with 
hope  upon  her  proffered  vow  of  constancy. 
Nothing  can  be  more  genuine  than  the 
rapture  with  which  he  depicts  his  happi- 
ness in  her  hours  of  affection ;  nor  than  the 
gloomy  despair  with  which  he  is  over- 
whelmed, when  he  believes  liimself  resol- 
ved to  quit  her  for  ever.  Were  these 
poems  collected  together,  as  by  Cowley  in 
*  The  Mistress,'  (an  idea  to  which  they 
possibly  gave  rise,)  no  more  true  or  natu- 
ral picture  could  be  found,  of  the  unde- 
fined and  inconsistent  feelings  which  ever 
arise  from  the  intercourse  of  devoted  love 
with  profligate  inconstancy." 

The  poems  which  first  strike  the 
reader,  on  opening  the  works  of  Ca- 
tullus, are  those  on  the  Sparrow  of 
Lesbia.  The  terms  of  admiration  have 
been  so  often  applied  to  these  two  ex- 
quisite performances,  that  their  novel- 
ty and  propriety  have  long  since  cea- 
sed. They  are,  perhaps,  the  last  things 
in  the  whole  circle  of  Latin  poetry 
which  a  scholar  could  consent  to  give 
up.  Beautiful,  indeed,  and  engaging 
is  the  union  they  present,  of  playful- 
ness of  fancy,  tenderness  of  feeling, 
purity  of  diction,  and  devotedness  of 
love.  The  mind  which  can  seek  to 
fasten  on  them  the  stain  of  impurity, 
must  have  some  innate  leaning  to  the 
tendencies  which  it  professes  to  disco- 
ver. In  the  language  of  Catullus,  they 
are  flowers  of  fair  and  matchless  love- 
liness ;  and  in  that  language,  we  be- 
lieve, they  must  remain.  Woe  to  the 
luckless  hand,  which,  in  emptying  the 
old  wine  into  new  vessels,  suffers  all 
its  most  precious  particles  to  escape. 
What  Mr  Lamb's  success  has  been, 
the  following  translation,  from  the 
most  beautiful  of  them,  will  shew. 

"  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  SPAHKOW. 

"  Mourn,  all  ye  loves  and  graces ;  mourn, 
Ye  wits,  ye  gallant,  and  ye  gay ; 

Death  from  my  fair  her  bird  has  torn, 
Her  much-loved  Sparrow's  snatch'd 
away. 

"  Her  very  eyes  she  prized  not  so ; 

For  he  was  fond,  and  knew  my  fair 
Well  as  young  girls  their  mothers  know ; 

Flew  to  her  breast,  and  nestled  there. 

"  When  fluttering  round  from  place   to 
place, 

He  gaily  chirp 'd  to  her  alone ; 
He  now  that  gloomy  path  must  trace, 

Whence  Fate  permits  return  to  none. 

"  Accursed  shades  o'er  hell  that  lower, 
Oh  be  my  curses  on  you  heard ! 

Yc,  that  all  pretty  things  devour, 
Have  torn  from  me  my  pretty  bird. 


Lamb's  Translation  of  CntulluxC 


"  Oh  evil  deed  !  oh  Sparrow  dead ! 

Oh  what  a  wretch,  if  thou  canst  see 
My  fair  one's  eyes  with  weeping  red, 

And  know  how  much  she  grieves  for 
thee." 

If  any  of  our  readers  can  peruse, 
with  common  patience,  such  lines  as 
these,  after  calling  to  memory  the  in- 
imitable original,  wemust  acknowledge 
that  their  power  of  endurance  is  great- 
er than  our  own. 

The  next  poem,  the  Phaselus,  is  more 
tolerably  translated.  We  will  give  the 
first  four  stanzas. 

"  DEDICATION  OF  A  PINNACE, 
TO  CASTOR  AND  POLLUX. 

"  That  pinnace,  friends,  can  boast  that 
erst 

'Twas  swiftest  of  its  kind ; 
Nor  swam  the  bark  whose  fleetest  burst 

It  could  not  leave  behind ; 
Whether  the  toiling  rower's  force, 
Or  swelling  sail,  impell'd  its  course. 

"  This  boast,  it  dares  the  shores  that  bound 

The  Adrian's  stormy  space, 
The  Cyclad  islands  sea-girt  round, 

Bright  Rhodes,  or  rugged  Thrace ; 
The  wide  Propontis  to  gainsay, 
Or  still  tempestuous  Pontic  bay. 

*'  There,  ere  it  swam  'mid  fleetest  prows, 

A  grove  of  spreading  trees 
On  high  Cytorus'  hill,  its  boughs 

Oft  whisper'd  in  the  breeze. 
Amastris,  pride  of  Pontic  floods, 
Cytorus,  green  with  boxen  woods. 
"  Ye  knew  it  then,  and  all  its  race, 

And  know  the  pinnace  too, 
Which,  from  its  earliest  rise,  to  grace 

Thy  lofty  summit  grew ; 
And  in  the  waves  that  wash  thy  shore, 
Which  moisten'd  first  its  sturdy  oar." 

In  the  Address  to  Lesbia,  which 
follows,  Mr  Lamb  improves  still  more ; 
we  wish  we  could  say  the  habit  of  im- 
provement continued  as  the  book  pro- 
ceeded. But  if  we  did,  we  should  say 
it  in  the  teeth  of  notorious  proof  to  the 
contrary ;  what,  for  instance,  is  the 
translation  of  the  Address  of  Catullus 
to  himself,  but  a  most  lamentable  dis- 
tortion of  the  original.  In  this  little 
poem,  the  author  playfully,  yet  touch- 
ingly,  remonstrates  with  himself  for 
still  pursuing  his  inconstant  Lesbia; 
and  while  he  indulges  himself  in  remi- 
niscences of  the  happy  and  delightful 
moments  they  had  passed  together, 
summons  up  all  his  resolution  to  for- 
sake her,  yet  so  as  to  shew,  at  the  same 
time,  how  much  he  distrusts  it.  In  the 
present  translation,  not  one  feature  of 
the  original  is  preserved — not  a  single 


511 

quality  which  it  possesses  remains  un- 
changed. The  playfulness  is  turned  to 
inanity— the  ardour  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  past  joys,  to  frigid  tameness  ; 
and  the  touching  tenderness  of  grief, 
to  the  blubbering  childishness  of  a 
schoolboy.  What  a  translation  is  the 
following,  of  the  exquisitely  mournful 
conclusion  ? 

"  Whose  fondling  care  shall  thou  avow  ? 

Whose  kisses  now  shall  thou  return  ? 
Whose  lip  in  rapture  bite  ? — But  thou — 

Hold !  hold !  Catullus,  cold  and  stern." 

Hold  !  Hold !  Mr  Lamb  !  we  must 
rather  say,  if  he  can  find  us  no  better 
verses  than  these.  Can  we  possiblyima- 
gine  that  such  drivelling  vapidity  as  this 
has  any  resemblance  to  the  original?  or 
is  he  blind  to  the  fact  that  he  is  mur- 
dering, absolutely  murdering,  one  of 
the  finest  poets  of  antiquity  ? 

We  observe  Mr  Lamb  has  taken 
very  considerable  liberties  with  some 
of  the  less  modest  poems  of  Catullus ; 
we  mean  particularly  the  Address  to 
Aurelius  and  Furius.  Now  we  should 
be  very  loth,  most  assuredly,  to  have 
these  poems  exhibited  to  English  eyes 
in  all  their  native  grossness ;  yet  equal- 
ly must  we  protest  against  such  a  me- 
thod of  translation,  as  in  rendering 
them  less  offensive,  totally  changes 
their  character.  Let  him  pass  them 
over  in  his  translation  ;  or,  if  he  must 
meddle  with  them,  let  him  place  his  im- 
itations at  the  end  of  the  book  amongst 
his  notes.  The  English  reader  will 
then  learn  to  appreciate  properly  the 
value  of  Mr  Lamb's  exertions,  and  to 
distinguish,  with  accuracy,  between  the 
translated  morsels  and  the  original  re- 
past which  he  provides. 

The  only  bacchanaliam  poem  in  Ca- 
tullus, is  the  Address  to  his  Cup-bearer. 
We  quote  the  translation  of  it  as  a  fa- 
vourable specimen  of  the  book : — 

"  TO  HIS  CUPBEARER. 

"  Boy,  who  in  my  festive  home 
Mak'st  the  rich  Falernian  foam, 
Broach  my  oldest  wine,  and  pour 
Till  the  goblet  mantles  o'er. 
Gay  Postumia  thus  ordains, 
When  she  at  my  banquet  reigns. 
Not  the  juice  that  swells  its  shape 
Is  so  native  to  the  grape, 
As  the  draught  that  fills  the  bowl 
Is  congenial  to  her  soul. 

"  Hence,  ye  waters !  hence  abstain, 
Generous  liquor's  chilly  bane ! 
Hence,  where'er  it  please  you,  flow  ! 
Hence,  to  surly  wisdom  go  ! 


Iamb's  Translation  of  CatnUut. 


512 

Pure  flm  draught,  as  from  the  vine 
Bacchus'  self  had  press 'd  the  wine." 

We  will  pass  over  the  rest  of  the 
smaller  poems,  and  come  directly  to 
the  Epithalainium,  or  the  Marriage  of 
Manlius  and  Julia.  Mr  Lamb  appears 
here  to  have  caught  something  of  the 
beauty  of  the  original,  and  has  really 
given  a  very  respectable  version  of  it. 
We  have  no  room,  however,  for  any 
quotation.  The  next  poem  we  cannot 
so  entirely  pass  over.  It  contains,  as 
our  readers  well  know,  the  delightful 
comparison  Ut  Flos  in  Septis,  &c.  Of 
all  the  writers  of  antiquity,  Catullus, 
we  think,  has  the  most  admirable  si- 
miles. He  made  use  of  none  which  he 
had  not  selected  with  the  most  scru- 
pulous nicety— of  none  which  were  not 
excellent ;  some,  indeed,  are  admira- 
ble. To  those  which  he  had  taken  from 
others,  he  gave  such  an  additional  lus- 
tre, as  to  make  them  his  own.  Gene- 
rally, however>  his  comparisons  are 
original ;  and  whether  original  or  bor- 
rowed, they  are  never  inserted  with- 
out producing  a  beautiful  effect.  We 
know' some,  though  in  themselves  ex- 
cellent, have  been  considered,  by  cri- 
tics, as  strained  and  out  of  place;  but 
we  think,  that  even  in  the  passages 
which  have  given  rise  to  remarks  of 
this  sort,  the  allusion,  though  recon- 
dite, will  ever  be  found  to  be  well  sus- 
tained. Indeed,  we  do  not  remember 
a  single  simile  in  the  poems  of  Catul- 
lus, which  is  not  equally  remarkable 
for  appropriate  meaning,  as  for  its  own 
intrinsic  elegance.  None  of  these  si- 
miles are  more  beautiful  than  this  of 
the  flower,  "  which  wastes  its  sweet- 
ness in  the  desert  air."  It  has  been 
abundantly  imitated  and  praised ;  and, 
perhaps,  as  Mr  Lamb  observes,  equal- 
ly to  its  merit.  The  very  elegant  and 
spirited  imitation  in  the  Beggar's  Ope- 
ra, "  Virgins  are  like  the  fair  flower 
in  its  lustre,"  is  too  well  known  to  need 
quoting.  It  is,  what  few  imitations 
are,  more  sprightly  even  than  its  Ori- 
ginal, but  is  much  inferior  to  it  in  sim- 
ple beauty.  The  exquisite  passage  in 
Otway's  Orphan,  "  You  took  her  up  a 
little  tender  flower,"  though  undoubt- 
edly suggested  by  this  simile,  yet  can 
hardly  be  styled  an  imitation.  It  is  a 
beautiful  illustration  of  the  original 
idea,  and  may  fairly  vie  with  the  La- 
tin passage.  The  reader  will  be  desi- 
rous to  see  what  Mr  Lamb  made  of 
this  gem  of  poetry,  and  whether  he 
has,  as  in  other  places,  "  cropped  this 


fair  flower,  and  rifled  all  ite  sweetness." 
He  appears  to  haveelaborated  histrans- 
lation  considerably, but  we  are  not  pre- 
pared to  say  that  he  has  laboured  with 
much  success. 

"  MAIDENS. 

"  When  in  the  garden's  fenced  and  cul- 
tured ground, 

Where  browse  no  flocks,  where  plough- 
shares never  wound, 

By  sunbeams  strengthened,  nourished  by 
the  shower, 

And,  sooth'd  by  zephyr,  blooms  the  love- 
ly flower : 

Maids  long  to  place  it  in  their  modest  zone, 

And  youths,  enraptured,  wish  it  for  their 
own. 

But,  from  the  stem  once  pluck'd,  in  dust 
it  lies, 

Nor  youth  nor  maid  will  then  desire  or 
prize. 

The  virgin  thus  her  blushing  beauty  rears, 

Loved  by  her  kindred  and  her  young  com- 
peers; 

But,  if  her  simple  charm,  her  maiden  grace, 

Is  sullied  by  one  spoiler's  rude  embrace, 

Adoring  youths  no  more  her  steps  attend, 

Nor  loving  maidens  greet  the  maiden  friend. 

Oh  Hymen,  hear!  Oh,  sacred  Hymen, 
haste; 

Come,  god  and  guardian  of  the  fond  and 
chaste ! 

"  YOUTHS. 

"  As  in  the  naked  field  the  vine's  weak 

shoot 
Nor  lifts  its  languid  stem,  nor  glows  with 

fruit ; 

But  by  itself  weigh 'd  down  it  lowly  strays, 
And  on  its  roots  its  highest  tendril  lays : 
The  herdsmen  then,  the  passing  hinds, 

neglect 

The  lowly  vine,  nor  cherish  nor  protect. 
If  by  some  happy  chance  its  feeble  boughs, 
Twined  round  the  trunk,  shall  make  the 

elm  a  spouse ; 

No  herdsmen  then,  nor  passing  hinds,  ne- 
glect 

The  wedded  vine,  but  cherish  and  protect. 
So  scorn'd  the  maid,  who  flies  the  fond 

embrace, 

And  withering  adds  no  honours  to  her  race. 
So  is  the  fair  beloved,  who  binds  her  fate-, 
Tn  wedlock  chaste,  to  some  accordant  mate  r 
She  gives  the  joys  that  warm  her  husband** 

breast, 
And  doting  parents  by  her  bliss  arc  blest." 

When  we  first  got  Mr  Lamb's  Ca- 
tullus into  our  hands,  we  turned  eager-1 
ly  to  examine  his  Translation  of  the 
Atys,  which  follows  next  hi  the  col- 
lected works  of  that  poet.  It  is  the 
most  extraordinary  poem  that  classical 
literature  has  to  shew,  nor  has  modern 
composition  any  thing  which  may  be 
likened  or  compared  to  it.  In  this 

tl 


1821.3 


Lamb's  Translation  of  Catullus. 


short  production,  Catullus  has  touch- 
ed the  strings  of  poetry  with  a  mastery 
of  skill,  and  strength  of  execution, 
that  no  Latin  poet  has  rivalled,  from 
Lucretius  to  Claudian.  In  it  he  has 
sounded  an  instrument  not  native  to 
his  language,  and  called  forth  all  its 
deepness  of  tones,  and  richness  of  me- 
lody. The  magnificence  of  its  bursts 
of  passion  are  only  to  be  equalled  by 
the  nature  of  its  descriptions,  and  the 
plaintiveness  of  its  dying  falls.  The 
reader  is  carried  irresistibly  along  by 
the  torrent  of  words  which  rushes  pro- 
fundo  ore  in  the  loftiest  style  of  Pinda- 
ric grandeur.  The  spirit  of  ancient 
energy  suffuses  and  animates  the  whole, 
and  mantles  it  round  with  majesty.  It 
is  as  awful  as  the  groves  which  it  com- 
memorates, and  as  agitated  as  the  songs 
which  were  wont  to  awake  them.  In 
short,  never  did  inspiration  breathe 
forth  more  genuine  and  impassioned 
sublimity; — never  burst  there  from 
poetry  or  prophecy  a  strain  more  pe- 
culiar, energetic,  and  commanding.* 
In  translating  this  most  singular  relick 
of  antiquity,  besides  the  ordinary  dif- 
ficulties which  always  attend  transla- 
tion, others  must  be  encountered  which 
are  perhaps  insuperable.  The  ques- 
tionable delicacy  of  the  subject  is  hard- 
ly felt  in  the  perusal  of  the  Roman 
original,  but  presents  a  most  formi- 
dable obstacle  to  a  translator,  unless 
casts  of  feeling  could  as  well  admit  of 
transfusion  as  casts  of  language.  The 
labour  of  Catullus  was  to  clothe  with 
elevation  a  topic  merely  indifferent, 
and  untingcd,  according  to  the  then 
prevailing  manner,  with  any  definite 
or  dignified  idea ;  but/he  who  now  fol- 
lows in  his  footsteps  has,  what  is  of  all 
tasks  the  most  difficult,  first  to  divest 
a  subject  of  its  inherent  ludicrous  cha- 
racter, and  then  to  raise  it  to  dignity. 
Of  these  difficulties  Mr  Lamb  seems  to 
be  fully  aware.  To  use  his  own  words, 
"  when  we  review  the  high  testimo- 
nies of  its  unrivalled  inspiration,  and 
almost  the  denunciations  against  those 
who  should  attempt  any  sort  of  imita- 
tion, diffidence  becomes  despair."  The 
former  translations  of  this  poem  may 
all  be  styled  total  failures.  The  ver- 
sions of  Beloe,  Hodgson,  and  Nott, 
have  hardly  a  particle  of  the  life,  ener- 
gy, and  character  of  the  original ;  and 


that  of  the  King  of  the  Cockneys*  (it  is 
really  lamentable  to  see  this  poor  man 
translating,)  has  certainly  nothing  of 
Catullus,  whatever  it  may  have  of 
Cockaigne.  We  think  the  metre  which 
Mr  Lamb  has  adopted  is  judiciously 
chosen,  and  well  adapted  for  express- 
ing the  hurried  march  of  the  original. 
The  execution,  we  regret  to  say,  is 
very  unsatisfactory  and  feeble.  We 
quote  the  lamentation  of  Atys,  which 
is  the  best  part  of  the  translation : — 

"  My  country,  oh  my  mother  !  creatress, 
parent  earth ! 

My  country,  oh  my  nurse,  that  fed  me 
from  my  birth ! 

From  whom,  as  churlish  slaves  their  kind- 
ly lord  have  fled, 

To  Ida's  gloomy  woods  an  exile  I  hare 
sped, 

With  beasts  their  frozen  dens  for  my  abode 
to  share, 

And  madly  roaming,  rouse  the  fierce  one 
from  his  lair. 

Ah !  where,  in  what  far  point  of  this  sur- 
rounding sky, 

Shall  I  now  deem,  my  native  land,  thy 
lov'd  shores  lie  ? 

My  longing  eyeballs  strain  to  cast  their 
sight  to  thee, 

While  yet  awhile  my  mind  is  from  its 
frenzy  free. 

"  Must  I  for  dreary  woods  forsake  my 
native  shore, 

And  see  my  friends,  my  home,  my  parents 
never  more  ? 

No  more  the  Forum  seek,  the  gay  Pales- 
tra's court, 

The  Stadium,  urge  no  more  each  famed 
gymnastic  sport  ? 

Oh,  wretched,  wretched  man  !  while  years 
shall  slowly  roll 

For  ever  o'er  and  o'er  again,  grieve,  grieve, 
my  soul ! 

"  What  grace,  what  beauty  is  there,  that 
I  did  not  enjoy  ? 

I,  when  in  manhood's  prime,  a  youth,  or 
yet  a  boy, 

The  flower  of  all  who  trod  the  firm  gym- 
nastic soil, 

The  victor  'mid  the  crowd  who  wore  the 
wrestler's  oil. 

My  gates  were  ever  throng'd,  and  full  my 
threshold  swarm'd ; 

With  blooming  garlands  hung,  that  love- 
sick maidens  form'd ; 

My  mansion  gaily  glitter'd  each  morning, 
as  I  sped, 

At  earliest  blush  of  sunrise,  with  lightness 
from  my  bed. 


*  We  know  several  critics  have  agreed  to  con  skier  this  poem  as  a  translation  from 
the  Greek  ;  bur  we  hardly  think  it  fair  to  assent  to  such  a  conclusion,  merely  on  conjec- 
tural grounds.  It  has  too  much  freshness  and  spirit  to  be  other  than 

Vor.  IX.  3  T 


Lamb's  Translation  of  Catullus. 


SU 

"  And  must  I  ever  now  a  maniac  votaress 
rave, 

Heaven's  devoted  handmaid,  'to  Cybele  a 
slave ; 

Her  frantic  orgies  ply,  disgraced  in  Na- 
ture's plan, 

A  part  of  what  I  was,  a  maim'd,  a  barren 
man ; 

And  dwell  in  Ida's  caves,  which  snow  for 
ever  chills ; 

And  pass  my  savage  life  on  Phrygia's 
rugged  hills, 

Placed  with  the  sylvan  stag,  the  forest- 
ranging  boar  ? 

Oh !  now  how  soon  I  rue  the  deed,  how 
bitterly  deplore!" 

Next  follows  the  Nuptials  of  Peleus 
and  Thetis.  The  translation  of  the 
beautiful  speech  of  Ariadne,  on  her 
desertion,  has  some  degree  of  spirit ; 
it  is,  however,  too  long  for  extraction. 

In  the  next  poem,  Catullus  beauti- 
fullycompares  the  forgettinghis  friend's 
injunctions  to  the  falling  of  an  apple 
from  the  bosom  of  a  young  girl,  to 
whom  it  was  given  by  her  lover.  The 
following  is  the  insipid  and  nerveless 
manner  in  which  he  is  rendered  by  his 
translator : — 

"  Yet  not  forgetting  thy  request,  my  friend, 
My  love  awhile  can  anguish  disregard  ; 

And,  though  opprest  by  heaviest  woe,  I 

send 
These  lines,  the  chosen  of  Cyrene's  bard. 

"  Lest,   vainly  borne  upon  the  zephyrs 

swift, 
Thou  deem'st  thy  wishes  fled  my  thought 

and  care ; 

As  the  dear  apple,  love's  clandestine  gift, 
Falls  from  the  bosom  of  the  virgin  fair; 

"  Which  she  forgetting  in  her  vest  con- 

ceal'd, 
Springs  her  returning  mother's  kiss  to 

claim, 

It  falls,  and  as  it  rolls  to  view  reveal'd, 
Her  blushes  own,  like  me,  neglect  and 
shame." 

Of  the  elegiac  productions  of  Catul- 
lus, we  were  never  great  admirers. 
They  have  so  little  of  the  softness  and 
melody  of  his  hendeeasyllables,  that 
the  reader  can  hardly  imagine  that 
both  had  the  same  author.  There  is 
no  want  occasionally  of  force  and  vi- 
gour ;  but  vigour  without  elegance  or 
harmony,  has  not  much  of  the  faculty 
of  pleasing.  The  Coma  Berenices  is 
unattractive  in  Latin,  and  can  hardly 
be  rendered  otherwise  in  English.  Mr 
Lamb  has  certainly  not  done  so,  but 
whether  our  readers  will  consider  his 
failure  as  a  proof  of  the  impossibility 


of  success,  we  cannot  take  upon  us  to 
determine.  The  rest  of  the  poems  of 
Catullus  consist  of  epigrams,  as  they 
have  been  denominated,  though,  as  Mr 
Lamb  observes,  rather  improperly. — 
There  is  little  in  them  worth  preserva- 
tion. Posterity  would  have  lost  no- 
thing, comparatively  speaking,  had  the 
whole  escaped  us.  In  such  of  them  as 
are  intended  to  be  pointed,  that  point 
is  created  by  nothing  else  but  virulen- 
cy  of  abuse,  rankness  of  obscenity,  and 
coarseness  of  expression  ;  yet  the  fore- 
going productions  sufficiently  demon- 
strate that  indelicacy  was  not  the  cha- 
racter of  Catullus,  or  the  character  of 
his  writings.  Hi»  adoption  of  this  style 
must  rather  have  been  in  compliance 
with  the  grosser  taste  of  the  times, 
than  from  his  own  uninfluenced  choice. 
Refinement  had  not  then  been  carried 
into  the  province  of  satire,  and  inde- 
cency and  unlicensed  freedom  were 
necessary  ingredients  in  its  composi- 
tion. There  are,  notwithstanding, 
some  of  these  minor  poems  of  Catul- 
lus, which,  from  truth  of  feeling,  and 
simplicity  of  language,  serve  fully  to 
atone  for  their  obnoxious  neighbours. 
Their  excellence,  however,  such  as  it 
is,  is  not  epigrammatical  excellence  ; 
and  their  attraction  is  rather  from  the 
want  of  poignancy  than  from  the  pos- 
session of  it :  This  the  present  trans- 
lator does  not  always  seem  to  have  ob- 
served. When  Catullus  is  simple,  Mr 
Lamb  is  generally  smart ;  and  when 
the  old  poet  had  apparently  no  inten- 
tion to  be  witty,  his  English  restorer 
very  often  gratuitously  bestows  upon 
him  a  point  of  his  own.  This  is  ge- 
nerous, but  we  think  it  might  have 
been  dispensed  with ;  and  answering 
for  ourselves,  we  could  have  enjoyed 
the  Roman  poet's  kindliness  of  feeling, 
and  nervousness  of  language,  without 
the  exhilarating  force  of  suppletory 
witticisms.  He  who  has  given  so  much, 
has  surely  a  right  to  take  something 
away ;  and  therefore  if  we  lose  the 
energy  and  vigour  of  the  original  in 
Mr  Lamb's  English,  we  can  hardly 
with  justice  find  fault.  Such  is  the 
case  in  most  of  these  poems.  Some 
of  the  most  trifling  are,  nevertheless, 
not  unhappily  translated.  The  fol- 
lowing, for  instance : — 

"  ON  THE  INCONSTANCY  OF 
WOMAN'S  LOVE. 

"  My  fair  says,  she  no  spouse  but  me 
Would  wed,  though  Jove  himself  were  he. 


1821.3 


Lamb't  Translation  of  CatuUut. 


She  says  it :  But  I  deem 
That  what  the  fair  to  lovers  swear 
Should  be  inscribed  upon  the  air, 

Or  in  the  running  stream." 

The  next  is  but  a  feeble  dilution  of 
the  original,  though  Mr  Lamb  has  en- 
deavoured to  twist  the  conclusion  into 
something  like  the  pointed  brevity  of 
Catullus : — 

"  TO  LESBIA. 

*'  No  fair  was  ever  yet  so  dear 
As  thou,  my  Lesbia,  wert  to  me ; 

No  faith  was  ever  so  sincere 
As  that  which  bound  my  heart  to  thee. 

**  Now  even  by  thy  frailties  caught, 
So  straitly  is  my  will  confined  ; 

The  tender  duties  it  hath  wrought 
So  wholly  have  enslaved  my  mind ; 

*•'  Practise  each  virtue  o'er  and  o'er, 
Or  every  vice  in  turn  approve, 

Nor  that  could  make  me  love  thee  more, 
Nor  this  could  make  me  cease  to  love." 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  of  these 
minor  poems  is  the  one  addressed  to 
CalvusontheDeathofQuintilia.  The 
touching  simplicity  of  the  original  is 
above  all  praise.  The  notion  of  the 
departed  spirit  of  the  mistress,  tender- 
ly watching  over  the  sorrow  of  the  lo- 
ver, and  rejoicing  at  the  proofs  of  his 
affection,  every  heart  must  acknow- 
ledge to  be  beautiful.  It  has  been 
often  adopted,  but  never  expressed 
•with  more  sweet  and  melancholy  pa- 
thos. The  translation  is  very  inferior, 
but  we  will  quote  it  for  the  gratifica- 
tion of  our  readers : — 

"  TO  CALVUS,  ON  THE  DEATH  OF 
ftUINTILIA. 

"  Calvus,  if  any  joy  from  mortal  tears 

Can  touch  the  feelings  of  the  silent  dead; 
When  dwells  regret  on  loves  of  former 

years, 

Or  weeps  o'er  friendships  that  have  long 
been  fled, 

"  Oh !  then  far  less  will  be  Quintilia's  woe 

At  early  death  and  fate's  severe  decree, 

Than  the  pure  pleasure  she  will  feel  to 

know 

How  well,  how  truly  she  was  loved  by 
thee." 

Of  another  of  these  poems,  Mure- 
tus,  the  elegant  commentator,  and  ad- 
mirable imitator  of  Catullus,  has  ob- 
served, "  Ita  venustum  hoc  epigram- 
ma  est,  ut  ipsa  si  velit  Venus  venusti- 
us  eo  efficere  quicquam  non  queat." 
When  beauties  so  abound,  one  would 
think  it  would  be  hardly  possible  in 
translating  to  miss  them  all.  That 


&16 

such  an  event  may  happen,  he  who 
will  take  the  trouble  of  examining  Mr 
Lamb,  in  page  92  of  his  second  vo- 
lume, will,  we  have  little  doubt,  be 
convinced. 

But  to  bring  our  observations  to  a 
close.  We  believe  these  two  elegantly 
printed  volumes  must  follow  the  fate 
of  many  other  translations,  equally  de- 
serving, though  destitute  of  the  same 
exterior  recommendation.  We  cer- 
tainly have  not  been  able  to  find  in 
them  any  peculiar  merit  as  a  redemp- 
tion from  that  lot  to  which  mediocrity 
in  translation  is  subject.  If  fidelity, 
in  any  sense  of  the  word,  be  necessary 
in  performances  of  this  sort,  then  is  Mr 
Lamb  most  egregiously  deficient.  He 
is,  in  fact,  equally  unfaithful  to  the 
meaning,  the  poetry,  and  the  charac- 
ter of  his  original.  To  the  meaning  he 
is  not  faithful,  for  his  paraphrase  is 
not  only  loose,  but  very  often  capri- 
ciously and  indefensibly  inaccurate. 
To  the  poetry  he  is  not  faithful,  for 
not  one  of  the  finer  and  more  beauti- 
ful passages  of  his  author  have  been 
rendered  with  any  thing  like  the  spi- 
rit of  a  poet,  or  even  that  reflected 
glow  which  is  sometimes  caught  from 
one.  To  the  character  he  is  likewise 
not  faithful,  for  no  one,  on  reading 
the  present  translation,  can  discern  any 
of  those  distinguishing  marks  which 
peculiarize  the  Latin  original.  The 
native  force,  and  sometimes  coarse- 
ness, are  melted  down  to  most  lament- 
able and  unqualified  weakness,  and  the 
significant  conciseness,  and  laconic  bre- 
vity, are  dissipated  amidst  plethoric 
redundance  and  expansion.  Yet  there 
are  some  translations  which,  however 
undeserving  of  praise  as  versions  mere- 
ly, have  great  and  undoubted  merit, 
when  considered  as  original  pieces  of 
poetry.  Mr  Lamb's  claim  to  approba- 
tion we  apprehend  can  hardly  rest  on 
this  ground.  He  gives  us  neither  the 
poetry  of  his  original,  nor  any  other 
poetry  of  any  sort ;  and  whether  we  re- 
gard him  as  following  in  the  footsteps 
of  his  author,  or  exhibiting  an  original 
flight  of  his  own,  he  appears  equally 
unfortunate.  On  the  whole,  then,  we 
believe  the  circulation  of  the  work 
must  be  limited  to  those  libraries  to 
which  good  paper  and  elegant  type  are 
an  admission,  and  to  those  readers  who 
have  never  read  Catullus,  and  never 
felt  the  charm  of  genuine  and  classi- 
cal poetry. 

To  conclude.    Mr  Lamb  has  alle- 


Lamb's  Translation  of  Catullus. 


ged,  in  defence  of  his  cxtra-pofession- 
al  studies,  the  names  of  Sir  William 
Blackstone,  Sir  William  Jones,  and 
others,  whose  eminence  was  doubly 
secured  by  the  possession  of  strong 
powers  of  reason,  with  rich  gifts  of 
fancy,  of  great  legal  learning,  joined 
with  great  classical  taste.  And  it  is 
with  triumph  we  acknowledge,  that 
amongst  the  members  of  that  arduous 
profession,  many  may  be  named  whose 
predominance  was  not  less  striking  in 
their  own  peculiar  field,  than  in  the 
variegated  and  more  luxuriant  domain 
of  poetry  and  polite  literature,  and 
who,  the  head  of  one  department,  and 
the  honour  of  the  other,  have  opened 
the  ancient  urns  of  classical  inspira- 
tion, to  freshen,  enrich,  and  fertilize 
the  barrenness  of  a  most  barren  study. 
That  there  have  been,  and  are  still 
such  men,  no  one  can  deny.  These 
are,  however,  but  few  in  number. 
There  are  others  infinitely  more  nume- 
rous, and  we  are  not  sure  that  the  pre- 
sent work  does  not  afford  us  an  example 
of  one  of  those,  who,  with  moderate 


powers,  sufficient,  if  well  husbanded, 
to  secure  to  them  a  reasonable  propor- 
tion of  success  in  the  departmentwhich 
they  have  selected,  are  led  by  that 
sickly  craving  after  forbidden  fruit, 
which  is  always  the  concomitant  of  a 
diseased  and  dissipated  state  of  mind, 
to  waste  their  little  modicum  of  talent 
in  a  fruitless  and  inconsistent  applica- 
tion of  it;  who,  with  merely  enough 
of  law  to  deaden  their  poetry,  and 
merely  enough  of  poetry  to  vitiate  their 
law,  have  sufficient  of  neither  to  save 
them  from  that  contumely  which  fail- 
ure always  is  productive  of,  and  who 
amphibiously  changing  from  element 
to  element,  and  unceasingly  multiply- 
ing disgrace  upon  disgrace,  hang  for 
ever  suspended  and  unstable  in  a  fool's 
paradise  of  their  own,  where,  after 
dreaming  of  honours  from  the  body  of 
lawyers,  and  of  laurels  from  the  body 
of  bards,  they  awake  at  last  only  to 
find  themselves  derided  as  weak-mind- 
ed deserters  by  the  one,  and  rejected 
as  unlicensed  intruders  by  the  other. 


THE  FLORIDA  PIRATE. 


A  SERIES  of  misfortunes  had  unex- 
pectedly thrown  me  upon  a  foreign 
land,  and  entirely  deprived  me  of  the 
means  of  subsistence.  I  knew  not 
where  to  apply  for  relief,  or  how  to 
avoid  the  alarming  evils  that  threaten- 
ed me  on  every  side.  I  was  on  one  of 
the  Bahama  islands.  I  could  not  en- 
joy the  temporary  asylum  I  then  pos- 
sessed longer  than  two  days,  without 
involving  myself  in  debts  which  I  was 
unable  to  pay,  and  consequently  bring- 
ing my  person  under  the  power  of  in- 
dividuals, who,  I  was  inclined  to  sus- 
pect, had  nothing  humane  or  generous 
in  their  characters.  I  wandered  along 
the  sea-shore,  sometimes  shuddering 
at  the  dreariness  of  my  prospects,  and 
sometimes  trembling  lest  the  horrors 
of  want  should  urge  me  to  obtain  the 
necessaries  of  life  by  concealing  from 
others  that  I  was  in  absolute  poverty. 

When  about  a  mile  distant  from  the 
small  town  where  I  lodged,  my  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  a  schooner  lying 
at  anchor  behind  a  projecting  point  of 
land.  I  knew  that  vessels  did  not  usu- 
ally moor  in  such  a  situation,  and  in- 
quired at  a  fisherman,  whom  I  met  on 
the  beach,  if  he  could  tell  me  what 
the  schooner  did  there  ?  "  I  am  not 


quite  sure,'"  returned  he,  "  but  I  ra- 
ther suspect  she's  a  pirate.  Those  on 
board  of  her  are  mostly  blacks,  and 
they  seem  very  anxious  to  keep  out  of 
sight.  Had  she  been  a  fair  trader,  she 
would  have  come  into  the  harbour  at 
once." 

This  information  startled  me  a  good 
deal.  I  became  excessively  agitated 
without  knowing  the  reason ;  and  felt 
an  anxious  desire  to  repress  some  idea, 
that  had,  as  it  were,  arisen  in  my  mind, 
without  my  being  conscious  of  its  ex- 
istence. 

I  left  my  informant,  and  seated  my- 
self under  a  cliff.  Half  of  the  sun  had 
disappeared  below  the  horizon.  I 
watched  his  descending  orb,  and  wish- 
ed I  could  retard  the  flight  of  time, 
when  I  reflected,  that,  after  the  lapse 
of  two  days,  I  should  perhaps  be  des- 
titute of  an  asylum,  and  perishing  from 
want.  "  Something  must  be  done,"  I 
exclaimed,  starting  up :  "  If  these  are 
pirates,  I  will  join  them.  My  profes- 
sion will  enable  me  to  render  them 
valuable  services.  I  shall  be  guilty  of 
no  crime  in  doing  so ; — the  law  of  na- 
ture compels  me  to  violate  the  laws  of 
man."  1  looked  anxiously  towards  the 
schooner,  which  lay  within  half  a  mile 


1821-3  The  Florida  Pirate. 

of  the  shore,  in  hopes  that  I  should  see 
her  hoat  approaching,  and  thus  find 
means  of  speaking  with  the  person  who 
commanded  her. 

I  waited  upwards  of  an  hour,  but 
could  not  discover  that  those  on  board 
made  any  preparations  for  coining 
ashore.  It  was  now  dark,  and  the 
beach  was  silent  and  deserted.  I  found 
a  small  boat  lying  upon  the  sand  ;  and, 
having  pushed  her  off,  I  cautiously 
embarked,  and  began  to  row  towards 
the  schooner — but,  after  a  few  strokes 
of  the  oars,  my  resolution  almost  fail- 
ed. I  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  form- 
ing a  league  with  the  outcasts  of  so- 
ciety, and  rendering  myself  amenable 
to  the  laws  of  every  civilized  nation. 
The  gloom  of  the  night,  the  calmness 
of  the  ocean,  and  the  brightness  of  the 
sky,  seemed  to  urge  me  to  reflect  up- 
en  what  I  was  doing.  I  did  reflect — 
I  looked  towards  the  town — a  sense  of 
the  wretchedness  of  my  condition 
struck  irresistibly  upon  my  mind,  and 
I  pushed  furiously  forward. 

When  I  had  got  within  a  short  dis- 
tance of  the  schooner,  one  of  her  crew 
called  out,  "  Avast,  avast !  who  have 
we  here?"  On  reaching  the  side  of 
the  vessel,  I  said  I  wished  to  see  the 
captain.  "  What  do  you  want  with 
him  ?"  demanded  the  same  voice.  "  I 
must  speak  with  him  alone,"  answer- 
ed I.  The  questioner  retired  to  the 
stern,  and  I  heard  the  sound  of  people 
talking,  as  if  in  consultation,  for  a  lit- 
tle time.  I  was  then  desired  to  come 
on  board ;  and,  the  moment  I  stepped 
upon  deck,  a  negro  led  me  towards  a 
man  who  stood  near  the  helm. 

He  was  very  tall  and  athletic,  and 
of  a  jet  black,  and  wore  only  a  shirt 
and  white  trowsers.  His  face  had  a 
bold  and  contemplative  expression,  and 
he  wanted  his  right  hand.  "  I  pre- 
sume you  are  the  commander  of  this 
vessel,"  said  I.  He  nodded  impatient- 
ly. "  I  understand  you  are  going  up- 
on an  expedition."—"  I  don't  care 
what  you  understand — to  your  busi- 
ness, master,"  returned  he,  haughtily. 
"  I  know  you  are  pirates/'  continued 
I,  "  and  it  is  my  wish  to  accompany 
you  in  the  capacity  of  a  medical  atten- 
dant." He  surveyed  me  with  a  look 
of  astonishment,  that  seemed  to  de- 
mand an  avowal  of  the  motives  that 
had  prompted  me  to  make  such  a  pro- 
posal. "  You  surely  will  not  decline 
my  offer,"  said  I,  "  for  you  must  be 
aware  that  I  am  able  to  render  you 
very  essential  services.  I  have  been 


517 


unfortunate  every  way,  and "  "  O, 

you  be  unfortunate !  and  seek  relief 
from  a  black  man — from  a  negro  !"  in- 
terrupted he,  with  a  scornful  laugh. 
"  Well,  stay  on  board ;  you  cannot 
leave  this  vessel  again.  Remember, 
we  are  not  to  be  betrayed."  "  But  I 
have  something  on  shore  that  I  wish 
to  carry  along  with  me."  "  I  will  send 
one  of  my  men  for  it,"  replied  he,  "  to- 
morrow morning  at  dawn." 

He  walked  coolly  away  to  the  bows 
of  the  vessel,  and  began  to  give  some 
orders  to  the  seamen,  who  formed  a 
very  numerous  body.  Most  of  them 
were  loitering  together  on  the  fore- 
castle, and  smoking  segars,  and  they 
all  seemed  to  be  blacks.  French  and 
English  were  spoken  indiscriminately 
among  them ;  and  their  conversation 
was  incessant  and  vociferous,  and  in- 
termingled with  disgusting  execra- 
tions. Several  disputes  took  place,  in 
the  course  of  which  the  parties  struck 
each  other,  and  wrestled  together ;  but 
their  companions  neither  endeavoured 
to  separate  them,  nor  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  the  affrays.  They  appeared  to 
have  a  set  of  jests,  the  spirit  of  which 
was  intelligible  to  themselves  alone  ; 
for  they  frequently  gave  way  to  vio- 
lent laughter,  when  their  conversation, 
taken  in  a  literal  sense,  expressed  no- 
thing that  could  excite  mirth. 

When  it  was  near  midnight,  the 
captain,   whose    name  was  Manuel, 
conducted  me  to  the  cabin,  and  made 
many  inquiries,  which  evidently  had 
for  their  object  to  discover  if  I  really  was 
what  I  professed  to  be.  His  doubts  be- 
ing removed,  he  pointed  to  a  birth, 
and  told  me,  I  might  occupy  it  when- 
ever I  chose,  and  went  upon  deck 
again.     I  extinguished  the  light,  and 
lay  down  in  bed.     The  enthusiasm  of 
desperation,  and  the  pride  of  deciding 
with  boldness  and  alacrity,  had  now 
subsided,  and  I  could  calmly  reflect 
upon  what  I  had  done.    My  anticipa- 
tions respecting  the  life  I  was  now  to 
lead  were  gloomy  and  revolting.     I 
scarcely  dared  to  look  forward  to  the 
termination  of  the  enterprize  in  which 
I  had  embarked ;  but,  when  I  consi- 
dered what  would  have  been  my  fate 
had  I  remained  on  shore,  I  could  not 
condemn  my  choice.  Contempt,  abject 
poverty,  and  the  horrors  of  want,  were 
the  evils  I  fled  from — tyranny,  dan- 
ger, and  an  ignominious  death,  form- 
ed those  towards  which  I  was  perhaps 
hastening. 

Next  morning,  Captain  Manuel  de- 


518 


The  Florida  Pirate. 


sired  me  to  Write  an  order  for  my  port- 
manteau, that  he  might  send  one  of 
his  men  to  bring  it  on  board.  I  obey- 
ed him,  and  also  enclosed  the  sum  I 
owed  the  persons  with  whom  I  had 
resided.  Shortly  after  the  messenger 
returned  the  crew  began  to  heave  up 
the  anchor;  and  we  soon  put  to  sea 
with  a  light  wind,  and  gradually  re- 
ceded from  the  shores  of  the  island. 

I  breakfasted  in  the  cabin  with  Ma- 
nuel. His  manner  was  chilly  and  su- 
percilious ;  and  he  had  more  dignity 
about  him  than  any  negro  I  had  ever 
before  seen.  The  want  of  his  right  hand 
made  his  person  very  striking ;  and  he 
seemed  aware  of  this :  for  when  he  ob- 
served me  gazing  on  the  mutilated 
arm,  he  frowned,  and  enveloped  it  in 
the  folds  of  the  table-cloth. 

We  lost  sight  of  land  in  a  few  hours, 
but  I  knew  not  where  we  were  bound, 
and  Manuel's  reserved  behaviour  pre- 
vented me  from  making  any  inquiry. 
He  walked  upon  deck  all  day  with 
folded  arms,  and  scarcely  ever  raised 
his  eyes,  except  to  look  at  the  compass, 
or  give  directions  to  the  helmsman. 

The  schooner,  which  was  named  the 
Esperanza,  was  about  one  hundred  and 
twenty  tons  burden,  carried  six  guns, 
and  had  forty-three  men  on  board  of 
her,  and  several  boys.  There  appear- 
ed to  be  very  little  discipline  among 
the  crew ;  all  of  whom  amused  them- 
selves in  any  way,  and  in  any  place, 
they  chose,  except  when  the  working 
of  the  vessel  required  their  attention. 
The  presence  of  the  captain  did  not 
impose  any  restraint  upon  them ;  and 
one,  who  was  called  the  mate,  snatch- 
ed a  chart  unceremoniously  from  his 
hand,  and  told  him  he  did  not  know 
what  he  was  about,  without  receiving 
any  reproof  for  his  insolence.  A  num- 
ber of  the  negroes  lay  round  the  fire, 
roasting  ears  of  Indian  corn,  which 
were  eagerly  snatched  off  the  embers 
the  moment  they  were  ready.  An  ex- 
pression of  disgusting  sensuality  cha- 
racterized this  part  of  the  crew ;  and 
they  looked  as  if  they  were  strangers 
to  retrospection  and  anticipation,  and 
felt  existence  only  in  so  far  as  the  pass- 
ing moment  was  concerned.  One  man, 
of  a  mild  aspect,  sat  a  distance  from 
the  others,  and  played  upon  an  old 
guitar.  Many  were  half  naked,  and 
J  could  distinguish  the  marks  of  the 
whip  on  the  shoulders  of  some  of  them. 
The  limbs  of  others  had  been  distort- 
ed by  the  weight  and  galling  of  fetters, 


Oug. 

as  was  evident  from  the  indentations 
exhibited  by  their  flesh. 

On  awaking  the  second  morning  of 
the  voyage,  I  found  that  Manuel  was 
still  asleep.  The  difficulty  of  the  na- 
vigation had  obliged  him  to  keep  on 
deck  all  night,  that  he  might  direct 
the1  course  of  the  vessel,  and  he  was 
now  reposing  himself  after  the  fatigues 
of  his  long  watch.  The  crew  were 
preparing  breakfast,  and  conversing 
together. 

Some  dispute  took  place  about  the 
distribution  of  the  provisions,  and  one 
of  them  called  the  other  a  rascally  run- 
away. "  You  lie,"  cried  the  accused 
person,  "  I  guess  you're  something 
worse  yourself,  Philip." — "  Vou  had 
as  well  be  quiet,  Antony.  Has  any 
body  any  thing  to  say  against  me  ?" 
— "  Why,  that  you're  a  Yankey  slave, 
that's  all,"  returned  Philip. — "  Damn 
you,"  cried  he,  "  I'm  a  free  man — yes, 
free  and  independent."  Here  they  all 
laughed  loudly,  and  he  demanded  with 
fury  who  would  venture  to  contradict 
him,  or  to  assert  that  he  had  a  master. 
"  Why,  we  know  well  enough  you 
ha'n't  a  master  now,  you  pricked  him 
under  the  ribs,"  replied  one  of  the 
crew.  This  excited  another  laugh, 
and  Antony  cried,  "  Curse  you  for  a 
niger — belike  I'll  do  the  same  to  you." 
— "  Don't  be  calling  me  a  niger,"  said 
Philip,  "  I  was  born  in  the  States." — 
"  I  would'nt  believe  it,"  said  Antony, 
"  for  you  know  no  more  than  if  you 
was  fresh  off  the  coast — You  can't 
roast  corn." 

"  Come,  let  us  to  breakfast,"  inter- 
rupted another,  "  and  leave  these  two 
black  sheep  to  fight  together,  as  soon 
as  they  can  pick  up  courage." — "  I'm 
sure  you've  nothing  to  say,  Mandin- 
go,"  cried  Antony ;  "  you  can't  tell 
where  you  came  from." — "  To  be  sure 
I  can,"  answered  Mandingo,  "  I  w<:8 
very  ill  used  by  my  master,  and  made 
my  escape." — "  Yes,  from  the  gal- 
lows," cried  one  of  the  crew,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  others. 

'"  I  guess  there's  ne'er  a  man  on 
board  this  schooner  whose  life  can  be 
better  looked  into  than  mine,"  said  a 
negro,  who  had  not  before  spoken — 
"  I  was  born  in  a  Christian  country, 
and  when  I  was  twenty  years  old,  a 
great  army  captain  made  me  his  ser- 
vant. I  had  the  care  of  all  his  money 
and  clothes,  and  could  do  what  I  plea- 
sed. I  went  to  plays  and  consorts,  and 
was  &o  like  a  gentleman  that  a  white 


18210 

mistress  fell  in  love  with  me,  and  we 
were  married. — What  a  grand  sight  the 
marriage  was  !  My  master  gave  me  a 
gold  ring  to  put  on  my  wife's  ringer." 
— "  And  did  you  put  it  on  her  fin- 
ger ?"  demanded  Antony. — "  Why 
do  you  ask  that  ?" — "  Because  I  guess 
from  the  look  of  your  shins,  that 
you  put  it  on  your  own  leg."  The 
whole  crew  joined  in  a  loud  laugh, 
and  looked  at  the  limb  of  the  first 
speaker,  which  was  strongly  galled  by 
fetters.  "  It  must  have  been  a  pretty 
heavy  ring,"  said  Antony,  "  and  yet, 
for  all  the  gold  that  was  in  it,  I  dare- 
say you  was  glad  to  get  quit  of  it." — 
"  I've  done/  returned  the  object  of 
their  ridicule  ;  "  I'll  say  no  more.  I 
thought  I  was  speaking  to  gentlemen." 
—"Never  mind  him.  We  are  all  liable  to 
flesh-marks," observed  Philip.  "There 
now,  what  say  you  of  our  captain's 
wanting  a "  "  Hush,  hush,"  in- 
terrupted Mandingo,  "  that  is  a  sore 
subject." 

In  the  course  of  three  days,  we 
came  in  sight  of  the  north  shore  of 
Cuba ;  but  to  my  great  satisfaction  had 
not  met  with  a  single  vessel  of  any 
description.  Manuel  hourly  became 
less  reserved,  and  we  often  had  long 
conversations  together  ;  and  one  even- 
ing he  promised  to  relate  the  history 
of  his  life  to  me,  the  first  favourable 
opportunity. 

After  cruizing  about  for  a  week,  we 
cast  anchor  at  the  mouth  of  the  Xibara 
harbour,  which  lies  near  the  eastern  ex- 
tremity of  Cuba.  Our  object  in  doing  so 
was  to  obtain  a  supply  of  firewood  from 
the  banks  of  a  small  river  that  disem- 
bogues into  the  harbour.  Manuel  re- 
quested me  to  accompany  the  party 
destined  for  this  purpose,  as  he  was  to 
command  it;  and  at  a  late  hour  one 
night  we  set  out  in  a  boat,  along  with 
seven  of  the  crew. 

The  weather  was  clear,  calm,  and 
delightful ;  and  we  soon  entered  the 
river,  and  rowed  slowly  up  its  wind- 
ings. The  banks  were  for  the  most 
part  thickly  covered  with  trees,  which 
over-arched  us  completely,  and  ren- 
dered it  so  dark  that  Manuel  could 
scarcely  see  to  steer  the  boat.  We 
sometimes  could  discern  far  before  us, 
a  portion  of  the  sky  vividly  reflected 
in  the  bosom  of  the  stream — bright 
and  dazzling,  amidst  the  surrounding 
gloom,  as  the  contrast  of  divine  puri- 
ty with  mortal  corruption.  Nota  sound 
could  be  heard,  except  the  regular 


The  Florida  Pirate. 


519 


dashing  of  the  oars,  and  the  rustling 
of  fields  of  Indian  corn,  shaken  by 
the  wind.  The  most  delicious  per- 
fumes filled  the  air,  and  fruits  of  dif- 
ferent kinds,  that  had  apparently  just 
dropt  from  the  tree,  floated  past  us, 
silently  proclaiming  the  luxuriance  of 
the  region  that  bordered  both  sides  of 
the  river. 

I  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat  beside 
Manuel,  but  neither  of  us  spoke  a  word. 
The  emotions  produced  by  the  sur- 
rounding objects  were  so  delightful., 
that  the  mind  contentedly  remained 
in  a  state  of  passiveness,  receiving, 
without  resistance,  every  idea  that  pre- 
sented itself.  Within  the  space  of  an 
hour,  I  had  exchanged  the  confine- 
ment and  pitching  of  a  vessel,  the  mo- 
notony of  a  sea  prospect,  and  the  noise 
and  brutality  of  a  set  of  criminals,  for 
the  harmony  of  wood  and  water — the 
richness  of  vegetable  perfumes,  and 
the  quiet  enjoyment  of  an  inspiring 
summer's  night. 

When  we  had  got  about  two  miles 
above  the  mouth  of  the  river,  the  men 
disembarked,  and  began  to  cut  wood 
at  a  little  distance  from  us.  "  I  believe 
my  people  are  out  of  hearing,"  said  Ma- 
nuel, after  a  long  pause,  "  and  while 
we  wait  for  their  return,  I  shall  tell 
you  something  about  my  past  life. 

"  I  need  not  give  you  a  minute  ac- 
count of  my  early  years,  as  they  were 
not  distinguished  by  any  thing  re- 
markable. My  mother  came  from  the 
coast  of  Africa,  but  I  was  born  in 
South  Carolina,  where  my  master  had 
a  large  estate,  in  the  cultivation  of 
which  more  than  one  hundred  negroes 
were  employed.  My  mother  being  a 
house-servant,  was  exempted  from 
many  of  the  hardships  and  privations 
to  which  the  other  slaves  were  expo- 
sed, but  she  owed  the  comparative  com- 
fort of  her  situation  entirely  to  her  ca- 
pability of  ministering  to  the  voluptu- 
ousness of  Mr  Sexton,  who  was  much 
addicted  to  the  pleasures  of  the  table. 
He  gave  orders  that  I  should  be  brought 
up  within  doors,  as  he  intended  me  for 
a  waiting  man. 

"  Alter  I  had  attained  the  age  of 
sixteen  years,  I  was  obliged  to  be  in 
continual  attendance  upon  my  master, 
and  to  submit  quietly  to  all  his  ca- 
prices. The  treatment  I  received  from 
him,  and  the  knowledge  I  acquired  of 
his  character,  made  me  feel  what  a  de- 
grading thing  slavery  was.  Had  I  been 
forced  to  work  in  the  fields^  like  the 


520 


TJie  Florida  Pirate. 


other  negroes,  I  might  not  perhapshave 
repined  at  my  condition,  because  I 
would  have  known  nothing  better,  and 
at  the  same  time  believed  that  my  condi- 
tion was  irremediable,  and  consistent 
with  the  laws  of  nature.  But  being  con- 
tinually in  the  presence  of  Mr  Sexton, 
and  of  other  white  people,  and  daily 
hearing  their  conversation,  I  soon  disco- 
vered that  they  were  superior  to  us  in 
nothing  but  knowledge ;  that  they  were 
mean,  wicked,  cruel,  and  unjust ;  and 
that  they  sometimes  feared  we  would 
assert  our  rights,  and  overpower  them 
by  numbers. 

fr  They  seemed  to  consider  negroes 
as  creatures  who  were  destitute  of  souls 
and  understandings.  Though  I  felt 
indignant  when  I  heard  these  opinions 
uttered,  I  was  aware  that  I  derived 
some  advantage  from  their  being  acted 
upon ;  for  my  master  and  his  friends, 
not  believing  that  I  could  comprehend 
a  sentence  of  their  conversation,  felt 
no  restraint  when  I  was  present,  and 
thus  afforded  me  an  opportunity  of 
hearing  their  sentiments  upon  every 
subject,  and  becoming  acquainted  with 
their  principles  and  characters. 

"  Often,  while  waiting  at  table,  and 
listening  to  their  disgusting  opinions, 
I  have  been  called  forward  by  one  of 
them,  and  struck  severely  on  the  face, 
for  some  trivial  mistake  I  had  com- 
mitted in  serving  him  with  food  or 
wine.  In  South  Carolina,  the  guests 
do  not  hesitate  to  chastise  their  enter- 
tainer's servants,  whenever  they  feel 
inclined  ;  and  a  party  of  white  people 
there,  often  make  the  cursing  and 
beating  of  the  slaves  in  attendance 
their  chief  employment  during  dinner. 
On  such  occasions,  the  burning  tears 
of  resentment  would  rush  into  my 
eyes,  I  would  tremble  with  ill-dissem- 
bled rage,  and  implore  the  God  of  my 
fathers'  to  let  loose  his  rage  upon  my 
tormentors,  although  I  should  become 
its  victim  along  with  them. 

"  There  was  an  old  free  negro  upon 
the  plantation,  who  had  travelled 
through  the  Northern  States  of  Ame- 
rica. He  could  read  and  write  tole- 
rably well,  and  knew  a  good  deal 
about  the  countries  he  had  visited. 
I  happened  to  become  a  favourite  of 
his,  and  he  often  gave  me  minute  ac- 
counts of  the  condition  of  the  Afri- 
cans who  lived  in  New  York,  and  con- 
trasted their  independence  with  the  ab- 
ject state  of  our  raee  every  where  else.  I 


listened  to  these  details  with  tire  deep- 
est attention,  which  pleased  him  so 
much,  that  he  offered  to  teach  me  to 
read.  I  gladly  availed  myself  of  his 
instructions,  and  profited  so  much 
by  them,  that  in  the  course  of  five  or 
six  months,  I  was  able  to  peruse  the 
newspapers  which  my  master  received 
from  different  parts  of  the  Union  ; 
many  of  them  contained  paragraphs 
upon  the  subject  of  slavery,  and  I  was 
delighted  to  find  that  some  men  ex- 
claimed against  it,  and  denied  that 
white  people  had  the  least  right  to 
tyrannize  over  negroes. 

"  I  used  often  to  steal  into  my  mas- 
ter's room,  when  he  slept,  and  read 
the  New  York  Journals.  One  after- 
noon he  caught  me  with  one  in  my 
hand,  and  demanded  angrily  what  I 
was  doing.  I  told  him  I  was  reading. 
He  struck  me  a  violent  blow  on  the 
head  with  his  cane,  and  said  he  would 
order  me  forty  lashes  if  I  ever  again 
looked  at  a  book  or  newspaper.  He 
soon  discovered  that  the  old  negro  had 
been  my  teacher,  and  immediately 
sent  him  off  the  estate,  not  being  able 
to  inflict  any  other  punishment,  in 
consequence  of  his  having  purchased 
his  freedom. 

"  Next  day,  a  neighbouring  planter 
called  upon  Mr  Sexton,  and  the  latter, 
in  the  course  of  conversation,  said, 
'  What  do  you  think  I  caxight  that 
young  hell-dog  doing  the  other  night  ? 
He  was  reading  a  newspaper.'  The 
other  broke  into  a  loud  laugh,  and 
cried,  '  Why  did'nt  you  kill  him  ? 
Were  any  of  my  negroes  able  to  read, 
I  would  soon  flog  the  scholarship  out 
of  them.  Why,  the  little  devil  will 
begin  to  direct  you  how  to  manage 
your  estate  bye  and  bye.' — '  Oh,  I'll 
bring  him  to  his  senses,'  returned  my 
master;  '  Hark  ye,  fellow,'  continued 
he,  addressing  himself  to  me ;  '  If 
you  ever  look  at  a  printed  paper  again, 
I'll  put  out  your  eyes  with  a  red-hot 
poker.  The  whole  of  your  duty  is  to 
clean  the  knives,  and  wait  at  table. 
Damn  me,  if  I  don't  make  it  pretty  bad 
for  any  fellow  of  mine  who  does  either 
more  or  less  than  I  want  him  to  do.' 

'•'  I  easily  perceived  that  my  master 
and  his  friend  were  aware  that  their 
strength  lay  in  our  ignorance,  and  fear- 
id  L-st  the  slightest  acquisition  of 
knowledge  should  enable  us  to  disco- 
ver that  they  had  not  a  shadow  of 
right  to  enslave  and  tyrannize  over 

y 


The  Florida  Pirate. 


521 


our  race.  What  excuse  Is  there  for  the 
oppressor,  when  he  is  conscious  of  be- 
ing guilty  of  oppression  ! 

"  As  my  ideas  expanded,  my  si- 
tuation gradually  became  more  intoler- 
able. I  hud  no  one  to  whom  I  could 
communicate  my  thoughts.  My  fel- 
low-slaves were  so  ignorant  and  de- 
graded, that  I  could  hardly  look  at 
them  without  pity  and  disgust.  I  used 
to  watch  them  when  they  assembled 
to  receive  their  weekly  allowance  of 
provisions.  Worn  out  by  fatigue,  clad 
in  rags,  and  branded  with  lashes,  they 
would  wait  for  their  respective  portions 
with  eager  greediness,  and  then  hurry 
away  in  a  state  of  tumultuous  delight, 
which  was  scarcely  repressed  by  the 
clanking  of  the  overseer's  whip  behind 
them.  They  had  sunk  so  low  that  they 
seemed  willing  to  accept  life  upon  any 
terms. 

"  In  the  midst  of  my  misery,  I  be- 
came attached  to  a  young  girl  named 
Sabrina.  She  was  a  slave  upon  the  ad- 
joining estate,  and  therefore  we  seldom 
had  an  opportunity  of  seeingeach  other 
except  by  stealth.  I  used  to  leave  my 
master's  houseat  midnight,  when  every 
one  was  in  bed,  and  go  across  the 
plantation  to  the  huts  in  which  Sabri- 
na and  her  mother  lived.  But  Mr 
Sexton  once  awoke  during  my  absence 
on  one  of  these  nocturnal  visits,  and 
the  whole  affair  was  soon  discovered. 
He  flogged  me  severely,  and  ordered 
me  to  remain  at  home  in  future  ;  and 
the  proprietor  of  the  adjoining  estate, 
to  whom  he  made  a  complaint,  caused 
Sabrina's  hut  to  be  burned  to  the 
ground  ;  that  it  might  no  longer  afford 
us  a  place  of  meeting.  I  became  half 
maddened  with  rage  and  misery.  How- 
ever, my  feelings  were  unnoticed  or 
disregarded  by  Mr  Sexton,  who,  like 
other  American  planters,  did  not  be- 
lieve that  negroes  were  susceptible  of 
love  or  sorrow. 

"  Mr  Sexton  had  a  daughter,  who 
resided  in  the  house  with  him,  and 
took  charge  of  his  domestic  affairs. 
The  proprietor  of  the  adjoining  estate, 
whose  name  was  Lusher,  loved  her, 
and  wished  to  marry  her,  but  Mr  Sex- 
ton would  not  consent  to  their  union, 
and  prohibited  all  correspondence  be- 
tween them.  However,  notwithstand- 
ing this,  they  sometimes  met  in  secret, 
and  often  wrote  to  each  other.  Miss 
Sexton  privately  employed  me  to  carry 
her  letters  to  Mr  Lusher,  promising 
that  she  would  satisfy  her  father  re- 

VOL.  IX. 


specting  my  absence  should  he  discover 
it,  and  likewise  secure  me  from  any 
risk  of  suffering  punishment  on  her 
account.  I  willingly  became  a  channel 
of  communication  between  the  two 
lovers,  for  I  hoped  by  doing  so  to  be 
able  to  forward  my  own  views. 

"  One  day  I  ventured  to  hint  to 
Miss  Sexton  that  I  expected  some  lit- 
tle reward  for  my  services,  and  begged 
her  to  entreat  her  father  to  purchase 
Sabrina,  and  bring  her  upon  his  estate, 
that  we  might  get  married.  She  en- 
gaged to  propose  the  thing  to  him,  and 
really  did  so  ;  but  he  refused  to  agree 
to  it,  and,  at  the  same  time,  told  her, 
that  he  suspected  she  had  some  private 
reasons  for  interceding  so  strongly  in 
my  behalf,  and  was  resolved  to  disco- 
ver what  they  were. 

"  Shortly  after  this,  Miss  Sexton 
desired  me  to  carry  a  letter  to  the  next 
estate,  and  bid  me  be  extremely  cau- 
tious lest  her  father  should  see  me  go- 
ing there,  but  said  that  if  he  did,  she 
would  find  means  to  shield  me  from 
all  blame.  I  took  a  bye-path  which  led 
across  our  plantation,  and  reached  Mr 
Lusher's  house  without  interruption  ; 
however  he  was  not  at  home,  and  the 
servants  pointed  to  a  small  building  a 
little  way  oft*,  and  told  me  I  would  find 
him  there. 

"  On  entering  it,  the  first  object 
that  struck  my  eyes  was  poor  Sabrina, 
whom  I  had  not  seen  for  many  weeks. 
She  lay  upon  some  planks  which  were 
covered  with  the  dry  husks  of  Indian 
corn,  and  seemed  to  be  dying.  The 
place  had  no  window  in  it,  and  an  old 
negro  woman  sat  beside  her,  holding 
a  candle,  while  Mr  Lusher  and  a  me- 
dical man  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
The  doctor  muttered,  '  She's  been  a 
fine  slave — confounded  pity  to  lose  her 
— can't  help  it  though ;'  and  then  be- 
gan to  whistle  and  play  with  his  cane. 
'  What  an  unfortunate  devil  I  am  !' 
exclaimed  Mr  Lusher,  angrily.  '  Hang 
her  for  falling  sick — what  right  has  a 
niger  to  fall  sick  ? — Ods,  I  believe,  she 
was  not  sound  when  I  bought  her — 
I'll  trounce  somebody  for  that — So  you 
think  there's  no  chance  of  her  hoeing 
any  more  corn  ?' — '  No,  no/  return- 
ed the  doctor,  laughing ;  '  I  would'nt 
like  to  have  as  little  chance  of  eating 
my  dinner  to-day  as  she  has  of  living 
two  hours.' 

"  I  stood  in  agony,  not  daring  to 
express  my  feelings.  I  advanced  to- 
wards Sabrina,  and  took  hold  of  her 
3U 


522 


The  Florida  Pirate. 


arm.  She  raised  her  eyes,  but  it  was 
only  that  I  might  see  their  lustre  ex- 
tinguished, for  in  a  moment  or  two 
she  fell  dead  upon  her  pillow.  '  Ah, 
she's  given  you  the  slip,'  said  the 
doctor.  Mr  Lusher  cried,  f  Damn 
her  soul  to  hell — there's  four  hundred 
dollars  lost,'  and  hurried  away,  bang- 
ing the  door  furiously  behind  him. 

"  However  he  soon  returned  ;  and 
seeing  me  gazing  on  Sabrina,  asked 
what  I  did  there.  I  said  I  had  a  letter 
for  him,  and  delivered  it.  '  Oh,'  cries 
he,  '  you're  the  fellow  that  wanted 
that  girl  for  a  wife.  I  wish  Mr  Sex- 
ton had  bought  her,  and  then  the  loss 
would  have  fallen  on  his  shoulders. 
Well,  you  may  take  her  now,  and  bury 
her,  or  marry  her — whichever  you  like 
—Begone,  I  don't  want  you.' 

"  I  hurried  home,  equally  afflicted 
at  the  death  of  Sabrina,  and  enraged 
by  the  inhuman  insults  I  had  received 
from  her  master.  When  I  had  come 
within  a  little  distance  of  the  house,  I 
observed  Mr  Sexton  and  his  daughter 
walking  towards  me.  '  How  do  you 
do,  Manuel  ?'  cried  he,  in  that  style 
of  derision  which  he  always  assumed 
when  infuriated  with  passion — '  I 
hope  your  walk  has  been  a  pleasant 
one.  Be  so  good  as  suggest  what  im- 
provements ought  to  be  made  on  this 
estate.  Do  the  crops  look  well  ? — Slave ! 
baboon !  imp  of  the  devil !  where  liave 
you  been  ?' 

"  I  made  no  reply,  but  looked  to 
Miss  Sexton.  She  coloured,  and  cried, 
'  What  does  the  wretch  mean  by  look- 
ing at  me  ?  You  surely  do  not  say 
that  I  sent  you  any  where.' — '  An- 
swer me,'  vociferated  her  father,  rai- 
sing his  cane.  '  Miss  Sexton  will  in- 
form you,'  returned  I. — (  This  is  be- 
yond my  patience!'  exclaimed  she.  'I'll 
tell  you  how  it  is,  father — he  has  been 
paying  a  visit  to  Sabrina,  notwith- 
standing your  orders  to  the  contrary, 
and  wishes  to  make  you  believe  that  I 
sent  him  somewhere — Manuel,  say  in- 
stantly if  you  saw  Sabrina  this  morn- 
ing.'— '  Yes,'  answered  I,  '  I  did, 
but' 'None  of  your  huts,  you  equi- 
vocating villain  !'  interrupted  my  mas- 
ter. Stung  with  indignation  at  Miss 
Sexton Yingratitude,  I  cried  out, '  Your 
daughter  sent  me  with  a  letter  to  Mr 
Lusher.' — '  What  !  you  give  us  the 
He  then  ?'  replied  Mr  Sexton,  striking 
me  over  the  head.  I  returned  the  blow 
with  my  list,  and  he  fell  flat  upon  the 
ground. 


CAug. 

"  Miss  Sexton  shrieked  loudly,  and 
the  overseer,  followed  by  several  slaves, 
hastened  towards  me  with  a  drawn 
cutlass  in  his  hand.  I  made  no  resist- 
ance, and  was  immediately  seized  and 
bound.  My  master  received  very  little 
injury  from  the  blow,  but  his  lips 
quivered  with  rage  ;  and  having  given 
orders  that  I  should  be  put  in  confine- 
ment, he  walked  toward  the  house 
crying  out,  '  Struck  by  a  slave  !  struck 
by  a  slave  ! — It  is  impossible!  Am  I 
dreaming  ?  — Does  God  Almighty  real- 
ly permit  this  ? — A  slave !  a  black !  a  ne- 
gro ! — Strike  me — a  noble  Carolinian  ! 
Is  there  a  law  to  punish  this  ?  Law — 
nonsense — Tortures,  death,  eternal 
curses !' 

"  I  was  immediately  thrown  into  a 
dark  apartment  in  a  large  store-house, 
and  remained  there  all  night  without 
being  visited  by  any  one.  I  n  the  morn- 
ing the  overseer  took  me  out,  and  made 
one  of  the  negroes  flog  me  severely,  in 
presence  of  Air  Sexton  and  his  daugh- 
ter. My  sufferings  were  dreadful.  In 
short,  I  was  indicted  for  striking  my 
master,  and  tried,  and  found  guilty. 
You  know  the  punishment  which  the 
law  awards  in  such  cases — It  was  in- 
flicted upon  me. — They  cut  off  my 
right  hand ! — they  cut  off  my  right 
hand !"  Here  Manuel  stretched  out 
the  mutilated  arm,  and  sobbed  con- 
vulsively. "  But  thank  God  I've  ano- 
ther," continued  he  vehemently;  "and 
may  it  never  be  better  employed  than 
in  resenting  the  tyranny  of  slave-imis- 
ters.  Oh !  that  every  negro  in  the 
Southern  States  would  risk  the  lo.ss  of 
his  right  hand  by  doing  what  I  have 
done !  then  would  we  prove  that  our 
race  was  not  made  to  be  trampled 
upon — but  let  me  proceed. 

"  I  was  confined  in  jail  for  three 
months,  and  then  sent  back  to  my 
master.  I  anticipated  a  life  of  wretch- 
edness, and  was  not  mistaken.  Scarce- 
ly a  day  passed,  in  the  course  of  which 
Mr  Sexton  did  not  find  an  excuse  for 
punishing  me.  As  the  want  of  my  hand 
rendered  me  unable  to  do  the  duties  of 
a  house-servant,  I  was  employed  in 
tending  the  cattle,  and  thus  had  many 
opportunities  of  conversing  with  my 
fellow-slaves  who  worked  out  of  doors. 
I  confided  my  thoughts  to  three  of 
them,  who  seemed  willing  to  attempt 
the  execution  of  any  project,  however 
daring.  In  short,  we  determined  to 
burn  our  master's  house,  and  spent, 
much  time  in  planning  how  we  could 


The  Florida  Pirate. 


best  effect  this  without  the  risk  of 
being  discovered. 

"  At  last  we  fixed  upon  a  time  for 
our  revenge.  It  was  a  holiday  among 
the  negroes,  who  were  all  amusing 
themselves  in  various  ways  on  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  estate.  My  master  was 
dining  with  a  planterin  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  and  as  part  of  his  road  lay 
through  a  retired  forest,  we  resolved 
to  intercept  him  on  his  way  home,  lest 
his  presence  there  should  prove  any 
Irindrance  to  the  success  of  our  scheme. 

"  We  had,  at  different  times,  placed 
combustibles  in  those  parts  of  his  house 
and  offices  that  were  least  exposed  to 
observation.  About  eight  in  the  even- 
ing we  set  fire  to  them,  and  then  has- 
tened to  the  wood,  and  stationed  our- 
selves among  the  trees  which  bordered 
the  road.  We  had  scarcely  waited  half 
an  hour  when  we  saw  smoke  beginning 
to  ascend  from  the  house,  which  was 
nearly  a  mile  distant,  and  heard  a  tu- 
multuous noise  of  voices.  I  gazed  and 
listened  with  silent  satisfaction,  till  my 
master  made  his  appearance.  He  was 
in  a  gig,  and  a  negro  rode  on  horseback 
behind  him.  Two  of  my  companions 
seized  the  reins  of  the  horses,  and, 
assisted  by  a  third,  I  dragged  Mr  Sex- 
ton out  of  his  carriage.  He  was  almost 
speechless  with  indignation  and  terror, 
and  doubtless  supposed  that  I  intend- 
ed murdering  him.  He  soon  began  to 
entreat  for  mercy  in  the  most  abject 
manner,  solemnly  pronging  that  he 
would  grant  me  my  freedom  if  I  al- 
lowed him  to  go  home  unmolested. 
'  You  may  well  desire  to  be  at  home,' 
said  I — '  Look  to  the  south.' — '  Ha,' 
cried  he,  '  what  do  you  mean  ? — Des- 
perate wretch,  have  you  taken  your 
revenge  already  ?  — My  house  is  on  fire ! 
— But  if  I  cannot  punish  you,  others 
will  suffer  for  this  !' 

"  We  now  bound  him  to  a  tree, 
with  his  face  towards  the  conflagra- 
tion, which  had  evidently  increased 
very  much.  A  bright  glare  of  light 
extended  far  over  the  sky,  and  tinged 
the  tops  of  the  trees  like  the  setting 
sun  ;  volumes  of  smoke  rose  from  two 
different  spots ;  we  heard  the  negroes 
shouting  confusedly ;  and  the  crack- 
ling, crashing,  and  thundering  of  tim- 
bers falling  to  the  ground,  announced 
that  the  work  of  destruction  made  fu- 
rious progress. 

"  Having  secured  the  negro-man  in 
the  same  way  as  Mr  Sexton,  and  tied 
the  horses  lest  they  should  go  to  the 


house,  and  be  the  means  of  inducing 
the  people  there  to  set  out  in  quest  of 
my  master,  we  left  them,  and  plunged 
into  the  recesses  of  the  forest.  We  tra- 
velled all  night  towards  the  sea-shore, 
but  did  not  venture  to  pass  through  any 
inhabited  place.  The  want  of  my  hand 
rendered  my  appearance  too  remark- 
able to  allow  me  to  hope  that  I  would 
escape  notice.  I  need  not  describe  the 
hardships  we  encountered  during  our 
journey.  In  two  days  we  reached  the 
coast,  where  we  stole  a  boat,  and  put 
out  to  sea,  intending,  if  possible,  to 
elude  any  search  that  might  be  made 
for  us.  We  soon  fell  in  with  a  pirate, 
who  immediately  took  us  on  board, 
and  I  gradually  acquired  some  know- 
ledge of  seamanship.  We  cruized  about 
for  a  considerable  time,  and  got  a  great 
many  prizes,  but  our  vessel  at  last  be- 
came so  generally  known,  that  the 
Captain  could  not  continue  to  sail  her 
without  running  much  risk  of  being 
captured.  He  therefore  went  into  a 
port  in  one  of  the  West  India  Islands, 
and  managed  to  get  her  sold.  He  paid 
his  crew  very  generously,  and  by  means 
of  his  bounty,  and  a  series  of  fortunate 
accidents,  I  was  enabled  to  purchase 
this  schooner,  and  to  commence  pirate 
myself.  My  mode  of  life  is  far  from 
being  an  agreeable  one,  and  I  have 
as  yet  made  but  little  of  it.  However, 
I  have  a  more  exalted  object  in  view 
than  mere  gain.  You  must  not  judge 
of  my  character  by  that  of  the  persons 
with  whom  you  see  me  surrounded.  I 
am  well  aware  that  my  crew  is  com- 
posed of  the  lowest  and  most  debased 
part  of  society,  and  often  feel  ashamed 
of  the  concessions  I  am  obliged  to 
make  them.  They  consider  themselves 
on  an  equality  with  me,  and  will  not 
submit  to  any  kind  of  discipline,  be- 
yond what  mutual  security  and  self- 
preservation  render  necessary.  But  I 
value  and  endure  them  only  in  so  far 
as  they  are  the  means  of  forwarding 
my  views.  I  would  consider  it  an  in- 
sult to  be  classed  with  such  despera- 
does." 

Here  Manuel  ceased  speaking.  I  did 
not  venture  to  make  any  comments  up- 
on his  story,  and  we  sat  in  silence  till 
the  men  came  to  the  side  of  the  river 
with  a  large  quantity  of  firewood.  We 
immediately  took  it  on  board  the  boat, 
and  rowed  down  the  stream,  and  reach- 
ed the  schooner  a  short  time  before 
dawn.  At  sunrise  we  weighed  anchor, 
and  put  to  see  again. 


*  The  Florida  Pirate.  QAug. 

Next  day,  while  walking  the  deck,    kill  five  whites  for  every  negro  that  is 


I  heard  one  negro  say  to  another, 
"  Mark,  what  was  that  you  was  tell- 
ing me  about  Ciesar  having  been  hang- 
ed at  Baltimore  ?" — "  Why,  only  that 
he  was  hanged,"  replied  Mark.  "When 
I  was  last  ashore,  I  heard  so  from  one 
who  had  read  it  in  a  newspaper." — 
"  What  did  they  make  him  swing 
for  ?"  inquired  the  first,  whose  name 
was  Mendez.  "  Did  he  look  sulky 
at  his  master,  break  a  wine-glass,  or 
bring  him  a  knife  when  he  wanted  a 
fork  ?" — "  No,  no,  he  did  nothing  so 
bad  as  that,"  replied  Mark,  laughing. 
"  He  was  a  cruizer,  like  our  Captain, 
and  meeting  with  a  vessel,  he  went  on 
board,  and  helped  himself  to  some  bis- 
cuit and  rum,  and  a  little  hard  cash. 
Her  crew  wished  to  put  him  on  short 
allowance,  but  he  took  what  he  want- 
ed in  spite  of  them  all.  He  was  after- 
wards caught  by  a  Yankee  ship-of- 
war,  and  carried  to  Baltimore.  The 
folks  there  found  him  guilty  of  piracy, 
as  they  called  it,  and  hanged  him  and 
some  of  his  crew  besides." 

".Why,  I  think,"  said  Mendez,  "  he 
had  a  right  to  taste  the  rum,  if  he  had 
helped  to  make  as  much  of  it  as  you 
and  I  have  done.  We  negcrs  have  a 
pretty  time  of  it.  They  won't  let  us 
live  by  land  or  by  water.  I  wonder  if 
we  could  please  our  masters  by  flying 
in  the  air  ?  Why,  now,  was'nt  Cresar 
hanged  for  what  we've  been  doing  ?" 
— "  To  be  sure  he  was,"  returned 
Mark  ;  "  we  must  keep  a  sharp  look- 
out. I  guess  our  best  plan  will  be  to 
hinder  any  one  from  ever  becoming  a 
•witness  against  us." — "  How  can  we 
manage  that  ?"  demanded  Mendez. — 
"  Why,  by  pinking  a  hole  in  the  bot- 
tom of  our  prizes,  and  making  those 
on  board  of  them  drink  our  healths  in 
salt-water,"  said  Mark.  f<  Dead  men 
tellnotales,youknow." — "Well,I  con- 
clude it  our  only  way,"  replied  Mendez, 
"  though  I  should  feel  a  little  strange 
about  sending  a  crew  of  white  men  to 
hell  in  a  moment." — "Why,  they  must 
all  go  there  at  last,  you  fool,"  return- 
ed Mark;  "  think  of  the  floggings 
you've  got." — "  Ha,  your  words  sound 
in  my  ear  like  the  crack  of  a  whip," 
cried  Mendez.  "  But  I  wonder  the 
Yankees  don't  know  better  than  to 
hang  us  for  being  pirates.  They  can't 
suppose  that  we'll  be  so  soft  HOW  as  to 
let  away  the  people  who  fall  into  our 
hands,  and  so  give  them  a  chance  of 
informing  against  us.  I'll  bet  you  we'll 


hanged." — "  Ay,  and  more  too,  if  we 
choose,"  said  Mark.  "  Oh,  we've  a 
weary  time  of  it,  for  most  people  think 
that  we  blacks  do  not  deserve  to  live, 
unless  we  are  slaves  and  beasts  of  bur- 
den. Faith,  I'm  getting  tired  of  a  sea- 
life.  If  I  could  but  scrape  together 
four  hundred  dollars,  I  would  give  up 
cruizing,  and  go  to  St  Domingo." — 
"  Why,  you  could  have  made  that 
sum  when  you  was  last  in  Charleston," 
returned  Mendez. — "  How  so  ?"  in- 
quired his  companion  — "  Wasn't  you 
advertized  as  an  outlaw  ?"  said  Men- 
dez— "  Was'nt  there  a  price  set  upon 
your  life  ?  you  should  have  cut  ofF 
your  head  and  carried  it  to  the  magis- 
trates, and  demanded  the  sum  that 
they  offered  for  it." — "  Damn  it  now, 
Mendez,  don't  begin  to  run  me,"  cried 
Mark  laughing.  "  I  would  have  been 
a  pretty  figure  without  a  head  upon 
my  shoulders." — "  Ah,"  returned  the 
other,  "  if  you  ever  had  had  one  up- 
on them,  you  would  not  have  let  slip 
such  a  good  opportunity  of  making 
money." 

We  had  now  been  cruizing  about 
for  nearly  three  weeks,  without  ever 
seeing  a  vessel.  The  mental  and  bo- 
dily inaction  which  had  characterized 
the  course  of  my  life  during  that  pe- 
riod, were  very  depressing,  and  I  be- 
gan to  wish  for  the  appearance  of  a 
ship,  almost  .as  ardently  as  the  crew, 
though  from  totally  different  motives. 
Manuel  neitner  seemed  to  feel  much 
weariness  nor  impatience.  He  spent 
most  of  his  time  upon  deck,  and  when 
the  navigation  of  the  schooner  did  not 
require  his  attention,  he  lay  along  the 
companion,  basking  in  the  sun,  and 
smoking  a  segar.  He  sometimes  en- 
tered into  familiar  conversation  with 
the  seamen,  though,  on  doing  so,  his 
object  evidently  was  to  keep  them  in 
good  humour,  rather  than  to  amuse 
or  gratify  himself. 

One  morning,  Manuel,  after  having 
looked  through  his  glass  at  intervals, 
during  nearly  two  hours,  announced 
that  he  saw  a  vessel  off  our  lee-bow, 
and  gave  orders  that  the  deck  should 
be  cleared,  and  the  guns  got  ready  for 
action.  In  a  moment  every  thing  was 
bustle  and  confusion.  On  the  word  of 
command  being  given,  the  negroes 
threw  oft  a  large  part  of  their  clothes, 
and  dispersed  over  different  parts  of 
the  schooner,  shouting  to  each  other, 
and  hurrying  through  their  respective 


1821.3  T!i£  Florida  Pirate. 

duties  with  a  violence  and  eagerness 
which  shewed  how  congenial  the  pro- 
spect of  bloodshed,  oppression,  and 
plunder,  was  to  their  feelings.  They 
soon  began  to  converse  gaily  and  un- 
concernedly. One  talked  of  the  resist- 
ance we  should  probably  meet  with 
from  the  vessel  we  were  in  chase  of; 
another  jestingly  said,  "  he  wished  to 
write  his  will,"  and  mentioned  what 
articles  he  intended  bequeathing  to  his 
companions,  should  he  perish  in  the 
conflict ;  a  third  complained  of  the  de- 
fective state  of  his  wardrobe,  and  enu- 
merated the  additions  he  hoped  to  make 
to  it,  when  the  anticipated  prize  fell 
into  our  hands.  Manuel  walked  anxi- 
ously about  the  deck,  sometimes  look- 
ing through  his  glass,  and  sometimes 
giving  directions  to  the  helmsman. 

I  alone  remained  unoccupied  and 
unattended  to  amidst  the  general  ac- 
tivity. The  quiescent  and  monotonous 
life  I  had  led  since  I  came  on  board 
the  schooner,  had  lulled  me  into  a  for- 
getfulness  of  my  real  situation,  all  the 
horrors  of  which  now  burst  upon  my 
mind,  with  appalling  force.  I  had 
outlawed  myself  from  society.  I  was 
surrounded  with  wretches,  with  whom 
I  could  have  no  community  of  feeling. 
I  was  soon  to  become,  as  it  were,  an 
accomplice  in  the  work  of  rapine  and 
bloodshed.  We  might,  perhaps,  be 
overpowered  by  those  whom  we  pro- 
posed to  attack,  and  I  should  be  seized 
and  classed  with  pirates.  There  was 
no  one  to  testify  m*  innocence,  to 
prove  that  I  had  no  connection  with 
the  guilty,  or  to  save  me  from  an  ig- 
nominious death. 

We  soon  discovered  that  the  object 
of  our  pursuit  was  a  brig  of  about  two 
hundred  tons  burden.  She  seemed  to 
suspect  what  we  were,  for  she  made 
all  sail,  and  began  to  go  large,  although 
she  had  kept  very  close  hauled  before 
perceiving  us  ;  but  our  schooner,  be- 


yards  of  her.  The  boat  being  lowered 
down,  Manuel,  and  fifteen  of  his  crew, 
under  arms,  embarked,  and  rowed 
alongside  of  the  brig,  and  ascended  her 
gangway  without  meeting  with  any 
resistance,  j  The  Captain  immediately 
advanced  towards  them,  and  said, 
"  What  right  have  you  to  stop  me  in 
the  high  seas  ?" — "  llight !  right !" 
returned  Manuel ;  "  none  that  I  know 
of — only  I'm  stronger  than  you — but 
shew  me  your  manifest." — "  That  I 
cannot  do,"  cried  the  Captain,  "  un- 
less you  promise" "  I'll  promise 

nothing,"  interrupted  Manuel ;  "  yes, 
yes,  one  thing  ;  none  of  you  shall  be 
maltreated,  unless  you  offer  to  oppose 
my  orders." — "  Fine  conditions,  in- 
deed !"  exclaimed  the  Captain  ;  "  Be 
pleased  totellmewhatyouwanthere?" 
— "  Bring  me  your  manifest,"  replied 
Manuel,  "  and  then  I'll  inform  you. 
I  mean  to  take  whatever  part  of  your 
cargo  I  choose,  and  likewise  all  the 
specie  that  is  on  board.  Come  down 
to  the  cabin,  I  must  not  be  detained." 

They  now  both  went  below,  and 
the  negroes  having  received  a  signal 
from  Manuel,  ranged  themselves  on 
each  side  of  the  companion.  They  had 
scarcely  done  this,  when  a  voice  re- 
quested them  to  make  way,  and  a  gen- 
tleman, with  a  young  lady  leaning  on 
his  arm,  and  followed  by  a  mulatto 
woman,  came  upon  deck.  They  look- 
ed around  them  with  an  expression  of 
terror  and  astonishment.  The  young 
lady  on  seeing  the  blacks,  turned  pale, 
and  clung  tremblingly  to  her  protect- 
or's arm,  and  said  something  to  him, 
but  in  such  a  low  tone  of  voice,  that  no- 
thing but  the  word  father  was  distin- 
guishable. The  gentleman  once  or 
twice  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  ad- 
dressing the  negroes,  but  he  suddenly 
stopped,  as  if  aware  that  interference 
was  useless. 

A  dead  silence  prevailed  upon  deck 


ing  very  fast,  and  to  the  windward  of    for  some  time,  but  the  countenances  of 


her,  gained  upon  her  every  moment. 

About  mid-day,  we  came  within 
shot  of  the  brig,  and  Manuel  ordered 
a  gun  to  be  fired,  as  a  signal  for  her  to 
heave  to.  She  paid  no  attention  to  it, 
and  her  crew  seemed  to  be  preparing 
for  defence.  He  then  pointed  a  can- 
non himself,  and  sent  a  ball  through 
the  lower  part  of  her  main-sail ;  but 
this  not  being  what  he  wanted,  he 
aimed  again,  and  disabled  her  rudder. 

She  was  now  completely  in  our 
power,  and  we  came  within  thirty 


the  different  parties  who  occupied  it, 
expressed  more  than  words  could  have 
done.  The  females  betrayed  marks  of 
deadening  fear ;  the  crew  of  the  brig 
evidently  struggled  to  resist  the  impul- 
ses of  indignation,  and  the  negroes 
seemed  full  of  hope  and  impatience. 

The  young  lady  wore  a  beautiful  In- 
dian shawl,  and  one  of  the  blacks, 
smiling  to  his  companions,  stepped  for- 
ward and  pulled  it  off  her  shoulders. 
Her  father,  furious  at  this  insult,  sei- 
zed a  block  that  lay  near  him,  and 


£26 


Tfic  Florida  Pirate. 


struck  the  dating  wretch  upon  the  face 
with  so  much  violence,  that  he  stag- 
gored  back,  and  nearly  fell  into  the 
hold.  However,  he  quickly  recovered 
himself,  and  rushing  forwards,  plun- 
ged his  cutlass  into  the  side  of  his  an- 
tagonist, who  dropped,  apparently  life- 
less, upon  deck.  The  seamen  belong- 
ing to  the  brig  could  no'longer  restrain 
themselves;  aloudcryburstfrom  them, 
and  they  hastily  seized  the  murder- 
er, and  threw  him  overboard ;  but  be- 
ing an  expert  swimmer,  he  soon  gain- 
ed the  surface  of  the  water,  and  made 
furiously  towards  the  vessel's  side,  with 
flashing  eyes  and  loud  curses.  The 
noise  of  the  affray  brought  the  Captain 
and  Manuel  from  the  cabin,  and  the 
first  object  that  struck  the  eyes  of  the 


CAU-. 

and  viewed  him  with  scowling  and 
wrathful  looks. 

Manuel  having  collected  together  ;'ll 
the  articles  he  wanted,  ordered  them 
to  be  handed  into  the  boat,  which  he 
sent  off  with  part  of  his  men  to  the 
schooner.  He  retained  in  his  hand  a 
bag  of  specie,  and  several  other  things. 
The  boat  being  unloaded,  they  return- 
ed to  take  him  on  board  his  own  ves- 
sel, and  as  he  was  descending  the  gang- 
way of  the  brig,  he  bowed  to  her  Cap- 
tain, and  said,  "  I  wish  you  a  good 
voyage,  sir." 

On  reaching  the  schooner,  Manuel 
ordered  the  crew  to  hoist  up  the  boat 
and  to  bear  away  ;  however,  the  wind 
was  light  and  baffling,  and  we  made 
but  little  progress.  I  fixed  my  eyes 


latter  was  the  wounded  man  weltering    upon  the  brig  as  we  gradually  receded 


in  blood,  and  supported  in  the  arms  of 
his  daughter.  "  Who  did  this  ?"  cried 
Manuel,  with  a  voice  half  suffocated 
with  emotion.  The  assassin  was  stand- 
ing upon  the  chains,  and  endeavouring 
to  climb  over  the  bulwarks,  when  some 
one  pointed  him  out.  Manuel  drew  a 
pistol  from  his  bosom,  and  fired  at  the 


from  her,  and  reflected  upon  the  un- 
happy situation  of  Mr  R and  his 

daughter,  in  both  of  whom  I  felt 
powerfully  interested.  I  had  several 
times  been  on  the  point  of  entreating 
Manuel  to  allpw  me  to  assist  the 
wounded  man ;  hut  he  had  always 
turned  away,  as  if  aware  of  whatj  in- 


negro's  head ;  the  ball  took  effect.   Its    tended,  and  unwilling  to  render  him- 
self chargeable  with  inhumanity,   by 


victim  lost  hold  of  the  rigging,  sprung 
convulsively  upwards,  and  fell  head- 
long among  the  waves.  A  murmur  of 
applause  proceeded  from  the  crew;  but 
the  blacks  shrunk  away  with  baleful 
frowns  from  Manuel,  who,  turning 
to  the  Captain,  said  haughtily,  "  This 
is  my  discipline  !"  and  then  took  a 
paper  out  of  his  pocket  and  began  to 
read. 
The  younglady's  father,  whose  name 

was  Mr  R ,  was  now  conveyed  to 

the   cabin,   and  accompanied  by  his 


refusing  to  grant  my  request.  I  now 
ventured  to  address  him  on  the  subject. 
" We  cannot  part  with  you,"  said  he; 
"if  wedid,  it  might  ruin  us  all.  Hewho 
becomes  a  pirate,  must  die  a  pirate. 
There  is  no  middle  course.  I  fervent- 
ly hope  Mr  R-*-  may  recover.  I  have 
at  least  executed  justice  upon  his  mur- 
derer. Perhaps  you  may  think  me  a 
murderer  myself,  but  I  did  no  more 
than  was  necessary.  My  crew  are  not 
to  be  restrained  except  by  very  terrible 


daughter  and  her  attendant,  the  Mu-    means.  And  yet,"  continued  he,  start- 
latto  woman.  Manuel  then  ordered  his    ing,  "  in  my  anxiety  to  save  others,  I 


men  to  lift  the  hatches,  and  descended 
through  one  of  them  into  the  hold. 
After  a  little  time  he  returned,  and 
pointed  out  what  articles  he  wished  to 
have  brought  upon  deck.  The  negroes 
set  to  work,  and  presently  every  part 
of  the  vessel  was  covered  with  bales, 
casks,  and  packages,  while  Manuel 
walked  coolly  among  them,  and  select- 
ed such  as  he  conceived  to  be  most 
useful  and  valuable.  His  men  would 


have  perhaps  brought  destruction  upon 
myself.  I  am  guilty  of  murder ;  there 
are  .plenty  of  witnesses  to  prove  it. — 
Oh  ta:it  both  my  hands  had  been  cut 
off,  then  I  could  not  have  committed 
this  rash  act,  which  at  once  puts  me 
on  a  level  with  my  crew.  Good-night, 
good-night.  Go  to  sleep." 

About  two  hours  after  sun-set,  I 
retired  to  my  birth  ;  but  the  events  of 
the  day  had  made  such  a  strong  im- 


cvidently  have  begun  to  plunder  pri-    pression  that  I  could  not  sleep,  and  I 
vatcly,   liad  they  not   been  restrain-    rose  at  midnight  and  went  upon  deck 


ed  by  foar  ;  but  the  instar.ee  of  their 
leader's  severity  which  they  had  just 
witnessed,  seemed  to  dwell  upon  their 
minus,  for  while  occupied  in  getting 
out  the  cargo,  they  muttered  threats, 


It  was  clear  moonlight,  and  perfectly 
calm.  On  looking  for  the  brig,  I  per- 
ceived, to  my  astonishment,  that  she 
lay  within  a  mile  of  us,  and  had  heel- 
ed over  so  much,  that  she  seemed  al- 


Tin-  Floiidii  Pirate. 


1821-3 

most  on  her  beam-ends.  I  immedi- 
ately informed  Manuel  of  this,  and  he 
looked  at  her  through  his  night-glass, 
and  said  she  was  aground  upon  a  sand- 
bank. "  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  cried 
I ;  "  you  surely  will  not  allow  those 
on  board  to  perish?" — "  To-morrow's 
dawn  shall  determine  that,"  returned 
he. 

At  day- break  we  found  that  the  brig 
was  still  in  the  situation  already  de- 
scribed, and  Manuel,  accompanied  by 
me  and  several  of  the  crew,  went  to- 
wards her  in  the  boat.  The  Captain 
seemed  at  a  loss  how  to  receive  us, 
being  doubtful  whether  our  intentions 
were  hostile  or  friendly  ;  but  when  we 
had  satisfied  him  on  this  point,  he  in- 
formed us,  that  his  vessel  having  be- 
come quite  unmanageable,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  loss  of  her  rudder,  had 
drifted  away  towards  a  sand-bank,  and 
run  hard  aground  the  preceding  night. 
We  soon  ascertained  that  her  bottom 
was  a  good  deal  damaged,  and  that 
she  could  not  be  got  off.  "  This  brig 
will  go  to  pieces  the  first  time  there  is 
a  heavy  sea,"  said  Manuel  to  the  Cap- 
tain ;  "  and  those  who  remain  in  her 
must  perish.  I  will  take  you  all  on 
board  my  schooner,  and  put  you  ashore 
about  forty  miles  above  Matanzas, 
seeking  no  compensation  but  part  of 
the  cargo,  which  you  of  course  have 
no  means  of  preserving."  After  some 
deliberation,  this  proposal  was  acce- 
ded to  by  all  parties,  and  Manuel's 
crew  again  began  to  unload  the  brig. 

While  they  were  thus  engaged,  I 
went  down  to  the  cabin,  and  found  Mr 

R and  his  daughter  there.  The 

former  had  a  look  ot'ghastliness  which 
gave  me  an  unfavourable  idea  of  the 
nature  of  his  wound  ;  and  the  latter 
sat  beside  his  bed,  and  seemed  at  once 
hopeless  and  resigned.  On  seeing  me, 
they  both  started,  but  said  nothing. 
I  told  them,  that  although  I  came 
along  with  the  pirates,  I  had  no  con- 
nexion with  such  persons,  and  that 
my  object  in  intruding  upon  them  was 
to  offer  my  professional  services  to  Mr 

R .  The  young  lady  sprung  from 

her  chair,  and  expressed  her  gratitude 
in  the  warmest  manner,  while  her  fa- 
ther's flushed  countenance  and  beam- 
ing eyes  evinced  that  hopes  of  life  be- 
gan to  revive  in  his  heart. 

When  Manuel  had  carried  away  as 
much  of  the  cargo  as  his  vessel  could 
conveniently  contain,  he  informed  us 
that  the  boat  was  ready  to  take  us  all 


on  board  the  schooner ;  we  according- 
ly embarked,  placing  Mr  R upon 

a  mattrass,  and  rowed  away  from  the 
brig,  towards  which  the  Captain  and 
his  crew  directed  many  anxious  and 
regretful  looks. 

On  getting  on  board  the  schooner, 
our  first  object  was  to  contrive  accom- 
modations for  so  many  new  passengers. 

I  resigned  my  birth  to  Mr  R ,  and 

Manuel  allowed  the  young  lady  and 
her  attendant  to  occupy  his  state-room. 
The  Captain  and  his  crew  reposed  upon 
deck,  but  the  latter  were  so  indignant 
at  the  familiarity  with  which  the  ne- 
groes treated  them,  that  they  would 
have  resented  it  by  force,  had  not  the 
fear  of  being  overcome  by  superior 
numbers  restrained  their  fury.  How- 
ever, the  two  parties  poured  forth  tor- 
rents of  abuse  against  each  other ;  and 
the  clamour  of  their  tongues,  the  groans 
of  Mr  R ,  the  agonies  of  his  daugh- 
ter, and  the  confinement  of  a  crowded 
vessel,  all  combined  to  render  the  day 
and  succeeding  night  insupportably 
tedious  and  distressing  to  me. 

In  about  forty  hours,  we  made  the 
Pan  of  Matanzas,  and  Manuel  told  the 
Captain  and  the  white  crew  to  hold 
themselves  in  readiness,  as  he  soon  in- 
tended to  put  them  ashore.  At  sun- 
set we  were  scarcely  two  leagues  from 
the  coast  of  Cuba.  The  negroes  lower- 
ed a  small  boat,  and  stowed  a  quantity 
of  water  and  provisions  in  her ;  and 
Manuel  came  down  to  the  cabin,  and 

informed  Mr  R and  his  daughter 

that  it  was  time  for  them  to  embark. 
"  Where  ? — What  do  you  mean  ?" 
cried  the  young  lady." — "  Why,  ma- 
dam," returned  Manuel,  "  didn't  I 
say  that  all  the  people  belonging  to  the 
brig  were  to  put  ashore  here  ?" — "  Oh, 
thanked  be  Heaven,"  exclaimed  she  ; 
"  then  we  are  near  a  harbour  and  a 
town? — My  dear  father !" — "No,  no," 
interrupted  Manuel,  "  the  coast  op- 
posite is  uninhabited." — "  What  do 
you  tell  me?"  cried  she,  bursting  into 
tears  ;  "  you  surely  cannot  be  so  bar- 
barous— my  father  is  dying ; — have  a 
little  pity.  It  is  indeed  dreadful  to  be 
here,  to  be  among  such  people ; — but 
what  will  become  of  my  parent,  if  you 
send  us  away  ?  I  have  no  more  money 
to  give  you,  but  perhaps — "  Here  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
sobbed  so  violently,  that  her  whole 
frame  trembled. 

Manuel  began  to  pace  about  the  ca- 
bin ;  I  saw  that  he  was  affected,  and 


588 


The  Florida  Pirate. 


therefore  did  not  venture  to  speak. 
"  Well,  lady,"  said  he,  after  a  pause, 
"  you  may  remain  here.  I  will  pro- 
tect you  and  your  father — yes,  even 
though  I  should  bring  myself  into  dif- 
ficulty by  doing  so."  He  then  went 
upon  decK  and  ordered  the  Captain  and 
his  crew,  who  had  already  seated  them- 
selves in  the  boat,  to  row  away.  The 
dashing  of  their  oars,  which  at  first 
broke  upon  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
gradually  became  fainter,  and  soon  sub- 
sided into  almost  undistinguishable 
murmurs. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Ma- 
nuel asked  me  if  I  thought  Mr  R 

would  recover  from  his  wound.  I  told 
him  that  I  feared  he  would  soon  be 
relieved  from  the  inconvenience  of  ha- 
ving such  a  passenger  on  board.  "  So 
I  suspect,"  returned  he ;  "  but  what 
is  to  become  of  his  daughter  and  the 
Mulatto  woman  ?  I  wish  I  had  sent 
them  off  in  the  boat  to-night." — "  It 
would  have  been  unmerciful,"  said  I  ; 
"  perhaps  the  seamen  themselves  may 
perish." — "  Don't  fear  :  don't  fear, ' 
cried  he ;  "  I  treated  them  very  gene- 
rously. Most  pirates  would  have  left 
the  whole  party  to  drown  in  the  brig, 
and  been  glad  of  such  an  opportunity 
of  getting  them  out  of  the  way.  I  gave 
them  a  good  boat  and  plenty  of  provi- 
sions ;  they  will  easily  reach  Matan- 
zas.  My  crew  are  enraged  at  my  con- 
duct in  this  affair.  I  must  be  on  my 
guard  ;  and,  listen  to  me,  be  you  also 
on  yours !" 

A  short  time  before  midnight,  Mr 

R complained  of  the  oppressive 

closeness  of  the  cabin,  and  begged  to 
be  lifted  upon  deck.  We  immediately 
complied  with  his  wishes,  and  spread  a 
mattrass  for  him  near  the  stern  of  the 
vessel.  Elizabeth,  his  daughter,  seat- 
ed herself  beside  his  couch,  and  the 
Mulatto  woman  waited  behind.  I 
threw  myself  upon  a  ceroon  at  a  little 
distance,  and  felt  so  fatigued,  that  I 
gradually  began  to  slumber,  although 
within  hearing  of  the  sick  man's  feeble 
groans  and  hurried  inspirations. 

I  was  suddenly  awakened  by  the 
sound  of  light  footsteps.  I  opened  my 
eyes,  and  saw  Elizabeth.  "  My  father 

is" She  could  say  no  more.  I 

rose  and  followed  her.  Mr  11 lay 

upon  his  back  with  half-closed  eyes, 
and  seemed  scarcely  sensible  of  our  ap- 
proach ;  but  in  a  little  time  he  turned 
his  face  towards  me,  and  tried  to  smile. 
He  then  took  hold  of  his  daughter's 


hand,  and  attempted  to  greet  her  in 
the  same  way,  but  it  was  impossible  ; 
his  lips  trembled,  and  some  tears  rush- 
ed down  his  cheeks.  None  of  us  ut- 
tered a  word,  or  even  ventured  to  sigh. 

It  was  the  finest  moonlight,  and  the 
whole  heavens  were  covered  with  one 
continuous  expanse  of  dappled  white 
clouds.  The  celestial  net-work,  ex- 
tending from  horizon  to  horizon,  float- 
ed in  motionless  repose,  and  the  stars 
could  be  seen  twinkling  faintly  through 
its  apertures.  The  calm  was  such  that 
our  sails  scarcely  even  flapped  upon  the 
masts,  and  our  vessel  lay  as  still  as  if 
she  had  been  imbedded  in  a  field  of 
crystal.  The  balmy  murmurings  of 
the  little  surges  upon  thedistant  beach, 
swelled  upon  the  ear,  and  died  away 
again,  with  a  caprice  that  seemed  in 
unison  with  the  irregular  motions  of  a 
tall  cocoa-nut  tree,  which  stood  alone 
upon  a  projecting  rock,  and  was  wa- 
ved in  a  melancholy  manner  by  a  land- 
breeze  too  feeble  and  unsteady  to  reach 
or  affect  us. 

Elizabeth  knelt  silently  beside  her 
father,  with  clasped  hands,  and  had 
that  frozen  look  of  condensed  despair, 
which  is  almost  too  terrible  for  an  in- 
habitant of  this  world.  Her  face  and 
lips  were  colourless,  and  she  seemed 
like  a  spirit  waiting  for  a  departing 
soul.  None  of  us  knew  the  exact 

moment  at  which  Mr  R died.  I 

soon  after  took  his  daughter  by  the 
hand,  and  conducted  her  to  the  cabin. 
She  neither  srJoke  a  word  nor  made 
the  least  resistance,  and  I  began  to 
fear  that  grief  had  bewildered  her  per- 
ceptions. Her  attendant  followed  us, 
and  I  left  them  together. 

I  did  not  attempt  to  sleep  any  that 
night.  I  was  occupied  in  thinking  of 
Elizabeth,  who  had  soon  awakened  to 
a  full  sense  of  her  misery,  and  whose 
sobs  haunted  my  ears  wherever  I  went. 
In  the  morning  she  sunk  into  a  gentle 
slumber,  which,  after  continuing  two 
hours,  left  her  in  a  state  of  compara- 
tive rationality  and  composure.  I  re- 
quested to  see  her,  and  we  had  an  in- 
terview. I  offered  myself  as  a  protec- 
tor, and  promised  to  do  every  thing  in 
my  power  to  extricate  her  from  her 
present  unhappy  situation,  and  said  I 
would  escort  her  to  a  place  of  safety 
whenever  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
effect  this.  I  then  told  who  I  was, 
and  related  the  circumstances  that  had 
induced  me  to  seek  an  asylum  amont? 
the  pirates.  In  return,  she  thanked 
12 


The  Florida  Pirate. 


me  for  my  unremitting  attentions  to 
her  father,  and  declared  that  she  fully 
believed  me  to  be  what  I  professed. 

The  calm  continued  during  the 
whole  of  that  day,  and  Manuel  exhi- 
bited many  signs  of  impatience  at  its 
long  duration ;  and  the  more  so,  as 
the  current  was  gradually  carrying  us 
towards  Metanzas,  a  place  which  he 
wished^anxiously  to  avoid.  Next  morn- 
ing a  gentle  breeze  spmng  up,  and 
we  had  scarcely  begun  to  profit  by  it, 
when  we  discovered  a  small  brig  of 
war,  with  American  colours,  bearing 
towards  us,  under  full  sail.  Manuel 
ordered  his  men  to  crowd  all  canvass, 
and  tried  various  nautical  manoeuvres, 
in  the  hope  of  escaping  her ;  but  she 
gained  upon  us  every  moment. 

The  negroes,  when  they  perceived 
that  we  could  not  get  out  of  her  reach, 
were  thrown  into  a  state  of  consterna- 
tion, and  totally  neglected  their  duty. 
They  assembled  together  in  groupes, 
and  conversed  with  outrageous  looks 
and  violent  gesticulations,  occasionally 
throwing  baleful  glances  at  Manuel. 
He  saw  that  a  storm  was  gathering, 
and  immediately  went  below,  and  se- 
cured the  door  of  the  apartment  which 
contained  the  arms.  He  then  appear- 
ed upon  deck,  with  a  brace  of  pistols 
in  his  girdle,  a  dagger  by  his  side,  and 
a  naked  scymitar  in  his  hand,  and 
took  his  station  beside  the  companion 
door. 

The  boldness  of  his  deportment 
seemed  to  increase  the  fury  of  the 
blacks ;  some  of  whom  called  out, 
"  Down  with  him !  down  with  him  ! 
he  has  betrayed  us."  Manuel  paid  no 
attention  to  their  cries,  but  ordered 
them,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  to  load 
the  guns,  and  rushed  forward,  waving 
his  sword  in  the  air.  They  became 
intimidated,  and  hastened  to  obey  him ; 
and,  while  they  were  engaged  in  doing 
so,  I  ran  down  to  the  cabin,  and  arm- 
ed myself  as  well  as  possible,  at  the 
same  time  comforting  Elizabeth,  and 
bidding  her  remain  in  her  state-room. 

When  I  went  upon  deck  again,  I 
found  that  the  negroes  had  openly 
mutinied.  They  were  ranged  round 
the  foremast,  and  stood  glaring  at  Ma- 
nuel, and  at  each  other,  like  a  set  of 
demons.  "  Hell  curse  you,  captain  !" 
cried  one  of  them,  "  what  right  had 
you  to  bring  us  here  ?  Were  we  all  to 
be  sent  to  the  devil,  that  you  might 
put  ashore  them  damned  whites  that 
you  picked  out  of  the  brig?"—"  Ay, 

VOL.  IX. 


ay,  it  was  mercy  that  made  him  do  so," 
said  another ;  "  but  see  if  we'll  get  any 
mercy  from  the  tyrants  that  are  in 
chase  of  us.  Ha,  Mr  Manuel !  I  would 
almost  be  hanged  myself,  to  have  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  you  swing  by  the 
throat!" — "  They  couldn't  get  him 
hanged,"  vociferated  a  third,  "  for  he 
would  always  untie  the  rope  with  his 
right  hand.  Oh,  captain,  may  the  de- 
vil scorch  your  soul  for  bringing  us 
here !" — "  He  thinks  us  a  set  of  niger 
slaves,"  cried  the  first  speaker,  "  who 
haven't  spirit  to  do  any  thing  but  what 
he  bids  us — but  we'll  shew  him  ano- 
ther story.  Come  on, — let  us  have  re- 
venge !  Down  with  him,  and  his  com- 
panion !" 

Several  of  the  crew  now  rushed  to- 
wards us  with  threatening  gestures. 
Manuel  fired  a  pistol  among  them, 
and  wounded  one  with  his  scymitar, 
and  I  struck  down  another  with  the 
butt-end  of  a  blunderbuss,  and  then 
acted  upon  the  defensive.  They  were 
repelled  ;  but  would  apparently  have 
made  a  second  attack,  had  not  a  shot 
from  the  brig  raked  us  fore  and  aft, 
and  carried  away  the  binnacle.  "  Now, 
now !"  shouted  Manuel,  "  if  you  are 
worth  any  thing,  fight  for  your  lives ! 
The  enemy  is  close  upon  us ;  we  shall 
be  blown  out  of  the  water !  Here  is 
the  key  of  the  armoury — go  and  equip 
yourselves,  and  shew  some  real  spi- 
rit." 

The  negroes  were  almost  instanta- 
neously animated  by  a  new  feeling. 
Some  provided  themselves  with  mus- 
kets and  cutlasses,  and  others  took 
their  station  at  the  guns.  They  all 
had  a  look  of  savage  and  determined 
resistance;  which  shewed,  that  they 
would  rather  perish  in  battle,  than 
run  the  risk  of  terminating  their  lives 
upon  a  scaffold. 

The  brig  had  now  come  nearly  along- 
side of  us,and  her  captain  commanded  us 
to  heave-to,  if  we  desired  any  quarter. 
He  was  answered  by  the  discharge  of 
four  cannon,  and  by  a  shower  of  mus- 
ket-balls. They  gave  a  broadside  in  re- 
turn, which  carried  away  our  main- 
mast, and  then  bore  down  upon  the 
schooner,  with  the  intention  of  board- 
ing her.  The  smoke  prevented  the 
helmsman  of  the  brig  from  steering 
justly,  and  he  suddenly  brought  her 
so  close  to  us,  that  she  swept  away  our 
chains,  and  stove  in  our  bulwarks,  and 
dragged  us  through  the  water  for  a 
considerable  distance.  The  fight  now 
3X 


530 


The  Florida  Pirate. 


became  very  desperate.  The  bayonet 
and  cutlass  had  usurped  the  place  of 
fire-arms,  and  the  negroes,  who  were 
not  provided  with  weapons  of  any  kind, 
attacked  the  American  seamen  with 
their  fists,  beating  them  down,  at- 
tempting to  choak  them,  and  pushing 
them  overboard.  They  all  the  while 
animated  each  other  with  shouts,  exe- 
crations, and  blasphemous  cries,  and 
rushed  furiously  to  the  combat,  half- 
naked,  and  covered  with  dust,  and 
sweat,  and  blood. 

I  kept  as  near  Manuel  as  possible. 
He  sometimes  fought  vigorously  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  stood  idle,  ap- 
parently irresolute  what  to  do.  At  last 
he  cried  out,  fc  It  is  easy  to  see  how 
this  day  will  end,  but  I  must  hasten 
its  termination,"  and  then  hurried 
down  to  the  cabin.  I  instinctively  fol- 
lowed him,  and  found  Elizabeth  and 
her  maid  nearly  speechless  with  ter- 
ror. Manuel  tore  open  the  hatch  in 
the  floor,  and  pulled  up  a  small  cask, 
the  head  of  which  he  knocked  in  with 
his  hand.  It  was  full  of  gunpowder. 
He  placed  it  upon  the  table. — I  grew 
breathless.  He  put  a  steel  between 
his  teeth,  and  then  seizing  a  flint,  be- 
gan to  strike  the  one  against  the  other. 
The  pulsations  of  my  heart  ceased,  and 
my  eyes  became  dim.  Manuel  seem- 
ed suddenly  to  dilate  into  fearful  and 
gigantic  size,  and  to  pour  torrents  of 
fire  upon  the  gunpowder.  My  senses 
were  suddenly  recalled  by  a  loud  crash, 
and  by  the  appearance  of  water  rush- 
ing down  upon  us  through  the  sky- 
light. I  thought  we  were  going  to  the 
bottom,  and  started  up  and  pulled  the 
fainting  Elizabeth  towards  the  gang- 
way. There  we  encountered  an  Ame- 
rican officer  ;  he  gave  us  a  look  of  asto- 
nishment, and  hastening  towards  Ma- 
nuel, seized  his  arm,  and  said,  "  Sur- 
render yourself — you  are  my  prisoner." 

Manuel  did  not  attempt  any  re- 
sistance, but  followed  the  officer  upon 
deck.  Having  left  Elizabeth,  whose 
recollection  was  now  pretty  well  resto- 
red, with  her  maid,  I  went  there  also. 
Every  thing  had  become  quiet.  The 
American  seamen  were  in  possession  of 
the  schooner,  and  the  negroes  had  been 
removed  on  board  the  brig  of  war. 
Her  captain  ordered  Manuel  to  be  put 
in  irons,  and  directed  that  Elizabeth 
and  I  should  have  accommodations  in 
his  own  vessel. 

I  was  a  good  deal  astonished  to  meet 
with  several  of  the  crew  that  had  be- 


longed  to  the  brig  we  had  plundered, 
and  to  hear  them  say  that  they  were 
the  means  of  capturing  the  schooner. 
Having  been  fortunate  enough  to  reach 
Matanzas  the  day  after  Manuel  had  set 
them  adrift  in  the  boat,  they  found  an 
American  brig  of  war  there,  which  had 
run  into  the  harbour  that  she  might 
repair  some  damage  she  had  sustained 
while  on  her  voyage  from  Jamaica  to 
Charleston.  They  immediately  gave 
her  captain  information  respecting  the 
pirate,  and  he  set  out  in  pursuit  of 
them,  making  the  seamen  warp  his 
brig  along,  till  a  breeze  sprung  up 
which  enabled  him  to  come  in  sight  of 
the  schooner.  During  the  battle^  a 
young  officer  who  boarded  her  along 
with  the  American  crew,  happen- 
ed to  observe  Manuel's  attempts  to 
blow  them  up,  and  with  great  presence 
of  mind,  dashed  his  foot  through  the 
sky-light,  and  averted  the  danger,  by 
pouring  down  a  large  quantity  of  wa- 
ter upon  the  gunpowder. 

A  few  hours  after  the  capture  of  the 
schooner,  we  set  sail  for  Charleston, 
where  the  brig  was  bound.  We  reach- 
ed that  port  in  ten  days.  The  pirate 
crew  were  immediately  lodged  in  jail. 
I  underwent  an  examination,  and  was 
then  taken  into  custody,  it  being  evi- 
dent, from  my  own  confession,  that  I 
had  not  been  forced  on  board  the 
schooner.  Elizabeth,  to  whom  I  had 
hourly  become  more  devoted  during 
the  voyage,  found  an  asylum  in  the 
house  of  a  distant  relation,  who  resi- 
ded in  Charleston,  and  was  summoned 
as  a  witness  against  the  negroes.  In 
three  weeks  their  trial  came  on,  and 
Manuel  and  seven  others  were  con- 
demned to  death.  No  evidence  having 
appeared  against  me,  I  was  liberated 
from  confinement  at  an  early  period, 
by  the  intercession  of  several  persons 
who  appeared  to  take  an  interest  in  ray 
fate.  I  supplied  myself  with  means 
of  support,  by  disposing  of  some  va- 
luables I  had  in  my  possession. 

I  was  filled  with  sorrow  when  I 
heard  that  Manuel  was  condemned  to 
death,  aware  that  he  deserved  a  better 
fate.  I  visited  him  in  jail,  the  day  af- 
ter he  had  received  his  sentence.  He 
was  loaded  with  fetters,  and  occupied 
a  small  cell  by  himself,  through  which 
he  paced  as  quickly  as  the  weight  of 
lu's  irons  would  permit ;  though  he  had 
a  subdued  look,  the  expression  of  his 
countenance  was  neither  abject  nor 
sorrowful. 


The  Florida  Pirate. 


531 


*'  Ah,  is  it  you,  sir  ?"  cried  he,  ad- 
vancing towards  me,  as  I  entered; 
"  you  are  the  person  I  most  wished  to 
see.  How  kind  it  is  in  you  to  visit  a 
poor  negro  !  For  I  am  no  more  now. 
I  am  glad  to  be  treated  as  a  rational 
creature  by  at  least  one  white  man.  I 
wonder  they  have  let  you  escape.  In 
this  country  it  is  a  crime  for  a  man  to 
have  any  thing  to  do  with  blacks,  ex- 
cept in  the  way  of  flogging  them." — 
"  You  do  not  deserve  to  die,"  said  I, 
after  a  pause. — "  Oh,  perhaps  not, "  re- 
turned he  ;  "  but  law — law — law,  you 
know — However,  'tis  better  I  should. 
I  had  a  weary  life  of  it.  I  was  chased 
from  the  land,  and  took  refuge  upon 
the  sea  ;  but,  notwithstanding  that,  I 
could  not  escape  the  blood-hounds  of 
the  Southern  States  of  America.  But 
here  I  have  written  out  something  for 
you.  Take  this  letter  to  Gustavus 

H ,  and  accept  what  he  gives  you 

in  return,  as  a  remembrance  of  me. 
But  don't  tell  him  that  I'm  sentenced 
to  death."  He  then  presented  me  with 
a  paper,  and  having  given  directions 
where  I  shouldfind  the  person  to  whom 
it  was  addressed,  bid  me  farewell. 

I  immediately  proceeded  in  search  of 
Manuel's  acquaintance,  and  after  some 
lime,  reached  his  house,  which  was  si- 
tuated in  the  most  obscure  part  of  a 
narrow  and  dirty  alley.  The  door  was 
opened  by  an  old  negro,  and  I  inqui- 
red if  Gustavus  II lived  there. 

"  I  am  the  man,"  returned  he ;  "  walk 


in,  master.'  I  entered,  and  gate  him 
the  letter,  and  at  his  request  seated 
myself  upon  an  old  stool  in  one  corner 
of  the  apartment  until  he  read  it. 
"  Strange — very  strange,"  muttered 
he,  gazing  on  me  intently.  "  How  is 
Mr  Manuel?" — "  Well  enough,  at 

present,"  returned  I ;  "  but" He 

stood  still  a  moment,  as  if  waiting  the 
conclusion  of  my  reply,  and  then  went 
out  of  the  room,  but  soon  came  back, 
carrying  a  bag,  which  he  immediately 
put  into  my  hands.  It's  weight  was 
immense.  "  That's  all,"  said  he,  "  I 
guess  Manuel  don't  intend  thatl  should 
be  his  bankeer  long.  Good  morning, 
sir." 

When  I  returned  to  my  lodgings,  I 
opened  the  bag,  and,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, found  it  full  of  doubloons.  I, 
could  not  believe  that  Manuel  intend- 
ed leaving  me  such  a  legacy,  and  went 
to  the  prison  in  the  afternoon,  that  I 
might  see  him,  and  converse  with  him 
upon  the  subject ;  but  I  arrived  there  too 
late ;  he  had  anticipated  the  kw  by 
putting  a  period  to  his  existence. 

Fortune  had  now  bestowed  upon  me 
the  means  of  returning  to  my  native 
country.  I  communicated  this  to  Eli- 
zabeth, and  entreated  that  we  might 
make  the  journey  of  life  together.  She 
consented,  and  our  mutual  happiness 
was  soon  as  great  as  our  individual 
misery  had  been,  when  fate  first  brought 
us  together. 


ON   THE    PROBABLE  INFLUENCE  OF  MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  INSTRUCTION    ON 
THE  CHARACTER  AND  SITUATION  OF  SEAMEN. 


No.  II. 


I  N  our  last  Number  under  this  head, 
we  laid  before  our  readers  an  abstract 
of  what  we  conceive  to  be  the  present 
character  of  our  seamen,  and  the  cir- 
cumstances in  their  situation  by  which 
it  is  formed.  We  now  proceed  to  con- 
sider the  experiment  on  that  character 
which  gave  occasion  to  our  specula- 
tions. 

We  have  no  douht  whatever  of  the 
accuracy  of  Captain  Parry's  statements 
in  regard  to  that  experiment,  and  firm- 
ly believe,  both  that  by  what  he  did, 
he  succeeded  in  exciting  feelings  of  re- 
ligion in  the  breasts  of  his  people,  and 
also  that  these  were  found  to  conduce 
to  their  orderly  and  general  good  con- 
duct. On  the  other  hand,  however, 


our  conviction  is  not  less  intimate 
that  these  men,  on  their  return  to 
England,  landed  just  such,  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes,  as  they  left  it; 
that  their  pleasures  were  as  gross  as 
before,  their  indulgence  in  them  as 
unlimited,  their  late  impressions,  in- 
deed, altogether  transitory ;  with  pos- 
sibly, although  not  probably,  one  or 
two  individual  exceptions,  not  among 
the  best  men>  nor  those  whose  example 
is  likely  to  have  most  influence  with 
the  remainder.  We  have  no  authority 
for  stating  this  as  a  fact,  it  is  true ;  but, 
if  our  readers  entertain  any  doubts  on 
the  subject,  there  are  a  thousand  chan- 
nels by  which  they  may  satisfy  them- 
selves, and  we  are  most  willing  to  stakt 


On  the-  Character  of  Seamen. 


532 

our  credit  on  every  point  of  our  rea- 
soning on  the  result  of  their  inquiries. 
Assuming  it  then  meanwhile,  it  shall 
be  the  object  of  our  present  communi- 
cation to  exhibit  the  mediate  principles 
on  which  first  one,  and  then  the  other 
of  these  apparently  contradictory  re- 
sults is  founded ;  reconciling  them  ac- 
cordingly with  human  nature,  and 
with  each  other, — and  proving  indeed, 
as  we  anticipate,  that  so  far  from  being 
anomalous,  they  might  have  been  pre- 
dicted before  they  happened  more  cer- 
tainly, and  may  be  reasoned  on  after- 
wards more  confidently,  than  almost 
any  facts  of  their  class.  For  we  are  well 
convinced,  that  it  would  be  not  less 
impossible  for  any  body  of  seamen  to 
remain  inaccessible  to  religious  im- 
pressions, if  conveyed  to  them  under 
circumstances  even  only  remotely  ana- 
logous to  those  in  which  the  crews  of 
the  Hecla  and  Griper  were  placed  at 
Melville  Island,  than  it  would  be  even 
miraculous  did  they  at  present  conti- 
nue generally  to  act  under  their  in- 
fluence on  their  return  home, 

We  have  already  stated  the  existence 
in  such  men  of  an  embryo  feeling  of 
religion;  and  in  tracing  this  to  the 
precarious  nature  of  their  profession, 
and  the  constant  sight  of  danger,  are 
not  conscious  of  having  libelled  the 
sentiment,  or  in  any  degree  impaired 
its  value.  Like  all  other  sentiments 
not  absolutely  innate,  it  must  enter  by 
some  avenue  or  other — grief,  overflow- 
ing sense  of  happiness,  (the  most  op- 
posite, by  wise  and  beneficent  appoint- 
ment, equally  answering  the  purpose,) 
apprehension  before  peril,  thankfulness 
after  it,  blind  veneration  the  child  of 
ignorance,  or  reason  the  result  of  in- 
struction. The  embryo  principle,  how- 
ever, being  there,  it  will  necessarily 
germinate  according  to  the  vigour  of 
the  implanting  cause ;  and  this,  in  the 
case  before  us,  was  remarkably  strong. 
When  danger  proceeds  from  the  vio- 
lence of  others,  men  become  rather 
combative  than  resigned,  and  even 
when  helpless  in  its  grasp,  not  unfre- 
quently  harden  themselves  against  all 
its  impressions.  But  whefa  we  feel  our- 


selves  committed  with  the  mighty 
elements  of  heaven,  our  very  strength 
reminds  us  of  our  weakness,  and  we 
shrink  into  nothingness  before  them ; 
particularly  when  they  appear  in  un- 
usual forms,  and  are  subject  to  sudden 
transitions,  now  disappointing andnow 
favouring  our  views,  now  threatening 
and  now  relieving  us,  independently 
altogether  of  our  own  exertions.  And 
in  this  way  we  think  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  Captain  Parry  to 
have  prevented  such  feelings  from 
shewing  themselves  among  his  people, 
had  he  been  even  unreasonable  enough 
to  have  desired  it ;  for  thus,  indeed,  we 
readily  account  for  that  peculiar  strain 
of  religious  feeling  which  pervades  all 
the  narratives  of  voyages  into  the  Arctic 
Regions  which  we  have  perused,  and 
of  which  it  were  very  easy  to  multiply 
examples. 

But  Captain  Parry  did  not  attempt 
to  chill  these  feelings ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  sought  to  develope  them.  The  in- 
fluence of  his  countenance  and  exam- 
ple, was  therefore  further  impressed 
on  his  ship's  company ;  and  this,  let  it 
be  observed, would  be  particularly  pow- 
erful in  his  case,  because  he  thorough- 
ly knew  his  own  secular  duties  and 
theirs  too,  and  was  even  considerably 
ahead  of  what  is  usually  implied  by 
these  words,  for  he  took  his  part  in 
the  scientific  observations  going  for- 
ward, even  such  as  were  not  imme- 
diately connected  with  his  own  depart- 
ment, and  was  at  home  in  all.*  This 
last  is  a  point  indeed  which  we  would 
fain  press  with  some  earnestness  on  the 
attention  of  young  naval  officers,  such 
of  them  particularly  as  take  an  active 
interest  in  the  cause  immediately  be- 
fore us.  On  the  strength  of  an  average 
proficiency  in  the  practical  branches 
of  their  profession,  such  as  has  been 
hitherto  sufficient  for  their  purpose, 
they  must  not  suppose  themselves 
qualified  now  to  give  up  altogether  the 
character  of  students,  and  assume  that 
of  teachers.  The  truth  is,  an  active 
husbandry  is  at  this  moment  turning 
up  the  clods  of  every  valley,  and  those 
who  give  their  undivided  attention  to 


*  "  Ye're  aye  right  in  the  sawing  and  the  mawing,  the  sheering  and  the  leading,"  said 
the  Widow  Butler  to  douce  Davie  Deans,  "  and  what  for  sud  na  yc  be  right  in  the  kirk- 
awrfr  too  ?"  A  good  novel  is  to  the  student  of  human  nature,  what  a  botanical  garden 
is  to  a  young  florist.  The  parts  of  specimens  taken  from  both,  may  sometimes  be  found 
to  have  run  into  each  other  by  cultivation  ;  but  the  plants  are  labelled  for  our  assist- 


On  the  CJiaracter  of  Seamen. 


the  culture  of  others,  without  regard- 
ing their  own,  may  live  to  be  over- 
grown  by  the  vegetation  which  they 
will  have  contributed  to  superinduce. 
Let  us  speak  plainer.  At  the  same  time 
that  the  education  of  our  seamen  is 
becoming  daily  an  object  of  more  ge- 
neral concern,  that  of  their  officers  is, 
from  other  causes,  becoming  more 
complicated  and  extensive.  As,  then, 
the  effects  of  the  former  become  evi- 
dent, so  will  those  of  the  latter ;  offi- 
cers, in  a  little  time,  will  take  rank,  in 
the  estimation  of  their  ships'  compa- 
nies, pretty  nearly  as  they  profit  by  all 
their  opportunities,  whether  of  acqui- 
ring theory  or  practice  ;  and  those  who 
altogether  neglect  either,  while  yet 
there  is  time  to  attend  to  them,  will 
fall  into  a  merited  contempt,  of  which 
no  degree  of  zeal  will  be  able  to  parry 
the  effects.  It  is  therefore  incumbent, 
in  an  especial  manner,  on  those  who 
have  a  point  at  heart,  which  they  wish 
to  carry  by  every  means  in  their  power, 
not  to  neglect  this  which  lies  quite  at 
their  door  ;  and  thus,  be  it  also  obser- 
ved, is  another  example  given  us  of 
that  connexion  between  the  active  du- 
ties of  this  world  and  the  rewards  of 
the  next,  between  our  interests,  in  a 
•word,  here  and  there,  to  which  we  have 
already  adverted,  and  of  which  it  is 
inexpressibly  gratifying  now  and  then 
to  catch  a  link,  however  impossible  it 
may  be  for  us  to  trace  its  whole  extent. 
We  cannot  all  be  clergymen  ;  the  af- 
fairs of  this  world  would  stand  still 
altogether  were  we  each  occupied  ex- 
clusively, or  even  chiefly,  with  the 
spiritual  concerns  of  others.  But  it  is 
not  necessary — it  is  not  even  desirable 
that  we  should ;  for  in  this,  as  in 
every  other  department,  labour  is  most 
profitable  when  divided.  Let  us  only 
zealously  discharge  our  duties  here, 
patiently  educating  ourselves  up  to  the 
full  measure  of  their  requisitions, 
whatever  our  station  in  life,  and  gi- 
ving religion  the  weight  of  that  in- 
fluence over  society  which  we  must 
thus  acquire.  We  shall  then  discharge 
our  debt  of  zeal  to  her  cause,  quite  as 
amply  as  any  clergyman  can  do,  and 
a  thousand  times  more  effectively  than 
if  we  quitted  our  own  places  to  thrust 
ourselves  into  his- 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  that  in- 


533 

terest  and  curiosity  are  not  hear  so 
much  excited  by  absolute  novelty  as 
by  imperfect  knowledge ;  to  seamen, 
therefore,  in  whom  the  idea  of  a  pre- 
sent God,  although  existing,  is  vague, 
offered  information  respecting  his  be- 
ing, attributes,  and  demands,  would 
seem  calculated  to  be  at  all  times  wel- 
come, provided  that  their  minds,  which 
in  their  present  state  can  hold  but  one 
idea  at  a  time,  were,  at  the  moment, 
sufficiently  disengaged  from  external 
material  impulse,  to  receive  it.  But 
the  monotony  of  ten  months  at  a  spell 
in  the  ice,  secluded  from  all  their 
usual  enjoyments,  would,  if  any  thing 
could,  so  disengage  them ;  the  rather 
that  some  feeling  of  doubt  must  some- 
times have  pressed  on  them,  in  mo- 
ments of  relaxed  nervous  system,  whe- 
ther it  was  the  will  of  that  God  ever 
to  liberate  them  or  not.  We  are  far 
from  thinking,  at  the  same  time,  that 
this  last  uncertainty  would  very  often 
occur  to  them ;  we  are  too  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  general  elasticity  of 
their  spirits.  But  the  best  set  springs 
will  yield  a  little  at  times,  and  the 
weight  which  they  support  become 
thus  more  sensible  to  the  frame. — 
Every  previous  example,  too,  of  a  na- 
ture similar  to  their  own,  from  Sir 
Hugh  Willoughby  down,  had  been 
fraught  with  suffering  and  death.  And 
whose  courage  does  not  sometimes 
hang  on  precedent  ? 

Sailors  when  at  sea,  although  their 
labour  is  occasionally  severe,  have,  for 
the  most  part,  considerable  intervals  of 
leisure,  with  very  limited  sources  of 
amusement ;  every  sort  of  instruction, 
therefore,  at  all  suited  to  their  capaci- 
ties, would,  we  think,  be  welcome  to 
them,  as  affording  means  of  quiet  oc- 
cupation, which  can  be  laid  down  and 
resumed  without  trouble  or  inconve- 
nience. But  religious  instruction  would 
seem  to  possess  some  peculiar  advan- 
tages in  this  way.  It  relates  to  a  sub- 
ject with  which  they  feel  a  prepos- 
session that  they  ought  to  be  in  some 
degree  acquainted, —it  affects  their 
highest  interests,  to  which  they  are 
far  from  being  indifferent ;  and  it  af- 
fords scope  for  the  most  touching  of 
all  declamation,  which  is  never  with- 
out the  greatest  weight  with  a  simple 
mind.*  Besides  these,  it  has  some  me- 


*  See  every  account  we  have  of  the  Americcin  Indian,  in  most  respects  the  abso- 
lute converse  of  the  British  seaman,  the  most  solitary,  independent,  grateful,  vindictive 


On  the  Character  of  Seamen. 


chanical  advantages,  if  we  may  BO  call 
them,  which  are  also  worth  adverting 
to.  In  turning  over  the  pages  of  the 
Bible,  a  sailor  is  soon  attracted  by  its 
historical  narratives,  all  of  them  suit- 
ing his  taste  for  anecdote  ;  while  those 
of  the  Old  Testament,  in  particular, 
represent  a  state  of  society  not  unlike 
that  of  which  he  himself  forms  a  part, 
harmonize  accordingly  with  his  habits 
of  violence,  with  his  belief  in  a  parti- 
cular Providence,  with  the  notions  pe- 
culiar to  his  profession,  and  which 
readily  lead  him  to  consider  disobe- 
dience, even  to  the  most  severe  orders, 
an  unpardonable  offence.*  The  di- 
dactic nature  of  some  of  the  incidents 
fits  them  to  be  stored  up  in  his  memo- 
ry— their  miraculous  character  elicits 
his  wonder,  at  all  events  fixes  his  at- 
tention ;  and  even  the  glimpses  into 
futurity  which  he  finds  among  them, 
concur  with  the  scope  of  his  supersti- 
tions, without  contradicting  their  let- 
ter. These  circumstances,  in  theory 
and  taken  separately,  may  not  seem  to 
many  to  be  of  much  value  ;  but  we  are 
very  certain,  that  together,  and  in 
practice,  they  are  of  infinite  import- 
ance. They  are  precisely  the  points 
which  regulate  our  choice  of  studies 
for  other  children. 

Religious  instruction  would  next 
seem  calculated  particularly  to  interest 
seamen,  because,  by  opening  up  to 
their  view  their  individual  stake  in  the 
next  world,  it  in  some  degree  rescues 
them  from  that  gregarious  existence 
to  which  they  are  condemned  in  this. 
We  <lo  not  believe  them,  it  is  true,  at 

E resent  sensible  of  the  weight  of  this 
ist  leaden  mantle  wrapped  round  all 
their  faculties ;  by  bountiful  ordina- 
tion, the  inner  man  is  at  all  times  suit- 
ed to  the  outer,  and  none  of  us  feel 
the  weight  of  the  32,000  pounds  of  at- 
mospheric air  which  yet  the  mechan- 
ism of  our  frames  supports.  Still  it  is 
impossible  to  suppose  that  the  letting 
in  upon  a  sailor's  existence  of  that 


principle  which,  in  crvll  Mfe,  Hes  at 
the  root  of  all  our  boyish  emulation, 
our  more  manly  ambition,  the  hopes 
and  fears  which  diversify  and  delight 
our  being,  should  not  be  immediately 
felt,  and  considered  by  him  as  marking 
an  interesting  epoch  in  his  life ;  and 
as  it  is  at  this  point  besides,  that  we 
think  the  peculiar  bearing  of  religious 
instruction  upon  discipline  commen- 
ces, we  entreat  our  readers  to  consider 
it  with  some  attention,  and  follow  us 
now  in  our  attempt  to  investigate  its 
operation. 

It  would  seem  unnecessary,  in  the 
first  place,  to  argue  that  religious  feel- 
ing, once  excited,  does  necessarily  give 
an  individual  character  to  our  exist- 
ence in  our  own  eyes,  however  con- 
nected it  may  still  be  in  the  sight  of 
the  world,  with  that  of  others ;  for  be- 
sides that  whatever  expands  the  mind, 
no  matter  what,  produces  this  in  some 
degree,  it  must  be  impossible,  we  should 
imagine,  even  for  the  most  indifferent, 
to  contemplate  that  Supreme  Intelli- 
gence whose  eye  pervades  all  space, 
and  penetrates  all  being,  and  of  whom 
it  is  the  peculiar  province  of  religious 
instruction  to  discourse,  without  imme- 
diately feeling  alone  in  His  presence, 
every  relation  absorbed  in  that  of  the 
creature  before  its  Creator.  Much  mo- 
ral restraint,  then,  is  gained  even  by 
this  ;  for  it  has  often  been  remarked, 
in  higher  ranks  of  society  than  sailors, 
that  what  men  will  commit  in  a  body 
without  compunction,  they  will  each 
instinctively  shrink  from  when  alone ; 
and  much  more  if  they  feel  themselves 
under  the  immediate  eye  of  a  judge. 
But  another  principle  also  comes  in 
here,  the  notice  of  which  will  require 
some  previous  explanation. 

When  we  described  the  character  of 
seamen,  we  ought  to  have  mentioned, 
that  although  fond  enough  of  popula- 
rity among  themselves,  the  desire  of 
personal  notice  and  distinction  on  the 
part  of  their  superiors,  whether  lands- 


animal  of  his  kind ;  yet  resembling  him  in  this — And  see  also  Molina's  Account  of  the 
Native  Chilese,  Vol.  I.  passim.  &c.  &c. 

*  The  Rev.  Micali  Balwhidder's  Chelsea  pensioner,  our  readers  will  recollect,  was 
just  at  this  point  of  proficiency  in  his  studies,  when  visited  by  the  worthy  elder  of  Dal- 
mailing — Anwds  of  the  Parish,  p.  2(5.  There  is  infinite  truth  and  nature,  fully 
more,  by  the  -way,  than  reverence,  in  the  tone  of  this  sketch  ;  we  have  known  thousands 
at  such  a  Rubicon.  And  if  we  dive  a  little  deeper,  we  shall  find  that  there  are  many  si- 
milar points  in  religious  reading,  at  which  other  classes  of  society  equally  hang,  with 
not  a  shadow  of  more  personal  merit,  though  infinitely  more  self-complacency,  than 
these  rough  children  of  nature  and  circumstance  possess  at  theirs.  "  Let  these  not 
judge,  Icrt  they  Ic  judged." 


On  the  Character  of  Seamen. 


535 


men  or  their  own  officers,  sits  very 
loose  upon  them.  The  circumstances, 
in  an  especial  manner  producing  this, 
deserve  attention.  Let  their  personal 
exertions,  or  the  service  in  which  their 
ship  is  employed,  be  what  they  may, 
their  duties  are  so  intermixed,  so  much 
require  collective  force,  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  any  of  them  so  to  thrust 
himself  forward  as  to  be  quoted  in  a 
dispatch  as  having  materially  contri- 
buted to  success.  Whoever  falls,  is  in 
like  manner  but  a  unit  in  a  report ; 
"  his  very  name  the  grave  enfolds !" 
Besides  this,  proud,  or  rather  vain  of 
their  profession,  seamen  hold  at  best 
the  opinions  of  landsmen  in  abundant 
contempt ;  and  knowing  that  in  turn 
they  are  rather  gaped  at  by  them  as 
eccentric,  than  approved  of  as  well 
conducted,  they  drop  down  with  the 
stream,  and  scarcely  seek  to  excite 
other  emotion  in  them  than  surprise. 
On  board  again,  they  forget  even  the 
name  of  praise,  for  by  no  accident  do 
they  ever  individually  receive  it ;  and 
even  when  it  is  bestowed  on  them  col- 
lectively, as  when  a  captain  in  his  of- 
ficial letter  detailing  the  particulars 
of  any  service,  acknowledges  his  great 
obligations  to  his  officers  and  ship's 
company,  it  is  amusing  enough  to  those 
who  have  access  behind  the  scenes  to 
know,  that  scarcely  the  echo  of  these 
thanks  reaches  their  own  ears,  and  that 
in  all  probability  he  did  nothing  but 
storm  at  them,  while  yet  the  service 
was  in  hand  which  earned  them. — 
There  is  no  fault  however  here ;  the 
apparent  inconsistency  is  cast  on  him 
by  his  situation,  and  the  genius  loci 
readily  reconciles  it.  Thanks  are  the 
form  which  custom  has  given  to  praise, 
and  this,  his  men  having  deserved  it, 
an  officer  is  very  willing  to  pay  them, 
at  a  good  distance  off,  where  there  is 
no  chance  of  its  turning  their  weather- 
cock heads.  But  he  does  not  really 
feel  thankful  to  them ;  he  has  requi- 
red their  exertions,  and  exacted  their 
obedience,  upon  principles  of  duty  in 
which  he  has  no  personal  interest,  of 


which,  in  truth,  he  is  himself  just 
equally  the  servant  with  them,  only 
in  another  sphere ;  and  he  must  be  at 
all  times  cautious  how  he  awards 
praise, — collectively,  because  the  de- 
mands of  duty  are  very  high,  and  the 
obligation  to  answer  them  must  not  be 
diluted  by  making  too  great  a  favour 
of  it, — individually,  because  there  is 
no  weakness  in  their  commanding-of- 
ficer of  which  sailors  are  so  jealous  as 
any  leaning  to  favouritism.  While  far- 
ther, at  a  moment  of  arduous  exertion^ 
the  most  substantial  thanks  which  can 
he  rendered  to  those  who  are  willing 
to  work,  is  to  watch  and  bring  up  those 
who  would  rather  skulk ;  not  to  men- 
tion, that  owing,  as  we  have  elsewhere 
observed,  in  a  greater  degree  to  sea- 
mens' ignorance,  than  almost  any  other 
peculiarity  in  their  situation,  the  whole 
system  of  discipline  to  which  they  are 
subjected,  turns  on  menace  and  com- 
pulsion rather  than  encouragement. 

The  entire  result,  however,  is  this—- 
It is  a  principle  of  discipline  with  the 
best  officers,  to  punish  one  man  as  soon 
as  another,  if  caught  in  a  fault ;  the 
most  excellent  general  character,  un- 
less in  very  particular  circumstances, 
being  no  protection  ;  and  if  they  have 
a  favourite,  cockswain  or  other,  to  take 
him  first  through  hands,  if  he  pre- 
sume on  his  supposed  influence.  The 
men,  on  the  other  hand,  finding  thus 
favour  of  no  use  to  them,  do  not  much 
aspire  after,  or  care  for  it ;  they  look 
only  to  their  comrades  for  individual 
estimation,  and  think  of  their  superi- 
ors but  as  those  who  will  punish  them 
if  they  decidedly  transgress.  And  there 
is  health  as  well  as  disease  in  both  feel- 
ings ;  nor  can  any  thing  be  more  man- 
ly, or  more  gratifying  to  an  intelli- 
gent officer,  even  when  he  is  plagued 
with  some  of  their  results,  than  the 
free  and  frank  manner  in  which  sea- 
men lavish  their  strength  and  expose 
their  persons  under  the  influence  of 
the  one,*  and  the  independent  swag- 
ger with  which,  under  that  of  the 
other,  if  they  know  their  duty  tho- 


*  The  more  dangerous  any  service,  the  more  volunteers  are  there  for  it ;  the  more 
disagreeable,  the  greater  number  of  those  who  unnecessarily  undertake  it.  If  there  is 
occasion,  (good  and  sufficient,  for  they  do  not  like  their  lives  to  be  trifled  with,)  for 
sending  away  the  boats  at  sea,  blowing  half  a  gale  of  wind,  the  whole  ship's  company 
could  be  put  in  them  with  more  ease  than  the  jolly-boat's  crew  got  into  her  in  a  calm. 
If  the  hawse  is  to  be  cleared,  or  a  few  casks  of  water  slung  alongside,  which  may  each 
require  one  or  two  men  to  get  wet,  at  least  three  times  as  many  are  in  the  water,  if  it 
is  only  cold  enough.  And  this  is  with  no  view  to  attract  their  officers'  notice,  it  is  gene- 
rally indeed  in  spite  of  them ;  but  that  they  may  look  bold,  or  comfortksi,  in  the  eyes 
of  their  cormades,  and  not  fcem  fo  care. 


536 


On  the  Character  of  Seamen. 


£Aug. 


roughly,  they  discharge  it,  in  entire  re- 
liance on  the  justice  of  their  com- 
mander, and  utter  indifference  to  his 
favour.  This  last,  like  most  other 
compliments,  is  pleasing  just  in  pro- 
portion as  it  is  not  designed,  not  super- 
ficial, and  as  to  a  weak  mind  it  might 
give  offence.  But  still,  some  very  im- 
portant disadvantages  flow  from  them 
too.  Very  many  of  the  offences  liable 
to  be  committed  at  sea  are  convention- 
al, arising  from  the  peculiarities  of  si- 
tuation, not  moral  or  abstract.  Their 
commission,  accordingly,  inflicts  no 
disgrace  on  the  culprit,  in  the  eyes  of 
those  exposed  to  similar  temptation 
with  that  which  led  him  astray ;  while 
nearly  all  the  remainder,  as  riot, 
drunkenness,  &c.  in  the  present  igno- 
rance of  seamen,  reflect  rather  credit 
on  him.  On  all  these,  accordingly,  no 
moral  restraint  can  at  present  possibly 
be  laid ;  besides  which,  the  habit  of 
incurring  reproach,  or  even  punish- 
ment, not  so  much  with  feelings  of 
self- condemnation  or  promised  amend- 
ment, as  submission  to  misfortune,  or 
suppressed  murmur  because  not  for- 
given, is  utterly  destructive  of  self-re- 
spect, and  searing  to  all  the  feelings 
on  which  alone  any  system  of  moral 
restraint  can  ever  be  built. 

Now  it  is  religious  instruction  which 
must  strike  the  first  blow  here,  and 
which  does,  in  fact,  so  strike  it,  when- 
ever it  is  applied.  It  represents  to  us 
all  one  Being  at  least,  whose  favour 
we  must  sue  for,  if  we  would  obtain 
it ;  one  before  whom  an  universal 
Gazette  is,  at  it  were,  opened,  contain- 
ing the  record-  of  all  our  names,  and 
actions,  and  thoughts,  however  se- 
cret ;  who  requires  us  to  be  submis- 
sive to  the  authorities  placed  over  us, 
making  our  obedience  to  their  laws 
stand  for  obedience  to  His,  so  long  as 
they  are  not  opposed ;  who  at  the 
same  time  inculcates  no  slavish  defer- 
ence to  the  will  of  a  fellow  mortal,  nor 
exaggerated  value  for  his  person,  be- 
yond what  his  character  and  place  in 
society  may  justly  demand  for  him  ; 
the  contemplation  of  whom,  in  a  word, 
may  thus  again  elicit  among  seamen 
that  desire  of  recommending  them- 
selves to  their  superiors  generally, — 
test  le  premier  JMS  qui  mute, — which 
has  been  unquestionably  a  youthful 
feeling  with  them  all,  but  which  the 
circumstances  in  which  they  have  been 
placed,  have,  in  a  great  degree,  suc- 
ceeded in  extinguishing  in  them. 
9 


There  are,  rtien,  extra  chords  in  the 
simple  and  accessible  hearts  of  sea- 
men, through  means  of  which  religi- 
ous instruction  will  always  be  found 
to  affect  them  more  readily  than  any 
other  class  of  society  of  their  rank. 
We  must  now,  however,  reverse  the 
picture,  and  exhibit  them  returned 
from  a  long,  fatiguing,  and  perhaps 
dangerous  voyage,  a  little  money  in 
their  pockets,  some  credit  under  their 
lee  for  more,  such  as  they  always 
possess  in  these  circumstances,  and 
just  landed  in  an  English  sea-port 
town,  to  make  the  most  they  can  of 
both.  The  abstract  character  is  the 
same  identically ;  the  same  good  in- 
tentions, docility,  light  heart,  and 
light  head,  continue  to  distinguish  it. 
The  results  are  very  different,  how- 
ever ;  they  are  indeed  so  different,  only 
because  these  qualities  do  thus  conti- 
nue to  distinguish  it.  A  sailor's  temp- 
tations, like  those  of  most  other  men, 
arise  chiefly  from  the  showy  points 
about  him,  which  are  most  admired 
when  superficially  observed.  There 
is  no  snare  in  this  world  like  the  snare 
of  a  "  good  report,"— and  next  to  it, 
the  snare  of  seeming  virtue  in  others, 
— and  to  both,  as  we  shall  presently 
see,  he  is  exposed. 

The  population  of  a  sea-port  town, 
such,  for  example,  as  Portsmouth, 
Sheerness,  &c.  with  which  men-of-war 
sailors  are  first  brought  in  contact  on 
their  return  from  abroad,  is  composed 
almost  exclusively  of  three  classes, — 
a  small  proportion  of  native,  perma- 
nently resident,  and  respectable  inha- 
bitants ;  a  much  greater  number  do- 
miciliated,  but  disrespectable ;  and  a 
floating  mass,  of  various  amount  ac- 
cording to  circumstances,  principally 
composed  of  officers  and  seamen  OH 
leave  from  their  respective  ships.  The 
first  constitute  the  limited  class  of  re- 
spectable shop-keepers,  for  the  most 
part  shy  and  even  suspicious  of  strin- 
gers, having  been,  in  truth,  frequent- 
ly taken  in  by  them ;  hard  in  their 
dealings,  even  unjust  sometimes,  the 
necessity  being  in  some  degree  imposed 
on  them,  of  making  the  honest  pay  oc- 
casionally for  the  fraudulent.  Of  the 
second,  the  worst  out  of  all  compari- 
sion  are  those  who  make  some  preten- 
sions to  respectability,  the  lower  class 
of  shopkeepers,  Jews,  brokers,  &c., 
sheer  rogues,  collected,  like  vultures 
round  a  carcase,  from  the  four  quar- 
ters of  heaven,  to  prey  upon  the  fol- 


18210 


On  the  Character  of  Seamen. 


537 


ly  and  helplessness  of  their  victims. 
The  best  are  unquestionably  the  un- 
happy prostitutes,  whose  numbers  and 
unblushing  appearance  give,  notwith- 
standing, to  a  sea-port  town,  its  pecu- 
liar aspect  of  vice  and  licentiousness 
to  the  eye  of  a  stranger.  They  are  ge- 
nerally the  lowest  of  their  most  wretch- 
ed class,  the  refuse  of  other  markets, 
the  lees  of  other  wine-cups ;  where 
also  they  were  first  reduced  to  this 
state,  seduction  being  no  sailor's  vice, 
— he  has  neither  talents  nor  leisure  for 
the  infamous  occupation.  In  this  their 
last  step,  however,  it  is  remarkable 
enough  that  they  both  fill  a  place  of 
more  importance  to  the  society  with 
which  they  mix  than  ever  they  occu- 
pied before,  and  also  possess  the  vir- 
tues, if  they  may  be  so  called,  which 
qualify  them  for  this  place,  in  a  degree 
unknown  to  their  class  elsewhere. 
When  a  poor  sailor,  drunk  and  help- 
less, would  otherwise  die  in  the  first 
ditch,  some  unhappy  creature,  the 
most  miserable  of  her  kind,  has  the 
melancholy  task  allotted  her  by  Pro- 
vidence, of  saving  his  life  by  removing 
him  to  her  apartment ;  and  his  money 
and  effects,  which  every  where  else 
would  thus  disappear,  which,  were  he 
other  than  a  sailor,  even  here  would 
disappear,  are  comparatively  safe  in  her 
custody,  and  generally,  almost  univer- 
sally, forthcoming  in  the  morning. 
There  is  great  beauty  in  these  arrange- 
ments ;  some  pain,  though  much  inter- 
est in  tracing  them  ;  but  great  temp- 
tation also  in  the  midst  of  them, — for 
it  is  thus  that  gratitude  comes  in  aid 
of  sensuality.  The  third  class  is  what 
we  have  already  seen,  birds  of  passage, 
hanging  loose  upon  the  world,  redo- 
lent of  youth,  and  health,  and  spirits, 
rough  but  hearty  in  their  manners, 
thoughtless,  and  licentious. 

When  a  sailor  then  first  lands  in  a 
sea-port  town  thus  composed,  suppo- 
sing him  to  have  just  been  receiving 
such  a  course  of  religious  instruction 
as  we  have  contemplated,  and  to  have 
been  strongly,  we  cannot  call  it  deep- 
ly, impressed  with  its  lessons,  three 
choices  seem  to  lie  before  him  as  to  his 
conduct.  He  may  act,  as  he  is  repre- 
sented to  act  in  the  tracts  circulated  for 
his  use,  and  which,  therefore,  may  be 
considered  as  intended  to  furnish  him 
with  models, — that  is  to  say,  he  may 
take  a  select  friend  with  him,  of  simi- 
lar inclinations  to  his  own,  and  walk 
out  into  the  country,  filling  up  his 

VOL.  IX. 


morning  with  edifying  conversation, 
returning  to  a  temperate  dinner,  with 
a  single  glass  of  ale,  in  the  afternoon, 
going  to  church  or  chapel  in  the  even- 
ing, and  retiring  to  rest  at  an  early 
hour  of  the  night  in  private  lodgings. 
Or  he  may  think  this  extreme  preci- 
sion unnecessary,  and  resolve  to  enjoy 
himself  as  usual,  only  observing  all  the 
bounds  of  temperance  and  morality. 
Or  he  may  give  care  and  thought  to 
the  winds,  as  he  always  has  done  in 
times  past;  and  consider  the  lessons 
which  he  has  been  lately  receiving  but 
as  part  of  that  sea-duty  which  was 
then  forced  on  him,  but  for  which  he 
is  now  to  reap  indemnification.  Let 
us  consider  which  of  these  is  the  most- 
likely  to  be  his  ultimate  resolution, 
taking  him  as  he  is,  ignorant,  thought- 
less, beset  with  bad  habits,  treacherous 
passions,  evil  counsellors ; — such  as  he 
has  lived  amongst  from  his  youth  up, 
and  amongst  whom  he  is  now  again 
just  landed,  for  the  several  naval  arse- 
nals are  resorted  to  so  much  in  suc- 
cession, a  man  any  time  in  the  navy  ac- 
quires personal  acquaintances  in  each. 
It  is  a  wise  and  beautiful  provision 
of  Providence,  that  the  most  import- 
ant of  our  relative  duties  in  life,  the 
bread  and  wine,  as  it  were,  of  society, 
without  the  prevalence  of  which  its 
frame  could  not  long  subsist,  so  far 
from  being  directly  opposed  to  the  na- 
tural inclinations  of  the  greater  num- 
ber of  mankind,  are  in  accordance  with 
them ;  in  like  manner  as  the  most 
simple,  which  are  also  the  most  inno- 
cent of  our  pleasures,  are  powerful- 
ly recommended  by  principles  pure- 
ly' natural  within  us.  For  example, 
the  virtues  of  chastity,  sobriety,  and 
decorum,  are  even  endeared  to  us  in 
civil  life,  by  the  approbation  of  our 
families,  their  participation  in  the  com- 
forts resulting  from  them,  the  respect, 
good  opinion,  and  example  of  the  most 
worthy  of  our  fellow-citizens.  And  a 
country  walk,  in  itself  the  most  mono- 
tonous of  all  pastimes,  is  sought  by 
one  for  the  sake  of  his  health,  by 
another  because  it  affords  him  relief 
from  bustle,  and  enables  him  to  occupy 
himself  with  his  own  thoughts ;  by  a 
third,  from  the  company  of  those  he 
loves;  a  fourth,  because  the  adjoining 
scenery  is  his  own  property  ;  a  fifth, 
sixth,  and  seventh,  from  their  know- 
ledge of  husbandry,  botany,  and  mi- 
neralogy, and  the  opportunity  it  af- 
fords for  cultivating  or  applying  these 
3  Y 


On  the  Character  of  Seamen. 


CAug. 


sciences.     Besides  this,  it  is  another 
beneficent    ordination  that    frequent 
exposure  to  temptation  of  itself  alone 
blunts  its  edge ;  that  those  according- 
ly under  whose  eyes  irregular  gratifi- 
cations are  constantly  passing,  shortly 
cease  to  value  them,  or  when  they  in- 
dulge in  them  at  all,  do  it  temperately 
and  moderately,  as  knowing  that  they 
can  always  return,   and  again  com- 
mand them.  And  thus,  although  even 
with  the  deepest  religious  feelings  none 
of  us  are  quite  free  from  taint,  either 
of  vice,  or  folly,  or  both ;  still,  without 
religion  altogether,  many  of  us  make 
a  most  respectable  figure  on  all  points. 
But  what  is  the  situation  of  a  sailor, 
just  landed,  as  we  have  represented 
him,  with  respect  to  these  aids  to  vir- 
tue ?  He  has  not  one  of  them,  not  a 
natural    feeling   within  him   but  is 
leagued  with  vice,  and  of  all  men  li- 
ving he  is  the  least  likely  to  overcome 
his  natural  feelings  upon  principle  on- 
ly. He  has  no  family  near  him  to  smile 
upon  his  self-denial ;  the  friends  about 
him,  on  the  contrary,  scoff  at  his  scv'  • 
pies.  In  going  to  take  a  country- walK, 
as  suggested,  he  must  break  away  from 
all  the  temptations  to  which  he  has  been 
in  the  habit  of  yielding ;  the  grat  ifica- 
tions-  offered  by  which  are  now  within 
his  reach,  but  may  never  again  return. 
He  must  set  out  without  the  slightest 
prospect   of  amusement ;   he  has  no 
thoughts  over  which  to  meditate  with 
interest,— he  does  not  know  one  plant, 
one  stone,  one  mode  of  cultivation,  from 
another ;  and  he  is  altogether  incapable 
of  that  refined  conversation  put  into 
his  mouth,  in  publications  professing 
to  represent  his  character,— he  could 
not  understand  above  the  half  of  it, 
were  it  even  addressed  to  him*  Again, 
were  he  to  be  temperate  at  his  meals, 
when  excess  was  within  his  reach,  he 
would  do  that  which  we  really  do  not 
believe  those  could  do  who  so  readily 
suppose  him  capable  of  it, — live,  we 
mean,  for  months  together  on  a  limit- 
ed, and  in  some  sort  unpalatable  al- 
lowance, and  not  in  any  degree  indulge 
when  opportunity  offers.     He  could 
certainly  go  to  church ;  it  is  the  thing 
indeed  of  all  that  is  thus  laid  down  for 
him  which  he  is  the  most  likely  to  do, 
—a  sailor's  reverence  for  religion  is  al- 
ways strong  within  him.  But  even  to 
do  this,  he  must  vanquish  as  many  na- 
tural feelings  as  would  oppose  a  child's 
making  a  similar  election  in  preference 
to  going  to  a  ball;  with  the  additional 


burthen  of  never  having  done  such  a 
thing  before,  and  being  now  to  seek 
for  a  seat,  at  a  good  hazard  of  being  su- 
perciliously rejected  from  beside  those 
even,  who  profess  to  be  most  inter- 
ested in  his  running  this  career.  And 
as  to  retiring  at  an  early  hour  to  pri- 
vate respectable  lodgings,  he  could  not 
do  this,  under  any  circumstances  now ; 
there  must  be  a  great  change  indeed  in 
the  composition  both  of  sailors  and 
sea-port  towns,  before  any  such  would 
take  him  in,  or  their  proprietors  could 
be  persuaded  to  compromise  the  cha- 
racter of  their  houses  by  even  delibe- 
rating on  the  subject. 

There  seems  then  to  us  to  be  about 
the  same  chance  of  a  sailor's  following 
this  course  at  present,  as  a  man  on 
crutches  has  of  running  against  an- 
other, hale,  and  active,  and  perfect  in 
his  limbs.  One  such  example  may 
occur  in  an  age,  but  the  days  of  mi-- 
racles  are  gone  by,  and  in  all  times 
superhuman  strength,  or  rather,  that 
we  may  guard  our  phraseology  against 
every  thing  like  mistake,  more  than 
ordinary  assistance  from  above  to  hu- 
man weakness,  could  never  be  calcu- 
lated on  as  a  vulgar  or  common  agent. 
Let  us  turn,  then,  to  the  second  or  me- 
dium course.  On  this  tack,  a  sailor 
mustbe  supposed  to  land  with  modified 
feelings  of  the  same  nature  with  those 
he  formerly  possessed  on  like  occa- 
sions ;  he  may  determine  to  be  pru- 
dent, but  his  heart  must,  on  the  whole, 
be  jovial,  and  his  anticipation  of  plea- 
sure high.  On  first  reaching  the 
shore,  he  must  be  his  proportion  to- 
wards a  glass  of  grog  to  the  boat's 
crew,  who  have  had  the  trouble  of 
conveying  him  and  others  to  their  des- 
tination ;  there  is  no  harm  in  this, 
and  immemorial  usage,  together  with 
the  treacherous  semblance  of  genero- 
sity, is  in  its  favour.  He  must  taste 
this  glass  too ;  and  still  no  great  harm 
is  done,  only  that  it  is  the  beginning  of 
a  series  of  similar  indulgences.  Mean- 
while an  old  acquaintance  comes  up,  or 
stranger  willing  to  become  a  new  one, 
for  there  is  a  great  deal  of  free-mason- 
ry among  seamen,  and  they  all  address 
each  otherreadily. "  Hollo,  Jack,  is  this 
you  ?"  is  one  salute ;  or,  "  What  cheer, 
shipmate  ?"  another ;  but,  "  Give  us 
your  hand,  my  boy,  what's  your  news?" 
is  common  to  both.  Jack  has  no  great 
matter  of  news,  but  he  has  always  the 
grasp  of  a  hand  to  give  "  in  friendship 
or  in  fight,"  to  whoever  asks  it;  and  his 


head  has  generally  some  gossip  or  other 
in  it,  say  about  Melville  Island  and 
the  Polar  Bears,  which  he  is  not  sorry 
to  have  an  early  opportunity  of  dis- 
charging. The  stranger  now  proposes 
either  to  give  or  take  another  glass  of 
grog,  as  his  finances  suggest ;  and  in 
the  one  case  obligation  and  growing 
regard,  in  the  other  generosity  again, 
in  both  a  treacherous  inclination,  im- 
mediately prompt  compliance.  The 
conversation  is  regularly  joined,  and 
the  pauses  between  "  stranger  stuff" 
are  filled  up  with  details  concerning 
the  more  ordinary  vicissitudes  of  life ; 
who  is  up,  and  who  down  in  the  world, 
since  he  was  last  there, — who  dead;  and 
who  alive — who  spliced,  or  iris  wife 
gone  home, — and  what  new  comers  are 
at  such  and  such  a  'house  of  ill-fame. 
Jack's  heart  warms  progressively  to 
the  whole,  as  one  recollection,  one  as- 
sociation is  recalled  after  another; 
and,  at  the  conclusion,  supposing  that 
he  will  not  even  yet  visit "  the  girls,"  as 
his  companion  proposes,  he  readily 
consents  to  go  and  see  those  at  whose 
houses  he  used  to  meet  them — he  knows 
none  other.  All  this  while,  probably, 
in  unconscious  anticipation  of  ultimate 
defeat,  (alone  half  the  battle  lost,)  he 
has  concealed  his  scruples ;  or  if  he  has 
avowed  them  in  the  first  instance,  all 
the  worse  for  him  in  some  respects, 
the  attacks  on  them  are  more  direct. 
As  he  passes  along  the  street,  then, 
more  recognitions,  more  greetings, 
more  grog ;  which  last  he  will  not  re- 
fuse, (for  after  a  thousand  defeats,  a 
sailor's  confidence  in  the  strength  of 
his  head,  is  just  the  confidence  of  a 
forward  child,  who,  the  moment  he  is 
old  enough  to  wish  to  mount  his  fa- 
ther's horse,  is  quite  certain  that  he  can 
manage  him.  At  last  a  woman's  voice 
salutes  his  ear,  "  Jack,  dear  Jack  !" 
and  most  likely  Cesar's  triumph  is 


On  the  diameter  of  Seamen. 


.539 

her's;  she  may  once  have  saved  his 
life,  as  we  have  explained,  or  have 
other  claims  on  his  remembrance  scarce- 
ly less  interesting.  But,  at  all  events, 
his  good  nature,  and  rough,  but  ge- 
nuine sensibility,*  will  not  allow  him 
rudely  to  reject  what  looks  like  affec- 
tion, and  is,  in  all  probability,  the 
shadow  of  its  shade ;  for  these  poor 
girls,  libelled  in  soug,  and  often  bad 
enough,  exhibit,  occasionally,  extraor- 
dinary marks  of  attachment  to  their 
paramours.  And  honest  Jack  Rattlin 
soon  learns  what  many  wiser  men  have 
learnt  before  him,  that  to  parley  on 
these  occasions  is  to  yield. 

Such,  then,  is  the  end  of  the  second 
alternative,  and  we  have  but  the  third, 
beginning  where  this  ends,  and  at  dis- 
advantage too,  for  short-lived  scruples 
are,  for  the  most  part,  but  the  leaper's 
or  wrestler's  backward  step,  before  put- 
ting forth  all  his  powers.  On  the  pre- 
sent occasion,  however,  this  is  but  lit- 
tle matter,  for  we  now  frankly  express 
our  opinion,  and  we  are  willing  to  stake 
all  our  knowledge  of  seamen  on  its 
head,  that  there  is  scarcely  a  fraction 
low  enough  to  express  the  number  of 
those  who  would  ever,  in  the  present 
state  of  our  seamen,  entertain  such 
scruples  as  we  have  adverted  to  at  all, 
or,  with  money  in  their  pockets,  reject 
one  indulgence,  which,  but  for  them, 
they  would  have  purchased.  That 
which  we  have  just  seen,  is  not  the 
process  of  seduction,  but  the  form  of 
indulgence,  which  they  willingly  and 
wittingly  go  through.  What  the  ca- 
suistry is,  by  which  vulgar  minds  ge- 
nerally reconcile  the  grossest  excesses 
with  even  considerable  veneration  of 
the  Being  who  forbids  them,t  we  can- 
not stay  now  to  inquire ;  those  will  re- 
cognize, who,  like  ourselves  in  all  pro- 
bability, reconcile  each  his  own  pecu- 
liar failing,  his  vanity,  petulance,  ill- 


Has  any  of  our  readers  ever  seen  a  sailor  assisting  a  woman  or  child  in  a  boat  or 
ship,  *nd  observed  his  solicitude  ?  His  affections  are  so  tied  up  in  ordinary  life,  they 
tairly  walk  out  of  him  when  he  cannot  follow  them,  and  away  with  him  when  he  can. 
He  is  their  slave,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  upon  some  of  the  best  and  finest  princi- 
ples of  our  common  nature. 

f  The  degree  to  which  ignorant  men  particularly,  can  succeed  in  shutting  their  eyes 

fie  criminality  of  their  favourite  indulgences,  and  yet  retain  their  reverence  for  the 

supreme  Being,  is  nowhere  better  exemplified  than  in  the  lives  of  the  Buccaneers. 

i  hese  wretches,  yet  reeking  from  their  atrocities,  at  every  pause  "  say  their  prayers, 

id  give  thanks  to  Almighty  God  for  His  deliverances."   And  while  they  familiarly 

ff  a  moiety  of  their  captives'  heads,   and  send  them  on  shore,  to  quicken  the 

ransom  of  the  remainder,  a   Captain  Sawkins  of  their  number,  throws  the  dice  over- 


On  tfie  Character  of  Seamen. 


510 

temper,  indulgence  in  the  pleasures  of 
the  table,  spirit  of  detraction,  &c.  with 
a  much  more  enlarged  view  of  the  law 
which  forbids  these  things  too,  than 
any  sailor  can  have.  But  with  respect 
to  a  sailor,  it  is  really  not  so  much 
reasoning  as  habit,  which  settles  the 
point.  He  has  lived  in  sensuality  from 
his  youth  up,  and  he  can  now  conceive 
no  other  life.  Like  Cuddie  Headrigg, 
he  has  never  ploughed  but  the  riggs  of 
Tillietudlem,  and  he  does  not  think  he 
could  manage  any  other.  The  circum- 
stances of  temptation  in  which  he  has 
been  always  hitherto  placed,  have  been 
such  as  no  virtue  which  he  possibly 
could  have  possessed,  would  have 
brought  him  through  uninjured  ;  and 
he  now  stoops  to  their  yoke,  like  the 
most  thorough  spaniel  of  a  pack  of 
hounds,  the  idea  of  the  propriety  of 
resistance  as  foreign  from  his  thoughts, 
as  in  truth  the  reality  of  the  power  is 
from  his  possession. 

These  circumstances  must  then  be 
essentially  changed  before  any  material 
or  lasting  reform  can  be  brought  about ; 
and,  we  are  happy  to  add,  they  are 
changing.  When  we  again  return  to 
the  subject,  accordingly,  we  shall  en- 


CAug. 


deavour  to  trace  the  particulars  of  this 
great  change,  and  one  of  them  undoubt- 
edly is  the  improved  moral  and  religi- 
ous instruction  now  generally  dissemi- 
nating among  seamen,  chiefly  through 
the  exertions  of  the  Naval  and  Milita- 
ry Bible  Societies.  The  effects  of  a  ge- 
neral system  of  this  nature,  must  ne- 
cessarily be  greater  and  more  durable, 
than  those  of  a  few  isolated  experiments. 
Still,  however,  upon  maturely  consi- 
dering the  subject,  as  our  present  task 
has  led  us  of  late  to  do,  we  confess  we 
are  disposed  to  consider  this  improve- 
ment rather  as  the  gnomon  on  the  dial, 
pointing  to  other  changes,  than  itself 
the  great  luminary,  whose  progress 
urges  on  the  shadow.  Alone,  we  think 
it  never  would  do  much ;  that  is  to 
say,  supposing  it  were  administered  to 
seamen  alone,  and  nobody  else  the  bet- 
ter for  it,  nor  any  simultaneous  change 
operating,  beyond  what  could  be  dis- 
tinctly traced  to  it.  This,  however,  is, 
we  know,  unpopular  doctrine,  and  we 
may  be  mistaken  in  it.  Our  readers 
shall  be  enabled  to  judge  for  them- 
selves. 

E. 


INCH  KEITH  BEACON. 

FAR  in  the  bosom  of  the  Night 

The  Ochills'  dusky  summits  rise, 
Their  outlines  starting,  darkly  bright, 

In  the  clear  mirror  of  the  skies ; 
The  northern  skies,  through  which  the  Sun 

The  circuit  of  his  path  explores, 
Imparting  glory,  never  done, 

And  life  to  other  shores. 

And  Silence  reigns  upon  the  sea, 

While  hosts  of  stars  are  on  their  march, 
To  stud  the  lucid  canopy, 

That  mantles  the  nocturnal  arch. 
The  beacon-light  on  yonder  isle, 

Revolving,  wanes,  or  waxes  clear ; 
And  sheds  a  mild,  but  mournful  smile, 

Like  Hope  beguiling  Fear. 

How  bright  it  burns ! — of  threatening  wreck 

To  warn  the  wareless  mariner ; 
He  hails  it  from  the  midnight  deck, 

And  feels  as  if  a  friend  were  near  : 
Thus,  as  the  navigator*  spied 

The  berries  on  the  ocean  foam. 
That  gladly  omen'd  land  beside, 

This  ushers  him  to  home. 


Columbus. 


1821.'*]  Inch  Keith  Beacon. 

Yet  rocks  bestrew  Life's  stormy  sea, 

And  dangerous  quicksands  there  abound ; 

We  never  pause,  nor  turn  to  flee, 
Till  Hope  is  past,  and  wreck  around. 

No  eye  can  pierce  the  shades  of  Fate, 
Nor  Wisdom  point  to  Sorrow's  goal ; 

What  heavenly  light  shall  dissipate 
The  darkness  of  the  soul  ? — 

And  many  a  heart  hath  leapt  to  hail 

That  sparkling  beacon  of  the  deep  ; 
And  eyes  been  bright,  with  joyful  tale, 

That  left  it  long  ago  to  weep  ; 
The  niem'ry  of  departed  days 

Will  rush  upon  the  pilgrim's  mind, 
More  warm  and  hallow 'd  thoughts  to  raise 

Of  those  he  left  behind. 

Say,  where  shall  Anguish  rest  her  head, 

When  Sorrow's  shadows  lower  around  ! 
Youth's  fascinating  dreams  are  fled, 

Its  friends  are  now  no  longer  found  ; 
The  kindness,  that  upheld  our  hearts, 

Hath  fled,  as  flashes  light  away, 
And  Memory  only  now  imparts 

Her  retrospective  day. 

How  often  o'er  this  breezy  walk, 

At  eve,  with  Friendship  stray 'd  have  I, 
Pursuing  themes  of  varied  talk ; 

What  time  within  the  southern  sky, 
As  day-light's  western  flood  was  stemm'd, 
'    The  orb  of  Venus  glittered  bright—- 
The foremost  of  the  train,  that  gemm'd 
The  diadem  of  Night. 

While  flowers  and  grass  were  sprinkled  o'er 

With  diamonds  of  the  sparkling  dew ; 
And,  homeward  veering  from  the  shore, 

The  congregated  ravens  flew ; 
And  while  the  white-wing'd  sea-gull  rose, 

To  hold  its  solitary  way, 
To  where  the  cliffs  of  Bass  oppose 

Tamtallan's  quiet  bay. 

While,  then,  it  burn'd,  as  now  it  burns, 

On  lovely  nights,  to  memory  dear ; 
And  then  it  turn'd,  as  now  it  turns, 

Dim — distant — fairer — brighter — clear. 
The  earth,  since  then,  has  lost  a  hue  ; 

The  sky  a  tint ; — the  heart  a  string ; — 
Ah  !  never  more  shall  Time  renew 

The  glories  of  our  Spring ! 

The  Summer  of  the  soul  is  past  ; 

The  Sun-shine  of  existence  fled; 
Its  flowers  have  bent  in  Sorrow's  blast, 

Or  only  blossom  o'er  the  dead. 
The  bounding  pulse,  the  glowing  heart, 

Affection's  warmth,  and  Pity's  tear, 
Yea,  all  ennobling  thoughts  depart, 

To  leave  us  wretched  here. 


542  Inch  Keith  Beacon, 

The  world  allures — the  world  betrays — 

The  world  corrupts  the  purest  mind  ; 
The  gem  that  glitters,  by  its  blaze 

Too  often  strikes  the  gazer  blind. 
The  glorious  dreams  that  Hope  could  weave  ; 

All  that,  in  youth,  we  could  adore ; 
Have  vanish'd  from  the  view — to  leave 

Nothing  worth  living  for! 

Who  are  the  mighty  of  our  race  ? — 

Behold,  they  perish'd  in  their  prime ! 
Age  never  drew  a  wrinkling  trace 

O'er  them — they  never  stoop'd  to  Time. 
Soon  did  the  flower  of  Cressy  fall — 

Wolfe — Crichton — Hampden,  bold  for  Truth ; 
Moore — Homer — Gordon — glorious  all ! 

Extinguish'd  in  their  youth ! — 

And  yet  a  thousand  souls  live  on, — 

Dark,  worthless,  abject,  and  debased, 
From  out  whose  bosoms,  cold  as  stone, 

All  generous  feelings  are  erased. 
These  are  the  low — the  lost  of  mind — 

The  sons  of  Fashion — Folly — Mirth — 
The  host — the  herd  of  human  kind — 

The  governors  of  earth. 

Cease  doubt  to  rack — cease  fear  to  gloom ; 

As  is  the  ocean  by  that  light, 
The  hidden  mysteries  of  our  doom 

Shall  stand  unveil'd — reveal'd  to  sight. 
When  Time  no  more  shall  mar  or  make, 

And  all  this  shadowy  dream  be  o'er ; 
The  beacon  stars  of  Heaven  awake 

To  shine  for  evermore  ! 


THE  INVOCATION. 

The  blackbird  sings  upon  the  bough, 

That  spreads  its  green  leaves  o'er  me  ; 
The  sun  sheds  forth  his  western  glow, 

And  I  am  waiting  for  thee. 
Of  softest  green  the  summer  fields, 

A  garland  wreath  about  me ; 
But  where  art  thou,  love !  nature  yields 

No  bliss  to  me  without  thee  ? 

Amid  yon  dim  and  distant  dell 

The  rocky  stream  is  pouring ; 
The  linnet  sings  his  last  farewell, 

Day's  sinking  orb  deploring. 
Oh  !  haste,  my  love,  this  holy  hour 

Is  sacred  to  affection  ; 
And  let  us,  in  this  pleasant  bower, 

Indulge  in  retrospection. 

The  happy  eves  that  we  have  shared, 

Shall  rise  again  before  us  ; 
And  gentlest  love  will  stand  prepared 

To  throw  his  mantle  o'er  us. — 
And,  while  the  beams  of  day  depart, 

And  small  birds  sing  above  me, 
I'll  press  thee  to  my  throbbing  heart, 

Anil  tell  ho\v  much  I  love  thee  ! 


1821-D  The 


THE    LANDSCAPE. 

SOFT  roams  the  balmy  wind,  among 
The  deep  recesses  of  the  grove  ; 

While,  gliding  thro'  the  starry  throng, 
The  moon  unclouded  sails  above, 

And  hovers  o'er  this  landscape  long, 
For  ever  sanctified  by  Love  ! 

And  there  thou  art,  lone  alder-tree, 
Whose  boughs  fantastically  wreathe  ; 

Dark  clustering  berries  hang  from  thee, 
And  scent  the  zephyrs  as  they  breathe  :  — 

Yes  !  there  thou  bloom  'st,  but  where  is  she, 
Who  oft  has  sate,  and  sigh'd  beneath  ? 

The  very  rose-bud  in  the  shade, 
Which  long  ago  was  planted  there, 

Stands  in  its  beauty  undecay'd, 
As  fresh,  and  delicately  fair  ; 

Although,  unpluck'd,  its  roses  fade, 
And  only  charm  the  silent  air. 

How  beautiful,  O  lonely  moon, 
Thy  rays  of  silver  glance  and  gleam, 

Rejoicing  in  thy  cloudless  noon, 

Upon  the  rushing  mountain  stream  ! 

The  stars  that  gild  the  blue  saloon, 
Before  thy  face  diminish'd  seem. 

And  soft  thy  beams  of  amber  light 

Upon  the  fairy  landscape  fall, 
Awaking  dreams,  in  memory  bright, 

Past  —  past,  but  unforgotten  all  ; 
Long  years  ago,  on  such  a  night  — 

I  must  not  thus  be  held  in  thrall. 


THE   WANDEREa  OF  CONNAUGHT.' 

Oh  !  Norah,  when  wandering  afar  from  the  shade 
Of  the  woods,  where  in  childhood  so  happy  we  stray 'd, 
From  eyes  that  are  strangers,  and  breasts  that  are  cold. 
My  heart  often  turns  to  the  pleasures  of  old. 

Oh  !  Norah,  my  sister,  how  lovely  and  bright 
The  green  vales  of  Connaught  appear  to  my  sight ; 
How  starts  the  wild  tear,  when  in  thought  I  survey 
The  cabin  so  neat,  with  its  children  at  play ! 

What  though  I  am  doom'd  with  my  sorrows  to  roam 
From  Erin,  my  land,  and  the  glen  of  my  home, 
From  the  spot,  where  the  bones  of  my  fathers  repose, 
And  the  stream,  where  the  briar,  and  the  wild  lily  grows ; 

Yet  often,  when  midnight  hangs  dreary  around, 
And  the  breeze  flaps  the  tent  with  a  desolate  sound ; 
On  my  pallet  I  dream  of  our  dear  sheiling  fire, 
And  the  faces  that  circle  my  mother  and  sire ! 


•f> l 1  The  Wanderer  of  Cwinaught. 

I  see  the  sweet  group,  and  I  hear  their  lips  pray 
Success  to  the  wanderer,  who  roams  far  away. 
.     My  dear  sister,  Norah,  again  shall  it  be 

My  fate  the  green  pastures  of  Connaught  to  see  ! 

Again  to  stray  forth  with  the  flocks  to  the  field, 
From  grief  the  white  hairs  of  my  parents  to  shield  ; 
And  be  laid,  my  dear  Norah,  when  being  shall  cease, 
With  my  sires  who  have  gone  to  the  mansions  of  peace  ! 


EI.EGY  ON  A  COUNTRY  MAIDEN. 

From  the  German  of  L.  C.  H.  Holty. 

From  yonder  old  church-spire,  with  moss  o'ergrown, 
The  bell  peals  with  a  heavy  solemn  tone  ; 
The  fathers,  children,  mothers,  maidens  weep, 
And  empty  stands  a  grave,  cold,  damp,  and  deep, 
Array'd  in  chilly  white — the  garb  of  death — 
Her  fair  hair  circled  with  a  funeral  wreathe, 
To  Rosa  sleeping,  her  old  mother's  pride  ; 
The  pride  and  joy  of  all  the  country  side. 

Her  mates  reck  little  now  of  games  and  dances, 

But  round  her  coffin  stand  with  mournful  glances  ; 

And  o'er  the  past  in  sorrow  often  sighing, 

A  funeral  chaplet  are  for  Eosa  tying. 

Alas  !  none  was  more  worthy  of  this  weeping, 

Than  thou,  kind  maid,  that  now  in  death  art  sleeping ! 

And  through  the  air  of  heaven  no  soul  is  swimming 

More  bright  than  Rosa's,  holy  praises  hymning ! 

She  from  her  little  cottage  door  came  forth, 

Like  angel  in  the  raiment  of  this  earth  ; 

Her  jewels  flowers  that  in  the  meadows  blossom, 

A  fresh  blue  violet  bedeck'd  her  bosom ; 

The  Zephyr  was  her  fan  in  coolness  blowing, 

Her  dressing-room  the  grove  in  freshness  growing  ; 

This  pool  the  mirror  whereon  she  might  look, 

Her  paint  the  silver  clearness  of  this  brook. 

And  living  modesty,  like  moonlight  streaks, 

Flow'd  in  her  eyes,  and  round  her  rosy  cheeks ; 

The  seraph  innocency  never  fled 

Away  from  that  kind-hearted  peasant  maid. 

The  youths,  with  eyes  in  eager  fondness  reeling, 

Beheld  the  maiden  still  new  charms  revealing, 

But  never  one  with  kindred  thoughts  could  move  her, 

Except  her  own  well-tried,  true-proven  lover. 

None  but  her  William  !    When  the  spring's  mild  showers 
Call'd  the  light-hearted  to  the  beechen  bowers, 
Beneath  the  leaves,  through  which  the  blue  of  heaven 
Came  down,  they  led  the  German  dance  at  even. 
She  gave  him  spangled  ribbands  tied  in  knots ; 
When  autumn  came,  beside  his  reapers'  huts 
She  sat  with  him  on  the  same  sheaf  of  wheat, 
And  on  the  harvest-field  her  glance  was  sweet. 

15 


1821.]]  Ekgy  on  a  Country  Maicfen. 

She  bound  the  wheat  her  William  cut ;  the  while 

She  bound,  she  look'd  upon  him  with  a  smile, 

Until  the  cool  air  came,  and  even's  beams 

Through  the  grey  western  cloud  broke  forth  in  streams. 

Rosa  was  dear  to  him  as  life  and  light, 

She  was  his  thought  by  day,  his  dream  by  night ; 

William'and  Rosa  loved  with  such  a  love 

As  angels  for  each  other  feel  above. 

Ah,  William  !  William  !  the  death-bell  is  tolling, 
And  through  the  air  the  funeral  hymns  are  rolling  ; 
In  weeds  of  black  the  mourners  slowly  go, 
The  death-wreath  waves  before  them  to  and  fro  ! 
William  walks  with  his  hymn-book  in  his  hands, 
Forward  to  where  the  grave  wide  open  stands, 
And  wipes  away,  with,  the  white  coffin-pall, 
The  clear  tears  from  his  weeping  eyes  that  fall. 

Pure,  guiltless  maid,  sleep  softly, — without  cumber, 
Until  be  past  for  ever  thy  death-slumber  ! — 
Weep,  Philomela  ! — Sing  down  from  your  hill 
Your  mournful  dirge,  when  comes  the  twilight  still ! 
Like  sounds  of  harps,  the  evening  breezes  blow 
Among  the  flowers  that  on  her  green  grave  grow ; 
Upon  the  church-yard  lime,  two  turtle  doves 
Have  built  their  nest,  and  coo  their  little  loves. 

R.  H. 


THE  SONS  OP  MOOSLIM.* 

(From  the  Hindoostance.) 

WHEN  fierce  Rebellion  raised  her  head  Those  orphan  babes  had  heard  forlorn 

In  Cufa's  ancient  town,  Their  father's  cruel  fate, 

What  sacred  laws  were  there  despised !  And  now  beside  an  ancient  friend 

What  cruel  actions  done  !  In  weeping  fear  they  sate. 

Ere  yet  the  king,  the  flame  to  quench,  But  Ibnizeead's  words  at  last 

Had  given  his  steeds  the  rein,  That  sheltering  friend  has  heard, 

The  royal  power  had  there  been  crush'd,  And  thence  in  fear  he  sent  them  forth, 

The  Regent  Mooslim  slain.  Ere  dawn  had  yet  appear'd. 

And  Ibnizeead's  villain  hand,  A  caravan  the  children  saw, 

In  height  of  rebel  pride,  Far  travelling  o'er  the  wild, 

Had  placed  the  Regent's  bleeding  head  And  mid  the  crowd  to  journey  on, 

High  o'er  his  castle's  side.  With  feeble  steps  they  toil'd. 

And  raging  still,  he  call'd  his  men,  But  soon  that  speeding  crowd  was  gone, — 

And  bade  them  thus  proclaim,  The  babes  bewilder'd  left ; 

"  That  Mooslim's  sons  ate  here  conceal'd  By  spreading  tree  and  lonely  stream 

Wide  spreads  the  whisper'd  fame.  Of  hope  they  sit  bereft. 

"  And  he  whose  traitor  hands  shall  dare  And,  parch' d  with  thirst,  with  hunger  faint, 

Those  children  still  to  hide,  In  vain  they  wept  for  food  ; 

In  bloody  tears  his  fate  shall  weep  They  stoop'd  to  sip  the  waters  cold, 

Placed  high  by  Mooslim's  side."  The  barren  leaves  they  chew'd. 


*  The  original  is  written  by  Miskeen,  one  of  the  most  popular  of  the  Hindoostanee  poets.  The  bal- 
lad stanza  has  been  adopted  in  the  translation,  as  it  allows  of  a  nearer  approach  to  the  simplicity  of  the 
original,  than  any  other  of  the  English  metres. 

The  war  of  Yezid  (of  which  this  story  is  an  Episode,)  took  place  not  long  after  the  death  of  Maho- 
met, and  was  directed  against  Hozyn,  his  descendant,  and  successor  in  the  sovereignty.  Mooslim,  (who 
was  likewise  of  the  family  of  the  prophet)  was  governor  of  Cufa,  which  joined  in  the  insurrection.  Hozyn 
himself  with  his  brother  Hussein,  fell  in  the  attempt  to  quell  the  rebels,  and  the  anniversary  of  .their  death 
is  observed  with  much  solemnity  by  the  Mahometans  of  India.  See  Lord  Valentia's  Travels,  Vol.  I.  Note 
concerning  the  structures  called  Imaumbarah. 

The  river  of  which  mention  is  so  frequently  made  in  the  story  is  the  Euphrates.    (Forat.) 

VOL.  IX.  3  Z 


546 

Of  foes  pcmmit  in  tern*  still> 
That  spreading  tree  they  clomb  ; 

There  hid  aloft  in  leafy  boughs 
They  wept  their  weary  doom. 

As  thus  they  sate,  a  damsel  kind 

For  water  sought  the  rill ; 
From  pool  beneath  the  spreading  tree 

She  stoop'd  her  gourd  to  till. 

There,  imaged  fair  in  glassy  stream, 

Two  little  forms  were  seen  ; 
Their  infant  hands  they  seemed  to  wring, 

And  beat  their  bosoms  sheen. 

The  maid  beheld,  and  rose  to  look 
Where  spread  the  boughs  on  high, 

There  mid  the  leaves,  in  tears  conceal'd, 
Two  children  met  her  eye. 

"  Why,  children,  venture  thus  to  climb 
Where  death  awaits  your  fall  ? 

What  grief  from  mother's  sheltering  home 
Has  forced  such  children  small  ?" 

From  leafy  branch  the  children  spoke — 

"  How  hard  our  lot  of  pain  ! 
Our  mother  loved  is  distant  far, 

Our  sire  by  traitors  slain. 

"  And  he  whose  home  Deceived  us  kind 

While  yet  our  sire  icmain'd, 
Now  fears  our  foes,  and  holds,  like  them, 

Our  name  with  treason  stain'd. 

"  And,  ere  the  dawn,  he  sent  us  forth, 

Unshelter'd  all  and  lone  : 
A  pilgrim  band  we  sought  to  join, — 

That  band  afar  was  gone. 

"  And  wild  and  lone  we  wander'd  far, 

No  place  of  rest  was  nigh, 
Till  here  this  sparkling  stream  we  saw, 

This  tree  beside  it  high. 

"  Two  weary  days  in  terror  spent, 
Nor  drink  have  brought  nor  food  ; 

Here  sipp'd  we  still  the  waters  cold, 
The  barren  leaflets  chew'd. 

"  And  mid  the  boughs  on  high  we  sate, 

A  while  in  fear  to  hide  ; 
Here  rest  we  still :  as  Heaven  decrees 

Must  good  or  ill  betide." 

The  pitying  damsel  heard  the  tale, 
And  mourn'd  the  children's  woe ; 

"  And  who,  my  babes,  your  hapless  sire  ? 
Give  me  his  name  to  know." 

"  Our  father  dear  was  Mooslim  named," 

The  children  thus  replied. 
"  To  us  how  kind  his  fosteiing  love  ! 

How  sad  the  hour  he  died  !" 

'•'The  good  Lord  Mooslim,"  cried  the  maid, 
"  Was  he  your  honour'd  sire  ? 

Has  he,  our  sovereign's  llcgent  high, 
Here  sunk  by  traitors'  ire  ?" 

"  Our  father  he,"  the  children  cried, 
"  And  such  his  hapless  doom  ; 

No  friend,  his  death  has  left  us  here  ; 
Nor  hope  remains,  uor  home." 


Tho  Sont  of  Mooslim. 


The  maid  replied,  "  Now  come  with  me, 

And  see  my  mistress  kind. 
With  her,  sweet  dame,  such  helpless  babes 

A  mother's  cares  will  find. 

"  What  time  she  hears  your  high  descent 
From  Mooslim's  sacred  race, 

Like  halo  circling  round  the  moon, 
Her  love  will  you  embrace." 

With  lighten'd  hearts  the  children  heard 

The  maiden's  proffers  kind, 
And,  glad  descending,  left  their  tree 

Her  friendly  aid  to  rind. 

"  We'll  wend  with  her,"  the  children  said, 

Her  true  intents  to  know  : 
Amid  the  thickening  gloom  perchance 

Kind  aid  will  she  bestow." 

Those  children  sad  the  maid  has  brought 

Within  a  cheerful  home  : 
She  told  her  dame  their  high  descent, 

Their  own,  their  father's  doom. 

That  tender  dame  has  beat  her  breast 

The  orphan  babes  to  see  : — 
"  Is  then  the  royal  Mooslim  slain  ! 

His  children  forced  to  flee  !" 

In  chiefest  seat  she  placed  them  there, 

With  sweetest  food  she  fed  ; 
She  sooth'd  their  wails  still  bursting  wild, 

Kind  seated  near  their  bed. 

\s  thus  she  dried  the  infants'  tears, 
And  lull'd  them  now  to  sleep, 

The  dame  has  heard  her  husband's  step, 
His  voice  so  harsh  and  deep. 

That  eve,  by  day  of  fruitless  toil, 

His  breast  morose  was  torn  ; 
He  threw  him  down,  with  hunger  faint, 

With  jading  labours  worn. 

"  Go,  dame,"  he  cried,  "bring  instant  forth 

For  me  some  readiest  food." 
"  And  what,"  she  said,  "thou  man  of  pride, 

Thus  chafes  thine  angry  mood  ?" 

"  Dost  thou  too,"  thus  he  cried,  "  inflame 

My  soul  so  widely  toss'd  ? 
Lo  !  fortune  wanes — my  favour  all 

With  Ibnizeead  lost." 

Th'  enquiring  dame  replied,  "  And  why  ? 

What  cause  excites  thy  fear  ?" 
"  A  hopeless  task,"  he  cried,  "  is  given, 

Nor  aid  nor  hope  is  near. 

''  For  Mooslim's  sons  since  yester  morn 
Keen  search  I've  tried  in  vain  ; 

Their  heads  to  Ibnizeead  brought 
Must  grace  to  me  regain." 

The  sorrowing  dame  in  silence  wept. 

"  What  hopeless  chance  severe  ! 
The  wretch  that  seeks  the  children's  life 

Now  dwells  beside  them  near  !" 

The  infants'  room  her  handmaid  there 

By  silent  signs  she  shew'd  : 
Shpw'd  there  the  door  to  lock  secure, 

And  bar  to  all  the  road. 


The  Suns  of  Mooslim.  -M7 

And  no*  her  husband  fill'd  with  food,  While  thus  in  boiflJs  the  children  cried, 


(Fierce  Hans)  sought  his  couch  : 
There  round  him  close  his  garment  drew, 
A  while  in  rest  to  crouch. 

The  children  slept ;  but  dreams  of  fear 

Still  haunted  all  their  sleep  : 
Wild  shapes  their  troubled  minds  pursued, 

The  babes  a  waited  to  weep. 

The  villain  Haris  heard  their  wail, 

And  starting,  left  his  bed  : 
"  Some  neighbouring  hjusj  have  robbers 
broke, 

Or  mine,  perchance,  invade." 

A  gleaming  torch  he  lighted  soon, 

Wild  searching  all  around  ; 
And  there  at  last  the  orphan  babes 

On  silent  couch  he  found. 

He  dragg'd  them  forth  with  churlish  blow, 

And  many  an  angry  word  ; 
"  And  who  be  ye  ?  and  what  your  right 

In  house  of  mine  to  board  ?" 

The  weeping  babes  besought  his  grace, 
"  Ah  !  spare  our  lives,"  they  cried, 

"  The  train  of  ills  you  soon  shall  know, 
That  force  us  here  to  bide. 

*'  The  sons  of  Mooslim  we :  our  sire 

By  traitors  late  was  slain. 
Save  Heaven  alone,  no  sheltering  friends 

To  us  for  aid  remain. 

"  And  late,  by  hsavenly  guidance  led, 

Thy  sheltering  h>;ue  we  found; 
Thy  dame  was  kind  and  good,  but  thou 
(Jivest  blows  and  bitter  wound. 

"  O  let  thine  aid  witli  her's  be  given, 
Our  orphan  steps  to  guide, — 

To  lead  where  lives  our  uncle  far, 
Or  aid  us  here  to  hide. 

u  Thus  thou  shall  too  the  blessings  reap 
That  wait  the  orphan's  stay." 

Th'  unpitying  villain  saw  them  weep, 
Unheeding  heard  them  pray. 

With  piercing  cord  he  bound  them  there, 
With  jagging  sword  he  gored  ; 

To  chamber  dark  he  drove  them  fierce, 
The  prisoning  doors  he  barr'd. 

Now  morn  arrived  ;  with  sabre  drawn 

The  babes  he  went  to  find  ; 
He  dragg'd  them  forth,  with  cruel  hand 

Within  their  locks  entwined. 

With  tyrant  grasp  he  shook  them  there, 
Till  all  their  locks  were  torn  ; 

Far,  far,  their  infant  cries  were  heard 
As  thus  they  wail'd  forlorn. 

u  What  place  of  cruel  deeds  is  this  ! 

No  father  hears  our  cry  ! 
No  hand  from  bitter  blows  can  shield, 

None  aid  from  death  to  fly  ! 

"  What  savage  wretch  art  thou,  to  grasp, 

A  babe's  dishcvell'd  hair  ? 
Why  shakest  thou  thus  our  infant  locks, 

\Vith  blows  and  angry  stare  ?" 


Of  aid  and  shelter  stript, 
Their  hostess  kind  has  heard  thefr  wail, 
And  bitterly  she  wept. 

Her  pitying  tears  the  tyrant  saw, 

To  him  how  far  unlike  ! 
In  vengeful  wrath  he  raised  his  sword 

The  tender  dame  to  strike. 

His  son  beheld,  and  rush'd  between, 

To  stem  his  flood  of  rage ; 
Him,  too,  the  churlish  tyrant  smote — 

A  youth  of  tenderest  age. 

And  now  to  wildest  anger  roused, 

Again  the  babes  he  seized  ; 
lie  dragg'd  them  near  the  river's  bank, 

Nor  yet  from  chains  released. 

His  sabre  drawn,  to  youthful  slave 

He  gave  the  naked  blade ; 
"  My  labour  save  ;  do  thou,"  he  cried, 

."  Those  children  here  behead." 

The  slave  received  the  sabre  keen 

And  thus  indignant  cried : 
"  Thou  wretch  !  authority  like  thine 

May  well  be  thrown  aside. 

"  Here  bend  thy  neck  ;  though  nourish'*! 
kind 

From  youth  within  thy  home, 
Thy  cruel  deeds  my  heart  have  steeled, 

M  y  hand  shall  strike  thy  doom." 

Fierce  Haris  heard  his  slave's  rebuke, 
And  snatch'd  again  the  blade  ; 

With  stroke  of  death  his  servant  there 
Amid  the  dust  he  laid. 

He  shew'd  the  babes  his  streaming  blood, 
And  o'er  them  shook  his  sword  ; 

Then,  wiping  slow,  he  sheath'd  the  blade, 
And  spoke  his  cruel  word. 

"  Strip  offyour  vests,"  he  cried,  "  was  e'er 

A  shroud  to  traitors  given  ? 
There,  sit  you  close,  like  thistle  tops 

Your  heads  will  soon  be  driven." 

"  Alas  !"  the  children  cried,  "  thy  rage 
Can  nought  appease  but  blood  ? 

Ah  !  cruel !  wilt  thou  slay  thy  guests —  • 
The  babes  that  shared  thy  food  ? 

"  O  send  us  forth  as  slaves  to  sell, 
The  gain  shall  all  be  thine  :  — 

Some  village  sack'd,  thy  tale  m:iy  say, 
And  these  are  captives  mine. 

"  Our  tresses  cut,  our  vestments  changed, 

Attired  in  mean  array, 
Some  lord  of  slaves  to  wildest  land, 

Will  bear  us  far  away  ; 

"  And  thou,  with  thanks  and  riches  blest, 

Shall  home  contented  hie." 
The  villain  frown'd,  "  Such  childish  game 

In  vain  with  me  you  try. 

"  Nor  hence  alive  shall  you  be  led, 

Nor  other  land  shall  see  : 
My  foes  would  gladly  meet  you  there, 

Then  what  the  gain  to  me  ? 


77*  Sont  ofMoodim, 


"  No  !  Prdflt  here  secure  and  good 

To  me  your  heads  will  buy  ; 
Then  bend  your  necks  beneath  the  sword, 

Prepare  you  here  to  die." 

The  children  saw  that  death  was  near, 
They  saw  the  brandish'd  steel : 

**  Be  mine,"  the  elder  infant  cried, 
"  The  first  thy  wrath  to  feel. 

a  Let  me  the  first  beneath  thy  sword, 

Here  lay  mine  ofter'd  head : 
First  victim  I ;  let  not  mine  eyes 

Behold  my  brother  dead." 


The  younger  babe,  with  wfldfer  step 
Before  his  brother  press'd — 

Laid  down  his  head,  and  eager  cried, 
"  On  me  the  blow  be  placed. 

"  O  leave  not  me  by  strangers  fierce 

To  see  my  brother  die  ; 
Last  deed  of  mercy,  hear  the  prayer 

Of  babe  so  young  as  I." 

Their  wails  the  ruthless  tyrant  heard, 
And  bade  them  straight  prepare  ; 

With  bloody  sword  he  careless  hew'd 
Their  heads  so  young  and  fair. 


Amid  the  stream  their  bodies  thrown, 
Their  heads  in  basket  laid, 

Awny  to  meet  his  tyrant  lord 
The  villain  Haris  sped.  * 


PART  II. 


The  children's  heads  his  lord  to  meet 

In  haste  the  murderer  took ; 
The  infants'  woes  he  there  conceal'd, 

His  own  vile  wishes  spoke. 

"  Thy  foemen  these,"  the  villain  cried, 
"  The  prophet's  hostile  seed  ; 

In  hopes  my  chieftain's  grace  to  win, 
Thy  slave  perfomi'd  the  deed." 

These  heads  when  Ibnizeead  saw, 

Where  all  in  blood  they  lay, 
He  call'd  his  slave  their  checks  to  wash 

From  gore  and  gathering  clay. 

Their  infant  features  bright  emerged, 
Like  night's  unclouded  moon  : 

Like  drooping  daffodils  they  seem'd, 
Like  hyacinths  at  noon. 

""  Say,  wretched  man,"  the  chieftain  cried, 
"  From  whence  this  scene  of  ruth  ? 

What  babes  are  these  ?  and  why  their  death  ? 
Speak  instant,  speak  the  truth." 

"  Thou  know'st  it  welj,"  he  mutter'd  low ; 

"  Then  why  frpm  me  enquire  ? 
The  Regent  Mooslim's  Sons  are  these, 

The  sons  of  traitor  sire." 

*«  The  Regent's  sons  !"  the  chief  replied  ; 

"  Are  thus  the  infants  slain  ? 
And  could'st  thou  hope,  for  deed  like  this, 

Reward  from  me  to  gain  ? 

"  Base  lucre  clotts  thy  hoary  beard, 

Thy  soul  is  like  the  fiend  ! 
And  could  nor  innocence,  nor  tears, 

Thy  heart  to  mercy  bend  ? 

"  Their  infant  beauty  shone  serene, 

Like  purest  amber  fair, 
Yet  thou,  through  all  their  orphan  woe 

Urged  ruin's  mangling  share  ! 


"  To  Yezid  high  my  word  was  given 

The  babes  alive  to  guard  ; 
Yet  thou,  my  sacred  faith  to  shame, 

Hast  raised  the  murdering  sword. 

"  And  if  the  power  of  Yezid's  tribe 

Demand  their  lives  of  me — 
What  answer  now  awaits  for  them  ? 

— What  punishment  for  thee  ?" 

The  chieftain's  words  when  Haris  heard, 

His  recollection  fled  : 
His  froward  tongue  to  silence  fell, 

Abash'd  he  hung  his  head. 

A  chief  (Mocaubil  named)  was  there 

Of  deeds  and  lineage  high  ; 
His  virtues  Ibnizeead  knew, 

And  trusting  call'd  him  nigh. 

"  Do  thou,"  he  cried,  "  from  us  remote 

The  ruthless  Haris  bear  : 
Where  he  the  weeping  children  smote 

Smite  thou  the  murderer  there.'" 

From  Ibnizeead's  dwelling  high 

Mocaubil  led  him  far  : 
He  led  him  down  the  gathering  crowds 

That  fill'd  the  wide  bazaar  ; 

And  there  the  bleeding  heads  he  raised, 

The  villain's  deeds  to  show  : 
There  told  the  pitying  crowds  around, 

"  This  savage  struck  the  blow." 

The  people  wept,  and  beat  their  breasts, 
Their  murmurs  gather'd  loud  : 

Fierce  blows  and  rage  the  wretch  pursued 
Through  all  the  gazing  crowd. 

When  now  they  reach'd  the  river's  brink 
The  villain  there  was  bound  ; 

There  yet  the  children's  blood  was  fresh 
Red  tinging  all  the  ground. 


*  That  part  of  the  poem  of  Miskeen  which  relates  to  the  children  of  Mooslim  concludes  here. 
Readers  who  are  fond  of  seeing  strict  poetical  justice  executed  on  such  persons  as  Haris,  will  perhaps 
be  pleased  with  the  continuation  of  the  story  in  Part  II.  as  given  by  another  Iliiuloostanee  Poet.  T 
passage  is  taken  from  a  collection  of  tales  called  the  "  Difi  mujlis"  common  among  the  Mahometans 
of  India ;  and  consisting  chiefly  of  legends  concerning  their  prophet,  and  his  companions,  or  family. 

It  may  be  remarked  that "  Ibinesed,"  means  the  son  of  Zeead ;  the  proper  name  of  the  person  so  de- 
signated being  "  AbdaUaJh." 


1821.3  T/tc  Sons  of  Muoslim.  543 

The  murflerer  gazed  and  fear'd  to  die  ;  There  Ilaris  fell :  his  lifeless  corse 
"  O  Spare  my  life,"  he  said,  Amid  the  stream  was  thrown  ; 

"  My  hoarded  wealth  shall  all  be  thine,  His  soul  awaits  its  endless  doom 
If  tliou  my  flight  wilt  aid."  At  Allah's  awful  Throne. 

"  Like  grace  be  thine,"  Mocaubil  cried, 

"  As  thou  to  others  shew'd  : 
Those  sands  thy  villain  blood  shall  drink, 

Where  late  the  children's  flowed." 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE  S  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND. 

AMONGST  the  original  branches  of  our  undertaking,  we  proposed  to  reprint 
occasionally  such  short  pieces  as,  from  their  brevity,  their  interest,  or  their 
curiosity,  appeared  to  deserve  a  better  fate  than  oblivion  or  neglect.  From  the 
great  press  of  our  original  matter,  we  have  not  yet  had  an  opportunity  of  car- 
rying this  intention  into  execution.  We  have  been  induced,  however,  to  re- 
print the  following  Tract  of  Sir  T.  Browne's,  partly  because  the  book  from 
which  it  is  taken  is  very  scarce,  and  partly  because  we  believe  it  is  the  least 
known  of  any  of  his  writings.  It  is  exceedingly  curious  and  interesting,  and 
though  it  wants  the  sombre  grandeur  and  depth  of  the  Urn-burial,  it  exhibits 
the  same  singular  spirit  of  discursive  inquiry,  which  never  forsook  the  author 
on  these  topics,  and  which  was  never  more  at  home  than  when  near  "  the 
mouldering  cearments  of  the  grave."  So  much  has  lately  been  written  upon 
Browne,  (by  the  bye,  we  see  the  Cockneys  have  seized  upon  him  as  their  pio- 
perty,  as  if  a  Cockney  could  understand  Sir  T.  Browne,)  that  we  will  not  abuse 
the  patience  of  our  readers,  as  Bobaclil  says,  by  prolixity.  We  shall  merdy 
remark,  that  we  understand  a  new  edition  of  the  most  valuable  of  his  works  is 
preparing,  and  we  scarcely  know  any  thing  which  would  be  a  more  valuable 
present  to  the  literary  world.  Our  readers  must  be  apprized  that  we  have  omit- 
ted the  conclusion  in  our  reprint,  as  it  merely  consists  of  a  string  of  sentences 
taken  from  the  Christian  Morals,  which  were  probably  added  in  that  careless- 
ness of  revision  which  always  attends  the  publishing  of  posthumous  tracts. 

LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND,  UPON  OCCASION  OF  THE  DEATH   OF  HIS 
INTIMATE  FRIEND. 

GIVE  me  leave  to  wonder  that  news  of  in  that  famous  story  that  spirits  themselves 
this  nature  should  have  such  heavy  wings,  were  fain  to  tell  their  fellows  at  a  distance 
that  you  should  hear  so  little  concerning  that  the  great  Antonio  was  dead,  we  have 
your  dearest  friend,  and  that  I  must  make  a  sufficient  excuse  for  our  ignorance  in  such 
that  unwilling  repetition  to  tell  you,  ad  particulars,  and  must  rest  content  with  the 
portam  rigido*  calces  extendit,  that  he  is  common  road  and  Appian  way  of  know- 
dead  and  buried,  and  by  this  time  no  puny  ledge,  by  information.  Though  the  uncer- 
among  the  mighty  nations  of  the  dead  ;  for  tainty  of  the  end  of  this  world  hath  con- 
though  he  left  this  world  not  very  many  days  founded  all  human  predictions^  yet  they 
past,  yet  every  hour,  you  kno\v,largelyaddeth  shall  live  to  seethe  sun  and  moon  darkened, 
unto  thatdark  society ;  and,  considering  the  and  the  stars  to  fall  from  heaven,  will  hard- 
incessant  mortality  of  mankind,  you  can-  ly  be  deceived  in  the  advent  of  the  last  day  ; 
not  conceive  there  dieth,  in  the  whole  earth,  and  therefore  strange  it  is,  that  the  com- 
so  few  as  a  thousand  an  hour.  Although  mon  fallacy  of  consumptive  persons,  who 
at  this  distance  you  had  no  early  account  or  feel  not  themselves  dying,  and  therefore 
particular  of  his  death,  yet  your  affection  still  hope  to  live,  should  also  reach  their 
may  cease  to  wonder  that  you  had  not  some  friends  in  perfect  health  and  judgment, 
secret  sense  or  intimation  thereof  by  dreams,  That  you  should  be  so  little  acquainted 
thoughtful  whisperings,  rnercurisms,  airy  with  PJautus's  sick  complexion,  or  that  al- 
nuncios,  or  sympathetical  insinuations,  most  an  H  ippocratical  face  should  not 
\yhich  many  seem  to  have  had  at  the  death  alarm  you  to  higher  fears,  or  rather  despair 
of  their  dearest  friends ;  for  since  we  find  of  his  continuation  in  such  an  emaciated 


Sir  Thomas  Browne's  Letter  to  a  Friend. 


states  whertin  medical  predictions  fail  not, 
as  sometimes  in  acute  diseases,  and  wherein 
'tis  as  dangerous  to  be  sentenced  by  a  phy- 
sician as  a  judge. 

Upon  my  first  visit  I  was  bold  to  tell 
them  who  had  not  let  fall  all  hopes  of  his 
recovery,  that,  in  my  sad  opinion,  he  was 
not  like  to  behold  a  grasshopper,  much  less 
to  pluck  another  fig  ;  and  in  no  long  time 
after  seemed  to  discover  that  odd  mortal 
symptom  in  him  not  mentioned  by  Hippo- 
crates, that  is,  to  lose  his  own  lace,  anil  look 
like  some  of  his  near  relations ;  for  he 
maintained  not  his  proper  countenance,  but 
looked  like  his  uncle,  the  lines  of  whose 
face  lay  deep  and  invisible  in  his  healthful 
visage  before;  for,  as  from  our  beginning 
we  run  through  variety  of  looks  before  we 
come  to  consistent  and  settled  faces,  so  be- 
fore our  end,  by  sick  and  languishing  altera- 
tions, we  put  on  new  visages ;  and  in  our 
retreat  to  earth,  may  fall  upon  such  looks 
t/hich,  from  community  of  seminal  origi- 
nals, were  before  latent  in  us. 

He  was  fruitlessly  put  in  hope  of  advan- 
tage by  change  of  air,  and  imbibing  the 
pure  aerial  nitre  of  these  parts  ;  and  there- 
fore being  so  far  spent,  he  quickly  found 
Sardinia  in  T-ivoli*  and  the  most  healthful 
air  of  little  effect,  where  death  had  set  her 
broad  arrow  ;-|-  for  he  lived  not  unto  the 
middle  of  May,  and  confirmed  the  observa- 
tion of  Hippocrates  of  that  mortal  time  of 
the  year  when  the  leaves  of  the  fig-tree  re- 
semble a  daw's  claw.  He  is  happily  seated 
who  lives  in  places  whose  air,  earth,  and 
water  promote  not  the  infirmities  of  his 
weaker  parts,  or  is  early  removed  into  re- 
gions that  correct  them.  He  that  is  tabitlly 
inclined  were  unwise  to  pass  his  days  in 
Portugal ;  cholical  persons  will  find  little 
comfort  in  Austria  or  Vienna ;  he  that  is 
weak-legged  must  not  be  in  love  with 
Home  ;  nor  an  infirm  head  with  Venice  or 
Paris.  Death  hath  not  only  particular  stars 
in  heaven,  but  malevolent  places  on  earth, 
which  single  out  our  infirmities,  and  atrike 
at  our  weaker  parts  ;  in  which  concern, 
passager  and  migrant  birds  have  the  great 
advantages,  who  are  naturally  constituted 
for  distant  habitations,  whom  no  seas  nor 
places  limit,  but  in  their  appointed  seasons 
will  visit  us  from  Greenland  and  Mount 
Atlas,  and,  as  some  think,  even  from  the 
Antipodes.* 

Though  we  could  not  have  his  life,  yet 
we  missed  not  our  desires  in  his  soft  de- 
parture, which  «as  scarce  an  expiration; 
and  his  end  not  unlike  his  beginning,  when 


the  salient  point  scarce  affords  a  sensible 
motion,  and  his  departure  so  like  unto 
sheep,  that  lie  scarce  needed  the  civil  cere- 
mony of  closing  his  eyes  ;  contrary  unto  the 
common  way  wherein  death  draws  up, 
sheep  let  fall  their  eye-lids.  With  what 
strife  and  pains  we  came  into  the  world  we 
know  not,  but  'tis  commonly  no  easy  mat- 
ter to  get  out  of  it ;  yet  if  it  could  be  made 
out  that  such  who  have  easy  nativities  have 
commonly  hard  deaths,  and  contrarily,  his 
departure  was  so  easy  that  we  might  justly 
suspect  his  birth  was  of  another  nature,  and 
that  some  Juno  sat  cross-legged  at  his  na- 
tivity. 

Besides  his  soft  death,  the  incurable  state 
of  his  disease  might  somewhat  extenuate 
your  sorrow,  who  know  that  !|  monsters  but 
seldom  happen,  miracles  more  rarely,  in 
piiysic.§  Augelus  Victorius  gives  a  serious 
account  of  a  consumptive,  hectical,  pthysi- 
cal  woman,  who  was  suddenly  cured  by  the 
intercession  of  Ignatius.  We  read  not  of 
any  in  Scripture  who  in  this  case  applied 
unto  our  Saviour,  though  some  may  be 
contained  in  that  large  expression,  that  he 
went  about  Galilee  healing  all  manner  of 
sickness,  and  all  manner  of  diseases.  Amu- 
lets, spells,  sigils,  and  incantations,  prac- 
ticed in  other  diseases,  are  seldom  pretend- 
ed in  this  ;  and  we  find  no  sigil  in  the 
Archidoxis  of  Paracelsus  to  cure  an  extreme 
consumption  or  marasmus,  which,  if  other 
diseases  fail,  will  put  a  period  unto  long 
livers,  and  at  last  make  dust  of  all.  And 
therefore  the  Stoics  could  not  but  think  that 
the  fiery  principle  would  wear  out  all  the 
rest,  and  at  last  make  an  end  of  the  world, 
which,  notwithstanding,  without  such  a  lin- 
gering period,  the  Creator  may  effect  at  his 
pleasure.  And  to  make  an  end  of  all  things 
on  earth,  and  our  planetical  system  of  the 
world,  he  need  but  put  out  the  sun.  I  was 
not  so  curious  to  entitle  the  stars  unto  any 
concern  of  his  death,  yet  could  not  but  take 
notice  that  he  died  when  the  moon  was  ir> 
motion  from  the  meridian  ;  at  which  time, 
an  old  Italian  long  ago  would  persuade  me 
that  the  greatest  part  of  men  died  :  but 
herein,  I  confess,  I  could  never  satisfy  my 
curiosity  ;  although,  Irons  the  time  of  tides 
in  places  upon  or  near  the  sea,  there  may, 
be  considerable  deductions  ;  and  Pliny  ^j 
hath  an  odd  and  remarkable  passage  con  - 
cerning  the  death  of  men  and  animals  upon 
the  recess  or  ebb  of  the  sea.  However, 
certain  it  is  he  died  in  the  dead  and  deep 
part  of  the  night,  when  Nox  might  be  most 
apprehensibly  said  to  be  the  daughter  of 


*  Cu?a  morn  ivncrit,  in  media  TWvre  Sardinia  est. 

t   In  the  K;!ig'»  Forests  they  set  the  figure  of  a  brood  arrow  upon  trees  that  are  to  be  cut  down.— 

tiippoc.  I'.lii  .<'/;,•. 

t  liclloiiius  tie  ArUnia. 

I   Moimtra  amtiiiftunt  in  Meilicina  Hippie. 

5  Strange  and  runs  escapes  there  happen  sometimes  in  physic.     Aitgdi  Victorii  Consultutioncs. 
M.'itth.  iv.    .•;. 

U  Atistutfli'.i  niillinii  dniinid  nhia-s1n  nvrrf<  ji/r  .'.r/wYi/rr  affirmat ;  ubservutum id  multum  in  t> 
Oeeanj  ct  dwtaxut  in  Homine  cumjii'rlum,  lib.  2.  cap.  101. 


Hir  TJiamat  Brvwne's  tetter  to  a  Friend. 


Chaos,  the  mother  of  Sleep  and  Death,  ac- 
cording to  old  genealogy  ;  and  so  went  out 
of  this  world  about  that  hour  when  our 
blessed  Saviour  entered  it,  and  about  what 
time  many  conceive  he  will  return  again 
unto  it."  Cardan  hath  a  peculiar  and  no 
hard  observation  from  a  man's  hand  to  know 
whether  he  was  born  in  the  day  or  night, 
which  I  confess  hoklcth  in  my  own.  And 
Scaliger  to  that  purpose  hath  another  from 
the  tip  of  the  ear.  Most  men  are  begotten 
in  the  night,  animals  in  the  day  ;  but 
whether  more  persons  have  been  born  in 
the  night  or  the  day,  were  a  curiosity  un- 
decidable,  though  more  have  perished  by 
violent  deaths  in  the  day ;  yet  in  natural 
dissolutions  both  times  may  hold  an  indif- 
fercncy,  at  least  but  contingent  inequality. 
The  whole  course  of  time  runs  out  in  the 
nativity  and  death  of  things  ;  which,  whe- 
ther they  happen  by  succession  or  coinci- 
dence, are  best  computed  by  the  natural, 
not  artitidal  day. 

That  Charles  the  Fifth  was  crowned  upon 
the  day  of  his  nativity,  it  being  in  his  own 
power  so  to  order  it,  makes  no  singular 
animadversion  ;   but  that  he  should  also 
take  King  Francis  prisoner  upon  that  day, 
was  an  unexpected  coincidence,  which  made 
the  same  remarkable.    Antipater,  who  had 
an  anniversary  feast  every  year  upon  his 
birth-day,  needed  no  astrological  revolution 
to  know  what  day  he  should  die  on.  When 
the  fixed  stars  have  made  a  revolution  unto 
the  points  from  whence  they  first  set  out, 
some  of  the  ancients  thought   the  world 
would  have  an  end  ;  which  was  a  kind  of 
dying  upon  the  day  of  its  nativity.  Now  the 
disease  prevailing,  and  swiftly  advancing, 
about  the  time  of  his  nativity,  some  were  of 
opinion  that  he  would  leave  the  world  on 
the  day  he  entered  into  it ;  but  this  being  a 
lingering  disease,  and  creeping  softly  on, 
nothing  critical  was  found  or  expected,  and 
he  died  not  before  fifteen  days  alter.     No- 
thing is  more  common  with  infants  than  to 
die  on  the  day  of  their  nativity,  to  behold 
the  worldly  hours,  and  but  the  fractions 
thereof;   and  even   to  perish  before  their 
nativity  in  the  hidden  world  of  the  womb, 
and  before  their  good  angel  is  conceived  to 
undertake  them.     But  in  persons  who  out- 
live many  years,  and  when  there  are  no  less 
than  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  to 
determine  their  lives  in  every  year;  that  the 
first  day  should  make  the  last,  that  the  tail 
of  the  snake  should  return  into  its  mouth 


precisely  at  that  time,  and  they  should 
wind  up  upon  the  day  of  their  natirity,-)- 
is  indeed  a  remarkable  coincidence,  which, 
though  astrology  hath  taken  witty  pains  to 
solve,  yet  hath  it  been  very  wary  in  making 
predictions  of  it. 

In  this  consumptive  condition  and  re- 
markable  extenuation,  he  came  to  be  al- 
most half  himself,  and  left  a  great  part  be- 
hind him  which  he  carried  not  to  the  grave. 
And  though  that  story  of  Duke  John  Kr- 
nestus  Mansfield  £  be  not  so  easily  swallow- 
ed, that  at  his  death  his  heart  was  found 
not  to  be  so  big  as  a  nut ;  yet  if  the  bones 
of  a  good  skeleton  weigh  little  more  than 
twenty  pounds,  his  inwards  and  flesh  re- 
maining could  make  no  bouftage,  but  a 
light  bit  for  the  grave.  I  never  more  lively 
beheld  the  starved  characters  of  Dante  ||  in 
any  living  face ;  an  Aruspcx  might  have 
read  a  lecture  upon  him  without  exentera- 
tion,  his  flesh  being  so  consumed,  that  he 
might,  in  a  manner,  have  discerned  his 
bowels  without  opening  of  him  ;  so  that  to 
be  carried  xc.ria  ccrv'icc,  to  the  grave,  was 
but  a  civil  unneces^ity  ;  and  the  comple- 
ments of  the  coffin  might  outweigli  the 
subject  of  it. 

Omnibonus  Ferrarius,§  in  mortal  dysen- 
teries of  children,  looks  tor  a  spot  behind 
the  car ;  in  consumptive  diseases,  some  eye 
the  complexion  of  moles ;  Cardan  eagerly 
views  the  nails ;  some  the  lines  of  the  hand, 
the  thenar,  or  muscle  of  the  thumb  ;  some 
are  so  curious  as  to  observe  the  depth  of  the 
throat-pit,  how  the  proportion  variethof  the 
small  of  the  legs  unto  the  calf,  or  the  com- 
pass of  the  neck  unto  the  circumference  of 
the  head  :  but  all  these,  with  many  more, 
v  ciu  so  drowned  in  a  mortal  visage  and  last 
face  of  Hippocrates,  that  a  weak  physiogno- 
mist might  say  at  first  eye,  this  was  a  face 
of  earth,  and  that  Morta  ^f  had  set  her  hard 
seal  upon  his  temples,  easily  perceiving 
what  carlcatiira*  *  draughts  death  makes 
upon  pined  faces,  and  unto  what  an  un- 
known degree  a  man  may  live  backward. 

Though  the  beard  be  only  made  a  dis- 
tinction of  sex,  and  sign  of  masculine  heat 
by  Ulmus,  yet  the  precocity  and  early 
growth  thereof  in  him,  was  not  to  be  liked 
in  reference  unto  long  life.  Lewis,  that 
virtuous  but  unfortunate  King  of  Hungary, 
who  lost  his  life  at  the  battle  of  Mohacz, 
was  said  to  be  born  without  a  skin,  to  have 
bearded  at  fifteen,-)")-  and  to  have  shewn  some 
grey  hairs  about  twenty  ;  from  whence  the 


*  Auris  pars  pendula  Lobus  dicitur,  non  omnibus  ea  pars  cst  avribus  ;  non  enim  iis  qui  noclu  natu 
Mint,  set!  qui  intcrdiu,  maxima  ex  partc.     Com.  in  Aristot.  de  Animal,  lib.  1. 

f  According  to  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphic. 

\  Turkish  history. 

II  In  the  poet  Dante  his  description. 

8  DC  morbis  Putrorum. 

*|f  Morta,  the  deity  of  death  or  fate. 

*  *  When  men's  faces  are  drawn  with  resemblance  to  some  other  animals,  the  Italians  call  it,  to  be 
drawn  rn  caricatvra. 

t  \  Ulnnts  de  utu  bathe  hunana:. 


552 


Sir  Thomas  llrounte's  Letter  to  a  Friend. 


diviners  conjectured,  that  be  would  be 
spoiled  of  bis  kingdom,  and  bnve  but  a 
short  lii'e  :  But  hairs  make  fallible  predic- 
tions, and  many  temples  early  grey  have 
outlived  the  psalmist's  period.*  II  airs  which 
have  most  amused  me  have  not  been  in  the 
face  or  head,  but  on  the  backs ;  and  not  in 
men,  but  children  ;  as  I  long  ago  observed 
in  that  endemial  distemper  of  little  children 
in  Languedoc,  called  the  Morgellons, -f- 
wherein  they  critically  break  out  with  harsh 
hairs  on  their  backs,  which  takes  oft  the  un- 
quiet symptoms  of  the  disease,  and  delivers 
them  from  coughs  and  convulsions. 

The  Egyptian  mummies  that  I  have 
seen,  have  had  their  mouths  open,  and  some- 
what gaping,  which  affordeth  a  good  oppor- 
tunity to  view  and  observe  their  teeth, 
wherein  it  is  not  easy  to  find  any  wanting 
or  decayed  ;  and  therefore  in  Egypt,  where 
one  man  practised  but  one  operation,  or  the 
diseases  but  of  single  parts,  it  must  needs 
be  a  barren  profession  to  confine  unlo  that 
of  drawing  of  teeth,  and  little  better  than 
to  have  been  tooth- drawer  unto  King  Pyr- 
rlius,J  who  had  but  two  in  his  head.  How 
the  Banyans  of  India  maintain  the  integri- 
ty of  those  parts,  1  find  not  particularly  ob- 
served ;  who  notwithstanding  have  an  ad- 
vantage of  their  preservation  by  abstaining 
from  all  flesh,  and  employing  their  teeth  in 
such  food  unto  which  they  may  seem  at 
first  framed,  from  their  figure  and  confor- 
mation ;  but  sharp  and  corroding  rheums 
had  so  early  mouldered  those  rocks  and 
hardest  parts  of  his  fabric,  that  a  man  might 
well  conceive  that  his  years  were  never  like 
to  double  or  twice  tell  over  his  teeth.  ||  Cor- 
ruption had  dealt  more  severely  with  them 
than  sepulchral  fires,  and  smart  flames,  with 
those  of  burnt  bodies  of  old  ;  for  in  the 
burnt  fragments  of  urns  which  I  have  in- 
quired into,  although  I  seem  to  find  few  in- 
cisors or  shearers,  yet  the  dog-teeth  and 
grinders  do  notably  resist  those  tires. 

In  the  years  of  his  childhood  he  had  lan- 
guished under  the  disease  of  his  country,  the 
rickets ;  after  which,  notwithstanding  many 
have  been  become  strong  and  active  men  ; 
but  whether  any  have  attained  unto  very 
great  years,  the  disease  is  scarce  so  old  as 
to  afford  good  observation. 

Whether  the  children  of  the  English 
plantations  be  subject  unto  the  same  infir- 
mity, may  be  worth  the  observing  ;  whether 
lameness  and  halting  do  still  increase  among 
the  inhabitants  of  Rovigno  in  Istria,  1  know 


not ;  yet  scarce  twenty  years  ago  Monsieur 
du  Loys  observed,  that  a  third  part  of  that 
people  halted  ;  but  too  certain  it  is,  that  the 
rickets  increased!  among  us  ;  the  small-pox 
grows  more  pernicious  than  the  great.  The 
king's  purse  knows  that  the  king's  evil 
,<z;rows  more  common.  Quartan  agues  are 
become  no  strangers  in  Ireland;  more  com- 
mon and  mortal  in  England  ;  and  though 
the  ancients  gave  that  disease  §  very  good 
words,  yet  now  that  bell  makes  no  strange 
sound  which  rings  out  for  the  effects  thereof. 
Some  think  there  were  few  consumptions 
in  the  old  world,  when  men  lived  much 
upon  milk  ;  and  that  the  ancient  inhabit- 
ants of  this  island  were  less  troubled  with 
coughs  when  they  went  naked,  and  slept  in 
caves  and  woods,  than  men  now  in  cham- 
bers and  feather-beds.  Plato  will  tell  us,  that 
there  was  no  such  disease  as  a  catarrh  in 
Homer's  time,  and  that  it  was  but  new  in 
Greece  in  his  age.  Polydore  Virgil  deli- 
vereth  that  pleurises  were  rare  in  England, 
who  lived  but  in  the  days  of  Henry  the 
Eighth.  Some  will  allow  no  diseases  to  be 
new,  others  think  that  many  old  ones  are 
ceased  ;  and  that  such  which  are  esteemed 
new,  will  have  but  their  time.  However, 
the  mercy  of  God  hath  scattered  the  great 
heap  of  diseases,  and  not  loaded  any  one 
country  with  all.  Some  may  be  new  in  one 
country  which  have  been  old  in  another. 
New  discoveries  of  the  earth  discover  new 
diseases  ;  for,  besides  the  common  swarm, 
there  are  endemiul  and  local  infirmities  pro- 
per unto  certain  regions,  which,  in  the  whole 
earth,  make  no  small  number  ;  and  if  Asia, 
Africa,  and  America,  should  bring  in  their 
list,  Pandora's  box  would  swell,  and  there 
must  be  a  strange  pathology. 

Most  men  expected  to  find  a  consumed 
kell,  empty  and  bladder- like  guts,  livid  and 
marbled  lungs,  and  a  withered  pericardium 
in  this  exuccous  corps ;  but  some  seemed 
too  much  to  wonder  that  two  lobes  of  his 
lungs  adhered  unto  his  side  ;  for  the  like  I 
had  often  found  in  bodies  of  no  suspected 
consumptions  or  difficulty  of  respiration. 
And  the  same  more  often  happeneth  in  men 
than  other  animals  ;  and  some  think  in  wo- 
men than  in  men  ;  but  the  most  remarkable 
I  have  met  with  was  in  a  man  after  a  cough 
of  almost  fifty  years,  in  whom  all  the  lobes 
adhered  unto  the  pleura, ^[  and  each  lobe 
unto  another  ;  who,  having  also  been  much 
troubled  with  the  gout,  brake  the  rule  of 
Cardan,**  and  died  of  the  stone  in  the  blad- 


*  The  life  of  a  man  is  threescore  and  ten. 
f  See  Picotut  tie  R/ieumatismo. 

j  His  upper  and  lower  jaw  being  solid,  and  without  distinct  rows  of  teeth. 
I  Twice  tell  over  his  teeth,  never  live  to  threescore  years. 
§  'Ac-faXJf-alo;    xa»    pmrofi  securrisaima  et  factilima.  Hi 
caiujtano. 
f  So  A.  F. 


•t  faciUima,  Hippoc.    Pro  Jebrc  quartana  raro  termt 


j  ao  a.*-. 

**  Cardan,  in  his  Encomium  Podagra,  reckoneth  this  among  the  Dona  Podagras,  that  there  aw  •»• 
vertd  ihweUy  from  the  pthysi:  and  stone  in  the  bladder. 


13 


1821.]]  Sir  Thomas  Browne's  Letter  to  a  Friend, 


653 


der.  Aristotle  makes  a  query,  why  some 
animals  cough,  as  man,  some  not,  as  oxen. 
If  coughing  be  taken  as  it  consisteth  of  a 
natural  and  voluntary  motion,  including  ex- 
pectoration and  spitting  out,  it  may  be  as 
proper  unto  man  as  bleeding  at  the  nose  ; 
otherwise  we  find  that  Vegetius  and  other 
rural  writers  have  not  left  so  many  medi- 
cines in  vain  against  the  coughs  of  cattle ; 
and  men  who  perish  by  coughs  die  the  death 
of  sheep,  cats,  and  lions ;  and  though  birds 
have  no  midriff,  yet  we  meet  with  divers 


dead,  and  every  thing  is  or  must  be  so  be- 
fore it  becomes  our  nourishment.  And 
Garden,  who  dreamed  that  he  discoursed 
with  his  dead  father  in  the  moon,  made 
thereof  no  mortal  interpretation  :  and  even 
to  dream  that  we  are  dead  was  no  condem- 
nable  fantasm  in  old  Oncirocriticism,  as 
having  a  signification  of  Liberty,  vacuity 
from  cares,  exemption  and  freedom  from 
troubles  unknown  unto  the  dead. 

Some  dreams  I  confess  may  admit  of 
easy  and   feminine  exposition  ;    he   who 


remedies  in  Arrianus  against  the  coughs  of    dream'd  that  he  could  not   see  his  right 


hawks.  And  though  it  might  be  thought 
that  all  animals  who  have  lungs  do  cough  ; 
yet,  in  cetaceous  fishes,  who  have  large  and 
strong  lungs,  the  same  is  not  observed  ;  nor 
yet  in  oviparous  quadrupeds;  and  in  the 
greatest  thereof  the  crocodile,  although  we 


shoulder,  might  easily  fear  to  lose  the  light 
of  his  right  eye  ;  he  that  before  a  journey 
dream'd  that  his  feet  were  cut  off,  had  a 
plain  warning  not  to  undertake  his  intended 
journey.  But  why  to  dream  of  lettuce  should 
presage  some  ensuing  disease,  why  to  eat 


read  much  of  their  tears,  we  find  nothing  of    figs  should  signifie  foolish  talk,  why  to  eat 

eggs  great  trouble,  and  to  dream  of  blind- 
ness should  be  so  highly  commended  ac- 
cording to  the  Oneirocritical  verses  of  As- 
trampsychns  and  Nicephorus,  I  shall  leave 
unto  your  divination. 

He  was  willing  to  quit  the  world  alone 
and  altogether,  leaving  no  earnest  behind 
him  for  corruption  or  after-grave,  having 
small  content  in  that  common  satisfaction 
to  survive  or  live  in  another,  but  amply  sa- 
tisfied that  his  disease  should  die  with  him- 
self, nor  revive  in  a  posterity  to  puzzle 
physic,  and  make  sad  mementos  of  their 
parent  hereditary.  Leprosy  awakes  not 
sometime  before  forty,  the  gout  and  stone 
often  later  ;  but  consumptive  and  tabid-|- 
rools  sprout  more  early,  and  at  the  fairest 
make  seventeen  years  of  our  life  doubtful 
before  that  age. 

They  that  enter  the  world  with  original 
diseases  as  well  as  sin  have  not  only  com- 
mon mortality  but  sick  traductions  to  de- 
stroy them,  make  commonly  short  courses, 
and  live  not  at  length  but  in  figures ;  so 
that  a  sound  CffisareanJ  nativity  may  out- 
last a  natural  birth,  and  a  knife  may  some- 
times make  way  for  a  more  lasting  fruit 
than  a  midwife  ;  which  makes  so  few  infants 
now  able  to  endure  the  old  test  of  the 


tnat  motion. 

From  the  thoughts  of  sleep,  when  the 
soul  was  conceived  nearest  unto  divinity, 
the  ancients  erected  an  art  of  divination, 
wherein,  while  they  too  widely  expatiated 
in  loose  and  inconsequent  conjectures,  Hip- 
pocrates *  wisely  considered  dreams  as  they 
presaged  alterations  in  the  body,  and  so  af- 
forded hints  towards  the  preservation  of 
health,  and  prevention  of  diseases ;  and 
therein  was  so  serious  as  to  advise  alteration 
of  diet,  exercise,  sweating,  bathing,  and 
vomiting ;  and  also  so  religious  as  to  order 
prayers  and  supplications  unto  respective 
deities,  in  good  dreams,  unto  Sol,  Jupiter 
ccelestis,  Jupiter  opulentus,  Minerva,  Mer- 
curius,  and  Apollo ;  in  bad  unto  Tellus 
and  the  heroes. 

And  therefore  I  could  not  but  take  notice 
how  his  female  friends  were  irrationally  cu- 
rious so  strictly  to  examine  his  dreams,  and 
in  this  low  state  to  hope  for  the  fantasms  of 
health.  He  was  now  past  the  healthful 
dreams  of  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  in  their 
clarity  and  proper  courses.  'Twas  too  late 
to  dream  of  flying,  of  limpid  fountains, 
smooth  waters,  white  vestments,  and  fruit- 
ful green  trees,  which  are  the  visions  of 
healthful  sleeps,  and  at  good  distance  from 
the  grave. 

And  they  were  also  too  deeply  dejected 
that  he  should  dream  of  his  dead  friends, 
inconsequently  divining,  that  he  would  not 
be  long  from  them  ;  for  strange  it  was  not 
that  he  should  sometimes  dreum  of  the  dead 
whose  thoughts  run  always  upon  death  ; 
besides,  to  dream  of  the  dead  so  they  ap- 
pear not  in  dark  habits,  and  take  nothing 
away  from  us,  in  Hippocrates  his  sense  was 
of  good  signification  ;  for  we  live  by  the 


River,§  and  many  to  have  feeble  chil- 
dren who  could  scarce  have  been  married 
at  Sparta,  and  these  provident  states  who 
studied  strong  and  healthful  generations  ; 
which  happen  but  contingently  in  mere 
pecuniary  matches,  or  marriages  made  by 
the  candle,  wherein  notwithstanding  there 
is  little  redress  to  be  hoped  from,  an  as- 
trologer or  a  lawyer,  and  a  good  discern- 
ing physician  were  like  to  prove  the  most 
successful  counsellor.  Julius  Scaliger,  who 


*  Hippoc.  dc  Imomniis. 

t  Tabes  majclme  contingunt  ab  anno  dccimo  octavo  ad  trigcsimum  qulntum,     Hippoc. 
$  A  sound  child  cut  out  of  the  body  of  the  mother, 
j  Natos  adflumina  pr'unum  dejerinwi  scevoque gelu  duramut  et  undis. 

VOL.  IX.  4  A 


•Sir  Thomas  Browne' t  Letter  to  a  Friend. 


in  a  sleepless  fit  of  the  gout  could  make 
two  hundred  verses  in  a  night,  would  have 
but  five  *  plain  words  upon  his  tomb.  And 
this  serious  person,  though  no  minor  wit, 
left  the  poetry  of  his  epitaph  unto  others  ; 
either  unwilling  to  commend  himself,  or  to 
be  judged  by  a  distich,  and  perhaps  consi- 
dering how  unhappy  great  poets  have  been 
in  versifying  their  own  epitaphs  :  wherein 
Petrarcha,  Dante,  and  Aiiosto,  have  so  un- 
happily failed,  that  if  their  tombs  should 
out-last  their  works,  posterity  would  find 
•o  little  of  Apollo  on  them,  as  to  mistake 
them  for  Ciceronian  poets. 

In  this  deliberate  and  creeping  progress 
unto  the  grave,  he  was  somewhat  too  young, 
and  of  too  noble  a  mind,  to  fall  upon  that 
itupid  symptom  observable  in  divers  persons 
near  their  journey's  end,  and  which  may  be 
reckoned  among  the  mortal  symptoms  of 
their  last  disease ;  that  is,  to  become  more 
narrow  minded,  miserable  and  tenacious,  uu- 
ready  to  part  with  any  thing,  when  they  are 
ready  to  part  with  all,  and  afraid  to  want 
when  they  have  no  time  to  spend ;  mean- 
while physicians,  who  know  that  many  are 
mad  but  in  a  single  depraved  imagination, 
and  one  prevalent  decipiency  ;  and  that  be- 
side and  out  of  such  single  deliriums  a  man 
may  meet  with  sober  actions  and  good  sense 
}n  Bedlam  ;  cannot  but  smile  to  see  the 
heirs  and  concerned  relations,  gratulating 
themselves  in  the  sober  departure  of  their 
friends  ;  and  though  they  behold  such  mad 
covetous  passages,  content  to  think  they 
die  in  good  understanding,  and  in  their  so- 
ber senses. 

Avarice,  which  is  not  only  infidelity  hut 
idolatry,  either  from  covetous  progeny  or 
questuary  education,  had  no  root  in  his 
breast  who  made  good  works  the  expression 
of  his  faith,  and  was  big  with  desires  unto 
public  and  lasting  charities  ;  and  surely 
where  good  wishes  and  charitable  intentions 
exceed  abilities,  theorical  beneficiency  may 
be  more  than  a  dream.  They  build  not 
castles  in  the  air  who  would  build  churches 
on  earth  ;  and  though  they  leave  no  such 
structures  here,  may  lay  good  foundations 
in  Heaven.  In  brief,  his  life  and  death 
were  such,  that  I  could  not  blame  them 
who  wished  the  like,  and  almost  to  have 
been  himself;  almost,  I  say ;  for  though  we 
may  wish  the  prosperous  appurtenances  of 
Others,  or  to  be  another  in  his  happy  acci- 
dents ;  yet  so  intrinsical  is  every  man  unto 
himself,  that  some  doubt  may  be  made, 
whether  any  would  change  his  being,  or 
substantially  become  another  man. 

He  had  wisely  seen  the  world  at  home 
and  abroad,  and  thereby  observed  under 


what  variety  men  are  deluded  into  the  pur. 
suit  of  that  which  is  not  here  to  be  found. 
And  although  he  had  no  opinion  of  reputed 
felicities  below,  and  apprehended  men  wide- 
ly out  in  the  estimate  of  such  happiness  ; 
yet  his  sober  contempt  of  the  world  wrought 
no  Democratism  or  Cynicism,  no  laughing 
or  snarling  at  it,  as  well  understanding  there 
are  not  felicities  in  this  world  to  satisfy  a 
serious  mind ;  and  therefore  to  soften  the 
stream  of  our  lives,  we  are  fain  to  take  on 
the  reputed  contentations  of  this  world,  to 
unite  with  the  crowd  in  their  beatitudes,  and 
to  make  ourselves  happy  by  consortion, 
opinion,  or  co-existimation  ;  for  strictly  to 
separate  from  received  and  customary  feli- 
cities, and  to  confine  unto  the  rigor  of 
realities,  were  to  contract  the  consolation 
of  our  beings  unto  two  uncomfortable  cir- 
cumscriptions. 

Not  to  fear  death  ,-f-  nor  desire  it,  was 
short  of  his  resolution :  to  be  dissolved, 
and  be  with  Christ,  was  his  dying  ditty. 
He  conceived  his  thread  long,  in  no  long 
course  of  years,  and  when  he  had  scarce  out- 
lived the  second  life  of  Lazarus  £  ;  esteem- 
ing it  enough  to  approach  the  years  of  his 
Saviour,  who  so  ordered  his  own  human 
state,  as  not  to  be  old  upon  earth. 

But  to  be  content  with  death  may  be  bet- 
ter than  to  desire  it :  a  miserable  life  may 
make  us  wish  for  death,  but  a  virtuous  one 
to  rest  in  it ;  which  is  the  advantage  of  those 
resolved  Christians,  who  looking  on  death 
not  only  as  the  sting,  but  the  period  and  end 
of  sin,  the  horizon  and  isthmus  between 
this  life  and  a  better,  and  the  death  of  this 
world  but  as  the  nativity  of  another,  do  con- 
tentedly submit  unto  the  common  necessity, 
and  envy  not  Enoch  nor  Elias. 

Not  to  be  content  with  life,  is  the  unsatis- 
factory state  of  those  which  destroy  them- 
selves^ who  being  afraid  to  live,  run  blind- 
ly upon  their  own  death,  which  no  man  fears 
by  experience  ;  and  the  Stoics  had  a  notable 
doctrine  to  take  away  the  fear  thereof,  that 
is,  in  such  extremities  to  desire  that  which 
is  not  to  be  avoided,  and  wish  what  might 
be  feared  ;  and  so  made  evils  voluntary,  and 
to  suit  with  their  own  desires,  wlu'ch  took 
off  the  terror  of  them. 

But  the  ancient  martyrs  were  not  encou- 
raged by  such  fallacies ;  who  though  they 
feared  not  death,  were  afraid  to  be  their  own 
executioners  ;  and  therefore  thought  it  more 
wisdom  to  crucify  their  lusts  than  their  bo- 
dies, to  circumcise  than  stab  their  hearts, 
and  to  mortify  than  kill  themselves. 

His  willingness  to  leave  this  world  about 
that  age,  when  most  men  think  they  may 
best  enjoy  it,  though  paradoxical  unto 


•  Julii  Co; tar  is  Scallgcri,  quodfuit.  Joseph,  Scaliger  in  vita  patris. 

f  Siimmum  nee  mftmu  diem  nee  nptf.i. 

t  Who  upon  some  accounts,  and  tradition,  is  said  to  have  lived  50  years  after  he  was  raised  by  our 
Saviour.  Baroniuj. 

§  In  the  speech  of  Vulteius  in  Lucan,  animating  his  soldiers  in  a  great  struggle  to  kill  one  another. 
Decernitc  Lftkum  et  met  us  omnii  abe.it,  cupiat  quudcunyte  nccesic  eit.  AH  fear  is  over,  dobutresolfe  to 
die,  and  make  your  desire*  meet  necessity. 


1821. 3  Sir  Thomas  Srbume's  Letter  to  a  Friend.  £55 

worldly  ears,  was  not  strange  unto  mine,  Though  age  had  set  no  seal  upon  his  face, 
who  have  so  often  observed,  that  many  yet  a  dim  eye  might  dearly  discover  fifty  in 
though  old,  oft  stick  fast  unto  the  world,  and  his  actions ;  and  therefore,  since  wisdom  it 
seem  to  be  drawn  like  Cacus's  oxen,  back-  the  gray  hair,  and  an  unspotted  life  old  age ; 
ward,  with  great  struggling  and  reluctance,  although  his  years  came  short,  he  might  have 
into  the  grave.  The  long  habit  of  living  been  said  to  have  held  up  with  longer  livers, 
makes  mere  men  mere  hardly  to  part  with  and  to  have  been  Solomon's*  old  man.  And 
life,  and  all  to  be  nothing,  but  what  is  to  surely  if  we  deduct  all  those  days  of  our  life 
come.  To  live  at  the  rate  of  the  old  world,  which  we  might  wish  unlived,  and  which 
when  some  could  scarce  remember  them-  abate  the  comfort  of  those  we  now  live  ;  if 
selves  young,  may  afford  no  better  digested  we'reckon  up  only  those  days  which  God  hath 
death  than  a  more  moderate  period.  Many  accepted  of  our  lives,  a  life  of  good  years 
would  have  thought  it  an  happiness  to  have  will  hardly  be  a  span  long  :  the  son  in  this 
had  their  lot  of  lite  in  some  notable  conjunc-  sense,  may  out-live  the  father,  and  none  be 
ture  of  ages  past ;  but  the  uncertainty  of  fu-  climaterically  old.  He  that  early  arriveth 
ture  times  hath  tempted  few  to  make  a  part  unto  the  parts  and  prudence  of  age,  is  hap- 
in  ages  to  come.  And  surely,  he  that  hath  pily  old  without  uncomfortable  attendants 
taken  the  true  altitude  of  things,  and  right-  of  it ;  and  'tis  superfluous  to  live  unto  grey 
ly  calculated  the  degenerate  state  of  this  age,  hairs,  when  in  a  precocious  temper  we  an- 
is  not  likely  to  envy  those  that  shall  live  in  ticipate  the  virtues  of  them.  In  brief,  he 
the  next,  much  less  three  or  four  hundred  cannot  be  accounted  young  who  out-liveth 
'years  hence,  when  no  man  can  comfortably  the  old  man.  He  that  hath  early  arrived 
imagine  what  face  this  world  will  carry,  unto  the  measure  of  a  perfect  stature  in 
And  therefore  since  every  age  makes  a  step  Christ,  hath  already  fulfilled  the  prime  and 
unto  the  end  of  all  things,  and  the  Scrip-  longest  intention  of  his  being  ;  and  one  day 
ture  affords  so  hard  a  character  of  the  last  lived  after  the  perfect  rule  of  piety,  is  to  be 
times ;  quiet  minds  will  be  content  with  preferred  before  sinning  immortality, 
their  generations,  and  rather  bless  ages  past 
than  be  ambitious  of  those  to  come.  *  *  *  *  *  * 

*  Wisdom,  cap.  iv. 


THE  PLAGUE  OF  DARKNESS,  A  DRAMATIC  SCENE  FROM  THE  EXODUI. 
[Time— Beginning  of  the  First  Day  of  the  Darkness.] 

MOSES  and  CALEB  alone,  watching. 

Caleb.  Is  it  thy  will,  that  longer  we  remain 
Upon  this  mountain's  summit  ?     Lo  !  young  Day 
Doth  wearily  unclose  his  sleepy  eye, 
For  slowly  comes  the  radiance  which  it  sheds 
On  our  oppressed  land !     No  joy  to  Jacob 
Brings  the  bright  sun-beam ;  for,  with  his  first  glance, 
Comes  the  fierce  Tasker,  and,  with  goad  and  lash, 
Drives  to  the  stubble-field  the  weeping  race 
Of  him,  Jehovah's  chosen,  the  loved  Mend 
Of  angels,  and  of  spirits !     Their  bound  limbs 
Are  tortur'd  by  the  beam,  their  free-born  sires 
Were  wont  to  court  and  bless ;  and  when  they  sink, 
Worn  by  th'  intolerable  burthen  down, 
The  scorpion-whip  doth  lash  them  to  new  life, 
Or  rob  them  of  the  wretched  remnant  left. — 
But  let  us  down,  and  bid  them  stand  prepared, 
Nor  murmur  when  they  are  required  to  raise 
New  treasure-domes  for  Pharaoh. 

Moses  (not  heeding  him.)  Yes,  thou  art 
The  Terrible !  the  Just ! — The  might  of  man, 
What  is  it,  Lord,  before  thee !    Thou  dost  close 
Thine  eye  of  glory,  and  dark  night  descends ; 
Thou  ope'st  it,  and  'tis  light.    Thy  breathing  ic 
The  rage  of  tempests ;  and  thy  face,  0  God, 
Who  can  behold  and  live! 


The  Plague  of  Darkness.  £Aug. 

Caleb.  Jehovah's  hand 
Is  on  his  servant  now.     From  his  pale  brow 
Darts  forth  the  mystic  light,  whose  lustrous  blaze 
Scorches  my  human  eye-balls.     His  high  form 
Becomes  gigantic,  and  his  clustering  locks, 
Darker  than  night,  swept  by  the  Mighty  Spirit, 
Wave  in  wild  motion,  and  their  homage  pay 
To  the  invisible  presence  of  the  power 
Which  every  where  surrounds  him. 

Moses.  Hark  !  He  comes ! 

The  One !— the  Terrible ! — the  Lord  of  Woe  !— 
The  Angel  of  his  Terrors! — On  the  air 
I  hear  the  rushing  of  his  mighty  wings ; 
His  broad  palm  bears  the  darkness,  the  dire  pall 
Of  miserable  Egypt ! — Hark !  He  comes ! — 
Woe,  to  thee,  Egypt,  woe ! 

Caleb.  It  is  the  Spirit, 

The  Over-Ruling,  which  is  passing  o'er  us ! — 
The  day  is  bright  and  clear ;  yet,  in  the  air, 
I  hear  the  sound  of  tempests.    All  the  winds 
Girdle  his  chariot-wheels. — My  brow  is  cold, 
My  breath  is  thick,  and  o'er  my  quivering  limbs 
Breaks  the  damp  glow  of  fear !     I  will  fall  down, 
Nor  see  him  pass  above  me. 

Moses.  Hail,  O  hail ! 

Thou  Lord  of  Judgment ! — Lo !  He  comes ;  but  not 
In  light-created  vestments,  nor  his  brow 
Circled  by  fire  ethereal,  nor  his  form 
Shooting  lorth  sparkles  of  immortal  light, 
Each  one  a  brilliant  day ;  but  now  he  rides 
The  stern  submissive  whirlwind,  in  his  purpose 
Robed  as  in  some  dark  garment,  like  the  cloak 
Which  ancient  Chaos  wore,  before  the  smile 
Of  God,  illumining  the  dark  abyss, 
Created  light. — He  comes,  the  Terrible  ! 
In  judgment  mantled  dark,  as  darkest  death  ! 
Before  him  horror,  and  behind  despair ! 

^Stands  motionless. 
JOSHUA  enters. 

Josh.  Master,  the  people  murmur  at  thine  absence ; 
And  now,  impatient  of  thy  presence,  come 
With  slow  steps  up  the  mountain. 

The  People.  Leader  sage, 

Why  hast  thou  left  us  ?     Why  hast  thou  provok'd 
The  rage  of  Pharaoh,  and  thy  children  left 
To  bear  his  anger's  weight  ? — O  leave  us,  father ; 
Reprove  no  more,  but  leave  us  in  our  bondage. 

Moses.  Hush,  hush !  let  him  not  hear !  for  scarcely  yet 
Hath  he  pass'd  onward  to  his  dreadful  post ; 
The  loosen'd  feathers  of  his  jet  black  wings 
Are  floating  yet  above  us. — Silence,  silence ! 
Let  him  not  hear  thee,  Jacob ;  for  he  goes 
Brimful  of  wrath,  the  wine-cup  in  his  hand ! — 
Let  not  one  drop  be  thine. 
People.  What  shall  we  do  ? 
Moses.  Be  silent,  and  be  humble. 


PHARAOH  on  his  Throne.    JOCHANI.     MAMRI.    Nobles. 

[Time— The  Third  nay  of  the  Darkness.] 

Phar.  Shut  out  those  groans !  I  will  not  hear  these  cries 
Of  horrible  despair  ! — What,  more  than  they, 


1821-3 


The  Plague  of  Darkness. 

Am  I  exempt  from  suffering  ?  Is  this  throne 
Sacred  from  horror  ?  Hath  it  not  more  deeply 
Circled  around  my  person  ? — Coward  sons, 
Of  an  effeminate  land  !  why  mourn  ye  thus 
To  share  your  monarch's  draught  of  bitterness  ! 
For  three  whole  days,  with  horror  bound,  have  I 
Sat  on  this  spot,  nor  tasted  food,  nor  wine ; 
And  now  I  faint, — yet  murmur  not,  nor  groan, 
Nor  vex  my  people  with  my  vain  despair ! — 
Silence  these  clamours,  then,  ye  coward  slaves  ! 
And  learn  to  bear  what  Egypt's  master  bears 
Serene  and  unrepining. 

Jock.  Mighty  lord, 

Long  since  thy  servants  would  have  still'd  these  cries, 
Could  they  have  found  the  mourners ;  but  this  shade, 
This  deadly  darkness,  this  drear  night  of  death, 
Doth  bind  us  to  thy  throne ;  nor  can  we  leave 
The  spot  on  which  we  stand.     But  Rampsinitis 
Hath  dragg'd  his  way  unto  thy  suffering  slaves, 
To  bid  them  be  of  comfort. 

Pfiar.  Rampsinitis ! 

How  is  it  he  can  do,  what  Balaam's  sons 
Have  found  impossible  ?  Jochani,  thou, 
And,  Manari,  thou,  have,  to  your  dreaded  power, 
Bowed  the  invisible  world ;  Osiris  lent  you 
A  portion  of  his  might,  and  father  Nile, 
Submissive  to  your  pleasure,  threw  aside 
His  robe  transparent  to  enfold  his  form 
In  the  red  mantle,  which,  it  was  your  will, 
He  for  a  time  should  wear.     How  comes  it  then 
Ye  dare  not,  or  ye  can  not,  brave  this  gloom, 
While  Rampsinitis,  in  your  wisdom's  school, 
Ail  infant,  thus  goes  forth  at  will,  to  aid 
And  comfort  the  dejected  ? 

Mam,  Lord  of  Egypt, 

King  of  the  wondrous  river,  be  it  said 
Thy  servant  Rampsinitis  is  the  friend 
Of  Jacob's  children,  and  that  people's  God, 
Or  else  their  leader's  wondrous  magic  power 
Hath  spar'd  him  from  the  curse,  and  given  his  eye 
A  power  of  sight  to  wander  through  the  maze, 
Nor  feel  the  plague  of  darkness. 

Phar.    ,  'Tis  your  thought 

That  we  are  cursed  thus  by  Israel's  prayers, 
Or  by  the  might  of  their  rebellious  chief, 
That  bastard  of  our  Nile,  the  spawn  of  Levi, 
Nursed  by  the  dreaming  Thermutis,  who  left 
A  curse  unto  her  country  in  the  Boy 
Her  woe-fraught  pity  sav'd  !  I'll  not  believe 
His  power  hath  compass'd  this — he  is  a  tool 
In  hands  of  our  own  Deities,  to  scourge 
Our  past  and  present  follies ;  therefore  pray 
For  help  unto  our  Gods.     No  solemn  rite 
Accompanies  your  prayers,  but  heart-felt  grief 
Will  reach  the  ear  of  Isis,  she  will  think 
Of  that  sad  hour,  when  deepest  darkness  came 
Upon  her  heart,  when  to  her  widow 'd  lip 
She  press'd  the  cold  cheek  of  her  sacred  lord, 
And  wept  his  death  in  anguish — she  will  hear, 
And  pity — this  our  sorrow.     O,  to  thee, 
Thou  who  art  all  that  hath  been,  is  and  shall  be, 
Thou,  whose  mysterious  veil  no  mortal  hand 


The  Plague  qf'Darfcnett. 

Hath  ever  yet  upraised,  eternal  Isis, 
We  supplicate  for  mercy  ! 


HYMX  TO  ISIS. 


O,  THOU,  around  whose  sacred  head, 
The  moon  her  watry-beams  hath  spread, 

Thy  bright  celestial  crown  ; 
Thou,  who  amidst  the  dog  star's  rays, 
Riseth  to  bless  our  feeble  gaze, 

Upon  our  woes  look  down. 
O  !  say,  whence  is  the  darkness  now 
Which  hides  from  us  thy  radiant  brow  ! 
Is  it  that  thy  lord  the  Sun 
Doth  his  beauteous  heaven  shun  ; 
And  the  realms  of  ancient  Night, 
Gladdening  with  his  floods  of  light, 
Plungeth  thus  our  world  below 
In  darkness  and  unutterable  woe ! 

O,  awful  Power  !  whose  grief  or  joy, 
Can  bring  swift  blessings  or  destroy, 

Look  down  upon  our  fear. 
O  !  Thou,  who  being  one,  art  all, 
To  thee  all  powerful  we  call, 

Hear,  I  sis  !  Isis,  hear  ! 

Nature  is  convulv'd,  and  dies 
Unless  thou  hear'st  her  bitter  cries ; 
Voiceless  doth  the  sistrum  stand 
In  thy  right  eternal  hand  ; 
And  the  vase  which  still  should  be 
The  emblem  of  fecundity, 


Sharing  nature's  agonies, 
Overthrown,  and  empty  lies. 

By  the  name  of  him  whose  birth 

Gladden'd  all  the  laughing  earth  ; 

By  his  painful  sojourn  here, 

By  his  reign  to  mortals  dear, 

By  the  murderous  deed  which  gate 

The  God-fiU'd  coffin  to  the  wave ; 

By  the  ivy,  and  the  broom, 

Which  at  the  monarch's  lowly  tomb, 

Veil'd  his  body  from  the  light, 

And  accursed  Typhon's  sight ; 

By  thy  bitter  grief  and  fear, 
By  thy  lonely  journey  drear, 
By  the  shriek  so  loud  and  dread, 
Which  struck  the  youthful  list'ner  dead; 
By  the  sin  of  sins,  whose  birth 
Called  Osiris  back  to  earth ; 
By  the  thunderbolt,  which  burst, 
O'er  the  murderer  accurs'd; 
By  the  lake,  whose  sulphurous  bed 
Pillows  Typhon's  giant  head ; 
By  thy  joy,  when  to  thy  breast, 
Thy  loved  lord  again  was  press'd ; 
Look  upon  our  grief  and  fear, 
Hear,  O  Isis  !  Isis,  hear  f 


Enter  RAMPSINITIS. 

Ramp.  Cease,  cease  these  strains !  they  cannot,  may  not,  reach 
The  ear  of  Isis,  while  a  brother  God 
Is  scorn'd  in  Chemia's  land.     O  king,  the  God, 
Worshipp'd  by  Jacob's  children,  doth  command 
These  duties  at  his  altar,  let  them  go  ! 
This  darkness  is  his  dreadful  visitation ; 
It  came  at  call  of  Amram's  might-clad  son, 
And,  at  the  beam  of  his  uplifted  eye 
Will  vanish  from  our  country.    Me  it  harms  not ; 
A  beam  celestial  hath  that  new  God 
Infused  into  mine  eyes,  and  I  can  trace 
My  footsteps  safely  onward.     I  have  been 
The  friend  of  Jacob,  and  for  this  I  am 
Less  tortured  than  my  fellows. — Let  them  go, 
Thy  people  all  implore  thee. 

Phar.  Bampsinitis, 

This  visitation  is  the  curse  of  Typhon, — not 
The  power  of  Amram's  son  !     Who  is  this  God, 
That  I  should  yield  me  to  his  will,  and  bow 
Submissive  to  his  pleasure,  as  the  law 
Of  our  own  deities  ? — I  know  him  not, 
And  Israel  shall  not  go  !     Command  to  me ! — 
To  me,  the  lord  of  that  all-bounteous  land, 
That  needs  not  heaven's  dew,  nor  rains,  to  bring 
Its  increase  forth  unto  us  ! — Am  I  not 
The  king  of  that  great  river,  in  whose  hand 
The  horn  of  plenty  is  for  ever  full,  though  pour'd 
Daily  around  the  foot-stool  of  my  throne  ? 
Need  I  the  help  or  aid  of  stranger  gods  ?— 
I  know  them  not,  and  Israel  shall  not  go ! 


1821.3  The  Plague  of  Darkness. 

Ramp.  Son  of  the  ancient  Word,  eldest  of  kings ! 
Let  not  the  light'ning  of  thy  wrath  destroy 
The  lowliest  of  thy  servants,  if  he  pray 
That,  in  thy  wisdom,  thou  betray  not  scorn 
Against  that  God  of  terrors — Thou  dost  know  him, 
And  Egypt  trembles  still,  e'en  midst  this  darkness, 
At  the  remember'd  horrors  of  his  might. — 
Knew  she  not  him  amidst  the  horrid  plague 
Of  the  fierce  murrain,  which  destroy 'd  her  flocks, 
Broke  loathsome  on  our  bodies,  struck  our  wives, 
Smote  our  young  babes,  and  made  even  these  proud  men, 
These  magic-rampired  sages,  flee  for  shame, 
And  hide  their  livid  bodies  from  the  scorn 
That  sternly  laugh'd  within  the  heaven-lit  eye 
Of  Nile's  adopted  son ! — Oh  knew  she  not 
The  God,  by  this  no  stranger,  in  the  storm 
On  which  he  rode,  when,  scattering  the  hail, 
He  lit  the  sons  of  Egypt  to  their  graves 
By  flames  of  lurid  light'ning  ! — But,  O  king  ! 
If  not  for  fear,  at  least  for  pity,  hear 
The  voice  of  Israel's  leader  ; — look  upon 
The  sufferings  of  thy  people,  for  thy  sake 
Plunged  in  unutterable  woe. — The  plague 
So  sudden  fell  upon  them,  that  no  thought 
Was  taken  for  their  safety — in  the  fields 
Were  many  when  it  fell,  and  they  sunk  down, 
E'en  in  the  spot  it  found  them,  and  expired, 
Believing  the  red  fiend  had  broken  loose 
From  his  hard  bondage  in  the  Sirbon  lake, 
And,  with  its  pois'nous  exhalations,  choaked 
The  wholesome  breath  of  earth. — And  there  was  one 
Who  crawl'd  through  that  black  mist — an  only  sou, 
To  meet  his  mother,  for  he.  heard  her  voice 
Guiding  him  to  her  side, — he  crawl'd  and  crept, 
Until,  when  to  a  precipice  he  came, 
He  thought  he  grasp'd  her  garment — it  was  nought 
But  the  thick  air  he  caught — he  slipp'd,  and  dash'd 
Hundreds  of  fathoms  down,  o'er  pointed  rocks, 
'Gainst  which  his  mangled  body  struck,  ere  he, 
Blown  by  mirac'lous  tempests  to  and  fro, 
Reach'd  his  terrific  bed,  the  boiling  wave ; — 
His  horrid  shriek  broke  on  his  mother's  ear, 
And  with  it — sure  in  mercy — on  her  soul 
Holl'd  wild  insanity  ;  and  now  she  goes 
Crawling  and  groping  through  the  dull,  black  air, 
For  that  same  spot  from  whence  her  darling  fell, 
Meaning  to  tread  that  path  ;  and  then,  when  fails 
Her  wearied  strength,  and  she  has  found  it  not, 
Still  from  her  bosom  heaves  the  same  sad  sound — 
"  It  is  not  here  !  it  is  not  here  !" — and  then 
Bursts  from  her  lips  the  echo  of  that  scream, 
Which  she,  unconscious  of  her  loss,  believes 
Is  utter'd  by  her  son  to  guide  her  steps 
Unto  the  spot  which  shelters  him. — There  was 
Another  wretch,  who,  crouching  to  the  earth, 
Sat,  in  a  toad-like  form,  within  a  cave, 
And  shriek'd  herself  to  death  with  horrid  fear 
At  the  strange  shapes  her  maddeu'd  fancy  had 
Conjured  from  out  the  darkness. — Some  there  are, 
Fainting  for  hunger,  hear  their  infants'  cries, 
Yet  cannot  find  them  food,  nor  reach  the  spot, 
To  yield  the  comfort  that  their  fond  embrace 
To  the  poor  bubes  might  give. — The  husband  cries 


560  The  Plague  of  Darkness.  CAug. 

In  vain  upon  his  wife,  for,  distant  far, 
Despairing  e'er  again  to  reach  her  home, 
In  the  wide  street  she  perishes,  and  dies, 
Calling  upon  her  husband  ! — Some  are  struck 
By  suffocation  in  their  homes,  and  there 
The  wretched  carcases  pollute  the  air, 
And  so,  corrupting  in  their  houses,  bring 
The  other  plague,  the  pestilence,  upon  us ; — 
And  thus  at  once  to  darkness,  famine,  grief, 
And  the  swift-footed  mischief  of  disease, 
By  thy  decree,  O  King,  are  we  resign'd. — 
Have  mercy,  then,  dry  up  thy  Egypt's  tears, 
And  let  the  people  go  ! 

Phar.  Their  pangs  affect  me ; 

But  do  they  mourn  alone?  rest  I,  their  king, 
On  beds  of  henna  flowers  ! — are  my  limbs 
Refresh'd  by  perfumed  waters  ! — hath  the  bread 
Of  Lotus  calm'd  mine  hunger,  or  the  cup 
Of  its  cool  beverage  allay'd  the  fires 
That  burn  within  my  vitals  ! — I  too  sink 
With  horror,  famine,  sickness  ! — But  I  yield 
Not  for  myself,  but  them. — Go,  therefore,  now, 
Thou  eye  of  Egypt,  through  this  hideous  gloom, 
And  to  our  presence  bid  this  wond'rous  chief — 
This  plague-deriving  Magian  ! 

Moses.  Amram's  son 

Stands  face  to  face  with  Pharaoh. 

Phar.  Isis  !  what ! 

So  close  upon  our  counsels  ! — Let  them  go  ! 
And  all  the  ills  that  Pharaoh's  house  hath  known 
Follow  upon  their  track !     Hear,  son  of  Levi ! 
We  do  repent  our  anger,  and  entreat, 
By  thee,  the  mercy  of  thine  angry  God ; 
Restore  us  light ! — Light,  though  before  our  eyes 
It  places  thee,  our  foe  ! — Light,  then,  wise  Magian  ! 
Although  I  am  not  used  in  the  tongue 
Of  mild  entreaty,  yet  I  do  beseech  thee, 
If  that  indeed  thy  God  within  his  breast 
Hath  shrouded  the  bright  day,  restore  it  back 
To  freedom  and  to  Egypt ; — thy  reward 
Shall  be  thine  own  accorded  prayer. — From  Chemia 
Depart — thou  and  thy  people  ! 

Moses.  Mighty  Lord ! 

Angel  of  darkness  !  throw  thy  mantle  down, 
And  cloath  thyself  in  thine  own  proper  robe — 
The  vestments  of  bright  glory  ; — let  thy  seat, 
The  black  thick  cloud  wherein  thou  art  enthroned, 
Sink  into  Chaos,  at  the  pitying  glance 
Thine  angel-eye  doth  dart  upon  this  spot — 
This  foot-stool  of  thy  vengeance  !— Rise  to  heaven, 
And,  as  thou  mountest,  say  again  those  words 
Of  might,  and  blessedness — "  Let  there  be  light !" 
And  light  will  gladden  Egypt ! 

(  The  darkness  vanishes. ) 

Phar.  It  is  day  ! 

A  day  miraculous,  and  brighter  far 
Than  hath  mine  eyes  e'er  witness'd  ! — Am  I  blind  ? — 
My  senses  ache  ! — it  is  the  lurid  flame 
Of  vivid  lightnings  that  doth  blast  my  sight ! — 
Jochani,  Mumri,  are  ye  sightless  too  ? — 
It  is  the  day,  and  yet  I  see  ye  not ! 
Where  art  thou,  Rampsinitis  ? — I  am  faint !  — 
The  »ubtle  slave  hath  kill'd  me  ! 


1/3  TIte  Plague  qf  Darkness. 

Ramp.  Our  dear  lord  ! 

Revive,  and  all  Is  well ! — A  moment  more, 
And  to  thy  sense  oppressed  strength  will  come, 
To  bear  the  glory  of  the  new-born  day ; 
Look  up,  my  lord,  the  magian  hath  obey'd 
Thy  sacred  will ! — 

Pha.  Good  Rampsinitis  ! — Mamri ! — 

How  pale  and  wan  ye  are  ! — A  corpse-like  hue 
Reigns  on  thy  face,  Jochani ! — 0  my  people, 
How  deeply  have  ye  suffered  ! — If  ye  come 
To  greet  your  sovereign  with  such  looks  as  these, 
My  throne  will  seem  the  awful  seat  of  death, 
And  I  the  crowned  spectre  sitting  there 
Encircled  by  the  dead — accursed  the  cause, 
These  subtle  dealers  with  us  ! — let  them  go ! 
To  draw  all  nations  on  us,  and  to  rain 
Whene'er  it  pleases,  all  these  tortures  on 
My  own  beloved  land  ! — They  say  they  go 
To  sacrifice.     No  more  !— Well,  let  them  go, 
But  I  must  be  assured  of  their  return, 
Ere  they  shall  quit  our  Egypt. — Hear,  thou  s  on 
Of  the  misguided  Thermutis,  depart 
And  pay  the  sacrifice  which  thou  hast  vow'd. 
Go  with  thy  people,  take  their  wives,  their  babes ; 
Nought  ask  I,  as  the  hostage  of  thy  faith, 
The  pledge  of  thy  return,  but  that  the  flocks 
Remain  in  Goshen,  till  the  stranger  dust 
Be  shaken  from  your  feet,  on  Egypt's  soil. 

Moses.  We  must  not  honour  Israel's  God  by  sin, 
He  doth  command  that  we  should  sacrifice ; 
May  this  be  done  without  our  flocks  and  herds  ? 
We  dare  not  go  to  sanctify  our  God, 
And  shew  him  disobedience. 

Ramp.  Amram's  son, 

Why,  thus  perverse,  provoke  the  wrath  of  Pharoah  ? 
The  king  says  well,  if  honestly  ye  mean 
To  come  back  to  your  master,  leave  the  herds 
As  hostage  of  your  truth ;  small  is  the  lot 
Ye  need  for  offerings  ;  take  what  may  suffice, 
And  leave  the  flocks  in  Goshen. 

Moses.  Rampsinitis, 

My  soul  is  sad  for  thee  ! — Thou  hast  drawn  down 
Upon  thine  head  the  wrath  of  Israel's  God, 
Who  hitherto  hath  spared  thee.     O,  be  silent, 
Avoid  the  coming  tempest.     But  for  Pharoah, 
Thus  much, — The  herds  must  go  ;  no,  not  one  head 
May  stay  in  Goshen's  valleys. — They  shall  go, 
We  may  not  move  without  them. 

Ramp.  Now  then,  Levi, 

I  plead  for  thee  no  farther. 

Pha.  Why,  thou  slave ! — 

Thou  most  ungrateful  to  thy  parent-land, — 
I  am  not  blind  to  thy  design  ;  but  where, 
Where  would  thy  proud  ambition  lead  thy  people  ? 
Where  is  their  country  ? — Where  the  resting-place 
Fairer  than  Goshen  ?  or  the  river's  wave 
More  bounteous  than  our  Nile,  to  which  thy  spirit, 
Thy  patriot  spirit,  roused  by  the  dear  cry 
Of  "  native  land,"  is  burning  to  conduct  thee, 
Defying  toil,  and  danger  ! — Hypocrite ! 
Thy  parent  was  the  Nile,  thy  country,  Egypt ! — 
VOL.  IX.  -i  B 


562  The  Plague  of  Darkness. 

When  the  false  Hebrew  woman  on  the  bed 

Of  mighty  Nilus  laid  thy  rush-built  ark, 

Witness,  Osiris,  witness,  mighty  Isis, 

With  what  a  care  he  nestled  thy  young  form 

In  his  broad  bosom — he  forbade  his  waves 

To  rise,  lest  their  ungentle  motion  should 

Break  on  thy  quiet  slumbers ;  he  forbade 

The  wind  to  howl  around  thee,  but  he  sent 

Soft  gentle  airs  to  sing  thee  to  thy  sleep, 

Mildly  to  curl  his  waters,  and  to  bear 

Thee,  pillow'd  on  his  bosom,  to  thy  home, — 

Thy  royal  home,  the  arms  of  Thermutis, 

Who  made  thee  great  in  Egypt. — For  all  this, 

What  hast  thou  done  ?  Oppress'd  thy  brethren, 

Headed  our  rebels,  plagued  us  with  thy  power, 

And,  like  the  reptile  of  our  river's  banks, 

Crept  to  thy  mother  Egypt's  open  breast, 

To  gnaw  away  her  heart  I  hence  with  thee,  hence ! — 

Who  is  the  God,  for  whom  thou  darest  me  thus  ! — 

Go — thrust  him  from  my  presence — now,  take  heed 

Thine  own  life  be  secure ;  come  not  again 

Before  my  face,  for  in  the  day  thou  dost, 

By  Isis,  thou  shalt  die ! 

Moses.  Thou  hast  said  well, 

No  more  again  I  shall  behold  thy  face. — 
Who  is  the  God,  for  whom  I  dare  thy  wrath  ? 
Hear,  Pharoah, — Egypt,  hear ! — It  is  the  God 
Who  rules  your  deities,  the  moon,  the  stars, 
Who  made  them,  not  for  worship,  but  for  service, 
The  humblest  service,  service  of  his  creatures. 
He  is  alone,  he  is  the  ONE,  the  ALL, 
From  all  eternity,  to  all  enduring ; 
The  crowned  with  the  sun,  circled  by  fire, 
Veil'd  in  thick  clouds,  through  which  the  lightnings  glance 
From  his  immortal  eye.     His  breath  is  storm, 
His  voice  the  thunder,  and  a  thousand  worlds 
Are  shaken  in  their  spheres,^at  his  stern  tread. 
His  garment  is  the  heavens,  and  this  earth 
The  signet  on  his  hand  ! 


THE   LAST  PLAGUE. 

Scene  Gos/ten.     MOSES.     Israelites. 

Moses.  Prepare,  O  Israel,  gird  your  loins,  O  Jacob  ! 
For  now,  with  the  strong  arm  of  power,  your  God 
Doth  break  your  chains,  and  draw  ye  form  from  bondage ; 
Now  will  he  shew  his  glory  and  his  terrors  ! 
And  thus  I  stretch  mine  arm  Jowards  the  heavens, 
And  thus  I  summon  from  his  icy  throne, 
The  pale  cold  King,  to  pour  out  his  chill  breath 
On  miserable  Egypt. — Come,  O  come, 
Come  with  thy  crown  of  icicles  around 
Thy  beauteous  snowy  brow, — Come  with  thy  look 
Of  still  calm  majesty — motionless  lip 
And  eye,  bright  as  the  crystal,  and  as  still, — 
Come,  robed  in  silence,  duskiness,  and  fear, 
And  with  thy  sceptre  goad  thy  phantom  steed, 
Who  tramps  with  noiseless  step  upon  the  air 
The  faster  for  the  touch,  which  human  power 
May  not  endure,  and  live.     Come,  Lord  of  Shades, 


The  Last  Plague.  3t>3 

I  call  thee  by  the  power  of  Him  who  reigns 

O'er  thee,  and  hath  permitted  thy  dread  being, 

As  the  stern  doer  of  his  mighty  will, 

The  servant  of  his  vengeance.     Come,  0  come, 

I  call  thee,  King  of  Death,  approach  and  strike 

All  the  first-born  of  Egypt !  (Pause. ) 

It  is  done ! 

(Pause — Voices  without — Deep  groans.) 
Woe,  woe,  unutterable  woe  ! 

Caleb.  O,  hark ; 

Whence,  leader,  is  that  melancholy  sound, 
That  heavy  groan  ? 

Moses.  It  is  a  kingdom's  voice, 

Lamenting  o'er  her  first  born.     I  can  hear 
The  quick  sob  of  maternal  agony, 
The  snriek  of  female  anguish  ;  and  I  see 
The  stern  grief  of  the  father,  who  beholds 
The  ruin  of  his  hopes — his  first-born  son 
Laid  still  and  cold  before  him — he  is  silent, 
For  the  proud  sorrow  is  too  mighty  for 
The  feeble  war  of  words. — O  mournful  sight ! 
The  bosom  of  each  mother  is,  ere  now, 
The  grave  of  her  sweet  son  ; — for  there  it  lies, 
The  wither'd  Lotus,  on  the  mourning  stream, 
From  whence  it  drew  its  life  and  nourishment. 

Enter  JOCHANI. 

Joch.  Hence  from  our  bleeding  land  !  King  Pharoah  sends 
His  hasty  mandate  to  ye — speed  ye  hence 
As  swiftly  as  ye  may ;  this  blighted  land 
Will  long  remember  Israel ;  his  name 
May  parallel  with  Typhon's — from  the  throne 
Unto  the  lowliest  hut,  the  owner's  heart 
Bears  in  deep  characters  of  blood,  the  name 
Indelible  of  Jacob. 

Enter  MAMRI. 

Mam.  Fly  from  Egypt, 

Fly,  while  our  king  yet  lives — our  people  send 
Their  riches  now  to  bribe  your  swift  departure. 
Here  are  the  gems  ye  ask'd  for,  silver,  gold, 
Treasures  incalculable,  all  the  heaps 
That  Egypt  hath  for  ages  call'd  her  own, 
Take  them,  and  get  ye  gone  ! 

Enter  RAMTSINITIS  with  his  dead  son,  which  he  lays  at  MOSES  feet. 

Ramp.  The  sacrifice 

Unto  your  aweful  God  is  made  !  Look  there  ! 
Mine  own,  mine  eldest  born  !  O,  go — go,  go, 
Lest  Pharoah-  change — lest  I,  in  madness,  rush 
Upon  thy  first  born,  Jacob  ! — My  sweet  child  ! — 
The  gory  drink,  the  livid  boils,  the  hail, 
The  lurid  lightning,  tenant  of  the  air, 
That  did  domesticate  itself  on  earth, 
And  walk'd  upon  her  bosom  !     Locusts,  fear, 
Famine,  and  darkness,  all,  unshrinkingly 
I  bore !  But  this — 0,  this ! — Begone  !  for  I 
Have  yet  another  son  ! 

Moses.  Jehovah  heal 

Thy  bitter  sorrows ! — Israel,  onward  now, 
The  God  of  Abraham  guides  thee !  Yea,  behold 


3«4  The  Last  Plague.  [[Aug. 

He  ootnefi  in  visible  form  to  lead  ye  forth 
Through  the  drear  wilderness,  and  stranger  lands — 
Yea,  tremble,  Jacob,  bow  thee  to  the  dust, 
And  kiss  the  earth,  now  doubly  sanctified 
By  his  Almighty  presence.     In  yon  cloud 
He  hides  his  terrors  from  your  human  eyes, 
And  only  shows  his  mercy  ! — Forward,  Israel, 
With  fearless  heart,  and  firm-set  foot  advance. 
Follow  your  mighty  leader  ;  as  ye  go, 
Charm  his  immortal  ear  with  humble  praise, 
And  heart-felt  gratitude  for  boundless  mercy  ! 

Ou  to  the  free  air  of  the  wilderness  ! 
On  to  the  desarts,  where  no  tyrant  reigns  ! 
"What  though  our  feet  no  rich  green  turf  shall  press, 
We  walk  unshackled,  broken  are  our  chains  ! 
And  rather  on  that  burning  soil 
Would  we  through  war  and  dangers  toil — 
llather  the  free  pure  air,  which  now 
Circles  each,  once  more,  free-born  brow, 
Should  catch  our  latest  breath,  than  we 
Should  draw  it  in  captivity. 

Fair  wast  thou,  Egypt,  0,  surpassing  fair ! 
Thy  beauteous  brow,  endiadem  a  with  flowers, 
The  song  and  music,  breath'd  in  thy  sweet  air, 
And  time  was  ever  young  in  thy  bright  bowers . 
Fair  were  the  fruits  that  courted  the  dry  lip, 
Rosy  the  wine  that  bade  the  captive  sip, 
Beauteous  the  scenes  that  in  thy  bosom  lie, 
But  we  beheld  them  with  a  captive's  eye, 
Scorning  thy  gifts,  and  looking  for  the  hand, 
Which  from  our  hearts  should  rend  oppression's  band, 
From  deep  distressing  bondage  set  us  free, 
Give  us  the  wilderness  and  liberty  ! 

And  now  that  hand  is  outstretch'd  from  on  high, 
To  lead  us  through  the  long  and  dreary  road, 
From  the  sad  cells  of  dark  captivity, 
Unto  the  promis'd  land,  our  bless  a  abode. 
In  thee,  O  God  of  glory,  we  confide 
To  thee  our  hope,  our  own  Almighty  Guide. 
O  may  our  songs  of  mingled  joy  and  fear, 
Ascend,  Jehovah,  to  thy  pleased  ear. 
Rise,  sound  of  transport,  and  upon  thy  wing 
Bear  the  pavillion'd  throne  of  Israel's  King. 
Rise,  sounds  of  gratitude,  with  one  accord. 
Speak  Jacob's  love  unto  his  mighty  Lord. 
Say,  glory,  honour,  excellence,  to  thee, 
Thou  giver  of  all  good,  bless'd  liberty  ! 


Note  I. 

What  Balaam's  Sons,  &c. 

Pharoah's  magicians,  who  sometimes  successfully  opposed  Moses,  the  Jannes  and  Jam- 
bres  of  St  Paul,  are  in  the  Talmud,  celebrated  as  Jochani  and  Mamri.  They  wete  suppo- 
sed by  the  Jews  to  have  been  the  sons  of  Balaam,  and  to  have  perished  with  their  fa- 
ther in  Midian.  Others  assert,  that  they  were  drowned  with  the  Egyptian*  at  the  pasn- 
age  of  the  Red  Sea. 


The  Last  Plague, 


566 


Note  II. 
Father  Nile— 


An  Anachronism.  Egyptas  was  the  early  name  of  this  River.  It  was  not  till  after 
the  reign  of  Sesostris  it  received  its  second  name  from  King  Nilus,  who,  cutting  several 
canals  through  the  country,  and  endeavouring  to  render  the  river  as  serviceable  as  pos- 
sible to  Egypt,  it  was  re-baptized  by  the  grafeful  people  after  him. 

Note  III. 

TTion  who  art  all  that  hath  Icen,  &c. 
The  inscription  on  the  Temple  of  Neith,  at  Sais. 

Note  IV. 

Voiceless  doth  the  Sistrum  stand. 

Isis  was  frequently  represented  with  horns,  signifying  the  appearance  of  the  moon  in 
her  increase  and  decrease  ;  a  sistrum,  (or  cymbal)  in  her  right  hand,  and  a  pitcher  in 
her  left — HERODOTUS. 

For  the  history  of  Osiris,  Typhon,  Isis,  and  Orus,  see  Diodorus  and  Plutarch. 


ON  PSALM-SINGING  IN   OUR  CHURCHES,  WITH   SOME   OBSERVATIONS  UPON 
THE   PROPOSED  "  ADDITIONAL  PSALMODY." 


DEAR  SIR, 

THERE  is  not  a  more  becoming,  or 
a  more  Christian  part  of  public  wor- 
ship, than  the  singing  of  psalms  and 
hymns  to  the  praise  of  God,  with  one 
voice,  and  with  one  heart.     A  large 
and  closely  compacted  congregation, 
fully  imbued  with  pious  and  devo- 
tional feeling,  and  giving  utterance  to 
their  whole  soul  in  the  fellowship  and 
unison  of  some  well  known  and  solemn 
tune,  is  a  fine  object  of  moral  contem- 
plation and  reflection,  and  presents  no 
unimpressive  assimilation  to  the  atti- 
tude and  employment  of  the  "  happy 
assembly  of  the  Church  of  the  First- 
born."— When  every  individual  wor- 
shipper shares  in  the  worship  offer- 
ed,— when  the  same  word,  the  same 
sentiment,  the  same  hopes,  the  same 
faith,  the  same  love  of  God — are  pass- 
ing through  so  many  minds  and  ap- 
prehensions, and  hallowing,  with  the 
stream  of  one  common  purification, 
the  same  hearts,  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  what  an  accession,  in  point  of 
intensity  and  strength  of  devotional 
feeling,  is  gained  ! — There  is  a  kind  of 
electrical   communication  acting  and 
re-acting  from  voice  to  voice,  and  from 
soul  to  soul,  and  each  individual  wor- 
shipper feels,  as  it  were,  the  accumu- 
lated devotion  of  the  whole  assembly. 
It  is  like  standing  in  the  ranks  of  fel- 
lowship whilst  the  battle  rages,  and 
experiencing,  from  mutual  confidence 
and  reliance,  a  courage — an  esprit  de 
corps — which  would   not  exist  were 
every  soldier  stationed  in  individual 
and  unaccompanied  exertion. 


Now,  what  I  complain  of,  Sir,  is 
this : — Under  our  present  tendency  to 
modernize  and  new-model  whatever  is 
old  and  antiquated,  I  am  afraid  this 
ancient,  and  truly  Presbyterian  and 
animating  exercise  of  psalm-singing, 
is  in  danger  of  falling  into  disuse. — 
There  has  sprung  up  amongst  us  a 
reforming  race— men  strangely  gifted 
in  point  of  ears — who  take  grievous 
offence  at  the  monotonous  "  croon"  of 
our  old  wives,  and  at  the  drawling 
discordance  of  our  old  church-tunes, — 
who  go  into  committees  and  associa- 
tions, with  a  suitable  ct  cetera  of 
"  ways  and  means,"  in  order  to  have 
bands  of  vocal  music  planted  around 
our  pulpits,  and  responding  singing 
pipes  at  convenient  intervals  through 
the  church  ;  in  consequence  of  which, 
the  task,  or  rather  the  privilege  of 
praising  God,  with  the  most  perfect, 
as  well  as  the  most  suitable  of  all  mu- 
sical organs —  the  human  voice — is  re- 
moved from  the  congregation — from 
the  "  people  all" — and  devolved  up- 
on a  few  spinning  Jennies  and  wea- 
ver Jockies,  who  twine  out  the  la- 
byrinths of  God's  praise,  and  knot  in 
the  threads  and  ends  of  public  devo- 
tion, with  nearly  the  same  apprehen- 
sions of  religious  feeling  with  which 
they  go  through  the  routine'and  task- 
ing of  their  daily  work. 

Having  occasion,  a  few  days  ago,  to 
officiate,  in  my  clerical  capacity,  in  a 
neighbouring  burgh  pulpit,  and  being 
about  (as  I  considered  the  singing  of 
the  first,  or  morning  psalm  to  be  con- 
cluded) to  proceed,  in  all  due  solem- 


566 


On  Ptulm-ringing  in  our  Churches. 


CAug. 


nity,  to  prayer,  and  having  actually 
advanced  with  the  second  sentence  of 
my  address  to  Heaven,  I  was  not  a 
little  surprised  to  find  that  the  music 
had  only  been  suspended  for  a  little,* 
and  that,  from  a  distant  corner  of  the 
gallery,  into  which  it  had  returned  to 
take  advantage  of  the  sinuosities  of 
some  extremely  delicate  female  pipe, 
it  was  now  bursting  down  upon  the 
body  of  the  church,  in  full  swell  and 
tide,   and  overpowering  in   its  pro- 
gress every  feebler  note  of  opposition 
I  was  enabled  to  make.  It  was  not  till 
after  the  same  concluding,  and,  (as  I 
imagined,  in  the  obesity  of  my  musical 
apprehension,)  the  concluded  line,  had 
been  hung,  and  halved,  and  quartered 
several  times  over,  into  jerks,  and  jets, 
and  "  twirliewhirlies,"   of  the  most 
astonishing  character,    that   I   could 
obtain   an   audience.      Now,  sir,  all 
the  while  that  God's  praise  was  thus 
portioned  out  into  parts  and  quavers, 
the  old   women,   who    were    seated 
upon  the  pulpit  stair,  were  as  mute 
as  if  their  tongues  had  already  been 
silenced  by  the  sexton's    spade,  and 
the  young  men  and  women  seemed 
to  be  employed  in  carefully  and  re- 
peatedly surveying  the  walls  of  the 
church,  the  state  of  the  pews,  and  the 
various  habiliments  in  which  each  fel- 
low-worshipper happened  to  be  attired. 
In  fact,  the  congregation  seemed  to 
me  to  present  the  aspect  of  spectators 
in  an  opera-house;  for  whose  gratifica- 
tion and  entertainment  a  certain  quan- 
tity of  modulated  air  was  thurst,  in 
different    proportions,    through     the 
wind-pipes  of  a  few  exhibitive  per- 
formers. 

Now,  what  our  burgh  churches  do, 
our  country  parishes  are  very  apt  to 
mimic.  I  have  been  under  the  neces- 
sity of  giving  my  own  precentor, — 
who,  though  an  honest,  is  a  young  and 


rather  an  injudicious  man, — more  than 
one  cautionary  hint  upon  the  subject ; 
but  I  fancy,  that  until  I  can  find  ways 
and  means  of  suppressing  a  singing 
school  which  has  crept  into  the  vil- 
lage, I  shall  never  have  any  security 
on  this  score.  It  was  but  last  Sabbath, 
no  further  gone,  that,  owing  to  the  in- 
terruption occasioned  by  an  old  wo- 
man, who  told  him  plainly,  "  she  wad 
sing  her  Maker's  praise,  in  spite  o'  him, 
wi'  a'  her  heart,"  he  was  fairly  untuned 
in  one  of  his  outrageously  delicate 
octaves,  and  compelled  to  have  re- 
course to  the  sober  and  less  intricate 
notes  of  the  Martyrs  to  bear  him 
through. 

But  this,  even  this  aggravated  and 
highly-seasoned  absurdity,  does  not 
comprehend  the  full  reach  of  the  evil. 
Do  you  know,  Sir,"  it  has  not  only  be- 
come impossible,  from  the  difficulty 
of  the  tunes,  but  absolutely  unfa- 
shionable, from  the  enormity  of  affec- 
tation, to  praise  God  at  all.  To  crook 
one's  mouth,  or  to  model  one's  lips 
into  the  attitude  of  psalm-singing,  is 
downright  vulgarity.  The  laird's  fa- 
mily, with]  the  exception  of  the  dow- 
ager-lady, who,  from  indisposition,  sel- 
dom comes  out,  are  silent ;  all  my 
genteel  farmers,  and  the  most  of  them 
consider  themselves,  and  are  entitled  to 
do  so, as  belonging  to  this  class,  have,  of 
course,  caught  the  air  of  the  carpet- 
ed gallery  above,  and  are  dumb. — 


:e  a  sly  peep  at  them 
through  my  fingers,  employ  themselves 
whilst  the  psalm  is  singing  in  lay- 
ing themselves  up,  arms  a-kimbo,  in 
one  of  the  four  corners  of  their  pew, 
or  in  surveying,  with  a  discrimina- 
ting and  congratulatory  eye,  the  ama- 
zing and  gratifying  effects  of  Day 
and  Martin's  blacking.  The  handi- 
craft men  are  in  a  state  of  defection, 


*  Similar  to  this  is  the  incident  which  befel  a  brother  of  the  profession,  if  tradition 
is  to  be  "  in  aught  believed." — He  had  visited  London,  and  seen,  amongst  other  tricks 
of  pulpit  "  oratory,"  "  Sheridan's  pauses"  exhibited.  During  his  first  sermon,  after 
his  return  to  his  own  parish  and  flock,  he  had  taken  occasion,  at  the  termination  of  a 
very  impassioned  and  Chalmers'-wrought-up  sentence  or  paragraph,  to  stop  all  of  a 
sudden,  and  pause  in  "  mute  unbreathing  silence."  The  precentor,  who  had  taken  ad- 
vantage of  his  immemorial  privilege  to  sleep  out  the  sermon,  imagining,  from  the  ces- 
sation of  sound,  that  the  discourse  was  actually  brought  to  a  close,  started  up,  with  some 
degree  of  agitation,  and  in  an  audible,  though  somewhat  flustered  voice,  read  out  his 
usual  "  Remember  in  prayer" — "  Houtman  !"  exclaimed  the  good  natured  orator  over 
his  head,  placing,  at  the  same  time,  his  hand  upon  his  shoulders,  "  Hout,  Jamie  man  ! 
what's  the  matter  wi'  ye  the  day  ? — d'ye  no  ken  1  hae  nae  done  yet  ? — that's  only  ane  o' 
Sheridan's  pauses,  man !" 
5 


1821.]]  On  Psalm-singing 

and  the  village  innkeeper  has  already 
gone  over ;  so  that,  but  for  the  How- 
dy, who  stands  in  awe  of  the  Mis- 
tress, with  a  large  and  still  untainted 
proportion  of  villagers,  bothymen,  and 
cottars,  who  have  not  the  sense  to  be 
genteel,  the  whole  burden  of  the  praise 
— as  we  have  no  burgh  "  singing  boys 
and  singing  girls," — would,  of  neces- 
sity, devolve  upon  the  precentor  5nd 
me. 

But,  what  pains  as  well  as  astonish- 
es me  most  of  all,  is  the  fact,  that  my 
daughters,  my  own  daughters, — both 
Eliza,  who  is  named  after  her  mother, 
Betty, — and  Grace,  who  takes  her 
Christian  appellation  from  her  aunty 
Grizzy, — of  whom  I  had  every  rea- 
son, from  the  pious  education  which 
they  have  received,  to  expect  better 
things, — my  own  flesh  and  blood,  sir, 
have  lifted  up  the  heel  against  me, 
and  have  absolutely  ceased  to  make 
any  public  demonstration  in  God's 
praise. 

And  this  is  all  owing,  and  I  know  it 
well,    though  when  your  Magazine, 
containing    this     averment,    arrives, 
they  will  deny  it  stoutly — it  is  all  ow- 
ing to  a  visit  we  lately  were  favoured 
with,  from  an  East  India  Nabob,  a  dis- 
tant relation  of  their  own,  whom  they 
insist  upon  calling  cousin;  and  who, 
it  seems,  is  esteemed  the  very  pink  of 
gentility  in  these  parts.     At  him,  I 
could  perceive  them  through  the  whole 
week,  dressing,  and  setting,  as  they 
term  it,  their  caps ;   and  of  a  most 
portentous   compass,    they   are  more 
like  landing  nets  for  fish,  than  traps 
for  men ;    and  by  his  they  appeared 
resolved,  whatever  might  betide,  to  as- 
sert their  morals,  as  well  as  their  man- 
ners.    For  this  "  stupendous  man  of 
travel  and  riches,"  having,  during  the 
psalm-singing  one  Sabbath,  twisted  and 
whirled  round  betwixt  his  finger  and 
thumb,   a  large  peony   rose,   at  the 
same  time  that  his  lips  were  compress- 
ed even  to  the  somewhat  unseemly  pro- 
trusion of  the  under  one,  that  there 
might  remain  no  doubt  of  his  silence, 
my  daughters,  who  were  keeping  ra- 
ther a  sharp  look  out  upon  him  at  the 
time,   have  ever  since  twisted  roses, 
and  primmed  up  themselves  during 
the  psalm,  most  fearfully,  even  in  the 
very  face  of  the  precentor  himself. 

The  pulpit  too  —  full  sorry  am  I 
to  admit  the  disgrace — but  true  it  is, 
and  of  verity,  that  the  very  pulpit 
itself— that  "  holy  of  holies"  of  pres- 


in  our  Churches. 


567 


byterian  worship,  has  been  subject- 
ed to  that  degrading  and    revolting 
contamination,  the  progress  of  which 
I  have  been  attempting  to  trace.     It 
is  quite  true,  sir,  that  many   of  our 
"  young  preachers,"  and  even  some  of 
the  more  advanced  veterans  of  liberal 
sentiment  and  moderation,  have  ceased 
to  praise  God  in  public.  They  give  out 
the  psalm,  they  say  the  prayers,  and 
they  read  their  sermons  ;  but  further 
they  do  not  proceed.  They  are  a  race, 
too,  of  comely  men  ;  and  when  their 
shirt  necks  are  set  up  to  their  ears,  and 
the  front  tuft  is  brushed  back,  and  the 
neckcloth  is  adjusted,  and  the  ruffles 
and  bands  are  smoothed  down,  they 
look  it,  and  manner  it,  and  often  word 
it  well ;  but  what  time  so  proper  for  all 
this  preparation  and  adjustment,  as 
whilst  the  psalm  is  a-singing ! — Proh 
nefas  !     When  even  the  very  "  ark  of 
the  testimony"  is  not  sacred  from  con- 
tamination, what  will  become  of  us  ? 
I  have  no  patience  for  such  unseemly 
profanation ;  and  rather  than  see  a  fop 
or  a  fool  of  this  description  in  my  pul- 
pit, I  would  prefer  the  grinning  physi- 
ognomy of  the  monkey,  or  the  wink- 
ing stupidity  of  the  hog  !  How  can  we 
expect,  Mr  Christopher,  that  our  con- 
gregations should  take  an  interest  in 
the  praises  in  which  we  ourselves,  who 
minister  at  God's  altar,  join  not ! — 
"  May  all  sing  thy  praises,"  are  the 
words  of  our  prayers,  "  with  devotion 
in  our  hearts,  making  melody  unto  God 
with  our  lips."    There  is  mockery  and 
downright  profanity,  Mr  North,  in 
this  thing ;  and  if,  by  publishing  this 
statement,  you  can  bring  into  deser- 
ved contempt  one  single  perversity  of 
this  description,  you  will  do  something 
to  restore  meaning  to  our  public  acts 
of  devotion  and  praise,  and  you  will 
give  satisfaction  to  every  truly  pious 
Presbyterian  worshipper.     "  Immedi- 
cabile  vulnus  ense  rescidendum,  ne  pars 
sincera  trahatur."    We  must  go  bold- 
ly to  work ;  we  must  run  the  risk  of 
twisting  the  very  soul  of  the  guilty,  as 
well  as  of  offending  the  corny  sensibi- 
lities of  their  friends  and  relatives,  if 
we  would  wish  to  arrest  the  progress 
cf  this  malady,  and  secure  for  our- 
selves and  our  children  the  healthy  and 
invigorating  exercise  of  our  public  or- 
dinances of  religion. 

But  the  evil  does  not  rest  with  the 
music  merely,  and  with  the  affectation 
of  gentility,  which  I  have  denounced. 
There  are  steps,  sir,  now  adopting, 


i(>«  On  Ptahn  Singing  in  <<t»r  Churchet. 

under  a  reference  or  overture  from  the  may  be  disposed  to  consider  a  real  im- 
General  Assembly  of  the  Church  of  provement,  it  will  be  matter  of  serious 
Scotland,  which,  in  my  mind,  have  a  :1 — 1J"  ~:^'  ^ ' 1-~:* 


manifest  tendency  to  alienate  the  hearts 
of  the  great  mass  of  Presbyterian  wor- 
shippers from  the  expressions,  as  well 
as  from  the  tunes,  made  use  of  in  the 
public  praises  of  God.""* 

I  am  far  from  asserting  to  myself  a 
sagacity  in  this  matter,  superior  to 
that  of  the  majority  of  my  brethren ; 
but  as  the  additional  Psalmody  is  now 
-  under  the  inspection,  and  submitted 
for  the  approbation  or  disapprobation 
of  Presbyteries,  I  am  entitled,  as  an 
individual,  to  state  my  opinion,  with 
a  plainly  implied  valeat  quantum  va- 
lere  pnrteat,  upon  the  subject.  And 
in  order  that  this  opinion  may  be  ful- 
ly understood,  I  shall  take  the  liber- 
ty of  explaining  the  grounds  upon 
which  it  proceeds. 

It  was  an  observation  of  old  Fletch- 
er of  Salton,  that  were  he  permitted 
to  make  the  popular  songs,  any  one 
who  listed  might  enact  the  laws  of  his 
country  ;  and  with  a  verisimilitude, 
equally  forcible,  it  may  likewise  be 
asserted,  that  what  in  the  language 
of  our    church   are   usually    termed 
"  Psalms,"  are  of  paramount  influence 
in  forming  the  religious  and  moral 
characters  of  a  people.     It  is  through 
the  medium  of  solemn  and  appropriate 
music,  that  the  religious  and  devo- 
tional sentiments  contained  in  these 
little  lyrical  odes,  are  conveyed  di- 
rectly to  the  heart,  and  are  thus  cal- 
culated to  make  an  impression,  which 
no  form  whatever  of  unassisted  words, 
however  well  arranged  or  impressive 
in  themselves,  could  possibly  effect. 
The  particular  tune,  or  the  general 
air,  or  character  of  that  class  of  tunes 
to  which  the   Psalm  is  usually  and 
popularly   sung,    becomes    gradually 
identified  as  it  were,  and  mixed  up 
with   the  sentiments,    and  very  ex- 
pressions made  use  of,  and  no  mate- 
rial alterations  can  be  made,  either  in 
the  one  or  in  the  other,  without  break- 
ing the  charm,  and  destroying  in  some 
measure  the  combined  effect.     Even 


consideration  with  those  who  admit 
expediency  to  have  weight  in  the  de- 
cision, whether  or   not  the  sacrifice 
about  to  be  made  will  be  compensated 
by  the  improvement  proposed.  Psalms, 
for  example,  which  have   been  long 
adapted  to  our  church  service, — which 
have  awakened  the  devotion,  and  kind- 
led up  the  religious  fervours  of  our 
forefathers, — which  have  been   sung 
over  us,  and  which  we  ourselves  have 
been  taught  to  sing,  and  repeat  during 
our  infancy,  and  which  are  endeared 
to  us  by  all  our  recollected  associations, 
which  can  interest  our  best  feelings, 
or  awaken  our  sincerest  piety  ;  these 
I'sulmx,  however  capable  of  improve- 
ment,  in  respect  of  what  is  termed 
poetical  expression,  are  yet  possess- 
ed to  us  of  a  poetry,  and  an  expres- 
sion, in  which  no  delicacy  of  taste,  nor 
dint  of  talent  can  ever,  under  any  al- 
terations and  modifications,  again  in- 
vest them.     The  home  of  our  fathers 
which  has  been  endeared  to  us  by  the 
happy  experience,  and  affectionate  in- 
tercourse of  many  years,  that  home, 
with  every  feature  and  peculiarity  of 
which  our  hearts  have  been  as  it  were 
wedded  and   identified,    comes  upon 
our  after  visitation  with  a  greatly  di- 
minished interest,  when  altered  and 
new   modelled  into   accommodations 
and  conveniences,  of  which,  perhaps, 
we  never  discovered  the  want ;    and 
which,  at  all  events,  confer,  as  it  were, 
upon  an  old  and  endeared  friend,  "  a 
new  and  a  strange  face."  And  to  adopt 
an  illustration  of  a  more   congenial 
aspect,   the    simple    and    inartificial 
.v<«/i;-.v   or  stories,  which   have  lulled 
our  infancy  into  sleep,  or  withdrawn 
us  in  boyhood  from  more  active  amuse- 
ments— these  are  by  no  means  more 
acceptable  to  our  future  and  riper  ap- 
prehensions, that  some  poetical   au- 
thoress of  the  nursery  has  extended 
them  into  pages,  and  paragraphs  of 
smooth  rhymes. 

Hence  it  appears  evident  to  me,  that 
all  innovations  in  the  words,  as  well 


when  the  alteration  in  either  respect    as  in  the  tunes  of  church  psalmody, 
is  what  men  of  taste  and   learning    are  either  altogether  to  be  avoided,  or 

*  A  reference  is  here  had  to  an  "  Additional  Psalmody,  submitted  to  the  General 
Assembly,  1820,  and  printed  by  their  order,  for  the  inspection  of  the  Presbyteries, 
1821,"  the  greater  proportion  of  which  consists  of  new  versions  of  old  Psalms,  general- 
ly given  in  some  new  variety  of  verse,  and  intended  to  be  sung  to  such  tunes  as  could 
not  be  suited  to  the  metres  adopted  in  the  Psalms  of  David,  or  in  the  Scripture  Para- 
phrases already  in  use. 


18210 


On  Psalm-singing  in  our  Churches. 


proceeded  in  so  gradually  andfimper- 
ceptibly,  as  not  to  excite,  in  any  consi- 
derablemeasure,  the  attention,  or  shock 
the  most  natural  and  sacred  prejudices 
of  the  people.  Now,  sir,  I  assert,  that 
were  the  "additional  psalms"  to  be 
admitted  into   the  psalmody  of  our 
church,  a  manifest,  and  a  positive,  and 
a  direct  innovation  would  be  commit- 
ted upon  the  devotional  feelings  of  con- 
gregations, in  as  much  as  these  new 
psalms,  however  superior  in  poetical 
style  they  may  be,  (which,  for  the 
sake  of  argument  merely,  we  shall  here 
admit,)  are  yet  destitute  of  those  holy 
and  hallowing  associations  which  be- 
long to  the  old  version,  and  to  that  ex- 
clusively.    "  Translations  and  para- 
phrases, in  verse,  of  passages  of  sacred 
Scripture,"  and  these  not  selected  from 
the  old  psalmody,  are  evidently  not  ex- 
posed to  a  similar  objection ;  as  these 
come  before  us  in  their  new  poetical 
dress,  stript  and  divested  of  no  former 
garb  of  the  same  kind ;  and  whatever 
merits  as  scripture  translations  they 
are  now  possessed  of,  they  bring  these 
merits  to  bear  in  full  and  undiminish- 
ed  force  upon  our  hearts  and  devotional 
feelings.     When,  for  example,  I  read 
in  the  already  sanctioned  paraphrases 
of  our  church,  that  beautiful  transla- 
tion of  the  fifth  and  sixth  verses  of  the 
ninth  chapter  of  the  book  of  Eccle- 
siastes — 

1. 

"  The'living  know  that  they  must  die, 
But  all  the  dead  forgotten  lie : 
Their  memory  and  their  name  is  gone, 
Alike  unknowing  and  unknown. 


"  Their  hatred  and  their  love  is  lost ; 
Their  envy  buried  in  the  dust ; 
They  have  no  share  in  all  that's  done 
Beneath  the  circuit  of  the  sun." 

And  when  I  peruse  any  one  passage 
out  of  the  many,  which,  with  the  single 
exception,  perhaps,  of  the  twelfth, 
the  powerful  impression  made  up- 
on me,  is  nothing  weakened  or  im- 
paired by  the  breaking  up,  as  it  were, 
of  former,  and  time,  and  tune,  and 
heart-hallowed  associations!  The  ver- 
ses, as  they  stand  in  the  original  ver- 
sion, are  indeed  beautiful;  but  the 
beauty  of  the  prose  by  no  means  in- 
terferes with  that  of  the  poetical  ver- 
sion. Had  these  verses  been  previ- 
ously chaunted  or  sung,  as  is  the  case 
in  the  English  Church,  there  might 
VOL.  IX. 


669 

indeed  have  been  some  deep-rooted, 
because  musical  and  early  association 
to  get  the  better  of;  but  the  simple 
circumstance  that  these  were  formerly 
known  to  the  worshipper  in  "  unwed- 
ded  prose,"  can  form  no  obstacle  to  the 
apprehension  of  their  increased  force 
and  beauty  in  verse.   When  the  pres- 
byteries therefore  admitted,  through 
an  Act  of  Assembly,  the  former  "  tran- 
slations  and  paraphrases"    into   the 
psalmody  of  the  church,  they  acted  not 
less  tastefully,  in  regard  to  the  merit  of 
the  performances,  than  advisedly,  in 
respect  of  the  expediency  of  the  mea- 
sure; but  should  the  presbyteries  of 
our    church  act  in  the  same  man- 
ner now,  by  these  additional  psalms, 
which  are  soliciting,  in  their  own  name, 
and  in  the  name  of  many  a  very  in- 
different versifier,   the  notoriety  and 
eclat  of  admission,  they  would,  in  my 
humble,  but  most  decided  opinion, 
violate  expediency,   on  the  grounds 
I  have  already  stated,   and  outrage 
good  taste,  for  the  reasons  I  have  yet 
to  state.    The  fact  is,  at  least  it  ap- 
pears so  to  me,  that  these  additional 
psalms,  are,  generally  speaking,  of  a 
very  inferior  description  indeed ;  and 
no  more  to  be  compared  with  the  beau- 
tiful simplicity  and  poetical  neatness 
of  the  "  paraphrases, '  than  I  am  to  be 
compared  to  Hercules !  It  is  not  my 
intention  to  enter  into  any  detailed 
proof  of  this  broad  and  sweeping  aver- 
ment.   To  be  judged  of,  these  new 
psalms  must  be  read,  and  to  be  read  by 
the  public,  for  which  I  am  writing, 
they  must  be  published  as  well  as  print- 
ed ;  now  they  happen  only  as  yet  to 
claim  our  attention  in  their  unpublish- 
ed state,  and,  therefore,  are  not,  but 
for  the  great  object  I  have  in  view,  a  le- 
gitimate subject,  perhaps,  of  criticism. 
However,  "ex  ungue  Leonem,"  the 
reader  may,  in  the  meantime,  take  the 
following  passages  as  a  specimen : — 

In  the  eighth  Psalm,  which  is  most 
beautifully  simple,  as  well  as  unaffect- 
edly sublime  in  the  old  versification,  we 
have  many  specimens  of  such  bad  taste 
as  this — In  the  original  it  is  as  follows : 

"  Fowls  of  the  air,  fish  of  the  sea  ;" 

which,  in  the  poetic  loom  of  the  new 
versifier,  is  drawn  out  into  the  follow- 
ing couplet : 

"  Whatever  skims  the  vaulted  sky, 
Or  glides  beneath  the  swelling  wave  !" 

•tc 


On  Psalm-singing  m  our  Churches. 


Alas !  poor  old  woman,  what  knowest 
thou  about  skimming,  beyond  a  pail 
of  sweet  milk  ? 

^  The  thirtieth  Psalm,  in  the  old  ver- 
sion, contains,  at  the  fourth  verse,  the 
following  rather  happy  lines  : 
"  Oh  ye  that  are  his  holy  ones, 

Sing  praise  unto  the  Lord, 
And  give  unto  him  thanks,  when  ye 
His  holiness  record." 

Which,  at  the  risk  of  being  mistaken 
for  a  prayer  for  his  Holiness  the  Pope, 
are  thus,  in  the  new  Psalmody,  exhi- 
bited : 

"  All  ye  his  saints,  your  voices  raise, 
To  sing  your  Maker's  endless  praise  ; 
In  grateful  songs  for  ever  bless 
And  magnify  "  His  Holiness." 

The  forty-second  Psalm  is  not  only 
most  impressive  and  sublime  in  its 
sentiments,  but  likewise  very  happily 
translated  as  it  now  stands.  Where  is 
the  devout  worshipper,  whose  heart 
has  not  bounded  at  these  most  inspi- 
ring expressions  ? 

.   "  Like  as  the  hart  for  water  brooks 

In  thirst  doth  pant  and  bray, 
So  pants  my  longing  soul,  O  Lord, 
That  come  to  thee  I  may  !" 

Can  the  following  new  version  be  con- 
sidered as  an  improvement  ? 

"As  pants  the  wearied  hart, for  cooling 

springs, 
With  thirst  and  toil  exhausted  in  the  chace." 

What  chace  ?  Not  only  the  sense,  but 
the  keeping  of  the  original  are  mi- 
serably sacrificed  here.  And,  again,  at 
the  seventh  verse,  we  have, 

"  At  the  noise  of  thy  water-spouts, 

Deep  unto  deep  did  call ; 
Thy  breaking  waves  pass  over  me, 

Yea,  and  thy  billows  all." 

Which,  lame,  in  some  respects,  as  it 
roust  be  confessed  to  be,  is  assuredly 
infinitely  preferable  to  the  following  : 

"  In  rapid  floods  the  swelling  torrents  roll, 
Harsh  sounding  cataracts  around  me  roar  ; 
Thine  angry  billows  overwhelm  my  soul. 
And  toss  my  straining  bark  from  shore  to 

shore." 

These  cataracts  are  harsh-sounding  in- 
deed, and  will  require  a  deal  of  pre- 
centor address  to  soften  them  down 
into  music ! 

Who  ever  read  the  exordium  of  the 
eighty-fourth  Psalm  without  emotion? 

"  How  lovely  is  thy  dwelling-place, 

O  Lord  of  Hosts,  to  me  ! 
The  tubernaeles  of  thy  grace, 

How  pleasant,  Lord,  they  be  !" 


Is  this  emotion  increased  or  diminish- 
ed by  the  following  translation  ? 
"  How  lovely  is  thy  dwelling-place, 
O  Lord  of  Hosts,  my  God  and  King  ! 
How  pleasant  there  thy  law  to  hear  ! 
How  pleasant  there  thy  praise  to  sing  !" 

In  the  new  version  of  the  eighty- 
eighth  Psalm,  we  find  the  following 
lines : 

"  Soon  shallllie  entombed  in  the  ground — 
Is  mercy  there  ?  Is  sweet  forgiveness 

found  ? 
Oh,  save  me  yet,  while  on  the  "  brink"  I 

stand ; 
Rebuke  the  storm,  and  bring  me  safe  to 

land." 

Independently  of  the  clumsiness  of  the 
expression,  it  will  require  no  great  de- 
gree of  ingenuity  to  discover  the  mix- 
ture of  metaphor  here. 

But  it  is  needless,  at  present,  to  ad- 
vance farther,  or  to  deny,  amidst  this 
preponderance  of  censure,  that,  in 
many  instances,  considerable  merit  does 
attach  to  these  "  additional"  Psalms  ; 
and,  in  particular  to  the  19th,  104th, 
113th,  and  148th,  with  a  short  quo- 
tation from  which  last,  we  shall  con- 
clude this  criticism. 

"  Princes,  judges  of  the  earth, 
All  of  high  or  humble  birth, 
Youths  and  virgins  flourishing, 
In  the  beauty  of  your  spring  ; 
Ye  who  bow  with  age's  weight ; 
Ye  who  were  but  born  of  late  ; 
Praise  his  name  with  one  consent. 
Oh,  hnw  great !  how  excellent  ! 

Allowing,  however,  all  the  praise  to 
these  translations,  which  even  their 
authors,  as  well  as  supporters,  in  and 
out  of  the  church,  could  desire,  my 
former  position,  in  regard  to  their  un- 
suitablene&s  in  point  of  association, 
still  remains  unassailed  and  unmoved. 
But,  I  may  be  told,  that  although 
these  additional  Psalms  were  already, 
under  proper  authority,  affixed  to  the 
psalmody,  there  will  be  no  compulsory 
enactment  affixed,  enjoining  any  one 
who  does  not  chuse  it,  to  sing  them  ; 
they  will  only  be  placed  there,  and 
subjected  to  the  choice  of  ministers 
and  congregations,  who  may  either 
make  use  of  them  or  not,  as  they 
please.  And  this,  no  doubt,  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  is  true,  hut  not  to  the 
amount  of  obviating  completely  my 
objection  ;  for  it  is  well  known  how 
pertinacious  and  obstinate  we  become 
in  adopting  any  measure  which  is  of 
our  own  device  and  hatching  ;  and  as 
a  great  proportion  of  these-  lyrics  arc 


1881.] 


On  Psalm-singing  in  our1  Churches. 


avowedly  composed  by  ministers  of  the 
Scottish  church,  these  individuals  and 
their  friends  will  naturally  have  a  de- 
sire, even  in  opposition  to  what  they 
may  contemplate  as  narrow-minded 
prejudice  in  the  people,  to  hear  them 
sung.  And  thus,  not  only  many  a 
voice  which  is  now  raised,  may  be  si- 
lenced, but  even  breaches  may  be  made 
betwixt  ministers  and  their  flocks; 
which,  of  all  possible  occurrences,  are 
the  most  to  be  deprecated,  and  the 
most  sedulously  to  be  avoided. 

The  sum  and  bearing  of  the  whole 
matter  is  this : — The  singing  of  psalms 
in  our  churches  is  an  exercise,  which, 
partly  from  the  introduction  of  new, 
and  in  many  cases  complicated  and 
unpopular  tunes,  and  partly  from  a 
silly  and  capricious  affectation,  has  of 
late  been  very  much  relinquished, — 
and  this  evil  is  now  in  danger  of  be- 
ing increased  by  the  introduction  into 
our  Scottish  Psalmody,  of  new  "trans- 
lations," which  are  not  only  uncalled 
for,  there  being  a  sufficient  and  most 
excellent  supply  already,  but  which 
will,  in  all  human  probability,  be  of- 
fensive to  the  best  and  most  hallowed 
feelings  of  the  people.  It  becomes, 
therefore,  imperiously  the  duty  of 
every  friend  of  the  Presbyterian  esta- 
blishment, and  of  popular  poetry,  to 
point  out  the  mischief  which  already 
exists,  and  to  sound  the  trumpet  of 
warning,  in  reference  to  what,  by  sound 
thoxight  and  judicious  consideration, 
may  yet  be  prevented.  It  has  often 
been  objected  to  our  national  church, 
as  a  blemish,  that  the  minister  offici- 
ating had  almost  every  thing  to  do, 
whilst  the  congregation  were  merely 
employed  in  listening;  and  that  the 
singing  of  the  psalm  was  the  only  part 
of  the  service  which  called  for  any  di- 
rect and  individual  co-operation  from 
the  hearers :  and  if  ever  this  co-opera- 
tion is  to  be  given  up,  and  the  whole 
of  the  service  is  to  devolve  upon  the 
clergyman  and  the  precentor,  with  a 
few  hired  or  trained  exhibitionists, 
then  farewell  to  all  that  is  distinctive 
in  Presbyterian  worship, — and  wel- 
come, in  the  first  place,  the  vocal,  and 
latterly,  the  instrumental  bands,  and 


Ml 

welcome  the  organ,  the  flute,  or  the 
riddle,  as  may  best  suit  the  conveni- 
ence or  predilection  of  our  Scottish 
vestries,*  the  kirk  sessions,  and  wel- 
come ultimately  form  for  spirit,  sha- 
dow for  substance,  the  shew,  and  the 
circumstance,  and  the  frippery  of  the 
Romish,  for  the  impressive  and  heart- 
engaging  simplicity  of  the  Scottish  ser- 
vice. 

True  piety  and  devotion,  my  dear 
sir,  are  the  children  of  the  heart, 
nursed  on  the  lap  of  nature,  and  un- 
der all  the  influences  of  a  purer  sky, 
they  are  ever  aspiring  after  Him  who 
forms  the  centre  of  all  desire,  the  ulti- 
mate object  of  all  effort. — Ever  active, 
and  never  silent,  they  pursue  their 
hallowed  course,—"  forever  singing  as 
they  go,"  and  exulting  in  all  they  pos- 
sess, and  in  all  they  hope  to  obtain. — 
It  is  not  the  voice  of  nature  which 
praises  God,  but  they. — It  is  not  the 
hills,  and  the  floods,  and  the  fields, 
which  praise  God,  but  they. — It  is  not 
theland,and  the  promise,  and  the  beau- 
ty, and  the  accomplishment  of  flower 
and  fruit  which  praise  God,  but  they. — 
It  is  not  the  birds  of  the  air,  the  beasts 
of  the  field,  or  the  fish  of  the  sea,  which 
praise  God,  but  they. — It  is  not  the 
mere  letter  of  the  revealed  word,  nor 
the  modulated  tunes  of  solemn  music 
which  praise  God,  but  they. — It  is  not 
the  pomp,  and  the  pageantry,  the  mere 
outward  semblance,  and  mimicry, 
which  praise  God,  but  they. — It  is 
through  the  voice,  and  the  tongue, 
and  the  acclaim  of  these  hallowed 
messengers,  that  the  Divine  nature  is 
approached  and  approximated,  that 
man  is  enabled  to  ascend  the  Pisgah 
eminence,  and  visit,  with  an  appropri- 
ating glance,  the  blessed  land  of  pro- 
mised happiness.  These  were  the 
"  Interpreters,"  by  means  of  whom 
our  Presbyterian  forefathers  were  en- 
abled, on  the  mountain  brow,  and  in 
the  cavc*s  recess,  to  hold  celestial  in- 
tercourse. These  were  the  "  Min- 
strels" which  waked  the  snipe,  and  the 
plover,  at  dead  of  night,  by  the  lone 
and  houseless  moss,  or  amidst  the 
more  than  midnight  silence,  and  gloom 
of  the  deep  ravine,  t  These  were  the 


*  Nothing  is  meant  here  against  the  English  service.  The  fact  is,  that  the  Episco- 
pal church  requires  much  more  co-operation  from  her  congregations  than  ours  does. 
We  have  no  responses  for  example  at  prayers. 

•f-  An  allusion  is  here  made  to  "  Hogg's  Brownie  of  Bodsbeck,"  which,  whether 
we  consider  it  in  regard  to  historical  faithfulness,  or  skill  and  ability  of  execution,  is  by 
rar  the  best  story  the  Shepherd  ever  wrote. 


On  Psalm-singing  in  our  Churches. 


619 

Leaders  which  conducted  the  depo- 
sed and  persecuted,  and  want-worn 
Presbyters,  *  through  many  depriva- 
tions and  dangers,  to  death,  and  to 
victory  at  last.  These  were,  in  a  word, 
the  stout  and  fearless  "  Reformers," 
who  ousted  Popery,  and  resisted  Prela- 
cy, and  at  last  on  the  permanent  basis 
of  God's  word,  (explained  unto,  and 
with  praises  sung  hy  all  the  people,) 
erected  the  Doric  fabric  of  Presbyteri- 
an worship  amongst  us. — And,  shall 
We,  the  children,  and  natural,  and  na- 
tional, and  testimonial  descendants  of 
these  very  men,  who  were  thus  actu- 
ated, guided,  supported  and  directed, 
neglect  or  despise  the  inheritance  we 
have  derived  from  them  ?  Shall  we 
suffer  the  walls  of  our  Zion  to  fall 
gradually  under  the  lapse  of  time, 
and  ruin,  and  dilapidation,  merely 
from  want  of  repairs,  and  from  inat- 
tention to  the  preservation  of  the 
structure  ? — God  forbid !  and  may  He 
who  alone  is  the  "  Head  and  the  Su- 
perior" of  our  national  church,  induce 


us  to  think  in  time,  ere,  along  with 
the  outward  demonstration,  all  the 
vitality  of  devotion  and  piety  have 
ceased  to  exist. 

To  conclude  then,  Sir, — for  like  the 
spider  which  is  now  working  himself 
down  from  the  roof  of  my  study, 
I  have  spun  myself  to  so  great  a  dis- 
tance from  my  web,  that  I  shall  not 
at  present  attempt  a  re-ascension, — 
I  am,  and  ever  will  remain,  a  friend  to 
all  pkns  and  practices  which  admit, 
and,  as  it  were,  invite,  the  people  into 
a  participation  in  the  public  praises  of 
God ;  and  provided  this  object  can  be 
attained,  I  care  not  how  many  new 
tunes  be  sung  or  new  psalms  be  pen- 
ned ;  but  as  matters  now  stand,  and 
as  fashion  now  sets  in,  I  am  afraid  a 
continuation  of  innovation,  or  what  is 
deemed  improvement  in  these  respects, 
would  only  prove  a  confirmation  and 
more  rooted  establishment  of  the  grow- 
ing mischief. —  Yours,  &c. 

A  PRESBYTERIAN  CLERGYMAN. 


*  Note  to  Presbyters. — About  400  Presbyterian  Clergymen  resigned  their  churches 
on  one  day,  rather  than  conform  with  the  measures  of  the  government,  in  order  to  in. 
troduce  Prelacy  into  Scotland." 


THE  FORGERS. 


"  LET  us  sit  down  on  this  stone 
seat,"  said  my  aged  friend,  the  pastor, 
"  and  I  will  tell  you  a  tale  of  tears, 
concerning  the  last  inhabitants  of  yon- 
der solitary  house,  just  visible  on  the 
hill-side,  through  the  gloom  of  those 
melancholy  pines.  Ten  years  have 
passed  awav  since  the  terrible  catas- 
trophe of  which  I  am  about  to  speak ; 
and  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  me- 
thinks,  whenever  I  come  into  this  glen, 
there  is  something  rueful  in  its  silence, 
while  the  common  sounds  of  nature 
seem  to  my  mind  dirge-like  and  for- 
lorn. Was  not  this  very  day  bright 
and  musical  as  we  walked  across  all 
the  other  hills  and  valleys ;  but  now  a 
dim  mist  overspreads  the  sky,  and, 
beautiful  as  this  lonely  place  must  in 
truth  be,  there  is  a  want  of  life  in  the 
verdure  and  the  flowers,  as  if  they 
grew  beneath  the  darkness  of  perpetual 
shadows." 

As  the  old  man  was  speaking,  a  fe- 
male figure,  bent  with  age  and  infir- 
mity, came  slowly  up  the  bank  belowus 
with  a  pitcher  in  her  hand,  and  when 


she  reached  a  little  well,  dug  out  of  a 
low  rock  all  covered  with  moss  and 
lichens,  she  seemed  to  fix  her  eyes 
upon  it  as  in  a  dream,  and  gave  a  long, 
deep,  broken  sigh. 

"  The  names  of  her  husband  and 
her  only  son,  both  dead,  are  chiselled 
by  their  own  hands  on  a  smooth  stone 
within  the  arch  of  that  fountain,  and 
the  childless  widow  at  this  moment 
sees  nothing  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
but  a  few  letters  not  yet  overgrown 
with  the  creeping  timestains.  See  ! 
her  pale  lips  are  moving  in  prayer, 
and,  old  as  she  is,  and  long  resigned 
in  her  utter  hopelessness,  the  tears  are 
not  yet  all  shed  or  dried  up  within  her 
broken  heart, — a  few  big  drops  are  on 
her  withered  cheeks,  but  she  feels 
them  not,  and  is  unconsciously  weeping 
with  eyes  that  old  age  has  of  itself 
enough  bedimmed." 

The  figure  remained  motionless 
beside  the  well ;  and,  though  1  knew 
not  the  history  of  the  griefs  that  stood 
all  embodied  so  mournfully  before  me, 
I  felt  that  they  must  have  been  gather- 


18210 

ing  together  for  many  long  years,  and 
that  such  sighs  as  I  had  now  heard  came 
from  the  uttermost  desolation  of  the 
human  heart.  At  kst  she  dipped  her 
pitcher  in  the  water,  lifted  her  eyes 
to  heaven,  and,  distinctly  saying,  "  O 
Jesus,  Son  of  God  !  whose  blood  was 
shed  for  sinners,  be  merciful  to  their 
souls!"  she  turned  away  from  the 
scene  of  her  sorrow,  and,  like  one  seen 
in  a  vision,  disappeared. 

"  I  have  beheld  the  childless  widow 
happy,"  said  the  pastor,  "  even  lv:r 
who  sat  alone,  with  none  to  comfort 
her,  on  a  floor  swept  by  the  hand  of 
death  of  all  its  blossoms.  But  her 
whom  we  have  now  seen  I  dare  not 
call  happy,  even  though  she  puts  her 
trust  in  God  and  her  Saviour.  Her's 
is  an  affliction  which  faith  itself  can- 
not assuage.  Yet  religion  may  have 
softened  even  sighs  like  those,  and,  as 
you  shall  hear,  it  was  religion  that  set 
her  free  from  the  horrid  dreams  of 
madness,  and  restored  her  to  that 
comfort  which  is  always  found  in  the 
possession  of  a  reasonable  soul." 

There  was  not  a  bee  roaming  near 
us,  nor  a  bird  singing  in  the  solitary 
glen,  when  the  old  man  gave  me  these 
hints  of  a  melancholy  tale.  The  sky 
was  black  and  lowering,  as  it  lay  on 
the  silent  hills,  and  enclosed  us  from 
the  far-off  world,  in  a  sullen  spot  that 
was  felt  to  be  sacred  unto  sorrow.  The 
figure  which  had  come  and  gone  with 
a  sigh  was  the  only  dweller  here ;  and 
I  was  prepared  to  hear  a  doleful  his- 
tory of  one  left  alone  to  commune  with 
a  broken  heart  in  the  cheerless  solitude 
of  nature. 

"  That  house,  from  whose  chimnies 
no  smoke  has  ascended  for  ten  long 
years,"  continued  my  friend,  "  once 
shewed  its  windows  bright  with  cheer- 
ful fires  ;  and  her  whom  we  now  saw 
so  woe-begone,  I  remember  brought 
home  a  youthful  bride,  in  all  the 
beauty  of  her  joy  and  innocence. 
Twenty  years  beheld  her  a  wife  and  a 
mother,  with  all  their  most  perfect 
happiness,  and  with  some,  too,  of 
their  inevitable  griefs.  Death  passed 
not  by  her  door  without  his  victims, 
and,  of  five  children,  all  but  one  died, 
in  infancy,  childhood,  or  blooming 
youth.  But  they  died  in  nature's 
common  decay, — peaceful  prayers  were 
said  around  the  bed  of  peace ;  and 
when  the  flowers  grew  upon  their 
graves,  the  mother's  eyes  could  bear 
to  lobk  on  them,  as  she  passed  on  with 


The  Forgers.  573 

an  unaching  heart  into  the  house  of 
God.  All  but  one  died, — and  better 
had  it  been  if  that  one  had  never  been 
born. 

"Father,  mother,  and  son  now  come 
to  man's  estate,  survived,  and  in  the 
house  there  was  peace.  But  suddenly 
poverty  fell  upon  them.  The  dishonesty 
of  a  kinsman,  of  which  I  need  not  state 
the  particulars,  robbed  them  of  their 
few  hereditary  fields,  which  now  passed 
into  the  possession  of  a  stranger.  They, 
however,  remained  as  tenants  in  the 
house,  which  had  been  their  own  ;  and 
for  a  while,  father  and  son  bore  the 
change  of  fortune  seemingly  undis- 
mayed, and  toiled  as  common  labour- 
ers on  the  soil  still  dearly  beloved. 
At  the  dawn  of  light  they  went  out 
together,  and  at  twilight  they  returned. 
But  it  seemed  as  if  their  industry  was 
in  vain.  Year  after  year  the  old  man's 
face  became  more  deeply  furrowed, 
and  more  seldom  was  he  seen  to  smile ; 
and  his  son's  countenance,  once  bold 
and  open,  was  now  darkened  with  anger 
and  dissatisfaction.  They  did  not  at- 
tend public  worship  so  regularly  as 
they  used  to  do ;  when  I  met  them 
in  the  fields,  or  visited  them  in  their 
dwelling,  they  looked  on  me  coldly, 
and  with  altered  eyes ;  and  I  grieved 
to  think  how  soon  they  both  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  the  blessings  Provi- 
dence had  so  long  permitted  them  to  en- 
joy, and  how  sullenly  they  now  strug- 
gled with  its  decrees.  But  something 
worse  than  poverty  was  now  disturb- 
ing both  their  hearts. 

"  The  unhappy  old  man  had  a  bro- 
ther who  at  this  time  died,  leaving  an 
only  son,  who  had  for  many  years  aban- 
doned his  father's  house,  and  of  whom 
all  tidings  had  long  been  lost.  It  was 
thought  by  many  that  he  had  died  be- 
yond seas;  and  none  doubted,  that, 
living  or  dead,  he  had  been  disinherit- 
ed by  his  stern  and  unrelenting  pa- 
rent. On  the  day  after  the  funeral, 
the  old  man  produced  his  brother's 
will,  by  which  he  became  heir  to 
all  his  property,  except  an  annuity  to 
be  paid  to  the  natural  heir,  should  he 
ever  return.  Some  pitied  the  prodi- 
gal son,  who  had  been  disinherited — 
some  blamed  the  father — some  envied 
the  good  fortune  of  those  who  had  so 
ill  borne  adversity.  But  in  a  short 
time,  the  death,  the  will,  and  the  dis- 
inherited were  all  forgotten,  and  the 
lost  lands  being  redeemed,  peace,  com- 
fort, and  happiness  were  supposed 


574-  The  Forgers. 

again  to  be  restored  to  the  dwelling 
from  which  they  had  so  long  been  ba- 
nished. 

"  But  it  was  not  so.  If  the  furrows 
on  the  old  man's  face  were  deep  be- 
fore, when  he  had  to  toil  from  morn- 
ing to  night,  they  seemed  to  have  sunk 
into  more  ghastly  trenches,  now  that 
the  goodness  of  Providence  had  resto- 
red a  gentle  shelter  to  his  declining 
years.  When  seen  wandering  through 
his  fields  at  even-tide,  he  looked  not 


like  the  Patriarch  musing  tranquilly 
the  works  and  ways  of  God  ;  and  wh 
my  eyes  met  his  during  divine  service, 
which  he  now  again  attended  with 
scrupulous  regularity,  I  sometimes 
thought  they  were  suddenly  averted 
in  conscious  guilt ;  or  closed  in  hypo- 
critical devotion.  I  scarcely  know  if 
I  had  any  suspicions  against  him  in 
my  mind,  or  not ;  but  his  high  bald 
head,  thin  silver  hair,  and  countenance 
with  its  fine  features  so  intelligent, 
had  no  longer  the  same  solemn  expres- 
sion which  they  once  possessed,  and 
something  dark  and  hidden  seemed 
now  to  belong  to  them,  which  with- 
stood his  forced  and  unnatural  smile. 
The  son,  who,  in  the  days  of  their  for- 
mer prosperity,  had  been  stained  by 
no  vice,  and  who,  during  their  harder 
lot,  had  kept  himself  aloof  from  all 
his  former  companions,  now  became 
dissolute  and  profligate,  nor  did  he 
meet  with  any  reproof  from  a  father 
whose  heart  would  once  have  burst 
asunder  at  one  act  of  wickedness  in  his 
beloved  child. 

"About  three  years  after  the  death  of 
his  father,  the  disinherited  son  return- 
ed to  his  native  parish.  He  had  been 
a  sailor  on  board  various  ships  on  fo- 
reign stations — but  hearing  by  chance 
of  his  father's  death,  he  came  to  claim 
his  inheritance.  Having  heard  on  his 
arrival,  that  his  uncle  had  succeeded 
to  the  property,  he  came  to  me  and 
told  me,  that  the  night  before  he  left 
his  home,  his  father  stood  by  his  bed- 
side, kissed  him,  and  said,  that  never 
more  would  he  own  such  an  undutiful 
son — but  that  he  forgave  him  all  his 
sins — at  death  would  not  defraud  him 
of  the  pleasant  fields  that  had  so  long 
belonged  to  his  humble  ancestors — and 
hoped  to  meet  reconciled  in  heaven. 
"  My  uncle  is  a  villain,"  said  he, 
fiercely,  "  and  I  will  cast  anchor  on 
the  green  bank  where  I  played  when  a 
boy,  even  if  I  must  first  bring  his 
grey  head  to  the  scaffold." 


"  I  accompanied  him  to  tlic  house  of 
his  uncle.  It  was  a  dreadful  visit.  The 
family  had  just  sat  down  to  their  frugal 
midday  meal;  and  the  old  man,  though 
for  some  years  he  could  have  had  little 
heart  to  pray,  had  just  lifted  up  his 
hand  to  ask  a  blessing.  Our  shadows, 
as  we  entered  the  door,  fell  upon  the 
table — and  turning  his  eyes,  he  beheld 
before  him  on  the  floor  the  man  whom 
he  fearfully  hoped  had  been  buried  in 
the  sea.  His  face  was  indeed,  at  that 
moment,  most  unlike  that  of  prayer, 
but  he  still  held  up  his  lean,  shrivel- 
led, trembling  hand.  "  Accursed  hy- 
pocrite," cried  the  fierce  mariner,  "dost 
thou  call  down  the  blessing  of  God 
on  a  meal  won  basely  from  the  or- 
phan ?  But,  lo !  God,  whom  thou  hast 
blasphemed,  has  sent  me  from  the 
distant  isles  of  the  ocean,  to  bring 
thy  white  head  into  the  hangman's 
hands!" 

"For  a  moment  all  was  silent — then 
a  loud  stifled  gasping  was  heard,  and 
she  whom  you  saw  a  little  while  ago, 
rose  shrieking  from  her  seat,  and  fell 
down  on  her  knees  at  the  sailor's  feet. 
The  terror  of  that  unforgiven  crime, 
now  first  revealed  to  her  knowledge, 
struck  her  down  to  the  floor.  She 
fixed  her  bloodless  face  on  his  before 
whom  she  knelt — but  she  spoke  not  a 
single  word.  There  was  a  sound  in 
her  convulsed  throat  like  the  death- 
rattle.  "  I  forged  the  will,"  said  the 
son,  advancing  towards  his  cousin  with 
a  firm  step,  "  my  father  could  not — I 
alone  am  guilty — I  alone  must  die." 
The  wife  soon  recovered  the  power  of 
speech,  but  it  was  so  unlike  her  usual 
voice,  that  I  scarcely  thought,  at  first, 
the  sound  proceeded  from  her  white 
quivering  lips.  "  As  you  hope  for 
mercy  at  the  great  judgment  day,  let 
the  old  man  make  his  escape — hush, 
hush,  hush — till  in  a  few  days  he  has 
sailed  away  in  the  hold  of  some  ship 
to  America.  You  surely  will  not  hang 
an  old  grey-headed  man  of  threescore 
and  ten  years!" 

"  The  sailor  stood  silent  and  frown- 
ing. There  seemed  neither  pity  nor 
cruelty  in  his  face ;  he  felt  himself  in- 
jured ;  and  looked  resolved  to  right 
himself,  happen  what  would.  "  I  say 
he  has  forged  my  father's  will.  As  to 
escaping,  let  him  escape  if  he  can.  I 
do  not  wish  to  hang  him ;  though  I 
have  r,ecn  better  men  run  up  to  the 
fore-yard  arm  before  now,  for  only 
asking  their  own.  But  no  more  kneel- 


16210 


/tt'  Forgers. 


ing,  woman. — Holla !  where  is  the  old 
man  gone  ?" 

We  all  looked  ghastlily  around,  and 
the  wretched  wife  and  mother,  spring- 
ing to  her  feet,  rushed  out  of  the  house. 
We  followed,  one  and  all.  The  door 
of  the  stable  was  open,  and  the  mother 
and  son  entering,  loud  shrieks  were 
heard.  The  miserable  old  mun  had 
slunk  out  of  the  room  unobserved  du- 
ring the  passion  that  had  struck  all  our 
souls,  and  had  endeavoured  to  commit 
suicide.  His  own  son  cut  him  down,  as 
he  hung  suspended  from  a  rafter  in 
that  squalid  place,  and,  carrying  him 
in  his  arms,  laid  him  down  upon  the 
green  bank  in  front  of  the  house. 
There  he  lay  with  his  livid  face,  and 
blood-shot  protruded  eyes,  till,  in  a 
few  minutes,  he  raised  himself  up, 
and  fixed  them  upon  his  wife,  who, 
soon  recovering  from,  a  fainting  fit, 
came  shrieking  from  the  mire  in  which 
she  had  fallen  down.  "  Poor  people !" 
said  the  sailor  with  a  gasping  voice, 
"  you  have  suffered  enough  for  your 
crime.  Fear  nothing;  the  worst  is 
now  past :  and  rather  would  I  sail  the 
seas  twenty  years  longer,  than  add 
another  pang  to  that  old  man's  heart. 
Let  us  be  kind  to  the  old  man." 

"  But  it  seemed  as  if  a  raven  had 
croaked  the  direful  secret  all  over  the 
remotest  places  among  the  hills ;  for, 
in  an  hour,  people  came  flocking  in 
from  all  quarters,  and  it  was  seen,  that 
concealment  or  escape  was  no  longer 
possible,  and  that  father  and  son  were 
destined  to  die  together  a  felon's 
death." 

Here  the  pastor's  voice  ceased ;  and 
I  had  heard  enough  to  understand  the 
long  deep  sigh  that  had  come  moaning 
from  that  bowed-down  figure  beside 
the  solitary  well.  "  That  was  the  last 
work  done  by  the  father  and  son,  and 
finished  the  day  before  the  fatal  dis- 
covery of  their  guilt.  It  had  probably 
been  engaged  in  as  a  sort  of  amuse- 
ment to  beguile  their  unhappy  minds 
of  ever-anxious  thoughts,  or  perhaps 
as  a  solitary  occupation,  at  which  they 
could  unburthen  their  guilt  to  one 
another  undisturbed.  Here,  no  doubt, 
in  the  silence  and  solitude,  they  often 
felt  remorse,  perhaps  penitence.  They 
chiselled  out  their  names  on  that  slab, 
as  you  perceive ;  and  hither,  as  duly 
as  the  morning  and  evening  shadows, 
comes  the  ghost  whom  we  beheld,  and, 
after  a  prayer  lor  the  souls  of  them  GO 
tenderly  beloved  in  their  innocence, 


and  doubtless  even  more  tenderly  be- 
loved in  their  guilt  and  in  their  graves, 
she  carries  to  her  lonely  hut  the  water 
that  helps  to  preserve  her  hopeless  life, 
from  the  well  dug  by  dearest  hands, 
now  mouldered  away,  both  flesh  and 
bone,  into  the  dust." 

After  a  moment's  silence  the  old 
man  continued, — for  he  saw  that  I 
longed  to  hear  the  details  of  that 
dreadful  catastrophe,  and  his  own  soul 
seemed  likewise  desirous  of  renewing 
its  grief, — "  The  prisoners  were  con- 
demned. Hope  there  was  none.  It 
was  known,  from  the  moment  of  the 
verdict — guilty, — that  they  would  be 
executed.  Petitions  were,  indeed,  sign- 
ed by  many  many  thousands ;  but  it 
was  all  in  vain, — and  the  father  and 
the  son  had  to  prepare  themselves  for 
death. 

"  About  a  week  after  condemna- 
tion I  visited  them  in  their  cell.  God 
forbid,  I  should  say  that  they  were 
resigned.  Human  nature  could  not 
resign  itself  to  such  a  doom;  and  I 
found  the  old  man  pacing  up  and  down 
the  stone-floor,  in  his  clanking  chains, 
with  hurried  steps,  and  a  countenance 
of  unspeakable  horror.  The  son  was 
lying  on  his  face  upon  his  bed  of  straw, 
and  had  not  lifted  up  his  head,  as  the 
massy  bolts  were  withdrawn,  and  the 
door  creaked  sullenly  on  its  hinges. 
The  father  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me  for 
some  time,  as  if  I  had  been  a  stranger 
intruding  upon  his  misery ;  and,  as 
soon  as  he  knew  me,  shut  them  with 
a  deep  groan,  and  pointed  to  his  son. 
'  I  have  murdered  William — I  have 
brought  my  only  son  to  the  scaffold, 
and  I  am  doomed  to  hell !'  I  gently 
called  on  the  youth  by  name,  but  he 
was  insensible — he  was  lying  in  a  fit. 
'  I  fear  he  will  awake  out  of  that  fit,' 
cried  the  old  man  with  a  broken  voice. 
'  They  have  come  upon  him  every  day 
since  our  condemnation,  and  some- 
times during  the  night.  It  is' not  fear 
for  himself  that  brings  them  on — for 
my  boy,  though  guilty,  is  brave — but 
he  continues  looking  on  my  face  for 
hours,  till  at  last  he  seems  to  lose  all 
sense,  and  falls  down  in  strong  con- 
vulsions, often  upon  the  stone  floor, 
till  he  is  all  covered  with  blood.'  The 
old  man  then  went  up  to  his  son, 
knelt  down,  and,  putting  aside  the 
thick  clustering  hair  from  his  fore- 
head, continued  kissing  him  for  some 
minutes,  with  deep  sobs,  but  eyes  dry 
as  dust. 


The  Forgers. 


"  But  why  should  I  recal  to  my  re- 
membrance, or  describe  to  you,  every 
hour  of  anguish  that  I  witnessed  in 
that  cell.  For  several  weeks  it  was  all 
agony  and  despair — the  Bible  lay  un- 
heeded before  their  ghastly  eyes — and 
for  them  there  was  no  consolation. 
The  old  man's  soul  was  filled  but  with 
one  thought — that  he  had  deluded  his 
son  into  sin,  death,  and  eternal  punish- 
ment. He  never  slept ;  but  visions, 
terrible  as  those  of  sleep,  seemed  often 
to  pass  before  him,  till  I  have  seen  the ' 
grey  hairs  bristle  horribly  over  •  his 
temples,  and  big  drops  of  sweat  plash 
down  upon  the  floor.  I  sometimes 
thought,  that  they  would  both  die  be- 
fore the  day  of  execution ;  but  their 
mortal  sorrows,  though  they  sadly 
changed  both  face  and  frame,  seemed 
at  last  to  give  a  horrible  energy  to  life, 
and  every  morning  that  I  visited  them, 
they  were  stronger,  and  more  broadly 
awake  in  the  chill  silence  of  their  lone- 
some prison-house. 

"  I  know  not  how  a  deep  change  was 
at  last  wrought  upon  their  souls,  but 
two  days  before  that  of  execution,  on 
entering  their  cell,  I  found  them  sit- 
ting calm  and  composed  by  each  other's 
side,  with  the  Bible  open  before  them. 
Their  faces,  though  pale  and  hagard, 
had  lost  that  glare  of  misery,  that  so 
long  had  shone  about  their  restless  and 
wandering  eyes,  and  they  looked  like 
men  recovering  from  a  long  and  pain- 
ful sickness.  I  almost  thought  I  saw 
something  like  a  faint  smile  of  hope. 
"God  has  been  merciful  unto  us,"  said 
the  father,  with  a  calm  voice. — "  I 
must  not  think  that  he  has  forgiven  my 
sins,  but  he  has  enabled  me  to  look  on 
ray  poor  son's  face — to  kiss  him — to 
fold  him  in  my  arms — to  pray  for  him 
— to  fall  asleep  with  him  in  my  bosom, 
as  I  used  often  to  do  in  the  days  of  his 
boyhood,  when,  during  the  heat  of 
mid-day,  I  rested  from  labour  below 
the  trees  of  my  own  farm.  We  have 
found  resignation  at  last,  and  are  pre- 
pared to  die." 

"  There  were  no  transports  of  delu- 
ded enthusiasm  in  the  souls  of  these 
unhappy  men.  They  had  never  doubt- 
ed the  truth  of  revealed  religion,  al- 
though they  had  fatally  disregarded  its 
precepts ;  and  now  that  remorse  had 
given  way  to  penitence,  and  nature  had 
become  reconciled  to  the  thought  of 
inevitable  death,  the  light  that  had 
been  darkened,  but  never  extinguish- 
ed in  their  hearts,  rose  up  anew ;  and 


knowing  that  their  souls  were  immor- 
tal, they  humbly  put  their  faith  in  the 
mercy  of  their  Creator  and  their  Re- 
deemer. 

"  It  was  during  that  resigned  and 
serene  hour,  that  the  old  man  ventured 
to  ask  for  the  mother  of  his  poor  un- 
happy boy.  I  told  him  the  truth 
calmly,  and  calmly  he  heard  it  all.  On 
the  day  of  his  condemnation,  she  had 
been  deprived  of  her  reason,  and,  in  the 
house  of  a  kind  friend,  whose  name  he 
blessed,  now  remained  in  merciful  igno- 
rance of  all  that  had  befallen,  believ- 
ing herself,  indeed,  to  be  a  motherless 
widow,  but  one  who  had  long  ago  lost 
her  husband,  and  all  her  children,  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  nature.  At  this 
recital  his  soul  was  satisfied.  The  son 
said  nothing,  but  wept  long  and  bit- 
terly. 

"  The  day  of  execution  came  at  last. 
The  great  city  lay  still  as  on  the  morning 
of  the  Sabbath  day;  and  all  the  ordinary 
business  of  life  seemed,  by  one  consent 
of  the  many  thousand  hearts  beating 
there,  to  be  suspended.  But  as  the 
hours  advanced,  the  frequent  tread  of 
feet  was  heard  in  every  avenue;  the 
streets  began  to  fill  with  pale,  anxious, 
and  impatient  faces ;  and  many  eyes 
were  turned  to  the  dials  on  the  stee- 
ples, watching  the  silent  progress  of 
the  finger  of  time,  till  it  should  reach 
the  point  at  which  the  curtain  was  to 
be  drawn  up  from  before  a  most  mourn- 
ful tragedy. 

"  The  hour  was  faintly  heard  through 
the  thick  prison  walls  by  us,  who  were 
together  for  the  last  time  in  the  con- 
demned cell.  I  had  administered  to 
them  the  most  awful  rite  of  our  reli- 
gion, and  father  and  son  sat  together 
as  silent  as  death.  The  door  of  the 
dungeon  opened,  and  several  persons 
came  in.  One  of  them,  who  had  a 
shrivelled  bloodless  face,  and  small  red 
grey  eyes,  an  old  man,  feeble  and  tot- 
tering, but  cruel  in  his  decrepitude, 
laid  hold  of  the  son  with  his  palsied 
fingers,  and  began  to  pinion  his  arras 
with  a  cord.  No  resistance  was  offer- 
ed; but,  straight  and  untrembling, 
stood  that  tall  and  beautiful  youth, 
while  the  fiend  bound  him  for  execu- 
tion. At  this  mournful  sight,  how 
could  I  bear  to  look  on  his  father's 
face  ?  Yet  thither  were  mine  eyes  im- 
pelled by  the  agony  that  afflicted  my 
commiserating  soul.  During  that  hi- 
deous gaze,  he  was  insensible  of  the 
executioner's  approach  towards  him- 


1821. 


The  Forers. 


577 


self;  and  all  the  time  that  the  cords 
were  encircling  his  own  arms,  he  felt 
them  not,  —  he  saw  nothing  but  his 
son  standing  at  last  before  him,  ready 
for  the  scaffold. 

"  I  darkly  recollect  a  long  dark  vault- 
ed passage,  and  the  echoing  tread  of 
footsteps,  till  all  at  once  we  stood  in  a 
crowded  hall,  with  a  thousand  eyes 
fixed  on  these  two  miserable  men. 
How  unlike  were  they  to  all  beside  ! 
They  sat  down  together  within  the 
shadow  of  death.  Prayers  were  said, 
and  a  psalm  was  sung,  in  which  their 
voices  were  heard  to  join,  with  tones 
that  wrung  out  tears  from  the  hardest 
or  the  most  careless  heart.  Often  had 
I  heard  those  voices  singing  in  my  own 
peaceful  church,  before  evil  had  dis- 
turbed, or  misery  broken  them  ;  —  but 
the  last  word  of  the  psalm  was  sung,  and 
the  hour  of  their  departure  was  come. 

"  They  stood  at  last  upon  the  scaffold. 
That  long  street,  that  seemed  to  stretch 
away  in  terminably  from  the  old  Prison- 
house,  was  paved  with  uncovered  heads, 
for  the  moment  these  ghosts  appeared, 
that  mighty  crowd  felt  reverence  for 
human  nature  so  terribly  tried,  and 
prayers  and  blessings,  passionately 
ejaculated,  or  convulsively  stiffled, 
went  hovering  over  all  the  multitude, 
as  if  they  feared  some  great  calamity 
to  themselves,  and  felt  standing  on  the 
first  tremor  of  an  earthquake. 


"  It  was  a  most  beautiful  summer's 
day  on  which  they  were  led  out  to  die  ; 
and  as  the  old  man  raised  his  eyes,  for 
the  last  time,  to  the  sky,  the  clouds 
lay  motionless  on  that  blue  translucent 
arch,  and  the  sun  shone  joyously  over 
the  magnificent  heavens.  It  seemed  a 
day  made  for  happiness  or  for  mercy. 
But  no  pardon  dropt  down  from  these 
smiling  skies,  and  the  vast  multitude 
were  not  to  be  denied  the  troubled 
feast  of  death.  Many  who  now  stood 
there  wished  they  had  been  in  the 
heart  of  some  far-off  wood  or  glen  ; 
there  was  shrieking  and  fainting,  not 
only  among  maids,  and  wives,  and 
matrons,  who  had  come  there  in  the 
mystery  of  their  hearts,  but  men  fell 
down  in  their  strength,  —  for  it  was  an 
overwhelming  thing  to  behold  a  father 
and  his  only  son  now  haltered  for  a 
shameful  death.  "  Is  my  father  with 
me  on  the  scaffold?  —  give  me  his  hand, 
for  I  see  him  not."  I  joined  their  hands 
together,  and  at  that  moment  the 
great  bell  in  the  Cathedral  tolled,  but 
I  am  convinced  neither  of  them  heard 
the  sound.  —  For  a  moment  there 
seemed  to  be  no  such  thing  as  sound 
in  the  world;  —  and  then  all  at  once 
the  multitude  heaved  like  the  sea,  and 
uttered  a  wild  yelling  shriek.  —  Their 
souls  were  in  eternity  —  and  I  fear  not 
to  say,  not  an  eternity  of  grief." 


VOL.  IX. 


578 


Works  Preparing  for  Publication. 


CAug. 


WORKS  PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 
LONDON. 


Sir  George  Nayler,  Clarencieux  King  of 
Arms,  is  preparing,  by  command  of  the 
King,  an  extensive  Work,  with  engravings, 
descriptive  of  the  late  ceremony  of  the  Co- 
ronation. 

M r  Bewick,  the  celebrated  engraver  on 
wood,  is  preparing  for  the  press,  a  Supple- 
ment to  his  History  of  British  Birds. 

A  new  edition  of  the  Eton  Latin  Gram- 
mar ;  by  Rev.  J.  Smith,  of  St  John's  Col- 
lege, Cambridge. 

A  Treatise  on  the  newly-discovered 
White  Vinegar,  called  Pyroligneous  Acid, 
with  detailed  directions  for  its  application 
to  Pickling,  and  every  other  domestic  pur- 
pose. 

The  Speeches  of  the  Right  Hon.  Henry 
Grattan,  with  a  Memoir  by  his  Son,  are 
printing  in  four  vols.  8vo. 

The  Dying  Confessions  of  Judas  Isca- 
riot,  a  convincing  evidence  of  the  Divine 
Origin  of  Christianity ;  an  Essay,  by  the 
Rev.  Dr  Cracknell. 

To  be  published  in  September,  by  Mr 
T.  Lynn,  to  be  continued  annually,  a  work 
called  Star  Tables  and  Ephemeris  for  1822, 
for  the  more  easily  determining  the  latitude 
and  longitude  at  sea  during  the  night. 

Nearly  ready  for  publication,  the  Mis- 
cellaneous Tracts  of  the  late  Dr  Withering, 
with  Memoirs  of  the  Author,  by  William 
Withering,  Esq. 

Mr  Nicholson's  Popular  Elements  of 
Pure  and  Mixed  Mathematics,  will  appear 
in  the  autumn. 

A  volume  of  Poems,  original  and  trans- 
lated, by  Mr  Noble  of  Liverpool. 

Preparing  for  the  press,  a  History  of 
Brazil,  with  numerous  engravings ;  by  Mr 
James  Henderson. 

A  new  and  enlarged  edition  of  Dr  Con- 
quest's Outlines  of  Midwifery,  &c.  with 
copperplate  engravings. 


A  Tale  in  Verse,  called  "  Temper,"  by 
Mrs  Taylor  of  Ongar. 

A  Poetical  Essay  on  the  Character  of 
Pope ;  by  Chas.  Lloyd. 

To  be  published  by  subscription,  an 
Account  of  the  Crowning  of  his  most  Sa- 
cred Majesty  King  George  IV-  including 
the  names  of  all  the  Peers,  Knights,  and 
principal  Officers, who  were  engaged  in  that 
ceremony.  To  be  embellished  with  a  beau- 
tifully illuminated  frontispiece,  printed  in 
letters  of  gold. 

A  second  Series  of  Sermons  in  MS.  cha- 
racter ;  by  Rev.  R.  Warner. 

A  second  edition  of  Mr  Bramsen's  Tra- 
vels in  Egypt,  Syria,  &c.  is  preparing  for 
publication. 

A  Course  of  Lent  Lectures  on  the  Seven 
last  Sentences  uttered  by  our  Saviour  from 
the  Cross ;  by  Rev.  Johnson  Grant. 

Dr  Carey  has  in  the  press  the  Greek 
Terminations,  including  the  Dialects  and 
Poetic  Licences,  in  alphabetical  order,  with 
explanatory  references  to  the  Grammar; 
on  the  same  plan  as  his  Clue  for  young 
Latinists,  lately  published. 

Nearly  ready,  the  First  Part  of  Mr  A. 
T.  Thomson's  Lectures  on  Botany. 

The  Rev.  John  Campbell  will  shortly 
publish  a  second  volume  of  Travels  to 
South  Africa,  describing  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  natives,  their  agriculture, 
arts  and  manufactures,  food,  clothing,  &c. 
&c.  with  ah  account  of  the  cities  of  Mashow 
and  Marootzee,  the  former  consisting  of 
12,  the  latter  of  16,000  inhabitants ;  with 
a  map  and  plates. 

In  the  press,  the  Theory  and  Practice  of 
Latin  Inflexion,  being  examples  in  the 
form  of  copy-books,  for  declining  and  con- 
jugating nouns  and  verbs;  by  Mr  Haigh, 
of  the .  classical  school,  Kitt's  End,  near 
Barnet 


EDINBURGH. 


We  have  much  pleasure  in  informing  our 
readers,  that  the  author  of  "  The  Ayrshire 
Legatees,"  and  "  Annals  of  the  Parish," 
is  preparing  a  Scottish  novel  for  the  press, 
which  he  intends  to  call  "  feir  Andrew 
Wylie  of  that  Ilk." 

In  the  press,  and  speedily  will  be  pub- 
lished, a  small  Treatise  on  the  important 
subject  of  Self-examination,  with  a  special 
View  to  the  Ordinance  of  the  Lord's  Sup- 
per ;  originally  published  by  the  Rev. 
William  Trail,  A.  M.  Minister  of  the  Gos- 
pel  at  Benholm,  and  a  near  relative  of  the 
eminently,  learned,  and  pious  Robert  Trail 
of  London.  The  Work  has  long  been  out 
of  print ;  and  the  present  edition,  which  is 
the  fourth,  will  be  .accompanied  with  a 
considerable  variety  of  additional  Matter, 


together  with  a  Preface  and  a  Sketch  of  the 
Life  of  the  Author.  This  small  volume  will 
form  an  useful  guide  and  help  to  Christian 
communicants  in  their  preparation  for  the 
ordinance  of  the  Supper ;  and>  on  this  ac- 
count, as  well  as  others,  it  particularly 
claims  the  notice  and  patronage  of  ministers 
of  the  gospel.  The  publication  is  conduct- 
ed under  the  editorship  of  the  Rev.  Robert 
Burns,  one  of  the  ministers  of  Paisley, 
Author  of"  Historical  Dissertations  on  the 
State  of  the  Poor  in  Scotland."  To  promote 
the  circulation  of  the  Work,  the  price  will 
be  exceedingly  moderate. 

Report  of  the  Trial  before  the  Jury 
Court,  Edinburgh,  25th  June,  1821,  of  the 
Issues  in  the  Cause  in  which  the  Rev.  An- 
drew Scott,  Roman  Catholic  Clergyman  in 


Workt  Preparing  for  Publication. 


Glasgow,  was  Pursuer;  and  William  M' 
Gavin,  Merchant  in  Glasgow,  (the  Protes- 
tant,) William  Sym,  Clerk  of  the  Glasgow 
Town  Hospital,  and  Andrew  and  .James 
Duncan,  Printers  in  Glasgow,  were  Defend- 
ers. No  pains  have  been  spared  to  give 
the  proceedings  with  the  most  scrupulous 
accuracy,  and  at  great  length.  The  eloquent 
speeches  of  counsel  on  both  sides  of  the 
cause,  are  given  nearly  verbatim  as  deli- 
vered; taken  in  shorthand  by  Mr  Dow. 
Printing  at  the  University  Press,  Glasgow, 
and  will  be  published  about  the  beginning 
of  September. 

A  Guide  to  Farm  Book-Keeping,  (ar- 
ranged upon  quite  a  new  and  simple  sys- 
tem) suited  to  farmers  of  every  description, 


579 

especially  to  gentlemen  fanners,  and  young 
beginners  in  agriculture;  by  Colonel  J. 
Munroof  Poyntzfield,  North  Britain.  The 
object  of  this  new  publication  is  to  en- 
deavour to  establish  an  uniform  system 
of  accounting,  for  the  general  practice  of 
this  necessary  branch  of  rural  education,  all 
over  the  kingdom  ;  and  the  author  trusts  to 
the  public  discernment,  for  a  decision  upon 
that  important  point. 

Printing  at  the  University  Press,  Glas- 
gow, and  shortly  will  be  published,  Lec- 
tures on  the  Book  of  Ecclesiastes,  in  2  vols. 
8vo. ;  by  the  Rev.  Ralph  Wardlaw,  D.  D. 
Author  of  "  Discourses  on  the  Socinian 
Controversy,"  &c. 


MONTHLY  LIST  OF  NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


LONDON. 


AGRICULTURE. 

Baxter's  British  Agricultural  School 
Account-book,  which  will,  when  worked 
out,  exactly  correspond  with  the  Key  to  his 
Farmer's  Account-book,  fol.  14s.  (id. 

A  Key  to  Baxter's  Farmer's  Account- 
book,  fol.  14s.  (id. 

ANTIQUITIES. 

Sir  R.  C.  Hoare's  History  of  Ancient 
Wilts,  Part  V.  fol.  £4,  4s. 

The  History  and  Antiquities  of  the 
Tower  of  London ;  with  Biographical  An- 
ecdotes of  royal  and  distinguished  Per- 
sons, deduced  from  records,  state  papers, 
and  MSS.  and  other  original  and  authen- 
tic sources ;  by  John  Bayley,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
4to.  £3, 13s.  Cd. 

Sketches  of  the  Manners  and  Institutions 
of  the  Romans.  12mo.  TS. 

ASTRONOMY. 

The  Elements  of  Astronomy;  by  S. 
Treeby.  18mo.  3s.  6d. 

BIOGRAPHY. 

The  Aged  Pastor,  a  Biographical  Sketch 
of  the  Rev.  H.  Field,  late  Minister  of  the 
•Congregational  Church  at  Blandford ;  by 
Richard  Keynes.  8vo.  4s. 

CHEMISTRY. 

One  Thousand  Experiments  in  Chemis- 
try, accompanied  by  practical  observations ; 
and  several  thousand  processes  in  the  use- 
ful arts,  dependent  on  that  science.  By 
Colin  Mackenzie.  8vo.  £1,  Is. 

Robertson's  Colloquia  Chemica.  18mo. 
6s. 

CLASSICS. 

Three  Enigmas — 1.  The  Import  of  the 
Twelve  Signs.  2.  The  Cause  of  Ovid's 
Banishment.  3.  The  Eleusinian  Secret. 
1  vol.  8vo.  Cs.  bds. 

DRAMA. 

Mr  Malone's  Edition  of  Shakspeare, 
superintended  by  Mr  Boswell.  8vo.  21 
vols.  £12, 12s. 


EDUCATION. 

The  Moralist ;  or,  Essays  on  the  Mean* 
of  Moral  Education,  addressed  to  parents. 
By  the  Rev.  J.  P.  Potter,  M.A.  12mo. 
4s. 

An  Introduction  to  Arithmetic,  on  a  new 
system ;  by  G.  Gregory.  4s. 

A  Key  to  Gregory's  Arithmetic,  with  a 
Compendium  of  Logarithmic  Arithmetic 
ISnio.  4s. 

Scientific  Amusements  in  Philosophy 
and  Mathematics ;  by  W.  Enfield,  M.A. 
12mo.  3s.  6d. 

FINE  ARTS. 

The  Beauties  of  Cambria ;  consisting  of 
sixty  views  of  sublime  and  picturesque 
Scenery,  in  the  12  counties  of  the  Princi- 
pality, engraved  on  wood,  from  correct 
drawings  on  the  spot;  by  H.  Hughes. 
10s.  Gd.  each  part,  containing  ten  views. 

Views  of  the  Seats  of  Noblemen  and 
Gentlemen,  in  England,  Wales,  Scotland 
and  Ireland,  engraved  in  the  line  manner 
from  the  first  artists,  from  drawings  by  J. 
P.  Neale,  author  of  "  The  History  and 
Antiquities  of  Westminster  Abbey."  No/ 
XL.  royal  8vo.  4s.  royal  4to. 

Nash's  Views  in  Paris,  4to.  Part  VI. 
16s. 

Kenil worth  Illustrated,  4to.  Part  III. 
10s.  Gd. 

A  most  complete  Treatise  on  Oil  Paint- 
ing, with  coloured  illustrations.  4s.  6d. 

Lithographic  Prints  of  Kenilworth ;  by 
W.  H.  Smith.  Oblong,  5s. 

HISTORY. 

Ten  Years'  Exile ;  fragments  of  an  un- 
published Work,  composed  in  the  years 
1810,  11,  12,  and  13;  by  Mad.  de  Stael. 
Now  first  published  from  the  original  MS. 
by  her  son.  Translated  from  the  French. 
8vo. 

Simond  de  Sismondi,  Histoire  des  Fran- 
9ais.  Premiere  Livraison,  comprenant 


Monthly  Litt  of  New  Publications. 


580 

1'Histoire  Nationale  duQuatrieme  jusqu'au 
dixieme  siecle  sous  les  Merovingiens  et  les 
Carlo vingiens.  3  vols.  8vo.  £1,  10s. 

Hooke's  Roman  History,  corrected  by 
Rev.  G.  R.  Pitman,  M.A.  G  thick  vols. 
8vo.  £3, 12s. 

A  new  edition  of  Gibbon's  Roman  His- 
tory, in  6  thick  8vo.  volumes,  corrected  by 
Rev.  J.  R.  Pitman,  M.D.  £3,  12s. 

A  Ten  Years'  Residence  in  France,  dur- 
ing the  severest  part  of  the  Revolution, 
from  the  year  1787  to  1?975  containing 
anecdotes  of  some  of  the  most  remarkable 
personages  of  that  period;  by  Charlotte 
West.  8vo.  5s.  6d. 

An  Essay  on  the  Study  of  Modern  His- 
tory ;  by  J.  S.  Boone.  8vo.  8s. 

HORTICULTURE. 

Emmerton's  Treatise  on  the  Culture  and 
Management  of  the  Auricula,  Polyanthus, 
Ranunculus,  Carnation,  &c.  12mo.  co- 
loured plates,  10s. 

MEDICINE. 

The  Physician's  Guide ;  being  a  Popu- 
lar Dissertation  on  Fevers,  Inflammations, 
and  all  diseases  connected  with  them ; 
comprising  observations  on  the  use  and 
abuse  of  Blood-letting,  Mercury,  Cathar- 
tics, Stimulants,  Diets,  &c.  By  Adam 
Dods,  M.D.  8vo.  10s.  Gd. 

An  Account  of  the  Rise,  Progress,  and 
Decline  of  the  Fever  lately  epidemical  in 
Ireland ;  together  with  communications 
from  physicians  in  the  provinces,  and  va- 
rious official  documents;  by  T.  Barker, 
M.D.  and  T.  Cheyne,  M.D.  F.R.S.  &c. 
2  vols.  8vo.  £},  6s. 

Quarterly  Journal  of  Foreign  Medicine 
and  Surgery,  No.  IX.  8vo.  3s.  Gd. 

Observations  on  certain  A  Sections  of  the 
Head,  commonly  called  Headache ;  with 
a  view  to  their  more  complete  elucidation, 
prevention,  and  cure ;  together  with  some 
brief  remarks  on  Digestion  and  Indiges- 
tion ;  by  James  Farmer,  surgeon.  18mo. 
2s. 

A  Series  of  Lectures  on  the  most  ap- 
proved Principles  and  Practice  of  Modern 
Surgery,  chiefly  derived  from  the  Lectures 
delivered  by  Astley  Cooper,  Esq.  Second 
edition.  By  C.  M.  Syder,  surgeon.  8vo. 
4s. 

Annals,  Historical  and  Medical,  during 
the  first  four  years  of  the  Dispensary  for 
Children,  St  Andrew's  Hill,  Doctors'  Com- 
mons ;  by  J.  B.  Davis,  M.D.  8vo.  12s. 

Rules  and  Methods  for  feeding,  clothing, 
and  rearing  young  Children ;  by  the  same. 
«d. 

A  Practical  Treatise  on  Ringworm  of 
the  Scalp,  Scaldhead,  and  the  other  species 
of  Porrigo,  with  a  view  to  establish  the 
treatment  of  the  diseases  on  sound  and 
efficient  principles;  by  Samuel  Plumbe. 
8vo.  with  coloured  plates,  7s.  Gd. 

A  Treatise  on  Scrofula,  describing  the 
morbid  alteration  it  produces  in  the  struc- 


ture  of  all  the  different  parts  of  the  Body, 
and  the  best  method  of  treating  it ;  by  E. 
A.  Lloyd,  surgeon.  8vo.  9s. 

Observations  on  some  of  the  general 
principles,  and  on  the  particular  nature 
and  treatment  of  the  different  species  of 
Inflammation;  by  J.  H.  James.  8vo. 
10s.  6d. 

MINERALOGY. 

A  new  Descriptive  Catalogue  of  Mine- 
rals ;  by  J.  Mawe.  12mo.  7s. 

MISCELLANIES. 

Life  in  London ;  or,  the  Day  and  Night 
Scenes  of  Jerry  Hawthorn,  Esq.  and  his 
elegant  friend  Corinthian  Tom,  accompa- 
nied by  Bob  Logic,  the  Oxonian,  in  their 
rambles  and  sprees  through  the  Metropo- 
lis ;  by  Pierce  Egan.  Royal  8vo.  illustra- 
ted with  fifty  exquisite  engravings.  £1, 
16s. 

Whist  rendered  familiar,  by  a  new  and 
easy  Introduction  to  the  Game ;  by  J.  G. 
Pohlman.  Is.  Gd. 

The  Expedition  of  Orsua;  and  the 
Crimes  of  Aguirre;  by  Robert  Southey, 
Esq.  LL.D.  12mo.  5s. 

Thompson's  Self-indicative  Time  Ta- 
bles. foL  12s.  Gd. 

Observations  on  the  Deviation  of  the 
Compass.  8vo.  Is.  6d. 

Enchiridion ;  or,  a  Hand  for  the  One- 
handed  ;  by  G.  W.  de  Renzy,  Capt.  H.P. 
82d  regiment ;  with  plates.  8vo.  5s. 

The  Practice  of  the  Customs  in  the  En- 
try, Examination,  and  Delivery  of  Goods 
imported  from  foreign  parts,  shewing  the 
fares,  allowances,  and  duties  on  each  arti- 
cle, and  describing  their  several  peculiar 
characters  and  properties ;  by  Jas.  Smith, 
Esq.  one  of  the  Surveyors-general  of  the 
Customs.  2d  edit.  8vo.  24s. 

The  Art  of  Angling,  or  Complete  Fly- 
fisher  ;  by  W.  Evans.  12mo.  2s. 

Gore's  New  Liverpool  Directory.  Half 
bound,  7s- 

Gore's  New  Plan  of  Liverpool  and  the 
adjacent  Villages.  Size  32^  inches  by  19^. 
Gs. 

MUSIC. 

Quarterly  Musical  Magazine,  No.  XI, 

NATURAL  HISTORY. 

A  General  and  Particular  Description  of 
the  Vertebral  Animals,  arranged  confor- 
mably to  the  Modern  Discoveries  and  Im- 
provements in  Zoology;  by  Edward  Grif- 
fith. 35  plates.  4to.  Part  I.  <£1, 5s. 

NOVELS. 

Rolando,  a  Romance ;  by  A.  Henry. 
2  vols.  10s. 

The  Midnight  Wanderer;  by  M.  Camp- 
bell. 4  vols.  £1, 2s. 

Harley  Radington,  a  Tale ;  by  Miss  D. 
P.  Campbell.  2  vols.  12mo.  10s.  Gd. 

Sympathy  in  search  of  Peace  at  Home, 
a  Novel  of  a  novel  kind ;  by  H.  B.  Gas- 
coign.  12mo.  5s. 

The  Soldier's  Child,  or  Virtue  Trium- 


18210 

phant ;  by  Charlotte  Caroline  Richardson. 

2  vols.  12mo.  5s. 

Scenes  at  Brighton,  or  "  How  Much  ?" 
a  Satirical  Novel ;  by  James  Hoole,  Esq. 

3  vols.  12mo.  15s. 

POETRY. 

The  Cottage  of  Pella,  a  Tale  of  Pales- 
tine,  with  other  poems ;  by  John  Holland. 
8vo.  3s. 

Rome,  a  poem.    8vo.  fis. 

The  History  and  Life  of  Johnny  Quas 
Genus,  the  Little  Foundling  ;  by  the  au- 
thor of  the  Three  Tours  of  Dr  Syntax. 
No.  I.  containing  three  coloured  engrav- 
ings and  32  pages  of  letter-press.  2s.  Gd. 

The  Lay  of  the  First  Minstrel ;  by  Jas. 
Grocott.  8vo. 

THEOLOGY. 

Seventeen  Sermons  of  the  eminently 
pious  and  deeply  learned  Bishop  Andrews, 
modernized  for  the  use  of  general  readers ; 
by  the  Rev.  Chas.  Daubery,  Archdeacon 
of  Sarum.  8vo.  10s.  Cd. 

Deism  compared  with  Christianity,  be- 
ing an  Epistolary  Correspondence,  contain- 
ing all  the  principal  objections  against  Re- 
vealed  Religion,  with  the  Answers  annex- 
ed ;  by  Edward  Chichester,  M.D.  3  vols. 
8vo.  £1,  7s. 

The  Moral  Tendency  of  Divine  Revela- 
tion asserted  and  illustrated,  in  eight  Dis- 
courses preached  before  the  University  of 


Monthly  List  of  New  Publications. 


581 

Oxford  in  1821,  at  the  Lecture  founded  by 
the  late  Rev.  J.  Bampton,  M.A.  By  Rev. 
John  Jones,  M.A.  8vo.  10s.  6d. 

Sermons,  by  the  late  very  Rev.  W. 
Pearce,  D.D.  Dean  of  Ely.  8vo.  12s. 

Discourses,  adapted  to  the  Pulpit,  or  to 
the  use  of  Families,  from  Tracts  and  Trea- 
tises of  eminent  Divines  ;  by  the  Rev.  E. 
A.  Bray.  8vo.  10s. 

Practical  Sermons ;  by  Abraham  Rees, 
D.D.  F.R.S.  Vols.  3, 4.  8vo.  £1,  4s. 

TOPOGRAPHY. 

A  Guide  to  the  Lakes  in  Cumberland, 
Westmoreland,  and  Lancashire ;  by  the 
late  Mr.  West,  llth  edition,  with  a  new 
plate  and  map.  8vo.  ?*• 

VOYAGES  AXD  TRAVELS. 

An  Account  of  the  Interior  of  Ceylon, 
and  of  its  Inhabitants,  with  Travels  in  that 
Island;  by  John  Davy,  M.D.  F.R.S.  4to. 
with  engravings.  £3, 13s.  6d. 

M.  de  Humboldt's  Travels  to  the  Equi- 
noctial Regions  of  the  New  Continent,  dur- 
ing the  years  1790—1804.  VoL  V.  Part 
1,2.  Translated  by  H.M.Williams.  8vo. 
£1,4* 

Travels  in  South  Europe,  from  Modern 
Writers,  with  remarks  and  observations, 
exhibiting  a  connected  view  of  the  Geogra- 
phy and  present  state  of  that  quarter  of  the 
Globe;  by  the  Rev.  Wm.  Bingley,  M.A. 
&c.  12mo.  6s.  (id. 


EDINBURGH. 


The  Edinburgh  Christian  Instructor, 
No.  CXXXIH.  for  August. 

The  New  Edinburgh  Review,  No.  I. 

Denmark  Delineated,  or  Sketches  of  the 
Present  State  of  that  Country,  with  Por- 
traits, Views,  &c.  Part  I.  royal  8vo.  10s. 
6d. 

The  Life  of  David  Haggart,  alias  John 
Wilson,  &c.  &c.  Written  by  himself.  Se- 
cond Edition,  12mo.  4s. 

The  Cook's  Oracle,  containing  Practical 


Receipts  for  roasting,  boiling,  &c.  Third 
Edition.  12mo.  9s. 

A  Humble  Petition  and  Address  to  her 
Majesty  Queen  Caroline ;  by  an  inhabitant 
of  Edinburgh.  8vo.  <)d. 

The  Reader's  Guide,  being  a  Collection 
of  Pieces  hi  prose  and  verse ;  by  William 
Andrew.  12mo.  4s. 

The  Edinburgh  Annual  Register,  for 
1817,  8vo.  £1,  Is. 


MONTHLY  REGISTER 

COMMERCIAL  REPORT.— August  13,  1821. 

Sugars. — Notwithstanding  the  very  considerable  arrivals  of  sugars  for  several  weeks 
past,  the  demand  has  been  very  considerable,  and  the  prices  for  good  and  fine  have  ad- 
vanced about  Is.  per  cwt.  Middling  and  low  qualities  are  however  depressed,  and  sales 
effected  with  difficulty.  Considerable  sales  have  been  effected  at  Liverpool  by  auction, 
and  the  whole  have  gone  off  freely  at  an  advance.  The  prices  of  refined  sugars  are  lower. 
Very  considerable  shipments  have  been  made  to  the  Continent  this  year.  The  value  of 
refined  sugars,  exported  for  the  first  six  months,  was  £1,328,029.  Last  year  the  whole 
export  amounted  to  £1,879,467,  which  shews  a  considerable  increase  in  the  trade  this 
year.  Still,  however,  the  prices  are  exceedingly  low,  and  such  as  cannot  repay  the  plant- 
er. The  demand,  which  has  fer  some  time  taken  place,  is  probably  owing  to  the  quan- 
tity required  at  this  particular  season  of  the  year  formaking  British  wines.  From'jthe  quan- 
tity continuing  to  arrive,  it  is  doubtful  if  this  demand  will  continue.  The  state  of  the 
weather,  however,  in  many  of  the  West  India  colonies,  was,  at  the  date  of  the  last  ac- 
counts, not  very  favourable  for  the  crop  of  next  season. 

Cotton. — The  cotton  market,  which  sometime  ago  looked  upwards,  is  again  become 
more  languid.  Still,  however,  the  demand  is  considerable,  and  prices  maintained.  The 
holders  are  inclined  to  jsell,  and  very  considerable  quantities  are  advertised  for  public 
auction. 


582  Register.— Commercial  Report. 

Coffee — The  market  for  coffee  is  become  very  dull,  and  sales  can,  with  difficulty,  be 
effected  at  a  very  considerable  reduction  in  prices.  The  decline  in  price  may  be  stated  at 
2s.  per  cwt.  The  grain  market  which  was  lately  on  the  advance,  is  now,  on  account  of 
the  more  favourable  appearances  for  the  harvest,  becoming  more  languid,  and  in  some 
instances  declining,  particularly  with  regard  to  oats.  Some  Dye-woods  have  been  sold  at  an 
advance.  Extensive  purchases  have  been  made  in  Rice.  The  accounts  from  the  Green- 
land and  Davies'  Straits  fisheries,  is  more  favourable  than  the  first  accounts  received 
from  thence,  which  have  a  considerable  effect  on  the  oil  market.  The  low  prices  of  Rnm 
have  attracted  the  notice  of  speculators  and  exporters.  The  demand  has  in  consequence 
been  considerable,  and  the  price  a  trifle  advanced.  Brandy  is  become  more  firm.  The 
holders  are  less  inclined  to  sell.  In  Geneva  there  is  no  alteration  nor  inquiry.  The  de- 
mand for  Pine  Timber  is  considerable.  The  Tallow  market  remains  nominally  the  same. 
Other  articles  of  commerce  require  no  particular  notice. 

Although  the  internal  trade  of  this  country,  and  in  some  instances  the  foreign  trade 
also,  is  greatly  meliorated  ;  still  our  readers  are  to  receive,  with  much  caution  and  many 
deductions,  the  flaming  accounts  of  commercial  prosperity,  so  ostentatiously  put  forth  in 
the  public  periodical  journals.  It  is  true,  abundance  of  goods  are  going  away,  but  it  is 
equally  true,  that  several  markets,  particularly  the  Jamaica  market,  are  completely 
glutted,  and  that  the  high  exchanges  and  depreciation  of  every  article  taken  in  exchange, 
when  these  arrive  in  this  country,  strip  the  merchant  of  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  profits  of  his 
export  sales.  The  whole  West  India  colonial  trade,  about  a  sixth  part  of  the  trade  of  the 
empire,  is  peculiarly  depressed,  and  never  was  at  a  lower  ebb,  or  in  a  more  ruinous  state. 
We  would  fain  hope,  however,  that  this  branch  of  our  commerce  is  upon  the  point  of 
reviving,  and  that  it  will  soon  resume  its  former  prosperity.  Various  unfortunate  cir- 
cumstances have  conspired  to  bring  it  to  its  present  state. 


EDINBURGH.— AUGUST  8. 


Wheat. 

1st, 34s.  Od. 

2d, 32s.  Od. 

3d, 29s.  Od. 


Barley. 

1st, 24s.  Od. 

2d, 22s.  Od. 

3d, 20s.  Od. 


Oats. 

1st, 22s.  Od. 

2d, 20s.  Od. 

3d, 18s.  Od. 


Beef  (17^  oz.  per  Ib.)  Os.   4d.  to  Os. 

Mutton     .    .     .     .     Os.   5d.  to  Os. 

Veal Os.   6d.  to  Os. 

Pork Os.   5d.  to  Os. 

I  jamb,  per  quarter  .     Is.   Gd.  to  3s. 

Tallow,  per  stone    .    7s.   Od.  to  8s. 


Average  of  Wheat,  £1  :  12  :  6d.  per  boll. 

Tuesday,  August  ?• 


Pease  &  Beans. 

1st, 20s.  Od. 

2d, 19s.  Od. 

3d, 18s.  Od. 


7d. 

7d. 
9d. 
6d. 
6d. 
Od. 


Quartern  Loaf    .     .     Os.  9d.  to 

New  Potatoes  (28  Ib.)  Is.  Gd.  to 

Fresh  Butter,  per  Ib.    Is.  3d.  to 

Salt  ditto,  per  stone    IGs.  Od.  to 
Ditto,  per  Ib.       .     .     Is. 
Eggs,  per  dozen       .     Os. 


Od.  to 
8d.  to 


Os.  Od 

Os.  Od 
Os.  Od 
Os.  Od 
Is.  2d 
Os.  Od 


HADDINGTON — AUG.  10. 


Wheat.  Barley.  Oats.  Pease.  Beans. 

1st, 33s.  3d.     1st, 23s.  Od.     1st, 21s.  Od.     1st, 19s.  Od.     1st, 19s.  Od. 

2d, 31s.  Od.     2d, 20s.  Od.     2d, 18s.  Od.     2d,  17s.  Od.     2d, l?s.  Od. 

3d, 29s.  Od.     3d, 18s.  Od.     3d, 16s.  Od.     3d, 15s.  Od.     3d, 15s.  Od. 

Average,  £1  :  11s.  Od.  5-12ths. 
Average  Prices  of  Corn  in  England  and  Wales,  from  the  Returns  received  in  the  Week 

ended  July  28th. 

Wheat,  52s.  4d.— Rye.  32s.  Id.— Barley,  25s.  Od.— Oats,  19s.  4d — Beans,  30s.  lid.— Pease,  31s.  Id. 
Beer  or  Big,  Os.  Od — Oatmeal,  Os.  Od. 

Weekly  Price  of  Stocks,  from  2d  to  23d  July,  1821. 


2d. 

9th. 

IGth. 

22d. 

76i         \ 

941         \ 
lOOJ 

51   53  pr. 
1  3pr. 

774       1 

l!»i 
85fr.  95c. 

234 

774       I 

77 

954        i 
109| 
236L 
57  59  pr. 
4  6pr. 
78*         £ 

194 

85fr.  85c. 
70 

232£     2 

77        6| 
70*        1 
87£ 
954       § 
109^ 
234J 
56  57  55  pr. 
4  Gpr. 
77i       1 
19f 
85fr.  45c. 
70 

•233.', 

763       1 
76| 

85J 
951 
109 
234 
59  60  pr. 
4  6  pr. 
76f       | 

194         I 
85fr.  90c. 
70 

3  per  cent.  rpducedVJJJJJJ,,,j,.,<..»"rrrrrr 

3  per  cent,  consolsVJJJJJ.,j.».,,..~....~"'f 

3A  per  cent,  consols,  ^  j,^r,*+*,»m  •  ,,.,.,. 

4  per  cent,  consols,  ~  —  ~-~ 

bOndSj            j  -jjjjftjj,,  -,  j   J    !•,-,-,  -i-r-, 

EXCheqiler   billS,  ,,i,,,,,,,nrrr,s   .    r,-,r,-,-r- 

Ixmg  Annuities  
French  5  per  cents.  JJJJj,J...«..~<.«r.^rr 

Amcr.  3  ner  cent.~~~~~~~~«~~~~~~ 

1821.3 


Register. — Commercial  Report. 


683 


Course  of  Exchange,  August  7 — Amsterdam,  12 : 16.  C.  F.  Ditto  at  sight,  12  :  13 
Rotterdam,  12  :  19-  Antwerp,  12  :  9.  Hamburgh,  38  :  2.  Altona,  38  :  2.  Paris,  3 
d.  sight,  25:  55.  Ditto  25  :  85.  Bourdeaux,  25:  85.  Frankfort  en  the  Mnine,  158. 
Petersburgh,  per  rble.  8| :  3  Us.  Vienna,  10 :  24  Eff.  flo.  Trieste,  10:24  Eff.  flo.  Madrid , 
:;<;.  Cadiz,  36.  Bilboa,  35|.  Barcelona,  35.  Seville,  35 A.  Gibraltar,  3(»i  Leghorn, 
47-  Genoa,  43f.  Venice,  27  :  60.  Malta,  45.  Naples,"  39£.  Palermo,' 116.  Lis- 
bon, 50.  Oporto,  50.  Rio  Janeiro,  49.  Bahia,  59.  Dublin,  9^  per  cent. 
Cork,  9  per  cent. 

Prices  of  Gold  and  Silver,  per  oz — Foreign  gold,  in  bars,  £3  :  17  :  lO^d.    New 
Dollars,  4s.  lOd.     Silver  in  bars,  stand.  4s.  lid. 


PRICES  CURRENT  August  11. 


SUGAR,  Muse. 

LEITH. 

GLASGOW. 

LIVERPOOL. 

LONDON. 

B.  P.  Dry  Brown,  .  cwt. 

57      to      60 

56               60 

55               58 

54                56 

Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 

70              80 

60               71 

59               67 

59               67 

Fine  and  very  fine,     .     . 
Refined  Doub.  Loaves,     . 

SO              80 
130             145 

—                — 

69              79 

70             77 

Powder  ditto, 

106             110 

_                _ 

_               _ 

87             100 

Single  ditto,        .        . 

100              104 

—                — 

__             -  _ 

—               — 

Small  Lumps,   .    .    . 

92               96 

_                — 

_               — 

_               „  _ 

Large  ditto,  ...        . 

88              92 

__                _ 

_               — 

—               — 

Crushed  Lumps,    .    . 
MOLASSES,  British,    cwt. 

44               56 
23                _ 

22               24 

28               — 

21s  6d        — 

COFFEE,  Jamaica,  .  cwt. 

Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 

105              108. 

109            118 

105              116 

190             109 

Mid.  good,  and  fine  mid. 

108              120 

118             134 

118              122 

120             138 

Dutch  Triage  and  very  ord. 

_                — 

_               _ 

90             115 

_               _ 

Ord.  good,  and  fine  ord. 

120             135 

_               _ 

113              120 

__               _ 

Mid.  good,    and  fine  mid. 

135              140 

_               _ 

121             127 

_               _ 

122              126 
7                 8 

~7             ~7i 

108             110 

7i              8 

^ 

Pimento  (in  Bond,)  .    .    . 

SPIRITS, 

Jam.  Rum,  16  O.  P.  gall. 

2s    2d    2s  4d 
4346 

Is  lid    2s  Od 

Is9d    Is  lid 

Is8d     3s  3 
8036 

Geneva,        .        . 

1  10        20 



_ 

18       19 

Grain  Whisky,        .      . 

60       70 

—              — 

—               — 

—               — 

W  NES, 

Claret,  1st  Growths,  hhd. 

45              55 

_              _ 

—  .               _ 

£30            £60 

Portugal  Red,           pipe. 

."0               46 

—              _ 

—               — 

45               52 

Spanish  White,         butt. 

34               55 

—              — 

—  .               — 

—               — 

Teneriffe,                  pipe. 

30               32 

—              — 

—               — 

—               — 

55                65 

28               45 

LOGWOOD,  Jam.        tan. 

£7         77 

7    15     8    0 

6085 

£6  10     70 

8               — 

—              _ 

85     8  10 

6  10     7    0 

Campeachy,       .    .    • 

8               — 

—              — 

8  15     9    0 

FUSTIC,  Jamaica,   .        . 

7                 8 

6  10       70 

6670 

7           8~0 

9               11 

85       8  10 

7  15     8  10 

INDIGO,  Caraccas  fine,  Ib. 

7s  6d  10s  6d 

76       86 

8090 

10    0    10    0 

TIMBER,  Amer.  Pine,  foot. 

1618 

__               _ 

_               —  . 

_              _ 

3034 

.^               .^ 

__               ,^_ 

_              .^ 

Christiansand  (dxit.paid.) 

. 

_               — 

—               „_ 

—              — 

Honduras  Mahogany, 

1418 

12       18 

0  10     1     1 

0  11      1  — 

St  Domingo,  ditto,     .    . 

__               — 

16       30 

1520 

—                 — 

TAR,  American,            brl. 

—               —- 

_               __ 

16 

16                — 

18               — 

—               — 

—                —  . 

16    6          — 

PITCH,  Foreign,          cwt. 

10               11 

_               



86      9  — 

TALLOW,  Rus.  Yel.  Cand. 

4j)                ^*i 

49              50 

48               — 

43               — 

Home  melted  

52               53 

__               — 

_                _ 

—               — 

HEMP,  Riga  Rhine,     ton. 

44               — 

_               _ 

—                _ 

£47              — 

Petersburgh,  Clean,   .    . 

39              — 

—               — 

—                — 

46  10         — 

FLAX, 

1 

Riga  Thies.  &  Druj.  Rak. 

55               — 
50              90 

—               — 

—               — 

£52              — 
42              46 

Irish,        ... 

41                46 

_ 



MATS,  Archangel,       100. 

75              80 

_               _ 

_               —  . 

65              — 

BRISTLES, 

Petersburgh  Firsts,    cwt. 

15  10         14 

—               — 

_                _ 

_               _ 

ASHES,  Peters.  Pearl,  .    . 

40              — 

—  .               — 

_     •          — 

—      '        — 

Montreal,  ditto, 

41              46 

38               40 

39               40 

40               41 

Pot, 

36              37 

31               52 

53         53    6 

42                43 

OIL,  Whale,        .        tun. 

£25              26 

25               — 

_               __ 

22  10          23 

Cod  

84s  (p.  brl.)— 

22               23 

_               _ 

22                — 

TOBACCO,  Virgin,  fine,  Ib. 

61               7 

6*               7 

0    51   0    8 

0  6d           6i 

Middling,        .        .      . 

6              61 

5                5J 

0    41    0    5 

_               — 

Inferior,        . 

5               51 

31              4 

0    2J    0    3 

0  2J          03 

COTTONS,  Bowed  Georg. 

_               — 

0    9i       11£ 

09     0  111 

09       0  11 

Sea  Island,  fine, 

—               — 

1820 

1518 

14       20 

Good,      . 

_               _ 

1     6J     1     8 

1214 

_               _ 

Middling,      .      . 

—               — 

1416 

1214 

_               _ 

Demerara  and  Berbice, 

—               — 

1012 

0  101    1     1 

0  10      1     C| 

West  India, 

—               — 

0  10     0    11 

09     0  10J 

_                 — 

Pernambuco,         . 

—               — 

1112 

1  OJ      1     11 

1312 

Maranham,       .       .       . 

—               — 

1     1 

10       1     01 

11     1    0 

384 


Register.— Commercial  Report. 


London,  Corn  Exchange,  Aug.  6 


Liverpool,  Aug.  1. 


i.       t.                         t.        1. 

».    d.    >.  d. 

t.  d.    t.  d. 

Wheat,  red,  new  40  to  46 

Hog  pease  .       29  to  30 

Wheat,  per  70  Ib. 

Amer.  p.  196  Ib. 

Fine  ditto  .    .   48  to  52 

Maple    .    .        31  to  32 

Eng.  Old      8     3  to    9     0 

Sweet,  U.S.—  Oto—    0 

Superfine  ditto  54  to  56 

White    .     .     .36  to  40 

Waterford  7    9  to    7  11 

Do.  in  bond  23  0  to  25  — 

Ditto,  old  .    .    —  to  — 

Ditto,  boilers.  41  to  4'-' 

Limerick  .7    9  to    7  11 

Sour  do.  .    32  0  to  35    0 

White,  new    .    40  to  42 

New  ditto,  .     .  —  to  — 

Drogheda    7    7  to    8     0 

Oatmeal,  per  240  Ib. 

Fine  ditto  .    .   48  to  56 

SmallBeans,new31  to  32 

Dublin   .    7    5  to    7     8 

English        29  0  to  31     6 

Superfine  ditto  60  to  S2 

Ditto,  old  .    .  —  to  — 

Scotch   .  .  7    8  to    8    t> 

Scotch  .  .    26  0  to  28     Q 

Ditto,  old  .    .    —  to  — 

Tick,  new  .    .  24  to  27 

Irish  Old  .7    2  to    7    7 

Irish  ...    25  0  to  28    n 

Foreign,  new  .  —  to  — 

Ditto,  old  .    .   —  to  — 

Bonded  .  .  4    0  to    5    0 

Bran,  p.  21  Ib.  1  0  to  1    Q 

Rye  .    .     .    .    28  to  32 
Fine  ditto,  .     .  —  to  — 

Foreign  .    .    .  —  to  — 
Feed  oats  .    .    18  to  20 

Barley,  per  6'0  IDS. 
Eng.  ...    4     0  to    4     (i 

Butter,  Beef,  $c. 

Barley  .    .    .    21  to  25  Fine  .    .    .    .  20  to  25 

Scotch  .  .   3    6  to    4     6 

Butter.p.cwt.  s.  d.     s.  d. 

Fine,  new  .    .  2.5  to  27 

Poland  ditto  .    20  to  23 

Irish  ...  3    6  to   3    8 

Belfast,  new  79  0  to  80  0 

Superfine  .    .    28  to  29 

Fine  .     .     .     .  24  to  26 

Oats,  per  45  Ib. 

Newry  .  .     78  0  to  79  0 

Malt  .    .    .    .42to  52  Potatoe  ditto  .  24  to  26 
Fine  .    .    .    .  56  to  58  Fine  .    .    .    .  26  to  28 

Eng.  pota.  3     1  to    3    3 
Irish  do.  .    3     1  to   3    2 

Waterford  .  73  0  to  74  0 
Cork,pic.2d,  77  0  to  78  0 

Scotch  do.  3    2  to    3    3 

3d  dry    68  0  to  —  0 

Rye,  perqr.30  0  to  32    0 

Beef,  p.  tierce. 

Seeds,  $c. 

Malt  per  fa. 

—  Mess       100  0  to   —  0 

—  Fine  .  .  8    6  to    9    0 

—  per  brl.    70  0  to    75  0 

».      3.  d. 

s.         s. 

Beans,  per  qr. 

Pork,  p.  brl. 

Must.  Brown,  7  to  12  0 

Hempseed  .  .  —  to    — 

English    .53     0  to  35     6 

—  Mess    .    45  0  to    55  0 

—White  ...  5  to    80 

Linseed,  crush.  48  to    52 

insh   .  .    33    0  to  35    6 

—  Middl.     —  0  to     —  0 

Tares,  new,  .  —  to  —  0 

New,  for  Seed  —  to    — 

Rapeseed,  p.  1.  £31  to  33 

Bacon,  p.  cwt. 

Turnips,  bsh.  22  to  28  0 

Ryegrass,  .  .     18  to    26 

Pease.grey28    0  to  30    6 

Short  mids.  35  0  to    56  0 

—  Red&green  —  to  —  0 

Clover.redcwt.50to    60 

—White  .38     0  to  44    0 

Sides   .    .     —  0  to    —  0 

—  Yellow,       —  to  —  0 

—White  ...    66  to  100 

Flour,  English, 

Hams,  dry,  —  0  to    —  0 

Caraway,  cwt.  56  to  65  0 

Coriander  .  .      8  to    14 

p.2401b.fine.>8    0  to  40    0 

Green    .  .    —  Oto   —  0 

Canary,  qr.     42  to  46  0 

Trefoil  ....  14  to    30 

Irish  .  .   56   Oto39    0 

Lard,rd.p.c.  —  0  to   —  0 

Rape  Seed,  per  last,    .    £30  to  £32. 

ALPHABETICAL  LIST  of  ENGLISH  BANKRUPTCIES,  announced  between  the  20th 
of  June  and  the  20th  of  July,  1821,  extracted  from  the  London  Gazette. 

Acaster,  T.  Beale,  Yorkshire,  publican. 

Adeane,  H.  Hertford,  shoemaker. 

Ainsworth,  T.  H.  Halliwell,  Lancaster,  calico- 
printer. 

Astley,  G.  Wem,  Salop,  farmer. 

Banks,  W.  and  Co.  Birmingham,  dealers. 

Bardsley,  J.  jun.  Manchester,  cotton  spinner. 

Barnet,  T.  Birmingham,  merchant. 

Barnwell,  J.  Leamington  Priors,  carpenter. 

Barton,  H.  Paul's  Cray,  Kent. 

Bennett,  J.  Marsham,  Norfolk,  miller. 

Betts,  J.  T.  Aldgate,  tea-dealer. 

Cann,  W.  Oakhampton,  ironmonger. 

Cardwell,  C.  H.  and  Smith,  J.  Wath  upon  Dearne, 
York,  flax  spinners. 

Cazzer,  J.  Maker,  Cornwall,  innkeeper. 

Cleugh,  J.  and  R.  late  of  Leadenhall-street,  linen- 
drapers. 

Coates,  H.  Bradfield,  Essex,  farmer. 

Consitt,  R.  and  Co.  Hull,  merchants. 

Coombes,  J.  Lower  Shadwell,  cooper. 

Cooper,  W.  Beeston,  Leeds,  victualler. 

Cotterell,  J.  Worcester,  timber-merchant. 

Cox,  R.  A.  jun.  and  Co.  Little  Britain,  bankers. 

Dalton,  J.  Bury,  Suffolk,  surgeon. 

Draper,  W.  Maldon,  Essex,  watchmaker. 

Dyson,  E.  Well-street,  Jermyn-street,  dealer. 

Edwards,  J.  Gough  Square, 

Essex,  W.  Paddington,  wharfinger. 

Farley,  T.  Ratclitte  Highway,  linendraper. 

Fea,  J.  Hull,  broker. 

Figes,  T.  and  Co.  Romsey,  Hants,  brewers. 

Forsdick,  J.  Euston  Square,  Pancras,  builder. 

Goodluck,  W.  R.  Burton  Crescent,  Middlesex, 
broker. 

Golding,  H.  Lower  Thames-street,  wine  mer- 
chant. 

Gray,  J.  Bishopgate-street-within,  silversmith. 

Griffiths,  G.  Grantham,  timber  merchant. 

Hardwick,  S.  Birmingham,  builder. 

Hawley,  G.  High-street,  Shadwell,  cheesemonger. 

Hepworth,  J.  Leeds,  cloth  dresser. 

Htegs,  W.  Strand,  hatter. 

I  [ill,  J.  Dover,  saddler. 

Hilton,  J.  St  Martin's  Le  Grand,  sadler. 

Humphreys,  E.  Swansea,  victualler. 

Jordan,  1>.  Whitechapel,  druggist. 

Knight,  W.  G.  Batcombe,  Somerset,  money  scri- 
vener. 

Lammin,  T.  East  Bridgford,  Nottinghamshire, 
maltster. 

Lee,  W.  Old  City  Chambers,  wine  merchant. 


Longbottom,  T.  Keighley,  York,  machine  ma- 
ker. 

Macmullen,  W.  G.  and  Co.  Hertford,  grocers. 
Macneil,  W.  Charles-street,-  Middlesex  Hospital, 

coachmaker. 
Malton  and  Wilson,  Greville-street,  Hatton-Gar- 

den. 

Marr,  R.  C.  Rathbone  Place,  linen-draper. 
Mather,  E.  Oxford,  grocer. 
Metcalf,  C.  Bedale,  flax-dresser. 
Medd,  T.  Staple  Inn  Building,  Holborn,  draper. 
Mitchell,  F.  New  Malton,  corn  merchant. 
Mitchel,  J.  Milk-street,  warehouseman. 
Moseley.  H.  New  Road,  St  George's  in  the  East, 

glass  warehouse  keeper. 
Nibblett,  C.  Guildford,  money  scrivener. 
Offer,  J.  Bathwick,  near  Bath,  slater. 
Peacock,  J.  Bawtry,  York,  victualler. 
Peake,  W.  Sloane  Square,  linen-draper. 
Penvold,  W.  Leadenhall-street,  horsedealer. 
Perfect.  G.  jun.  West  Mailing,  surgeon. 
Phelps,  W.  Camomile-street,  Bishopsgate-street, 

carpenter. 

Pilkington,  R.  Mile  End  Road,  baker. 
Playfair,  T.  New  Bond  St.eet,  trunk  maker. 
Purchas,  R.  W.  andTredwen,  R.  Chepstow,  ship 

builders. 

Rainey,  R.  Spilsby,  tanner. 
Rist,  C.  Cornhill,  auctioneer. 
Sadler.  T.  Aston  near  Birmingham,  dealer. 
Salmon,   R.  H.   Alfred  Place,  Bedford  Square, 

horse-dealer. 

Sedlow,  W.  Manchester,  flour  dealer. 
Spence,  J.  Yarm,  grocer. 
Stray,  M.  Rotherham,  linen-draper. 
Sullivan,  P.  Stewart-street,  Old  Artillery  Ground, 

silk  manufacturer. 
Thompson.T.  Langboume  Buildings,  Fenchurch- 

street,  timber  merchant. 
Tyerman,  J.  Bristol,  haberdasher. 
Walsh,  J.  Barbican  victualler. 
Webb,  H.  Rochdale,  woolstapler. 
Webster,  R.  and  W.  Bishop,  Wearmouth,  mer- 

Wall'ing/G.  B.  Basinghall-street,  woollen-draper. 
Whitehouse,  T.  West  Broomwich,  miner. 
Whitesmith,  W.  Old  Fish-street,  grocer. 
Wilson,  H.  Crispin-street,  Spital  Fields,  victualler 
Yarnold,  P.  City  Garden  Row,  St  Lukes',  tailor. 
Yarrow,  U.  Chiswell-street,  shopkeeper. 
Youden,  J.  Dover,  spirit  merchant. 
Young,  J.  Ware,  Herts,  tailor. 


Register. — Commercirl  Report. 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  of  SCOTCH  BANKRUPTCIES,  announced  between  the  1st  and 
;$lst  July,  1821,  extracted  from  the  Edinburgh  Gazette. 


Adam,  William,  and  Co.  bleachers  at  Bellfield. 

Archer,  John,  merchant,  Edinburgh. 

Barkley,  Hands  and  William,  cattle-dealers,  shire 
of  Wigton,  and  stewartry  of  Kirkcudbright. 

Blackley,  Thomas  and  Adam,  fleshers,  Edinburgh. 

Chirrey,  John,  and  Co.  merchant-tailors,  Glasgow. 

dimming,  Peter,  shoemaker,  Glasgow. 

CUoningname,   Robert  Dryburgh,    ship-builder 
and  ship-owner,  Leith. 

Dow  and  Fenwick,  merchants,  Perthi 

Ferguson,  Roderick,  merchant,  cattle-dealer,  fish- 
curer,  and  innkeeper,  Dunvegan. 

Gardner,  John,  coach-proprietor  aud  postmaster, 
( •  lasgow. 

Robertson,  John,  merchant  and  agent,  Glasgow. 

Hoss,  Hugh,  merchant  and  builder,  Glasgow. 

Scott,  Robert,  shoemaker,  Glasgow. 

Taylor,  Robert,  and  Son,  'grocers,  spirit-dealers, 
and  tobacconists,  Glasgow. 

Watt,  Thomas,  and  Co.  merchants  and  ware- 
housemen, Glasgow. 

Weir,  Duncan,  lime-burner  at  East  Camp,  by 
Mid-Calder. 

Voting,  William,  of  the  Omao  iron-works,  coal- 
merchant  and  iron-merchant,  Glasgow. 
DIVIDENDS. 

Chambers,  David,  and  Co.  woollen  and  linen  dra- 


pers, Lockerbie;  a  2d  and  final  dividend,  31st 
August 

Duncan,  James,  mercliant,  Dundee;  a  dividend 
5th  September. 

Gourlay,  the  late  Oliver,  farmer,  grazier  and  cat- 
tle-dealer, at  Craigrothie,  Fifesmre;  a  dividend 
after  16th  August 

Petrie,  James,  jun.  merchant,  Aberdeen ;  a  divi- 
dend 15th  August. 

Pettigrew,  John,  merchant  and  agent,  Glasgow ; 
a  dividend  22d  August 

Pringle,  James,  tanner  in  Haddington ;  a  dividend 
17th  August. 

Robertson  and  Bell,  merchants  and  agents,  Glas- 
gow ;  a  dividend  after  20th  August. 

Robertson,  Wm.  merchant,  Inverness;  a  dividend 
29th  August. 

Ross,  Alexander,  clothier,  Glasgow;  a  2d  divi- 
dend 14th  August 

Scott,  Robert,  and  Park,  John,  manufacturers, 
Glasgow;  a  dividend  after  20th  August. 

Steel,  William,  mercliant,  Glasgow;  a  dividend 
on  7th  August. 

White,  Thomas,  merchant,  Edinburgh;  a  third 
dividend  after  20th  August 

Wright,  Malcolm,  merchant,  Paisley ;  a  dividend 
of  2s.  per  pound  after  I5th  August 


APPOINTMENTS,  PROMOTIONS,  &c. 


Brevet      Bt.  Maj.  Gorrequer,  18  F.  tobeLt  Col. 

in  the  Army  July  5,  1821 

Capt.  Crokat,  20  F.  Major  in  the  Army 

do. 

3  D.  G.    C.  Markham,   Cornet  by  purch.  vice 

Elwood,  ret.  28  June 

6  Lieut.  Kington,  Capt.  by  purch.  vice 

M'Dowall,  ret.  5  July 

Cornet  Hindle,  Lt  by  purch.  do. 

W.  Porter,  Cornet,  by  purch.  do. 

4  Dr.       Lieut.  Scott,  Capt.  by  purch.  vice  Maj. 

Phillips,  ret.  28  June 

Cornet  Newton,  Lt.  by  purch.          do. 

9  Him.  F.Lascelles, Cornet  by  purch.  vice 

Sir  F.  Vincent,  ret.  12  July 

16  Lieut.  Crichton,  Capt.  by  purch.  vice 

Penrice,  ret.  5  do. 

Cortiet  Wrottesley,  Lt.  by  purch.     do. 

J.  R.  Smyth,  Cornet,  by  purch.        do. 

19  D.  Davidson,  do.  by  purch.  vice  Tal- 

bot,  ret.  do. 

1  F.  G.    Ens.  &  Lt.  Fletcher,  Lt.  &  Capt.  by 

purch.  vice  Krskine,  ret.  12  do. 

• Hon.  P.  Ashburnham,  fin. 

h.  p.  Coldst  G.  Ens.  &  Lt.  do. 

G.  W.  Kyres,  fm.  h.  p.  1  F. 

G.  vice  Norton,  ret.  13  do. 

1  F.          Surg.  Elkington,  fm.  h.  p.  30  F.  Surg. 

vice  Davidson,  h.  p.  12  do. 

7  W.  Murray,  Lt.  by  purch.  vice  Brown- 

low,  1  Ceyl.  R.  21  June 

10  Lieut.  Holden,  Capt.  vice  Mainwaring, 

dead  12  July 

Ensign  Sheriff,  Lieut.  do. 

W.  Childers,  Ensign  do. 

18  Surg.  Bums,  fm.  h.  p.  4  Vet  Bn.  Surg. 

vice  Carver,  h.  p.  do. 

40  Lieut.   Barlow,  fm.  8  Dr.  Capt.    by 

purch.  vice  Lowrey,  ret.        28  June 

49  Capt.  H.  H.  Hutchmson,  fm.  64  F. 

Maj.  by  purch.  vice  Bunbury,  83  F. 

5  July,  1821 

64  Lieut.  Samo,  Capt.  by  purch.  vice  Hut- 

chinson,  prom.  49  F.  12  do. 

Ensign  Honne,  Lt.  by  purch.  do. 

83  Maj.  Bunbury,  fm.  "49  F.  Lt.  Col.  by 

purch.  vice  Brunt,  ret.  5  do. 

87  Ensign  Shipp,  Lt.  vice  Dunlevie,  dead 

do. 

J.  Burney,  Ensign  29  July,  1816 

90  Bt.  Lieut.  Col.  lion.  H.  B.  Lygon,  fm. 

1  Life  Gds.  Lieut.  Col.  by  purch.  vice 

Austen,  ret.  12  July,  1821. 

Lieut.  Lord  f.  W.  Montagu,  fm.  1  Ceyl. 

VOL.  IX 


Reg.  Lieut  vice  Wilson,  h.  p.  83  F. 

rec.  diff.  28  June 

1  W.  I.  R.  Lt  Mackay,  fm.  h.  p.  York  Chass. 

Paym.   vice    Ledingham,    cancelled 

13  July 

1  Ceyl.  R.  Bt  Maj.  Fraser,  Maj.  by  purch.  vice 
Lt  Col.  Huskisson,  ret         21  June 
Lieut  Brownlow,  fm.  7  F.  Capt  by 
purch.  do. 
Watson,  fm.  h.  p.  83  F.  Lt  (pay- 
ing diff.)  vicel/orrf  Montague,  90  F. 
28  do. 
Exchanges. 

Major  Brutton,  from  8  Dr.  with  Major  Sir  H. 

Floyd,  11  Dr. 
Preston,  from  13  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Major 

Sale,  h.  p.  12  F. 

Capt.  Ronald,  from  6  F.  with  Capt  Murphy,  h.  p. 
D.  Maqjherson,  from  11  F.  with  Capt.  G. 

Macpherson,  h.  p.  97  F. 
Man,  from  91  F.  with  Capt.  O'Doherty,  h. 

p.  40  K. 
Lieut  Jones,  from  6  Dr.  G.  rec.  diff.  with  Lieut. 

Hollingworth,  h.  p.  22  Dr. 
Hawkins,  from  4  Dr.  with  Lieut.  Hart,  86 

F. 
Dowbiggen,  from  12  Dr.  with  Lieut  Earl 

of  Errol,  16  F. 
Tarleton,  from  6  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lieut. 

Maxwell,  h.  p.  3  Gar.  Bn. 
Sandwitn,  from  40  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lieut. 

Armit,  h.  p.  27  F. 
Grubbe,  from  43  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lieut 

Carruthers,  h.  p. 
Timbrell,  from  58  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Lieut 

Barker,  h.  p.  Rifle  Brig. 
Cor.  and  Sub-Lt.  Newburgh,  from  1  Life  Gds.  rec. 

diff.  between  the  full  pay  ef  the  two  commis- 
sions, Ensign  Walrond,  n.  p.  60  F. 
Cornet  Grant,  from  3  Dr.  Gds.  with  Ensign  Todd, 

41  F. 
Ensign  Blayney,  from  4  F.  with  2d  Lieut.  Shenley, 

Rifle  Brig. 
Conolly,'from  58  F.  with  Ensign  M'Leroth. 

h.  p.  71  F. 
Paym.  Patterson,  from  22  F.  with  Paym.  Biggs, 

h.  p.  100F. 
Qua.-Mast  Day,  from  63  F.  with  Lieut.  Fenwick. 

h.  p.  71  F. 
Assist.  Surg.  Cundell,  from  35  F.  with  Assist  Surg. 

King,  h.  p.  9.5  F. 

fceoghoe,  f  rom[3  F.  with  Assist  Surg. 


Barclay,  h.  p.  44  F 


4-E 


586 


Appointments,  Promotions,  $c. 


Resignations  and  Retirements. 
Lieut.  Col.  Brunt,  85  F. 

Austen,  90  F. 

Huskisson,  1  CeyL  R. 

Major  Phillips,  4  Dr. 
c:apt.  M<  Do  wall,  6  Dr.  G. 

Penrice,  16  Dr. 

Erskine,  1  F.  G. 

Lowrey,  40  F. 

Lieut.  Norton,  1  F.  G. 

2d  Lt  &  Cor.  Elwood,  3  D.  G. 

Sir  F.  Vincent,  Bt.  9  Dr. 

Talbot,  19  Dr. 

Jellis,  Roy.  Art. 

Hosp.  Assist.  W.  D.  Watson. 
R.  Moir. 

Dcatlis. 

Lieut  Gen.  Hatton,  formerly  of  66  F.  18  F.  21. 
Nicholson,  East  I.  Comp.  Serv.  Lon- 
don, 3  July,  21 
Lieut  Col.  Covell,  h.  p.  24  Dr.  Colchester, 

3  July,  21 
Capt  Mainwaring,  10  F. 


Alex.  Macbean,  2  Ceylon  Reg.  Ceylon, 

8  Feb.  21 

Boyle,  h.  p.  7  F.  late  of  4!  F. 

Carter,  h.  p.  22  F. 

Sir  T.  Hyde  Page,  h.  p.  R.  Inv.  Eng.  Bou- 
logne, 30  June,  21 
Lieut.  Buckeridge,  Roy.  Eng.  Gibraltar, 

12  April,  21 
Fortescue,  late  3  Roy.  Vet.  Bu.  Mallow, 

22  June 

Parsons,  h.  p.  9  F.  Adjut.  Monmouth  Mil. 

Monmouth,  21  do 

Eyre,  h.  p.  34  F.  London,  20  do 

Kingsley,  h.  p.  41  F.  London,  9  March 

Ens.  Montgomerie,  4.5  F.  Ceylon. 

Christie,  h.  p.  72  F.  20  Sept. 

Cox,  37  F.  on  board  the  ship  St  Lawrence, 

23  July,  21 
Qua.-Mast.  Minor,  h.  p.  22  Dr.  7  June,  2 1 

Johnston,  h.  p.  31  Dr.  Bolton,   27  do. 

Surg.  Keate,  Chelsea  Hospital. 

Millet,  h.  p.  Watteville  Regt  in  France, 

13  April,  21 
Bar.-Mast.  Tait,  Bahamas. 


METEOROLOGICAL  TABLE,  extracted  from  the  Register  kept  at  Edinburgh,  in  the 
Observatory,  Calton-hill. 

N.B. — The  Observations  are  made  twice  every  day,  at  nine  o'clock,  forenoon,  and  four  o'clock,  after- 
noon— The  second  Observation  in  the  afternoon,  in  the  first  column,  is  taken  by  the  Register 
Thermometer. 


Ther. 

iarom. 

Attach. 
Ther. 

Wind. 

Ther. 

Barom. 

-Utai-h. 
Ther. 

Wind. 

July  1  { 

M.39 

A.  50 

29.435 
.592 

M.57X 
A.54/ 

E. 

Sunshine, 
cold  wind. 

July  17  { 

M.45 

A.59 

29.920 
.986 

M.631 
\.  63  / 

Cble. 

Dull,  but 
warm. 

2{ 

M.37 
A.  53 

.63.5 
.636 

M.58\ 
A.59/ 

Cble. 

Dull,  but 
air. 

18{ 

M.46 
A.  63 

.999 
.099 

M.65\ 
A.65/ 

W. 

Ditto. 

s{ 

M.36 
A.  53 

.704 
.740 

M.59\ 
A.  56  / 

Cble. 

)ull  morn, 
un.  day. 

19{ 

M.49 
A.  76 

.923 
.972 

M.69\ 
A.  69  ) 

Cble. 

Dull  foren. 
sun  aftern. 

H 

M.55J 
A.  56 

.815  M.62\ 
.885  A.  59  / 

Cble. 

Sunsh.warm 
iftern. 

20  1 

M.48 

A.  60 

.425 
.202 

M.65\ 
A.  61  / 

SW. 

?oren.  show- 
er v,  aft  fair. 

i 

M.39J 

.936 

M.62\ 

m-.lo 

Dull  foren. 

( 

M..51 

.240 

M.64\ 

\ 

A.  58 

.891 

A.65/ 

.,016. 

warm  aftern. 

I 

A.  58 

.239 

A.  63  ) 

W 

Ditto. 

e{ 

M.58i 
A.54 

.587 
.720 

M.59X 
A.  56  / 

Cble. 

Showery. 

22  1 

M.45J 
A.  55 

.108 
.199 

M.64\ 
A.  63  / 

Cble. 

Showery 

?{ 

M.39J 
A.  50 

.844 
.875 

M.57\ 
A.  58  / 

Cble. 

Ditto. 

23  1 

M.45 
A.  60 

.1.57 
.290 

M.60\ 
A.61/ 

W. 

Sunshine. 

*{ 

M.38J 
A.  58 

.902 
.860 

M.66\ 
A.  64  / 

Cble. 

Warm,  with 
showers. 

24  1 

M.47J 
A.61 

.250 

.'220 

M.65  \ 
A.  65  / 

SW. 

Ditto. 

H 

M.39 
A.  57 

.H30 
.920 

M.61X 
A.64/ 

Cble. 

Warm,  with 
sunshine. 

25{ 

M.45 
A.  56 

.175 

.56.5 

M.63\ 

A.65/ 

SW. 

Showeryand 

10{ 

M.40J 
A.59 
M.41 

.875 
916 
•962 

M.63\ 
A.61/ 
M.61X 

Cble. 

Ditto. 
Dull  morn. 

26  / 

07  f 

M.46 
A.61 
M.45 

.403 
.583 
.650 

M.63X 
A.  62  / 
M.62X 

SW. 

Show,  with 
thun.&ligh. 

1 

A.54 

•919 

A.65/ 

B* 

sun.  aftern. 

27  { 

A.59 

.669 

A.63/ 

W. 

Showery. 

12  { 

M.41J 
A.  56 

•888 
750 

M.63X 
A.64/ 

Cble. 

Sunshine. 

28  1 

M.43.1, 
A.  57 

.6.50 
.662 

M.651 
A.64/ 

W. 

Show.  mor. 

13{ 

M.38 
A.  50 

M.38.} 
A.  .5<f 

.715 
.568 
.450 
.3115 

M.65X 
A.  64  / 
M.61X 

A.  60  I 

W. 
W. 

Dull  morn, 
sunsh.  day. 
Dull,  with 
a  shower. 

30  1 

M.44 
A.  58 
M.43J 
.V.  60 

.662 
.638 
.658 

.'Hi? 

M.64X 
A.63/ 

M.62X 
A.  62  / 

W. 
SW. 

tair  day. 
Fair,  withn. 
sunshine. 
Dull,  but 
fair. 

ic{ 

M.39 
A.  56 
M.40 

.269 
.6.52 
.562 

M.fiOX 
A.61/ 
A.  64  X 

Cble. 
W. 

Rain  morn. 
fair  day. 
Dull  day, 

3l{ 

M.49 
A.  60 

.490 

.576 

M.64X 
A.64/ 

W. 

Oul'l,  with 
showers. 

A.  58 

.775 

M.63/ 

cold  aftern. 

Average  of  Rain,  1.509  inches. 


BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BIRTHS. 

June  17.  At  Pisa,  in  Italy,  the  Right  Hon.  Lady 
Ulantyre,  of  a  daughter. 

26.  At  Mormomi-house,  Mrs  Gordon  of  Cairn- 
bulg,  of  a  son. 

tj.  At  Putney,  the  lady  of  John  Paterson,  Esq. 
captain  of  the  Hon.  East  India  Company's  ship 
licpulse,  of  a  son. 

30.  At  Monreith,  the  lady  of  Sir  William  Max- 
well of  Monreith,  Hart,  of  a  still-torn  child. 

July  2.  At  Portsmouth,  the  Right.  Hon.  Lady 
Greenock,  of  a  daughter. 

C.  At  Irvine,  the  lady  of  A  F.  Gray,  Esq.  comp- 
troller of  his  Majesty's  customs,  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  Rose  Bank,  the  lady  of  Kenneth  M'Leay, 
E*q.  of  Newmore,  of  a  son. 


7.  At  Stenton  Manse,  Mrs  Balfour  Graham,  of 
a  son. 

—  At  Bury-house,  Southampton,  the  lady  of 
Major-General  Kenneth  Mackenzie,  of  a  son. 

8.  Mrs  Ilorsburgh  of  Loohmalony,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Seaton'.s  Inn,  Bridge  of  Earn,  Mrs  Alex. 
Ballantyne,  Kelso,  of  a  daughter. 

9.  Mrs  Sands,  Royal  Circus,  of  a  son. 

1 0.  The  lady  of  Andrew  Spottiswoodc,  Esq.  Bed- 
ford Square,  London,  of  a  daughter. 

1 ;.  At  New  Street,  Canongate,  Mrs  Dun,  of  a 
son. 

—  Mrs  Napier,  Albany  Street,  of  a  son. 

16.  At  Stranraer,  the  lady  of  Major-Gencral 
M'Nair,  C'.  B.  of  a  daughter. 

17.  Glenkindy,  the  lady  of  Sir  Alexander  Lcith, 
K.  C.  B.  of  a  daughter. 


llcgixter. — Marriages  and  Deaths. 


17.  Mrs  John  Tawso,  of  a  con. 
1!).  At  Newbattlc  Abbey,  the  Marchioness  of 
Lothian,  of  a  daughter. 

—  In  Lower  Grosvenor  Street,   London,  the 
Right.  Hon.  Lady  Catharine  Whyte  Melville,  of 
8  son  and  heir. 

—  At  Warriston  Crescent,  Mrs  Barclay  of  a 
daughter. 

—  At  Castleton,  Argyllshire,  the  lady  of  Neil 
M'Lachlin,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

22.  At  Hambledon-house,  the  lady  of  Charles 
Scott  Murray,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

S3.  At  Annan,  the  lady  of  Wm.  Little,  sen.  Esq. 
of  a  son. 

26.  At  Dumfries,  the  lady  of  Alex.  A.  Harley 
Maxwell,  Esq.  of  a  son. 

27.  At  Houndwood-house,  the  lady  of  Captain 
C'nulson,  royal  navy,  of  a  son. 

28.  At  No.  46,  HeriotRow,  the  lady  of  Michael 
Riddell,  Esq.  of  a  son. 

—  At  Pinkie-house,  the  lady  of  Sir  John  Hope 
of  Craighall,  Bart,  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  No.  26,  Forth  Street,  MrsLyon,  of  a  son. 

29.  Mrs  John  Hutchison,  Writers'  Court,  of  a 
daughter. 

—  Mrs  Hume,  Castle  Street,  of  a  son. 

50.  At  Comely  Bank,  Mrs  Laidlaw,  of  a  daugh- 
ter. 

Lately,  At  Wickham  Park,  the  lady  "of  D.  Stu- 
art, Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

MARRIAGES. 

June  4.  At  Dunbar,  Mr  John  Younger,  writer 
in  Iladdington,  to  Sarah,  third  daughter  of  the 
late  Mr  R.  Thomson  of  Berwick. 

6.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Andrew  Archer,  dentist, 
New  Street,  .Canongate,  to  Miss  Ann  Cunning- 
ham Gregory,  eldest  daughter  of  Mr  Gregory, 
York  Place. 

13.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Peter  Brown,  bookseller, 
to  Margaret,  eldest  daughter  of  Mr  Benjamin 
Waters,  late  merchant  in  Leith. 

28.  At  Bath,  John   Maxwell  Logan,   Esq.  of 
Fingalton,   in  the  county   of  Renfrew,  to  Mrs 
Cathcart,  widow  of  the  late  Hugh  Cathcart,  Esq. 

29.  At  Oban,  James  Park  Harrison,  Esq.  to 
Elizabeth,  daughter  of  William  Campbell,  Esq. 
Collector  of  Customs  there. 

July  7>.  At  Aberdeen,  John  Harding  Walker, 
Esq.  M.  D.  late  surgeon  of  the  "3d  Highland  regt. 
to  Charlotte,  eldest  daughter  of  Alex.  Duncan, 
Esq. 

—  At  Ealing  Church,  Spencer  Percival,  eldest 
son  of  the  late  Right  Hon.  Spencer  Percival,  to 
Anna  Eliza,  youngest  daughter  of  the  late  Gen. 
Macleod  of  Macleod. 

—  William  Macdowall,  Esq.  advocate,  to  Miss 
Elizabeth   Christian  Dundas,  third  daughter  of 
Mr  James  Dundas  of  Ochtertyre,   clerk  to  the 
signet. 

6.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  James  Morison,  merchant, 
to  Herriot,  fourth  daughter  of  the  late  Christopher 
Stanley,  Esq.  Boston,  Lincolnshire. 

9.  At  Colernie,  Mr  William  Bisset,  Perth,  to 
Agnes,  second  daughter  of  Mr  James  Walker. 

10.  At  Aberdona,    Clackmannanshire,    John 
Kirknatrick,  Esq.  advocate,  to  Jane,  only  daugh- 
ter of  John  Glas,  Esq.  Stirling. 

—  John  Sinclair,  Esq.  of  Barrock,  to  Margaret, 
youngest  daughter  of  the  late  John  Learmonth, 
Esq. 

12.  At  Manchester,  Richard  Smith,  Esq.  mer- 
chant, Rotterdam,  to  Ann,  youngest  daughter  of 
Mr  James  M'Laren,  Tomperran,  Perthshire. 

13.  At  Enville,  Hugh  Montgomery  Campbell, 
Esq.  to  Miss  Hale,  of  the  Hollies,  Staffordshire. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Carlyle  Bell,  Esq.  W.  S.  to 
Miss  Cunningham,  eldest  daughter  of  Charles 
Cunningham,  Esq.  W.  S. 

16.  At  Durham,  Robert  Rattray,  Esq.  W.  S.  to 
Dorothea,  daughter  of  the  late  John  Dagnia, 
Esq. 

1C.  In  Cornhill  Church,  Mr  W,illiam  Grey, 
youngest  son  of  the  late  John  Grey,  Esq.  of  Mid- 
dle Ord,  to  Miss  Archbold,  New  Heaton. 

—  In  Cornhill  Church,  Mr  George  Archbold, 
of  Presson,  to  Miss  Elliot,  daughter  of  Mr  Wil- 
liam Elliot,  of  Howdon-Dock. 

22.  At  Edinburgh,  Captain  J.  Robertson,  14th 
regiment,  to  Katherine  Steele,  daughter  of  the 
late  George  Gray,  Esq.  of  Tullywhandland. 


587 

2.".  At  Portobello,  Mr  H.  J.  Baird,  to  Margaret, 
only  daughter  of  Henry  M'Kay,  Esq.  late  mer- 
chant, Glasgow. 

25.  At  Howard  Place,  Alexander  Paterson,  Esq. 
of  Smithfield,  to  Agnes,  the  fourth  daughter  of 
the  late  Thomas  Wallace,  Esq.  of  Stockbridge, 
Ayrshire. 

15.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  William  Panton,  manu- 
facturer, Edinburgh,  to  Ann  Jane,  second  daugh- 
ter of  Mr  Joseph  Kent,  Nelson  Street. 

—  At  Batearres,  James  Head,  Esq.  of  the  Ho- 
nourable East  India  Company's  service,  to  Cecilia, 
third  daughter  of  the  Honourable  Robert  Lindsay 
of  Balcarres. 

27.  Lieut.-Colonel  Sir  J.  Noell  Hill,  Bart. 
K.  C.  B.  of  the  Grenadier  Guards,  to  the  Hon. 
Anne  Maria  Shore,  daughter  of  Lord  Teign- 
mouth. 

30.  At  Inehbrayoek  Cottage,  Lieut.-Colonel 
Archibald  Watson,  Bengal  Light  Cavalry,  to 
Anne,  daughter  of  the  late  Archibald  Scott,  Esq. 
of  Usan. 

—  At  Larbert  Manse,  James  Monteath,  writer, 
Glasgow,  to  Ann  Laurie,  eldest  daughter  of  the 
Rev.  Dr  Knox,  minister  of  Larbert  and  Dunipace. 


DEATHS. 

Feb.  7,  1821.  At  Colombo,  Alexander  Cadell, 
Esq.  a  senior  servant  on  his  Majesty's  Ceylon  civil 
establishment,  who  had  held  for  many  years  the 
situations  of  Civil  and  Military  Paymaster-Gene- 
ral of  that  colony,  and  Deputy  Paymaster-Gene- 
ral to  the  King's  forces. 

—  At  Konmgale,  Ceylon,  of  the  jungle  fever, 
Captain  Alexander  M'Bean  of  the  2d  Ceylon  re- 
giment. 

>,  Ma;/  5.  At  St  Helena,  at  6  p.  m.  Napoleon 
Buonaparte,  aged  51  years  and  9  months,  being 
born  at  Ajaccio  in  Corsica,  Aug.  15,  1769.  He 
expired  after  an  illness  of  six  weeks,  the  last  fort- 
night only  of  which  was  considered  by  his  Medical 
Attendants  to  be  dangerous.  On  the  body  being 
opened,  the  disease  was  ascertained  to  be  a  cancer 
in  his  stomach,  with  a  great  extent  of  ulceration : 
although  the  pain  he  suffered  must  have  been  ex- 
cruciating, he  manifested  no  symptoms  of  impa- 
tience. After  lying  in  state,  he  was  buried,  Wed- 
nesday, May  9th,  with  military  honours,  in  a  spot 
called  Haines  Valley,  about  two  miles  distant  from 
Longwood,  where  a  grave  was  made  beneath  some 
willow  trees. 

May  16.  At  Plymouth,  in  consequence  of  fa- 
tigue which  he  underwent  in  Spain  and  Portu- 
gal, during  the  late  war,  and  of  which  he  never 
thoroughly  recovered,  Lieutenant  Cosmo  Came- 
ron, of  the  i  1th  regiment,  youngest  son  of  George- 
Cameron  of  Litternnlay — the  third  son  he  has  now- 
lost  in  his  Majesty's  service. 

20.  At  Glasgow,  in  the  81st  year  of  his  age,  Wm. 
Wardlaw,  Esq. 

June  2.  At  Scarva-house,  Downshire,  Ireland, 
Miss  Eliza  Amelia,  only  daughter  of  the  late  An- 
drew Macfarlane,  Ksq.  of  Donavourd,  Perthshire. 

20.  At  Cromarty,  trie  Rev.  Alexander  Macleod, 
minister  of  the  Gaelic  church  tin-re. 

— At  Coldblow,  county  Dublin,  Denis  George, 
Esq.  late  a  Baron  of  his  Majesty's  Court  of  Ex- 
chequer in  Ireland. 

21.  At  Kilbryde  Castle,  Susan  Jane,  the  only 
daughter ;  and,  on  the  3d  July,  Colin,  the  infant 
son  of  Sir  Alexander  Campbell,  Bart. 

22.  At  Broughty  Ferry,  Mrs  Ann  Maxwell,  re- 
lict of  Captain  Charles  Bell,  Pitbladdo. 

24.  At  Edinburgh,  after  a  short  illness,  Miss 
Ann  Scott,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Mr  Scott,  minis- 
ter of  Stitchell. 

25.  At  Viewfield  Cottage,  near  Inverness,  John 
Noble,  Esq.  of  the  India  House,  London. 

26.  At  Forfar,  after  a  few  days'  illness,  Peter 
Ranken,  Esq^.  Sheriff-substitute  of  Forfarshire. 

29.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Alexander  Dalmahoy. 
50.  James  Hamilton,   Esq.  senior,  of  Mavis- 
bank,  age:!  ~'A. 

—  At  Portobello,  William  Maxwell  Morison, 
Esq.  advocate. 

—  At  Grecnhaugh,  Govan,  Alexander,  eldest 
son  of  the  late  Alexander  Wallace,  Esq.  of  Auch- 
invole. 


Pegisier. — Dea  thx. 


588 

July  2.  At  Lochgilphead,  Mr  Archibald  Munro, 
Postmaster  there,  in  the  (i2d  year  of  his  age,  much 
regretted. 

—  At  Perth,  Mrs  Jane  Stewart,  relict  of  the 
late  Lieutenant  Robert  Menzies  of  the  late  Ross- 
shire  Highlanders. 

3.  At  Thornyflatts,  Ayrshire,  Major   Dugald 
Campbell,  late  of  the  92d,  or  Gordon  Highlanders. 

4.  At  Touch-house,  after  a  short  illness,  the 
Lady  of  Sir  Henry  Steuart,  Bart,  of  Allanton. 

—  At  Perth,  Mrs  Ann  Playfair,  relict  of  the 
deceased  Mr  Thomas  Myles,   late  merchant  in 
Perth,  aged  68. 

5.  At  Portobello,  of  apoplexy,  Robert  Allison, 
Esq.  son  of  the  late  David  Allison,  Esq.  one  of  the 
masters  of  the  Grammar  School  of  Glasgow. 

—  At  Canaan,  William  Wilson,  Esq.  clerk  to 
the  Signet. 

6.  At  Damhead,  near  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Chris- 
tian Anderson,  eldest  daughter  of  Mr  William 
Moffat,  farmer. 

—  At  Gloucester,  Miss  Helen  Colquhoun,  fifth 
daughter  of  the  late  Right  Hon. 'Archibald  Col- 
quhoun, Lord  Clerk  Register  of  Scotland. 

8.  At  Havre-de-Grace,  in  France,  Rear- Admiral 
the  Hon.  Francis  Farington  Gardner. 

—  At  his  house,  in  Queen  Street,  Alexander 
Walker,  Esq.  some  time  in  the  service  of  the  ho- 
nourable East  India  Company. 

—  At  his  father's  house,  Clyde  Street,  aged 
19,  John,  youngest  son  of  Mr  John  Dick,  farrier. 

9.  At  Bangor,  of  hydrophobia,  on  his  return 
from  the  West  Indies,  Mr  Archibald,  second  son 
of  Mr  John  M'Laurin,  Clachan,  Lochfinehead. 

—  At  Stepends  of  Urr,  Joseph  Gass,  Esq.  late 
Provost  of  Dumfries. 

—  At  London,  William  Douglas  of  Orchardton; 
Esq. 

10.  At  Leith,   Catherine,  second  daughter  of 
Mr  James  Black,  merchant  there. 

—  At  Carlogie  Cottage,   Aberdeenshire,  Mrs 
Garden  Campbell  of  Troup  and  Glenlyon. 

11.  In  the  Edinburgh   Royal   Infirmary,   Mr 
John    Berry,    formerly  of  the  Theatre-Royal, 
Edinburgh. 

—  At  Brighton,  William  Grant,  Esq.  of  Con- 
galton. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  William  Urquhart  of  the 
late  firm  of  Messrs  Walker  and  Urquhart,  general 
agents. 

—  At  London,  Captain  Robert  Boyle,  of  the 
42d  (Royal  Highland)  regiment  of  foot. 

12.  At  Edinburgh,  Patrick  M'Dougal,  Esq.  of 
Sboroa. 

—  Mrs  Elizabeth,  relict  of  the  late  John  M'- 
Auley  of  Leven  Grove,  F.sq.  Dumbarton. 

—  At  Hall,  Major  John  Shedden,  of  the  52d 
regiment. 

13.  At  Kelso,  Robert  Nichol,  Esq.  of  Edin- 
bank,  late  merchant  in  Kelso. 

—  At  Thornton-house,  of  hooping  cough,  An- 
drew William,  infant  son  of  Colonel  Cunning- 
hame,  aged  eight  months. 

—  In  London,  Sir  Watkin  Lewes,  aged  85. 

14.  At  her  house,  Spring  Gardens,  Stockbridge, 
Miss  Ann  Yule,  daughter  of  the  late  Mr  John 
Yule,  merchant,  Leith. 

15.  At  Allan  Park,  Stirling,  Ann  Millar,  spouse 
to  Mr  Archibald  Sawers. 

16.  At  Newtown,  Roxburghshire,  Mr  Andrew 
Hunter,  late  merchant  in  Leith. 

18.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Susan  Hamilton,  relict 
of  Patrick  Anderson,  W.  S. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Isobel  Forsyth,  wife  of 
Mr  John  Young,  Candlemaker-Row. 

19.  At  Dublin,  Lieutenant-Colonel  John  Camp- 
bell, of  the  2d  Royal  Veteran  Battalion. 

—  At  Murraythwaite,  Dumfries-shire,  Mrs  Mur- 
ray, relict  of  William  Murray,  Esq.  of  Murray- 
field. 


LAug. 


20.  At  Oeanies-house,  in  Ross-shire,   James 
Crawford  M'  Leod,  younger  of  Geanies. 

—  Prince  Maurice  deBroglie,  Bishop  of  Ghent, 
after  a  long  and  painful  malady. 

21.  At  Edinburgh,  Jane,  infant  daughter  of 
James  Wylie,  Esq.  of  Annatfield,  writer  to  the 
signet. 

—  At  Rosefield-housc,  Portobello,  Christian 
Nicolson,  daughter  of  Mr  William  Jameson,  writer 
to  the  signet. 

22.  At  Edinburgh,  the  infant  son  of  John  Tawse, 
Esq.  advocate. 

—  At  Dundee,  William,  second  son  of  the 
Rev.  Thomas  Barby,  Bendochy. 

23.  At  Villa  Tanzi,  near  Como,  Mrs  Oliphant, 
wife  of  Lawrence  Oliphant  of  Condie,  Esq. 

—  At  Lausanne,  Switzerland,  Mrs  Kelso,  Lady 
of  Archibald  Kelso  of  Sauchiie,  Esq.  county  of 
Ayr. 

—  At  Dalhousie  Farm,  Mark  John,  second  son 
of  the  Right  Hon.  Lord  Robert  Ker,  aged  seven 
years  ana  five  months. 

—  At  Seaside  Cottage,   near  Aberdour,  Mrs 
Moubray,  widow  of  Robert  Moubray,  Esq.   Coc- 
kairny,  M.  D. 

24.?At  Thannington  Place,  Vauxhall,  Frances, 
2d  daughter  of  the  late  Rev.  Frances  Stone,  rec- 
tor of  Cold  Norton,  Essex. 

25.  At  Mousewald  Manse,  Mrs  Janet  Richard- 
son, wife  of  the  Rev.  Jacob  Dickson. 

—  At  his  house,  in  Kirkcaldy,  Mr  John  Bax- 
ter, writer  there. 

<i6.  At  65,  Nicholson  Street,  Mrs  Lawson, 
aged  75. 

—  At  Cheltenham,  after  an  illness  of  two  days, 
the  Dowager  Countess  of  Jersey. 

—  At  Castle  Street,  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Elizabeth 
Gordon,  wife  of  Mr  Michael  Anderson,  solicitor. 

28.  At  her  father's  house,  at  Canaan,  near 
Edinburgh,  Mrs  Barbara  Thomson,  wife  of  Ar- 
thur Pollock,  Esq.  merchant,  Grangemouth. 

Lately — At  Musselburgh,  Mrs  Allan,  widow  of 
David  Allan,  Esq.  historical  painter,  Edinburgh. 

—  At  his  apartments,  in  Chelsea  Hospital,  in 
his  76th  year,  Thomas  Keate,  Esq.  surgeon  to 
the  establishment  for  upwards  of  30  years,  sur- 
geon to  the  King,  and  late  surgeon-general  to  the 
army. 

—  At  his  seat,  Pinner-grove,  Middlesex,  Sir 
F.  Milman,  Bart.  M.D.  F.R.S.  aged  7">. 

—  At  Allonby,  Mary,  the  wife  of  Mr  Samuel 
Grave,  aged  58.    During  the  time  the  neighbours 
were  putting  the  body  into  the  coffin,  Thomas 
Graves,  the  eldest  son  of  the  deceased  also  died, 
aged  30  :  they  were  both  buried  in  the  same  grave 
at  Allonby  chapel. 

—  At  Fort  Wiliam,  Mr  Donald  Kennedy,  at- 
a  very  advanced  age.  He  was  the  person  who  set 
fire  to  the  King's  brew-house,  when  the  Pretender 
was  besieging  Fort  William. 

—  In   Campbell,   County   Virginia,  Mr  Cha?. 
Layne,  sen.  aged  121  years,  being  born  at  Albe- 
marle,  near  Buckingham  County,  1700.     He  has 
left  a  widow,  aped  110  years,  and  a  numerous  and 
respectable  family,  down  to  the  fourth  generation. 
He  was  a  subject  of  four  British  Sovereigns,  and 
a  citizen  of  the  United  States  for  nearly  48  years ; 
until  within  a  few  years,  he  enjoyed  all  his  facul- 
ties, and  excellent  health. 

—  At  Ashford,  in  the  County  of  Waterford, 
aged  111,  Anne  Bryan,  leaving  a  posterity  of  160 
persons,  children,  grandchildren,  and  great  grand 
children. 

—  At  Rose-hall,  Wm.  Munro,  gardener  there 
since  1747,  when  he  was  a  married  man  with  a 
large  family ,  and  was,  at  least,  30  years  of  age, 
so  that  at  the  time  of  his  death  he  could  not  have 
been  under  104.    He  enjoyed  all  his  faculties,  and 
could  walk  about  till  within  a  short  period  of  his 
death. 


INDEX  TO  VOLUME  IX. 


ADDITIONAL  Psalmody,  some  observations 

on  the  proposed,  565 
Adventures  in  Havana,  305 
Alleged  decline  of  dramatic  writing,  remarks 

on  the,  279 
Anderson,  Samuel,  Esq.  notice  of  his  death, 

123 

Annals  of  the  Parish ;  or  Chronicle  of  Dai- 
mailing,  review  of,  203 
Apologie  of  the  Power  and  Providence  of 
God,  in  the  government  of  the  world,  &c. 
review  of,  313 
Appointments,  Promotions,  &c.  119,  243, 

361,  477,  585 

Art,  British,  on  the  cultivation  and  patron- 
age of,  26 
Attraction,  Adaptation,  and  Variety,  Essay 

on  the  Sentiments  of,  review  of,  393 
Bacchus,  or  the  Pirates,  a  poem,  264 
Bankruptcies,  British,  monthly  list  of,  117, 

240,  358,  474,  584 

Biblical  Sketches,  No.  IV.  The  Death  of 
Absalom,  149— No.  V.  The  Olive  Bough, 
ib — No.  VI.  Hagar  in  the  Wilderness, 
150 

Billy  Blinn,  139 

Births,  list  of,  121,  244,  362,  478,  586 
Buonaparte,  Napoleon,  lines  on  death  of, 
367— -Stanzas  °n  di"0*  436 — Remarks 
on  ditto,  462 

Bonar,  James,  Esq.  notice  of  his  death,  123. 

British  Art,  letters  on  the  cultivation  and 

patronage  of,  26 — Letter  first,  ib — Letter 

second,  29 

British  army  at  Washington,  review  of  a 

narrative  of  the  campaigns  of,  180 
British  Eclogues,  No.  II.   The  mariner's 

last  visit,  35 
British  Gallery  of  Pictures,  remarks  on  the, 

340 

Broken  heart,  the,  391 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  letter  of,  upon  occa- 
sion of  an  intimate  friend's  death,  549 
Bull,  John,  remarks  on  his  letter  to  Lord 

Byron,  421 
Budget,  the  Fisherman's,  No.  I.  249— No. 

II.  376 

Bye-past  time,  verses  on,  390 

Byron,  Lord,  review  of  his  tragedy,  the 

Doge  of  Venice,  93 — Remarks  on  his 

letter  to  Mr  John  Murray,  on  the  Rev. 

W.  L.  Bowles's  strictures  on  the  life  and 


writings  of  Pope,  227 — Remarks  on  a 
letter  to,  by  John  Bull,  421 
Campaigns  of  the  British  army  at  Wash- 
ington, review  of  a  narrative  of  the,  180 1 
Caroline  Matilda,  Queen  of  Denmark,  af- 
fecting account  of  the  unhappy  fate  of, 
142 

Catullus,  review  of  Lamb's  translation  of, 
507 

Cheetham  library  at  Manchester,  remarks 
on  the,  299 

Chinese  embassy  to  the  Khan  of  the  Tour- 
gouth  Tartars,  narrative  of  the,  210 

Christophe,  King  of  Hayti,  on  the  charac- 
ter of  the  late,  267 — letter  from  to  a 
British  senator,  268 

Chronicle  of  Dalmailing,  the,  review  of,  203 

Classics,  Latin,  translations  from  the  less 
familiar  ones,  192,  385 

Columbus  Secundus,  voyages  and  travels  of, 
Chapter  I.  329— Chap.  II.  331 — Chap. 
III.  Meditations  among  the  tombs,  332 — 
Chap.  IV.  The  cries  of  Edinburgh,  399— 
Chap.  V.  402— Chap.  IV.  Being  the 
chapter  of  accidents,  405 

Commercial  Report,  110,  238,  356,  472, 
581 

Contributors  to  this  Magazine,  a  few  words 
to  the  immense  body  of,  465 

Corn  tables,  116,  239,  357,  473,  582 

Darkness,  the  Plague  of ;  a  dramatic  scene 
from  Exodus,  555 

Coronation,  on  the  announcement  of  the  337 

Death  of  Absalom,  the,  149,  363 

Deaths,  lists  of,  121,  245,  363,  479,  587 

Denmark,  account  of  the  unhappy  fate  of 
Caroline  Matilda,  Queen  of,  142 

Doge  of  Venice,  a  tragedy,  review  of,  93 

Dramatic  writing,  on  the  alleged  decline  of, 
279 

Duffle,  Thomas,  voyages  and  travels  of; 
voyage  first  concluded,  161 — voyage  se- 
cond, 258 

Early  affection,  lines  on,  392 

Elegy  on  a  country  maiden,  544 

Embalmer,  the,  No.  I.  448 

Epitaphs,  452 

Essay  on  the  Sentiments  of  Attraction, 
Adaptation,  and  Variety,  review  of,  393. 

Extract  from  Herodotus,  221 

Fables  from  La  Fontaine,  in  English  verse, 
review  of,  3 


590 


Index. 


Fatal  Repast,  the,  a  story,  407 

Fescennine  verses  on  the  nuptials  of  Hono- 
rius,  387 

Florida  Pirates,  account  of  a  voyage  on 
board  one,  516 — History  of  the  captain, 
519 

Fontaine,  La,  review  of  translation  of  fables 
from,  3 

Foote,  on  the  neglect  of,  as  a  dramatic 
writer,  39 

Forgers,  the,  a  tale,  573 

Fisherman's  Budget,  the,  No.  I. — Letter 
from  O.  O.  Balderdash,  inclosing  the 
Budget,  249 — from  Edward  Ashby,  Esq. 
to  Frederick  Ferrimoud,  Esq.  254*— from 
Mrs  Rebekah  Verble  to  Mrs  Frumpish, 
255 — No.  II.  Letter  from  Mr  Balderdash, 
378 — from  Mr  Verble  to  Mr  Mizzletoe, 
ib — from  Edward  Ashby,  Esq.  to  Frede- 
rick Ferrimond,  Esq.  382 

Garden  of  plants,  revery  in  the,  16 

Glove,  the,  imitated  from  the  German  of 
Schiller,  344 

Graham's  Memoirs  of  Poussin,  remarks  on, 
23 

Gregory,  Professor,  remarks  on  the  death  of, 
123 

Hagar  in  the  Wilderness,  150 

Hakerwill's  Apology,  review  of,  313 

Harvest  Home,  a  poem,  318 

Havana,  adventure  in,  305 

Herodotus,  extract  from,  221 

Horse  Danicae,  No.  V.  Masaniello,  a  tragedy, 
43 

Horae  Germanicae,  No.  XII.  The  Pilgrim- 
age, a  drama,  481 

Hymn  to  Christopher  North,  Esq.,  60 

Italia,  288 

Infant,  lines  addressed  to  a  dying,  369 

Inchkeith  beacon,  verses  on,  510 

Kail-pot,  the,  138 

Lamb,  the  Honourable  George,  review  of 
his  translation  of  Catullus,  507 

Lanark,  report  to  the  county  of.  of  a  plan 
for  relieving  distress,  and  removing  dis- 
content from  the  country,  review  of,  85 

Latin  Classics,  translations  from  the  less 
familiar  ones,  192,  385 

Leafless  tree,  the,  187 — Notes  to,  190 

Leg  of  Mutton  School  of  Poetry,  the,  No. 
1.345 

Letter  second  from  the  Man  in  the  Moon,  10 

>  from  Fogarty  O'Fogarty,  Esq.  77 

.  familiar,  from  Adjutant  Odoherty, 
131 

from  Dr  Petre,  on  the  writings  of 

Mr  Lamb,  140 

from  Rio  de  Janeiro,  226 

•  from  the  late  Christophe,  King  of 
Hayti,  268 

— — —  from  Dr  Silky,  inclosing  Mr  O'- 
Fogarty's  journal  and  poem,  370 

i  of  Sir   Thomas   Browne,   on  the 
death  of  an  intimate  friend,  549 

Letters  on  the  cultivation  and  patronage  of 
British  art,  26 


Lothian  Ball,  or  the  Widow's  Cow,  in  a 
series  of  prosing  epistles.  Epistle  First, 
427 

Man  in  the  Moon,  second  letter  from,  10 

Manchester  poetry,  review  of,  64 

Manchester,  versus  "  Manchester  poetry," 
196 

Manchester,  remarks  on  the  library  found- 
ed there  by  Humphry  Cheetham,  299 

Marriages,  lists  of,  121,  245,  362,  478, 
587 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  remarks  on  the  ques- 
tion of  her  participation  in  Darnley's 
murder,  194 

Masaniello,  a  Danish  tragedy,  review  of,  43 

Mediocrity,  observations  on,  285 

Meteorological  tables,  119,  242,  360,  476 

Moonlight,  the  vision  by,  437 

Mooslim,  the  Sons  of,  (from  the  Hindoos- 
tanee,)  545 

Moral  and  religious  instruction,  on  the  pro- 
bable influence  of,  on  the  character  and 
conduct  of  seamen,  414,  531 

Morsels  of  Melody,  502 — No.  I.  The  In- 
vitation, 503 — No.  II.  The  Separation, 
ib — No.  III.  The  Dreary  Moor,  504— 
No.  IV.  The  Evening  Lake,  505— No. 
V.  The  Marble  Heart,  ib — The  Even- 
ing Star,  506 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  lines  on  the  death  of, 
367 — Stanzas  on  the  same,  436 — Re- 
marks on  the  deatli  of,  462 

Narrative  of  a  Chinese  embassy  into  Rus- 
sia, 210. 

Natural  affection,  a  tale  illustrative  of  the 
tenacity  of,  127 

North,  Christopher,  Esq.  hymn  to,  60 

Nuptials  of  Honorius,  Fescennine  verses  on, 
387 

Observations  on  psalm-singing  in  our 
churches,  and  upon  the  proposed  addi- 
tional psalmody,  565 

Ode  written  in  the  cemetery  of  Perc  la 
Chaise,  22 

Ode  on  the  Olden  Time,  498 — Notes  on 
do.  500 

Odoherty,  Adjutant,  familiar  letter  from, 
131 

O'Fogarty,  Mr,  journal  of,  371 

O'Rourke,  Daniel,  an  Epic  poem,  Canto 
IV.  78— Canto  V.  3T3 

Owen,  Mr,  review  of  his  report  to  the  county 
of  Lanark,  of  a  plan  for  relieving  public 
distress,  removing  discontent,  &c.  8S. 

Parliament,  thoughts  on  the  late  session  of, 
461 

Parliamentary  reform,  remarks  on,  222 

Parish,  Annals  of  the,  review  of,  203 

Parry,  Captain,  journal  of  his  voyage  for 
the  discovery  of  a  north-west  passage,  re- 
view of,  289 

Parson  Willy,  151 

Paynter,  W.  D.,  review  of  his  "  Muse  in 
Idleness,"  64 

Petre,  Dr  Olinthus,  letter  from,  on  the 
writings  of  Mr  Lamb,  1 U) 


Index. 


591 


Philosophy  of  self,  397 

Pilgrimage,  the,  a  German  drama,  review 

of,  481 
Plague  of  Darkness,  the,  a  dramatic  scene 

from  Exodus,  555 

Poetry — Ode  written  in  the  cemetery  of 
Pere  la  Chaise,  22 — The  Mariner's  last 
Visit,  35 — Hymn  to  Christopher  North, 
Esq.   60 — The  September  Forest,  76 — 
The  wail  of   Lady  Anne,  77 — Daniel 
O'Rourke,  Canto  IV.  78— By  Adjutant 
Odoherty,  134 — Fragment  of  a  Vision, 
135 — The  Galiongee,  a  fragment  of  a 
Turkish  tale,  136— The  Kail-pot,  138— 
Billy    Blinn,    139 — Twilight    musings, 
147— The  Death  of  Absalom,  149— The 
Olive  Bough,  ib. — Hagar  in  the  Wilder- 
ness, 150— Parson  Willy,  151— Willy 
Herdman,  the  Old  Soldier,  154- — Preach- 
er Geordy,  156 — The  Leafless  Tree,  187 
—Song,  257 — Bacchus,  or  the  Pirates, 
264 — The  Maniac's  Plaint,  271 — Rural 
Seclusion,  a  sketch,  272 — The  Spring 
Morning's  Walk,  276 — The  Cot  in  the 
Glen,  ib — The  Summer  Night's  Reve- 
rie,  277— Harvest    Home,    318— The 
Glove,   imitated  from   Schiller,  344 — 
Lines  on  the  Death  of  Napoleon,  367 — 
Lines  suggested  by  the  sight  of  some  late 
Autumn  Flowers,  369 — To  a  Dying  In- 
fant, ib. — Daniel  O'Rourke,  Canto  V. 
373 — On  one  who  had  never  left  his 
Home,  386 — On  the  Nuptials  of  Hono- 
rius,  387 — Bye-past  time,  390 — Friar 
Bacon,  391— The  Broken  Heart,  ib — 
Early  Affection,  392 — The  Lothian  Ball, 
or  the  Widow's  Cow,  427 — The  Vision 
by  Moonlight,  439 — Verses  on  July  the 
First,  450 — Groves  of  Blarney,  451 — 
Ode  on  the  Olden  Time,  498 — Morsels 
of  Melody,  502 — Verses  on  Inch  Keith 
Beacon,   540 — The  Invocation,   542 — 
The   Wanderer   of  Connaught,  453 — 
Elegy  on  a  Country  Maiden,  544 — The 
Sows  of  Mooslim,   545 — The   Leg  of 
Mutton,  School  of,  No.  I.  345 
Pope,  Mr,  and  Lord  Byron,  remarks  on, 

227 
Poussin,  Nicholas,  remarks  on  Graham's 

Memoirs  of,  23 
Preacher  Geordy,  156 — Additional  notices 

of,  157 

Prejudices,  vulgar,  against  literature,  re- 
marks on,  173 

Projects,  promises,  and  imitations,  by  Ad- 
jutant Odoherty,  131 
Promotions,  appointments,  &c.  119,  243, 

361,  477,  585 

Psalm-singing,  observations  on,  565 
Public  distress  and  discontent,  review  of  Mr 
Owen's  plan  for  relieving  the  one  and  re- 
moving the  other,  85 
Publications,   monthly   list  of  new  ones, 

106,  236,  352,  470,  579 
Reform,  parliamentary,  remarks  on,  222 
Remarks  on  Graham's  Memoirs  of  Pous- 
sin, 23— on  the  neglect  of  Foote  as  a  dra- 


matic writer,  39 — on  vulgar  prejudices 
against  literature,  173 — on  parliamenta- 
ry reform,  222 — on  Lord  Byron's  letter 
to  Mr  John  Murray,  227 — on  the  cha- 
racter of  Christophe,  late  King  of  Hayti, 
267 — on  the  alleged  decline  of  dramatic 
writing,  279 — on  mediocrity,  285 — on 
the  Cheetham  library  at  Manchester,  299 
—on  the  approaching  coronation,  337 — 
—on  the  British  gallery  of  pictures,  340 
on  the  philosophy  of  self,  397 — on  the 
probable  influence  of  moral  and  religious 
instruction  on  the  character  and  conduct 
of  seamen,  414' — on  John  Bull's  letter  to 
Lord  Byron,  421 

Revery  in  the  Garden  of  Plants,  16 
Review  of  Fontaine's  fables  in  English 
verse,  3 — of  Ingeman's  tragedy  of  Ma- 
saniello,  43 — of  Manchester  poetry,  64— 
of  Owen's  plan  for  relieving  public  dis- 
tress, &c.  85 — of  Lord  Byron's  Doge  of 
Venice,  93— of  Henry  Schultze,  and  other 
poems,  1 68 — of  a  narrative  of  the  cam- 
paigns of  the  British  army  at  Washing- 
ton, 180— of  Annals  of  the  Parish,  203 
— of  Captain  Parry's  Journal  of  his  Voy- 
age to  the  Arctic  Seas,  289 — of  Hake- 
will's  Apology  of  the  power  and  provi- 
dence of  God  in  the  government  of  the 
world,  &c.  313 — of  Essay  on  the  senti- 
ments of  attraction,  adaptation,  and  va- 
riety, 393 — of  the  Pilgrimage,  a  Ger- 
man romantic  drama,  481 — of  Lamb's 
translation  of  Catullus,  507 
Ripvanwinkle,  letter  concerning  the  tale  of, 

225 

Rural  seclusion,  a  sketch,  272 
Schultze,  Henry,  a  tale,  review  of,  168 
Scots,  Mary  Queen  of,  on  the    question 
whether  she  participated  in  the  murder 
of  Darnley,  194 
Scottish  character,  sketches  of,  No.VI.  151. 

No.  VII.  318 

Seamen,  on  the  probable  influence  of  moral 
and  religious  instruction  on  the  character 
and  conduct  of,  No.  I.  414 — No.  II. 
531 

Self,  philosophy  of,  remarks  on  the,  397 
Sicily,  account  of  the  events  which  took 
place  there,  during  the  revolution  in  Na- 
ples, 334 

Sketches  of  Scottish  character,  No.  VI.— 
Parson  Willy,  151— Willy  Herdman, 
the  old  soldier,  154 — Preacher  Geordy, 
156 — additional  notices  of  Geordy,  157 
—No.  VII.  Harvest  home,  318 
Sons  of  Mooslim,  the,  a  poem,  from  the 

Hindoostanee,  545 
Spitzbergen,  a  tale,  166 
Spring  morning's  walk,  the,  273 
Stanzas  on  the  death  of  Napoleon,  436 
Steam-Boat,  the  ;  or,  Voyages  and  travels 
of  Thomas  Duffle,  No.  III.  Voyage  first 
concluded,  161 — Tale  IV.  The  wearyful 
woman,  162 — Tale  V.  Spitzbergen,  166 
— Voyage   second,   258— Deucalion   of 
Kentucky,  259— Tale  VI.  James  Ilillan 


S92 


Index. 


and  the  young  woman,  262— No.  V. 
Voyage  Ascond  concluded,   4-55 — Tale 

VII.  The   Dumbie's  son,   456 — Tale 

VIII.  King  Charles  and   the  witches, 
458 — Tale  IX.  The  wraith,  459 

Summer  nights'  reverie,  277 

Tenacity  of  natural  affection,  evinced  in  the 
tale  of  Vanderdecken,  127 

Torgouth  Tartars,  narrative  of  the  Chinese 
embassy  to  the  Khan  of  the,  210 

Translations  from  the  less  familiar  Latin 
Classics,  No.  VI.  192 — The  martyrdom 
of  St  Eulalie,  ib — On  a  baptismal  font, 
194— No.  VII.  Claudian,  386— On  one 
who  had  never  left  his  home,  385 — On 
the  nuptials  of  Honorius,  38T 

Tree,  the  leafless,  a  poem,  187 — Notes  to 
190 

Turkish  tale,  a  fragment  of  a,  136 

Twilight  musings,  147 

Vanderdecken's  message  home,  a  tale,  127 


Venice,  the  Doge  of,  a  tragedy,  review  of, 
93 

Vision,  the,  by  moonlight,  436 

Voyages  and  travels  of  Thomas  Duffle. 
Conclusion  of  voyage  first,  161 — Voyage 
second,  258 — Conclusion  of  voyage  se- 
cond, 455 

Voyages  and  Travels  of  Columbus  Secun- 
dus,  Chapter  I.  329— Chapter  II.  331— 
Chapter  III.  332— Chapter  IV.  399— 
Chapter  V.  402— Chapter  VI.  405. 

Vulgar  prejudices  against  literature,  re- 
marks on,  173 

Washington,  review  of  narrative  of  the  Bri- 
tish campaigns  at,  180 

Wearyful  woman,  the,  a  tale,  162 

Widow's  cow,  the,  epittle  first,  427 

Willy  Ilerdman,  the  old  soldier,  154 

Works  preparing  for  publication,  104, 
234,  351,  468,  578 


Jndex. 


593 


INDEX  TO  BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BIRTHS. 

Agnew,  362 

Hogg,  121 
Hood,  244 

Riddell,  58? 
Robertson,244,478, 

Ewart,  -Jl.'i 
Fairlie,  363 

Airley,  121 

Hope,  587 

ib. 

Ferguson,  245 

Alston,  121 

Hore,  244 

Robinson,  244 

Fitzclarence,  363 

Anderson,  244,  278 

Horsburgh,  586 

Rose,  362 

Fleming,  245 

Auld,  478 

Hume,  586 

Sands,  586 

Foggo,  478 

Balfour,  362,  363 

Hutchison,  587 

Scott,  362,  363 

Geddes,  121 

Ballantyne,  586 

Inglis,  362 

Scotland,  121 

Gibson,  362,  479 

Barclay,  587 

Inverarity,  362 

Shand,  362 

Gifford,  479 

Bell,  363,  478 

Jerdon,  478 

Shairp,  245 

Gilmour  121 

Bethune,  478 

Kattegherry,  362 

Skene,  362,  478 

Girdwood,  362 

Blackburn,  121 

Laidlaw,  587 

Smith,  478 

Gordon,  245 

Blantyre,  586 

Lang,  244 

Speid,  121 

Graham,  4?9 

Hoimr,  362 

Lee,  121 

Spence,  362 

Grant,  121 

Brewster,  363 

Leith,  586 

Spottiswoode,  586 

Grey,  58? 

Brougham,  363 

Limond,  121 

Stewart,  478     . 

Grierson,  362 

Bruce,  244,  245 

Lindsay,  362 

Stuart,  587 

Bardie,  121,  ib. 

Buchan,  4?8 

Little,  244,  587 

Tait,  244 

Harrison,  587 

Buchanan,  121 

Lockhart,  4?8 

Tawse,  58? 

Hay,  245,  479 

Campbell,  121,  362, 

Lothian,  58? 

Terrot,  121 

Head,  587 

ib.  478 

Low,  362 

Thomson,    121,  ib. 

Hill,  587 

Cathcart,  478 

Lyon,  587 

ib.  244,  ib. 

Home,  363 

Clark,  362 

Macauley,  362 

Tucker,  362 

Hunter,  479 

Cleghorn,  244 

Macbeah,  4?8 

Wallas,  362 

Jamieson,  121 

Cook,  244 

M'Culloch,121,478 

Watson,  121,  363 

Johnston,  363 

Corrie,  121 

Macdonald,  121,  ib. 

Welsh,  244 

Kennedy,  121 

Coulson,  587 

244,  ib. 

Wood,  363 

Kirkpatrick,  587 

Craig,  362 

Macgregor,  478 

Wyld,  121,  478 

Logan,  587 

Dalrymple,245,362 

Mackie,  362 

Wylie,  244 

Lowe,  245,  478 

Dempster,  362 

Mackenzie,      121, 

Wylly,  362 

M'Donald,  362 

Douglas,  121 

363,  478,  506 

Vounghusband,  478 

Macdouall,  587 

Dow,  362,  478 

M'Lachlan,  587 

Mackenzie,      245, 

Dudgeon,  478 

M'Leay,  5«6 

MARRIAGES. 

363,  479 

Dun,  586 

Macleod,  121 

Archbold,  587 

Macintosh,  121,  245 

Dunbar,  478 

M'Nair,  586 

Archer,  587 

M'Laren,  479 

Erskine,  478 

Mansfield,  121 

Armstrong,  245 

Maclean,  121,  4?8 

Farquharson,  478 

Matheson,  244 

Aylesford,  245 

Macqueen,  245 

Fleming,  244,  362 

Maxwell,  121,  586, 

Baird,  58? 

Maitland,  121 

Forbes,  352 

587 

Beaumont,  245 

Mardon,  479 

Fordyce,  244,  478 

Melville,  587 

Bell,  478,  479,  587 

Marjoribanks,  362 

Forrester,  362 

Menzies,  121 

Bisset,  587 

Maxwell,  245 

Fraser,  362 

Miller,  4?8 

Borthwick,  121 

Monteath,  587 

Fulton,  362 

Milner,  244 

Brown,  499,  58? 

Monteith,  245 

Gibson,  363 

Mowbray,  121 

Cadell,  362 

Montgomery,  478 

Gordon,   121,  478, 

Murdoch,  478 

Campbell,  4?8,  587 

Morison,  587 

ib.  ib.  586 

Murray,  587 

Capel,  362 

Morton,  363 

Graham,  362,  586 

Napier,  586 

Chermside,  363 

Mower,  366 

Grant,  244,  478 

Paget,  121 

Cheyne,  121 

Munro,  245 

Gray,  478,  586 

Parker,  478 

Clapperton,  363 

Murray,  363,  4?8 

Greenock,  586 

Paterson,  478,  586 

Cochrane,  121 

Nicholson,  362 

Guthrie,  121 

Pearson,  478 

Cowan,  362 

Ormston,  363 

Hamilton,  362,  478 

Poulett,  478 

Cox,  362 

Panton,  587 

Hawthorn,  244 

Prager,  478 

Cumin,  478 

Paterson,  587 

Heriot,  244 

Ramsay,  244,  362, 

Dartmouth,  245 

Pegus,  245 

Hewat,  363 

478 

Dick,  362 

Percival,  58? 

Hill,  244 

Reid,  121 

Dimma,  245 

Power,  121 

Hogarth,  245 

Renny,  362,  478 

Douglas,  363 

Ralston,  362 

VOL.  IX. 


4.F 


.5.9  1 

Index. 

Ramsay,363 
Rattray,  587  ~ 
Reid,  478 
Richardson,  478 
Robertson,  587 

Carrick,  480 
Cartmore,  480 
Cathie,  122 
Cathcart,  363 
Caulfield,  480 

Oed,  480 
George,  587 
Gillespie,  364 
Gilbert,  122 
Gloag,  122 

Lingo,  245 
Litt,  245 
Little,  246 
Liverpool,  480 
Lloyd,  4JJO 

Robson,  363 
Scott,  121               , 
Sharpe,  121 
Sinclair,  587 
Smith,  47«,  58? 
Spence,  478 

Chatham,  364 
Cheyne,  245,  36:5 
Chetwynd,  122 
Clark,  123,246,364 
ClanmorrLs,  364 
Cockburn,  122 

(ioldie,  364 
Goodsir,  246 
Gordon,  121,  364, 
480,  588 
Govane,  479 
Graham,  4?9,  480 

Londonderry,  246 
Lorimer,  121 
Lowes,  588 
Lythgow,  122 
M'Auley,  588 
M'Bean,  587 

Stewart,  479 

Coigny,  364 

Grant,     121,     122, 

M'Call,  121,  246 

Stupart,  245 

Colquhoun,  479 

246,  588 

Morison,  587 

Tail,  245 
Thomson,  121 
Traill,  245,  3G2 
Tullamore,  245 
Walker,  587 

Colvill,  480 
Constable,  121 
Cox,  122 
Crawford,  245 
Cross,  479 

Graves,  588 
Gregory,  123 
Gwynne,  364 
Hadden,  480 
Hagart,  363 

Macdonald,  122 
M'Dougall,      245, 
246,  364,  588 
Macdowall,       121, 
479 

Watson,  587 
Webster,  245 
Whitehead,  245 

Crosbie,  122 
Cniikshank,  363 
Cuddie,  479 

Halliday,  4?9 
Hamilton,  12-2.  180. 
588 

Mackay,  363 
Macfarlane,      363, 
587 

Wilson,  362,  4?9 
Wyse,  245 
Voung,  121,  245 

Cumine,  479 
Cunningham,    479, 
ib.  480,  588 

Hardie,  122 
Harrowar,  363,  364 
Hatton,  363 

Macghie,  363 
Mackintosh,      128, 
479 

Younger,  587 

Dalgliesh,  364 

Hay,  121 

M  'Gibbon,  122 

Dallaway,  3C4 

Heaven,  245 

M'Laren,  122 

DEATHS. 

A  chard,  480 

Dalmahoy,480,597 
Davidson,  121,  364 

Henderson,  122 
Henley,  480 

M'Larty,  363 
Maclean,  246 

Allan,  588 

DalyeU,  480 

Henriing,  122 

Macleod,  246,  58;. 

Allison,  122,  588 

Dalziel,  246 

Herschell,  246 

588 

Anderson,  1  23,  363, 

Darby  (aged   130,) 

Hill,  364 

MacLeish,  363 

479,  588 

479,  588 

Hogg,  364 

M'Omich,  363 

Arnot,  479 
Austin,  246 

Darling,  363 
Daun,  364 

Horsburgh,  122 
Howison,  479 

Macphail,  480 
Macpherson,  480 

Baird,  122 

Dewar,  246 

Howatson,  364 

M  'Queen,  479,480 

Balfour,  363 

Dick,  122 

Hunt,  122 

M'Rae  (aged  112,) 

Ballantyne,     364, 

Dickson,  245,  479 

Hunter,   122,  246, 

363 

480 

Douglas,    122,    ib. 

588 

Macvicar,  364 

Baxter,  588 

364,  479,  588 

Husband,  364 

Main,  121 

Bennet,  480 

Drummond,  122 

Ingles,  122,  245 

Maitland,  245,  246, 

Berry,  588 

Dudgeon,  122 

Jackson,  479 

364 

Beveridge,  479 

Duncan,  122 

Jamieson,  122 

Mansfield,  246 

Black,  588 

Dundas,  122 

Jardine,  246,  480 

Marriott,  122 

Bligh,  363 

Easson,  363 

Jarvis,  479 

Maule,  364 

Bonar,  123 

Easton,  363 

Jersey,  588 

Masson,  245 

Bonaparte,     Napo- 

Edmonstone,    246, 

Johnston,  121 

Maxwell,  587 

leon,  587 

479 

Jourdan,  364 

Men/.ies,  245,  364 

Boog,  479 

Elden,  364 

Keate,  588 

Methven,  122 

Bower,  364 

Elliston,  246 

Keats,  245 

Mexborough,  479 

Bonnycastle,  364 

Errington,  480 

Keith,  479 

Miller,  588 

Boyle,  588 

Erskine,  364 

Kelso,  588 

Milman,  588 

Bradfute,  246 

Ewart,  121 

Kennedy,  588 

Mills,  479 

Brightley,  364 

Falconar,   24U,    ib. 

Kerr,  245,  598 

Mitchell,  480 

Broughton,  480 

480 

King,  122 

Monro,245,5J!8,il>. 

Brown,  122,  246 

Farquharson,  363 

Kippen,  480 

Morison,  587 

Bruce,  3(54 

Penning,  479 

Kisbue,  479 

Morton,  122 

Bryan,  588 

Fergusson,  479 

Laidlaw,  246 

Mowbray,  588 

Burdon,  122 

Findlay,  245 

Laurie,  479 

Murray,  245,  363, 

Butter,  122 

Forbes,  363,  480 

Laurieston,  Ml 

364,  588 

Cadell,  479,  587 

Forsyth,  588 

Lawrie,  122 

N  eaves,  \2'2 

Calcott,  364 

Fotheringham,  480 

Lavigny,  479 

Necdham,  246 

Campbell,  121,  ib. 

Fraser,    121,    122, 

Lawson,  364,  588 

Neilson,  363 

364;  ib.  479,  480. 

245,  246,  364 

Layne  (aged   121,) 

Nelson,  364 

587,  588,  ib.  ib. 

Frier,  480 

588 

Nichol,  588 

Cameron,  4711,  5«'!7 

Frobisher,  245 

Legge,  363 

Nicholson,  480,  58K 

Carhampton,  246 

Gardner,  122,  245 

Liddell,  363 

Noble,  58J 

Carnegy,  245 

Gardyne,  122 

Lindsay,  245 

Uliphant,  588 

Index. 

595 

Oliver  (aged   102,) 

Robb,  122 

Stewart,    368,    ib. 

Veitch,  122 

364 

Robertson,  122,246, 

364,  479,  480,  ib. 

Wallace,  587 

Orleans,  480 

364 

588,  ib. 

Wardlaw,  58? 

Osborne,  480 

Ross,  363 

Stivens,  246 

Watson,  246,  364, 

Oswald,  122,  246 

Russell,  364 

Stone,  588 

480 

Palmer,  246 

Sandeman,  1  22,  479 

Stothard,  479 

Watt,  480 

Pasley,  245,  479 

Sandilands,  480 

Stuart,  363,  364 

Webster,  122 

Pearson,  479 

Scott,  246,  363,  587 

Suttie,  364 

Willis,  364 

Peat,  480 

Sheffield,  480 

Swan,  480 

Willison,  122 

Piozzi,  363 

Simpson,  245,  479 

Swayne,  480 

Williamson,  246 

Playfair,  588 

Sinclair,  245 

Swinton,  246 

Wilson,   364,  480, 

Plunkett,  122 

Smith,  246,  ib.  480 

Sydserf,  246 

588 

Primrose,  24(5,  480 

Smeddon,  588 

Tainsh,  363 

Wood,    122,    363, 

Pringle,     122,    ib. 

Sommers,  364 

Tait,  122 

364 

245,  246 

Spence,  480 

Tate,  122 

Woodburn,  122 

Pyper,  246 

Spens,  304 

Tawse,  588 

Woodhouse,  480 

Ramsay,  480 

Stair,  364 

Thomson,  245,  246, 

Worth,  480 

Raney,  479 

Stalker,  122 

588 

"Worcester,  364. 

Ranken,  587 

Stein,  245 

Thynne,  479 

M'ylie,  122,  58« 

Read,  363 

Stenhouse,  364,  479 

Tullis,  122 

Yule,  588 

Richardson,  588 

Stevenson,  122 

Urqubart,  588 

J 


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