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No. 75.




Walter Colyton. A Tale of 1688. "Brambletye House," &c. &c. Colburn and Bentley. 1830.



By the Author of 3 vols. London.

HORACE SMITH, though a respectable, is only a secondrate novelist. He is one of those who have been called into existence by Sir Walter Scott. He aims at combining the united interests of history and fiction in his books. But his head is scarcely strong enough for the higher walks of the former, and his heart is hardly enthusiastic enough for the more delightful creations of the latter. His" Brambletye House," and "Tor Hill," are both pretty good; but we are not aware that they have made any lasting impression on the minds of the reading public, or that any of the characters they contain are likely to live very vividly in the memory of his readers after the volumes are closed. The new work now before us indicates no improvement on the author's usual style, while the story, we think, is heavier, and not so well put together as in some of his preceding novels. One error into which the imitators of Sir Walter Scott have almost universally fallen is, that provided characters, historically interesting, can be introduced into their pages, they do not seem to think it a matter of much consequence whether these characters have any thing to do with the main plot of their novel. Thus, Mr Smith, because his hero, Walter Colyton, lived in the year 1688, evidently considers that he is fulfilling the most important part of his task, provided he huddles together all the eminent names of that period,-politicians, literati, beauties, lords, ministers, and kings, and contrives to give us hasty sketches and unsatisfactory glimpses of their different characters and habits. Now, this is not our notion of what a historical novel should be, nor is it according to the better species of model which Sir Walter Scott has, in one or two instances, afforded to his votaries. When celebrated persons are introduced into a work of this kind, they ought to be intimately and necessarily connected with the advancement of the plot,—so completely interwoven with it, that without their aid it could not be brought to the point proposed. The unskilful writer, whilst he cannot but acknowledge the truth of this rule, is puzzled when he attempts to carry it into practice, and his book too often degenerates into a piece of mere patchwork, which wants the connected interest of a work of pure fiction, and feebly atones for the desideratum by a succession of ill-digested notices of the leading personages

of the times.

Another fault we have to find with "Walter Colyton," is the deficiency of incident. The two first volumes are, in consequence, particularly heavy. Indeed, the story possesses but little interest throughout, partly because it is too much diluted with extraneous matter, and partly because, with only one or two exceptions, none of the characters are fully or completely filled up. They are mere outlines-not finished drawings. Of two young men, and three young ladies, all of whom are brought a good


deal into the foreground, it is impossible for us to say which is the hero and which the heroine; and we do not think a novel should have two heroes and three heroines. We shall not enter into an analysis of the tale; but we have, of course, Catholics and Protestants, from James II. and William Prince of Orange, down to the humblest of their respective retainers. We have James's corrupt minister, Sunderland, and his tool, Captain Seagrave, a swaggering, reckless bully, one of the most spirited portraits in the book. We have the witty and profligate Countess of Dorchester, the old rough soldier, Jasper Colyton,-his daughter, the sensitive and impassioned Edith, her friend, the gentle and strong-minded Agatha Shelton, and Stanley Forrester, the gallant and enthusiastic lover of the latter lady. It is upon this same Stanley Forrester, who has ardently espoused the cause of the Prince of Orange, that in our opinion the interest of the story mainly depends. Both Edith and her friend Agatha fall in love with him simultaneously. His affections, however, are irrevocably placed on Agatha. This, Edith at length discovers, and upon her enthusiastic and sensitive temperament, the discovery produces the most distressing consequences. The description of the change it wrought upon her whole feelings and cha racter, we think among the best written passages in the book, and we shall accordingly extract it:

Edith's character and deportment. That extreme sensibi-
"From this day a marked alteration became evident in
lity which had occasionally subjected her to hysterical at-
tacks, and to the most painful fits of nervous excitation, be-
came gradually deadened; the fine tremulous and exquisite
delicacy of her impressions was now but rarely manifested;
even her intellectual perceptions appeared to be blunted,
and she sank into a calm and torpid, but deep melancholy,
under the influence of which she often sought some retired
spot, where she would sit for hours together, twitching the
forefinger of her left hand, her eyes riveted to the ground,
and her faculties enchained in such a profound abstraction
as to render her totally insensible to surrounding objects.
All her customary amusements and avocations were now
neglected; Agatha, Hetty, her friends and her family, were
now forgotten; she neither read nor worked, nor recreated
herself with music,-solitude seemed to be her only enjoy-
ment. A languor, a lassitude, a listless and morbid apathy,
continually oppressed her; and she resigned herself to that
stupor of melancholy and dejection, which is infinitely more
distressing than the passionate sorrow which finds relief in
wailing and tears. Edith's eyes were dry, she uttered no
complaint; but it was evident that her heart was ever
weeping, that she cried without a voice. An habitual sense
of propriety would not allow her to neglect her personal
appearance: she was always neatly attired; but she now
betrayed, for the first time, an inconsistency that showed
how unconscious she was of her own proceedings, some-
times coming down to the breakfast-table in a full dress, or
presenting herself to every visitant in a morning hood and
When these little oversights were pointed out to
her, she would assume a languid smile, express wonder at
her own inadvertence,-retire to her chamber for the pur-
pose of changing her garb, fall into a new reverie, and re-
turn to the drawing-room in the same state as before.
surprised, in her solitary rambles, on the lonely seats upon
which she loved to muse and talk to herself, she would con-
jure up the same faint smile, converse for a short time, but


presently relapse into silence and melancholy, and seek an opportunity of escaping from her companion. It was not easy, however, thus to surprise her; for she became watchful and cunning in avoiding notice; and even in performing the most common and innocent actions, would affect great mystery and concealment."-Vol. iii. p. 53-5.

In this state of mind she determines to sacrifice her own wishes to those of her parents, and to accept as a husband one whom she had always hated, but whom they had destined for her. The author then presents us with the following touching picture:

"A few days after this conversation, the unhappy girl wandered to a spot, a small distance from the house, which, from its seclusion, and its possessing some superior attractions in point of scenery, had latterly become her favourite haunt. A footpath, deviating from a long uninteresting lane that led towards the moors, conducted the village boys, in the nutting season-before the return of which period, the last year's track had generally become imperceptible-to a quiet sequestered dell, planted with sycamores and young oaks, wove together, in parts, with a thick bed of hazelbushes. The banks on either side the descent were clothed with fern, broom, and other luxuriant vegetation, topped with bushes of hawthorn, brier, and maple, forming natural arbours, beneath which the children would sometimes seat themselves to banquet upon their nutty spoils. Through this unfrequented glen ran a streamlet, clear and pellucid, although the water, from its having traversed the peat land of the moors, had acquired a dark brown hue. Towards the centre of the recess, the runnel, falling over a rocky ledge, not more than two yards in height, spread itself into a shallow pond of some extent, fringed with waterlilies, and overhung with alders, and, gradually contracting itself to its former narrow limits, was betrayed by its music, or the more vivid green of its rushy margin, until it worked its way out through an opening at the opposite extremity of the dell. On a mossy crag, beside this murmuring waterfall, Edith delighted to sit for hours together, indulging the mournful reveries by which her mind was now haunted, and yet occasionally soothed by sweet as well as bitter fancies, while, in the loneliness of the place, she listened idly to the rustling of the boughs, as the wind stole nestling amid their leaves, or the sound of the waters that seemed to warble responsively to the breeze.

"On the morning in question, she had gathered a rose before she left home, and, deliberately plucking off the leaves, she committed them, one by one, to the stream, exclaiming, as they were torn away from her, Thus have the happy years of my life been rudely torn away from me,-they are gone, and I know not whither,-they are whirled about and agitated, and then wafted away into invisible, unrecoverable darkness, leaving my heart, like this poor leafless stalk, bare and withered, and surrounded with nothing but thorns. I remember when the very odour of a spring morning could develope futurity, conjuring up to my imagination, nay, almost to my senses, a paradise of flowers, and perfumes, and sunny landscapes, fanned with gentle airs, animated with the melody of birds and all the cheerful sounds of busy life. It was as if the precocious breeze blew aside the veil of nature, and showed the laughing features that were to remain hidden from others until the coming May. I was happy then, and my fancy soon quickened pleasant images into life. I am now miserable;-it is autumn, and methinks, in the fading hues and falling leaves that announce the coming torpor of the winter, I see the prefiguration of my own approaching death. The smell of the grave is in my nostrils, and the brawling of this brook among the pebbles sounds in mine ears like the rattling of the gravel that shall soon be thrown upon my coffin, before it is covered up for ever. Yes, earth is preparing to die, and it is time that I should do the same. Hark! what sound is that? It is the noise of the merry squirrels, chasing one another from bough to bough, amid the hazels. And now I hear the whistle of the plover, and the tender note of the wood-pigeon, and the cawing of the rooks returning to their roost trees near the church, and the twittering of the smaller birds, as they behold the winter feast of rare-coloured berries, that make the hedges gay in spite of their diminishing leaves. The waters, too, that quiver before me in the beam, seem to tremble with delight; each blade of grass that flutters in the sunshine, assumes a semblance of enjoyment; and yonder gold-skirted clouds float through the crystal fields of ether with a happy and a tranquil air. Why am ocked with these sounds and shows of uncongenial glad


ness?-why are all things happy except myself?" "-Vol. iii. p. 63-7,

Our readers will be somewhat surprised to learn, that Stanley Forrester, being apprized of the death of Agatha, and receiving her last commands to unite himself with her friend, marries Edith after all. But they will be still more surprised to learn, that after he has lived some time with her very happily, and beheld her at length fall a victim to consumption, he unexpectedly finds out that Agatha is not dead, and the novel concludes with his espousing her, thus enabling the same gentleman to do justice to both ladies.

On the whole, "Walter Colyton" is a respectable book of its kind; and in these days of mediocrity, we shall be glad that its author continues to write.

The Historical Evidence of the Apostolical Institution of Episcopacy: A Sermon, preached at Stirling, on Sunday, the 7th March, 1830, at the Consecration of the Right Rev. James Walker, D.D., to the office of a Bishop in the Scottish Episcopal Church. By the Rev. M. Russel, LL.D.

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We do not think any nice point of Historical Enquiry can fall into abler or safer hands than those of Dr Russel. With much learning and research, he fixes on the strong parts only of the position which he undertakes to establish, and does not encumber it with extraneous circumstances. The reader, too, comes away impressed with the candour and fairness of his argument, because he never pushes it too far, and while he has all the ingenuity of an advocate, no judge can appear more unbiassed and impartial. Quali ties of this kind are peculiarly necessary in those delicate enquiries which affect the purity of the constitution of churches, and in which the spirit of the controversialist is so much more commonly discernible than the charity of the Christian. It is necessary, perhaps, from time to time, for every body of Christians to state the grounds of their distinction from others, especially when they are not in unison with the established church of the country in which they are resident. Dissent has always an ugly aspect, and we therefore like to discover in each class of our fellow-Christians, such sound reasons for their sepa ration, as, though they may not be sufficient to prove to others that they are in the wrong, are yet such as we can very easily conceive are quite convincing to themselves that they are in the right. The difficulty is, to do this in a spirit of temper and moderation ;—that this is Dr Russel's aim in his defence of the principles on which the church to which he belongs dissents from our venerable establishment, is apparent from the following admirable passage of his discourse; and we can assure our readers, that he maintains the same firm but dispassionate tone throughout :-" I state these things, not to unchurch other societies, for with others we have no im mediate concern, but solely to explain the grounds upor which every Episcopal communion is established, and upon which every well-informed Episcopalian rests his preference of that communion. I mention them the more readily, too, because they form the basis upon which our own church must stand, in the midst of others much more powerful, and supported by a larger proportion o the people. Doctrines, or rather the mode of explainin doctrines, differ from time to time, and one style preaching succeeds another in the favour of the multitude but the Apostolic institution from which the clergy de rive their authority to minister at the altar, and whic confers the stamp of validity upon their ministrations, i the fixed and immovable rock upon which the chure is built, and against which we must never allow eithe ignorance or caprice to prevail. Nor is there in th spirit and determination on our part the slightest encor ragement to illiberality towards others: On the cor trary, you will find that the most enlightened persons al always the most liberal, in the true sense of the word

Our readers are not ignorant of the controversy between the Episcopalian and Presbyterian Churches,—it has, former times, been maintained with great bitterness, where secular interests were more mixed up with it; but of late years concessions have been made by the sounder opponents on both sides, that have greatly narrowed the debateable ground. It will not, for instance, be disputed by Presbyterians, in the face of St Paul's Epistles, and of every thing that we know of the first establishment of the Church, that the apostles held a species of superintendence over all the various churches which they founded; and there is every appearance that such men as Timothy and Titus succeeded them, with similar powers derived from them. This will carry us on to nearly about the close of the first century. It is as little disputed, that in the second century the Episcopal form of government, in which (we use the words of Dr Hill) "the name of Bishops was appropriated to an order of men, who possessed exclusively the right of ordination and jurisdiction, and who were the overseers of those whom they ordained," was universal over the whole Christian world. Here, then, comes the tug of war in this narrow slip of time, in which it has been attempted to be shown, that there was no superintendence resembling either the Apostolical or the Episcopal; and that, therefore, there is no reason to suppose that the latter is the continuation of the former. Dr Campbell battles the point to obtain the rescue of some twenty or thirty years from this ecclesiastical domination, which Dr Russel, we must own, with much better success, is as determined not to grant him; and from the intermediate authorities of Ignatius, Polycarp, and Clement, proves, as it appears to us very distinctly, that there was no interruption of the Episcopal succession. And this, according to his reasoning, is by no means a matter of slight moment. "The distinctive characteristic of Episcopal government," says he, "is the exclusive power intrusted to the bishops of ordaining ministers for the service of God's Church. From the day that St Paul authorized and commanded his two spiritual sons, Timothy and Titus, to ordain presbyters in every city, to exhort and to rebuke, this privilege, it is believed, hath appertained to the first order of clergymen, as the successors of the apostles. Even St Jerome, who has been viewed as the advocate of parity in the ministers of the Gospel, acknowledges that the bishops possessed a power which belonged not to the order of presbyters, namely, the power of ordination."—"This," he afterwards adds, "is the ground upon which Episcopal churches differ from those who have extinguished the first order of clergy. It is not the form of worship, nor the dress, nor the music, nor even the keeping of those fasts and fes-tial in her distributions, and very generous, too, in her protivals which commemorate the past events of our holy revision for the new establishment. We believe Mr Alison ligion, that constitute the real difference between Episco- was appointed, by her, Bishop of Edinburgh, with a sapalians and other Christians; for in many parts of the Con- lary of £2000 per annum,-Dr Inglis was made Bishop tinent the Presbyterians use a Liturgy as we do; and there, somewhere else. We do not think Dr A. Thomson was as well as in England, they observe the principal festivals raised to the Episcopate, his dislike to the order being so and fasts of the Church as regularly as do the Episcopa- notorious; yet the good lady would not leave him out, lians among whom they live. These points then, impor- so she made him a Dean. The worst thing in the busitant as they are, do not form the leading and distinguishing ness was, that she was a little variable in her selections. characteristic of Episcopacy, as separated from the other After she had fixed upon Mr Alison or Dr Walker for forms of ecclesiastical polity. The essential difference, I the important see of Edinburgh, one day, she would issue ay once more, respects the power of conferring orders,— a new congé d'elire the next, removing them, and putting power which we believe to have been originally vested Dr Inglis or Dr Lee in their room. n the bishops, and during 1500 years to have been exreised by them exclusively, so exclusively, at least, as to mply that no ordination was held valid at which a ishop did not preside and officiate.”

We think, then, that Dr Russel has fairly made out a case which must entitle his communion to the sympathy and respect of the nation, from the majority of which it has the misfortune to differ in its conception of church government; and it is not to be considered as a chimera of no consequence, to maintain with firmness that model of polity which carries us up to the times of the Apostles, and which has been universally acted upon throughout the Christian church, except in the case of a few of the reformed churches. Attached, as we are, to the Presbyinterian establishment of our land, we confess that we are pleased to see a specimen of Episcopacy amongst us, which comes as near the primitive model as can well be imagined, in which the Bishops are raised above their presbyters by no invidious wealth or dignities, but stand to them much more in the relation of fathers to sons, than as lords to vassals. Nor are we at all indisposed to admit that it was the "evil days" into which the church fell, more than any sound or enlightened principle, which occasioned the fearful rent in that coat which was at first "without seam, woven from the top throughout." But the rent has been made, and we see no reason why a li beral Presbyterian should give himself much trouble to make out that he is wronged by Swift, in his humorous representation of the effects which followed from an undue eagerness to tear off the tawdry ornaments with which the simplicity of the original texture was defaced. Dr Campbell might fairly give up his thirty or forty years, and admit Dr Russel all that he asks. What would follow?-That a convulsion has taken place, which it might have been more seemly to have had otherwise managed. But, out of this chaos, a beautiful and well-ordered system has arisen, which is wound round the hearts of an attached people,-which a gracious Providence has protected and fostered,—and which, if, in its origin, it has seemed to make "the kingdom of Heaven suffer violence, and to take it by force," has yet, we trust, been not unsuccessful in the invasion, but, by means of an efficient and zealous Priesthood, has long brought, and is now bringing, “ many sons and daughters to righteousness." For it ought to be considered in all this matter, that though there is something extremely venerable and sacred in the continued order of church government from the first times to the present, yet there is no actual command against the infringement of it; and the deviation in this point is by no means to be considered as similar to giving up the sacraments, or any positively divine institution.-It may, perhaps, amuse our readers to be told, that we recollect, some years ago, a worthy lady of the Epis. copal persuasion, on whose brain the absolute necessity of Episcopacy had so wrought, that she at last fell into a species of Quixotism, which consisted in forming plans for its establishment in this country. She was a truly charitably disposed woman withal, and could not think of shuffling off the present establishment, which contained so many good people, and whose clergy were such excellent and distinguished men. So she had contrived a splendid comprehension-scheme, in which she was very impar

We have no expectation of seeing any thing like this beautiful scheme ever brought to bear; nor, indeed, is there any great need for it. "Yet," says St Paul, "show I you a more excellent way." It is to be found in the affec

and I will venture to add, that the pretended liberality of an ignorant man, is either indifference or folly. No one is more disposed to respect conscientious firmness in others, than he who can give a good reason of the faith which he himself entertains; and for this cause knowledge will always be found accompanied by a truly tolerant Christian spirit-by compassion where error is inveterate, and by forbearance where prejudice and obstinacy shut the ears to conviction."

tionate respect which the clergy and laity of different de-
nominations may entertain for each other, and the deep feel-
ing that they are all, according to their peculiar views and
apprehensions, carrying on the same glorious plan of Divine
Providence, for the present happiness and the future sal-I,
vation of the world. We believe that these mutual sen-
timents are very cordially entertained by the Established
Church of this country, and its Episcopalian dissenters;
and they will not be the less so, when they each come to ap-
preciate fully the grounds on which they differ from each
Much was
other, and can give and take in their turn.
done, we believe, to produce this feeling of respect and
kindness throughout the two bodies, by the unassuming and
Catholic temper and demeanour of the late Bishop Sand-
ford, and we are fully prepared to subscribe to the few
words of eulogium on the present bishop, with which
Dr Russel closes his discourse :- "As a member of the
diocese over which the new bishop is to preside, I may
be permitted to express, in the name of my clerical
brethren, the satisfaction with which this event is con-
templated, and the unbounded confidence which they re-
pose in his wisdom, his principles, impartiality, and,
above all, in the knowledge which he possesses of his own
duty and of theirs, and in his ardent devotedness to that
cause, which they are equally disposed and equally bound
to maintain. In the step which it was their duty and
their privilege to take in electing their diocesan, there was
not only unanimity, there was also affection, combined
with an earnest desire to mix their individual regard for
his person with their professional respect for his office.
In this case, too, the choice of the clergy has been amply
and universally approved by the suffrages of the laity;
by those whose spiritual welfare depends upon the due
and rightful ministry of an Apostolic Church."

me, but ye're a young traveller, and a far traveller; an'
I answered,
what's yer name, gin ye please, na?'
Grahame. Weel,' said my landlady, it's a bonny name,
weel respeckit, and far kent, and no for ony ill; are ye ony
friend to the Grahames of Leddiescleugh?"—" I fear,' said
I must be content to have my origin from a meaner
'Whaurfore meaner?' said she; isna the wee
spring as fresh, and mair sae, than the brown torrent that
comes roaring frae the hills?'




"A sicht o' you,' continued my landlady, brings back to my mind things no to be minded, without baith grief and joy. I mind weel the day when I first cam frae the Netherton to the auld brig o' Glasgow, whaur I was feed as bairns-maid to the Rev. Mr M'Whirter o' Galspindie; I was then a gilpen lassie o' seventeen, and mony a summer and winter 's come and gane since that, and yet, losh me, it seems nae mair than a dream in the darkness of the nicht! I was then young. I'm now auld and grey, and, mair than a' this, I'm a lanely widow.' A tear at this moment started into her once bright, but now time-dimmed eye. I was led to enquire here several things touching the history of my landlady, and, among other things, the term of her widowhood. It's noo sax years and mair,' she replied, since Day M'Aupie was laid in the Hie Kirkyaird. Five-and-twenty years David M'Aupie was a meal-dealer in the Briggate, as honest a man as ever walked on the causey o' Glasgow, and weel respeckit. An' I was an honest woman tae, else I had ne'er been made his marrow. It's an altered world now!-but things are no at our ain disposin,' an' it's maybe just as weel. How long is it,' I replied, since you removed here? It's five years come Whitsunday,' she answered. During this period I've had colleegeners, writers, and offishers, and though I say it mysell, nane e'er gaed aff frae Dobbie's Lawn wi'an ill word o' Widow M'Aupie. The last lodger I had in this same room was an auld Hieland offisher, that had been lang a fechter in the wars with the bluidy French. He was a discreet man, but unco gien to late hours, drinkin', and galravishin', which was no for me, so we parted. Late hours, Mr Grahame, is neither gude for body nor soul, and as example is better than precept, as the Reverend Mr M Whir ter used to say, I'se tell ye an anecdote respecting ane wha was a colleegener like yoursell. He was a wee laddie frae the Mearns, no muckle past fourteen. Weel, sir, that wee laddie, unless when the bell rang for the class, would scarcely gang out ower the door-step. Sometimes frae mornin' till nicht he would sit drivin' awa' at the table amang his papers and books, till he grew a complete heremite, and was na mony months till he became as white's a ghaist. I dinna wunder that it was sae. For lang I said naething; till at last I thought it my duty, and told him it wadna last lang, that if he didna exercise himsell mair, he would soon mak' himsell a corp; it was even sae as I jaloused it would be. He be gan to decline awa' till an awtomy; the blue veins becam mair and mair veesible in his hauns; and his dark een be gan to glimmer far awa' ben in their sockets. As the session was weel gane, I got him advised to gang hame. It was with great difficulty; for, by gaun hame sae sune, he lost a chance o' a prize, at the thocht o' which he grat lang and sair. Twa lang months passed awa', and during a' this time, I heard naething frae the Mearns about the wee laddie. It struck me he was waur, and though a lanely woman, ] resolved to gang out and see. Rising early ae morning it June, lang before mid-day I was on the Mearns Muir There couldna be a finer day. The sun was shinin' with out a cloud; the birds were singing in the hedges; the plove was chiming aboon the heather; the laverock was in th lift; while the bumbee was humming in the sunshine Awa' ower the muir while daunerin' on at my leisure, foregathered wi' a decent-looking man on the road. Hor far am I, gin ye please, sir,' I said, 'frae Braehead?''Yonner it's,' said he, on the face of the knowe; there many a sair heart at Braehead this day. My fears tol me at aince what was the cause; but, as if ignorant, ‘I ony thing wrang? I enquired. Ane o' their callant wha was a great scholar and a colleegener,' he said, 'dea last Monday, and this is his burial day.'-' Wae's me! wae me!' said I; 'it's the wee laddie.' And though he was ne ther kith nor kin to me, I was a sair-hearted woman: fai ther I didna gang, but turned my steps hameward; an after I had reached hame, and for many a day after, I couldr get that wee laddie out o' my mind.'-'Such,' said I, ' the fate of thousands-born in obscurity,-cradled in a versity, and laid in an early grave.-Šo perish the dev

Since writing the above, we have received "The College Al- drops of the moral world; but what withers on earth sha bum," which we shall review next Saturday, bloom in heaven!'-'It's weel that it's sae ordered!' sai

The Athenæum; an Original Literary Miscellany. ed by Students in the University of Glasgow. gow. Robertson and Atkinson. 1830. 12mo.




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AN honourable and praiseworthy ambition has led to the production of this little volume. It contains a variety of contributions, both in prose and verse, calculated to reflect credit upon the youthful writers. The prose, however, is decidedly superior to the verse. Indeed, we are rather disappointed in the latter, for, with the exception of one or two pieces by Mr Atkinson, who is not, and never was, a student at the University of Glasgow, but who, nevertheless, is one of the Editors of the Athenæum, we cannot find any thing in the shape of verse that much delighteth us. We observe that a rival publication, of a similar kind-The College Album-is announced ;-if it contains nothing better in this department, we shall be forced to confess that the gods have not made the present students at the University of Glasgow poetical. But some of the prose articles redeem the poetry. We have, in particular, read with pleasure "Persian Sketches," the paper on the "Character of Aristotle as a Critic," "A Legend of the Covenant," "The Punished Raid," an excellent story, "The Carnival of Venice," a cleverly-told tale, and "The Student, or a Night in my Landlady's." It is from this last sketch, which we think one of the best in the book, that we shall make an extract:



"The evening came, and as the bells were ringing the hour of six, I found myself seated by a blazing fire in Mrs M'Aupie's, Dobbie's Land. I was scarcely seated, when my landlady entered. Ye'll be a colleegener, nae dout?' said Mrs M'Aupie. To this I answered in the affirmative. I was jalousing sae,' she replied; and whaur cum ye frae?' she continued. From Kirkmichael,' I answered. 'A' the way frae Kirkmichael!' she exclaimed: Losh



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Mrs M'Aupie, and withdrew, leaving me to my own meditations; and such was my first night in my landlady's.'


We should have had no objections to have seen somewhat more of a classical air about this volume. With the exception of a spirited translation from King Lear, into Greek verse, there is nothing about it that breathes particularly of alma mater. The two Latin mottos on the title-page are commonplace and poor, and the last sentence of the Preface exhibits a positive blunder in the use of a Latin word. The sentence is ;-"We now take our leave of the public, assuring them, that should they smile on our efforts to gain their approbation, we shall not be backward to renew our toils in another session,-lums's door. I knew her husband had been out with the

for the hours of darkness to be gone. And when they were gone, and the daylight opened, I liked it no better. I looked out upon the damp cold landscape, and thought it was like my desolated bosom: the very light was hateful knew it not. The morning grew apace; the people in the to me; for surely the truth was in my heart, though yet I surrounding cottages came forth to their honest labours. I saw one and another making ready the breakfast for her husband, and giving a parting word to her boys,-but where were mine? Nine o'clock struck, ten, eleven'; and there was a presentiment of evil in my bosom. The clock still they came not. This was no uncommon thing, but was just upon the point of twelve, when I heard a noise of voices. I went out, and saw a crowd about Dame Wil

Vale!" It should have been Valete, young gentlemen.

party, and guessed the rest. Where is Jem?' I said to the first who would hear me, "He will be here presently,' said the man, in a sullen tone. I had no more to ask,every body was talking, and every body was eager to tell the worst they could make of the fearful story. All murdered, all drowned, all prisoners. And soon there was not bet-body of my husband borne upon the shoulders of ruffianlyeven need to listen, for my eyes beheld the worst,-the dead looking men, whose downcast looks bespoke that even they felt pity for his fate. And where was my boy? Him the cold waters held, and would not give me so much as his lifeless body. The smugglers had been attacked in endeavouring to remove their cargo; they resisted; some were slain on the spot, and the rest were drowned in attempting to escape. Who will tell out the story? Who will tell the wife, the mother's agony, when she received of her husband no more than the disfigured corpse,-of her son, not even so much as that! Tell who may, I cannot! But you see me what I am, I have told you what I was. Want, and disease, and remorse, and agony, have brought me to the grave. What is beyond, you may know; I do not. I believed once, but now I dare not believe."-Vol. i. p. 170-2.

The Listener. By Caroline Fry. 2 vols. London.
J. Nisbet. 1830.

THE fair authoress of these volumes deserves to be ter known to our readers than, we have reason to believe, she is at present. Education and religion are the subjects which have chiefly employed her pen; and although her views do not always coincide with our own, we have no hesitation in saying, that upon both subjects she has written pleasingly and instructively. We have no wish to place the name of Caroline Fry on the list of our most distinguished female writers, but neither must we confound her with the mediocre spirits of her own sex or of ours, (if we inay speak of spirits being of any sex,) whose literary spawn seldom merits the attention of the critic, otherwise than as a nuisance. In all the writings of our authoress, there is much shrewdness of observation, correctness of taste, and soundness of principle. This is no mean praise; and we hope that it will have the effect of directing the attention of such of our readers as can relish a good book, though its author be no Phoenix, to the unpretending volumes before us. The "Listener" is of a decidedly religious cast, but it is written with considerable liveliness and spirit. It is in Numbers, and, if we mistake not, was published as a periodical; and a pleasing little periodical it must have made. We know not a work less exceptionable, as a present for young ladies, than the "Listener." With much instruction, they may derive from it no small portion of amusement. Some of the slight sketches of character are happy; and there are one or two prettily told tales. Of course, a book of this kind, consisting of a great number of short essays upon a variety of subjects, admits of no analysis, but we shall give our readers, what they will probably like much better, a short extract. It is the concluding part of a story told on her death-bed by a wretched woman, who had tempted her husband to engage in what was called, before Mr William Huskisson so judiciously appropriated the term to his own favourite system, the free trade-in other words, smuggling. The husband and his son had gone out one night on a perilous enterprise :

"They went, and surely something in my heart misgave me of what was coming; for I felt I could not go to bed that night. It was already dark when they went away, and many a time I opened the casement to look out upon the night. The wind howled frightfully; I heard the waves thundering upon the rocks, as if they would have rent the firm earth in pieces; and so dark was it, that when in my restlessness I went out to try it, I could not find my way across the road. Not a star was there in all the heavens, nor a bit of moon to light them on their perilous way, twas ever such nights as these they chose to do their boldest deeds. Hour after hour I listened, though I knew not for what, for they were miles away. I shuddered at the silence. I started even at the noise I made myself, as from time to time I threw on a log to keep the fire burning, that they might warm and dry them when they came. I saw my neglected Bible on the shelf, and remembered the time when it would have consoled me,-but not now; I remembered when, in times of fear and danger to those I loved, I should have betaken myself to prayer, but not now. I could but sit and watch the dial-plate, and long, and long ject of this Memoir, from his biographer, and from his

THAT the Secession Church of Scotland is a numerous, important, and truly respectable body of Christians, the sternest stickler for the unbroken integrity of our venerable establishment will not deny. Beyond the pale of their own communion, however, we suspect that, for the last thirty or forty years, the precise origin and manner of its separation from its elder sister has been lost sight of, as the kindlier feelings of Christian communion gradually superseded the fiery zeal which, before the middle of the last century, and, indeed, throughout the greater part of it, arranged those fond of polemical discussion in two opposite ranks. While we are, in one sense, not sorry that this oblivion has wrapped up, from the present generation, all that was intemperate in the history of the discussions of those days, we yet are well pleased to see a volume like the present appear, holding, as we do, the opinion, that it is a sacred duty to conserve the memory of those pious men who have stood forward in good faith, and with a Christian spirit, in the attitude of reformers of those abuses which, without unceasing vigilance, would soon corrupt the practice of what may, for a time, have been the purest of religious institutions. If charity be one of its elements, we cannot but look with a degree of veneration upon the abstract character of an ecclesiastical reformer. From what we gather of the sub

Perhaps the most spirited and interesting essay in the whole book is No. 18, "The Two Invitations;" but we cannot afford to make any more extracts. We hope that enough has been said to give our readers a good opinion of the authoress and her work.

Memoirs of the Rev. William Wilson, A.M. Minister of the Gospel at Perth, one of the four brethren-the founders of the Secession Church, &c. With a brief Sketch of the State of Religion in Scotland for fifty years immediately posterior to the Revolution; including a circumstantial Account of the Origin of the Secession. By the Rev. Andrew Ferrier. Glasgow. Robertson and Atkinson. 1830. 8vo. Pp. 388.

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