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ages ; those slavish terrors which, in the ages of ignorance, appeared almost to make the resurrection an unhoped for, rather than a hoped for, event; terrors altogether at antipodes to those just fears that call upon man, ere death, to make up his peace with Heaven? This slavish and more than vulgar error was chiefly engendered through the monkish artifice of associating man's latter end with all that was disgusting and horrible, and of inspiring the world with the idea, that, to gain heaven, it was not necessary to exist rationally on earth. Amid the general gloom thus created by penances and pilgrimages, by midnight masses and bloody flagellations, the troubled imaginations of Europe, as D'Israeli says, 'first beheld the grave yawn, and death, in the Gothic form of a gaunt anatomy, parading through the universe. The people were affrighted as they viewed every where hung before their eyes, in the twilight of their cathedrals and their pale cloisters, the most revolting emblems of death. Their barbarous taste perceived no absurdity in giving action to a heap of dry bones, which could only keep together in a state of immovability and repose; nor that it was burlesquing the awful idea of the resurrection, by exbibiting the incorruptible spirit under the unnatural and ludicrous figure of mortality, drawn oui of the corruption of the grave.' If supernatural terror sprang from such causes, it was from the gloomy, naked, and deserted cemetery that superstition drew her chief influence. Thence fitted the phantoms which terrified the vulgar, and which even carried dread to the thrones of kings and emperors. Solitade peopled itself with ghosts and spectres ; silence disturbed itself with hollow groans ; while Nature, reversing her laws, allowed the dead to collect their scattered mouldering bones, and to appear, at the witching hour of night, wrapt in a winding-sheet. The monsters which man's imagination thus created, he turned from with horror ; they broke his rest in the silence of the winter's night; he heard their cry in the howl of the winds, their threat in the roar of the tempest. If the corrupters of Christianity still attempt to terrify rather than to console humanity, and if superstition still exercises her fatal speil, does it not become the duty of every well wisher to his species, to pour into the tomb the light of religion and philosophy, and thereby to dissipate the vain phantoms which the false gloom of the grave has tended to call forth. The decoration of the cemetery is a mean peculiarly calculated to produce these effects. Beneath the shade of a spreading tree, amid the fragrance of the balmy flower, surrounded on every hand with the noble works of art, the imagination is robbed of its gloomy horrors, the wildest fancy is freed from its debasing fears. Adorn the sepulchre, and the frightful visions which visit the midnight pillow will disappear ; and if a detestation for annihilation, mingled with the fondest affection for those who are departed, should lead men still to believe that the dead hold communion with the living, the delightful illusions which will result from this state of things will form a pleasing contrast to the vile superstitions that preceded them. Let the fancied voice of a father pierce, in the silence of the night, the ear of the son who lives unmindful of his parent's early counsels; or let the shade of a warning mother appear in the lunar ray, to the thoughtless and giddy eye of her who threatens to sacrifice her beauty and her virtue at the shrine of Hattery. These fancies, the children of a pious sorrow, will neither debase the human mind, nor check the generous impulses of the human heart.” (Necropolis Glasguensis, p. 62.)

The remaining point to be noticed is, the influence which a cemetery or a churchyard is calculated to have in improving the taste. That churchyards have had very little influence of this kind hitherto, we readily acknowledge; but that they are calculated to have a great deal, may be argued from the universality of churches and burying-grounds, and from their being visited by every individual perhaps more frequently than any other scene, except that of his daily occupation. A church and churchyard in the country, or a general cemetery in the neighbourhood of a town, properly designed, laid out, ornamented with tombs, planted with trees, shrubs, and herbaceous plants, all named, and the whole properly kept, might become a school of instruction in “ A garden

architecture, sculpture, landscape-gardening, arboriculture, botany, and in those important parts of general gardening, neatness, order, and high keeping. Some of the new London cemeteries might be referred to as answering in some degree these various purposes, and more particularly the Abney Park Cemetery; which contains a grand entrance in Egyptian architecture ; a handsome Gothic chapel; a number, daily increasing, of sculptural monuments; and one of the most complete arboretums in the neighbourhood of London, all the trees and shrubs being named. In summer there are a number of beds filled with flowers of various kinds, and the whole is kept with great neatness and order. We do not, however, approve of various points in the arrangement of the trees and shrubs in this cemetery, nor of the form of the beds containing the flowers, though we admit that the management in these particulars is better than it is in most of the other cemeteries. But this subject will be considered more in detail in division VII.

Churchyards and cemeteries are scenes not only calculated to improve the morals and the taste, and by their botanical riches to cultivate the intellect, but they serve as historical records. This is the case with the religious temples and burial-grounds, in all ages and in all countries.

The country churchyard was formerly the country labourer's only library, and to it was limited his knowledge of history, chronology, and biography ; every grave was to him a page, and every head-stone or tomb a picture or an engraving. With the progress of education and refinement, this part of the uses of churchyards is not superseded, but only extended and improved. It is still to the poor man a local history and biography, though the means of more extended knowledge are now amply furnished by the diffusion of cheap publications, which will at no distant time, it is to be hoped, be rendered still more effective by the establishment of a system of national education. cemetery and monumental decoration," our eloquent author observes, “afford the most convincing tokens of a nation's progress in civilisation and in the arts which are its result. We have seen with what pains the most celebrated nations of which history speaks have adorned their places of sepulture, and it is from their funereal monuments that we gather much that is known of their civil progress and of their advancement in taste. Is not the story of Egypt written on its pyramids, and is not the chronology of Arabia pictured on its tombs? Is it not on the funeral relics of Greece and Rome that we behold those elegant images of repose and tender sorrow with which they so happily invested the idea of death? Is it not on the urns and sarcophagi of Etruria that the lover of the noble art of sculpture still gazes with delight ? And is it not amid the catacombs, the crypts, and the calvaries of Italy, that the sculptor and the painter of the dark ages chiefly present the most splendid specimens of their chisel and their pencil ? In modern days, also, has it not been at the shrine of death that the highest efforts of the Michael Angelos, the Canovas, the Thorwaldsens, and the Chantreys, have been elicited and exhibited ? The tomb has, in fact, been the great chronicler of taste throughout the world. In the East, froin the hoary pyramid to the modern Arab's grave ; iu Europe, from the rude tomb of the druid to the marble mausoleum of the monarch ; in America, from the grove which the Indian chief planted round the sepulchre of his son, to the monument which announces to the lovers of freedom the last resting-place of Washington." (Necropolis Glasguensis, p. 63.)

Such are the various important uses of the cemetery and the churchyard, which it was necessary to take into consideration, before devising either a design for laying out a cemetery, or a system of rules and regulations for its working and management.

(To be continued.)

ART. II.

Dinbur Castle, its Gardens and its Gardeners. By Peter

MACKENZIE.

(Continued from our preceding Volume, p. 610.) On the north side of the garden there was a small glen; the side next the garden was steep and rocky, the opposite side was sloped and of more easy access; here and there lay large blocks of whinstone rock, and the vegetation consisted chiefly of whins and broom. Near this place were some of the labourers' cottages, which could easily be seen from the bothy; and there was a footpath across the small ravine, which led from the one place to the other. Bauldy Black was well acquainted with the path, and could find his way in the dark, although it required the assistance of the loose roots and the broom to help one along.

That night he was often looked for by Maggy Scraunky; for she heard that he was going to the dance, and she was anxious to know whom he was to have for a partner. As she was looking at one time towards the bothy she was surprised to see a bright light come from the bothy window; a flash of lightning, as she thought. She kept looking in the same direction for some time, when another illumination took place. She instantly turned away, and ran into one of the houses, exclaiming : “ There is something no canny about the garden this night; only come out and ye 'll see. There is surely something wrang wi' Bauldy."

—“ What can be wrang wi' Bauldy, mair than ony o’the rest?” said Geordie Lowrie: “he was hale and weel when I cam frae my wark in the gloamin.” However, old and young ran to the door, and all eyes were directed to the bothy, when soon another flash was seen brighter than any that had yet appeared. ye that?” roared out Meg: "ye'll ken noo gif I hae been haivering to ye.”

“ That is an unchancy blink,” said Geordie, “ and unco uncanny like. My granny has often tauld me about warlocks and witches, and brownies and fairies, and kelpies and spunkies, but

ony thing like that I hae never seen. I niind fu weel, on a night when I gaed awa to see Jenny, a pick mirk night it was; and coming near the cairny loan I saw a blue low dancing atween the hedges, and coming in my direction. Though I was a raukle handit chield then, I was unco eerie, and felt a groozzling in my throat, and a smell o’ brimstone; and if I hadna set a tryst wi’ Jenny, it wouldna been that night I would hae gane to the hethery knowe; and I tried to gang faster, but it turned the corner before me. I begun to feel gif the bonnet was on my head, for I thought a' my hair stiffened;

and it still gaed dancing before me, but I followed slowly behind it. Sometimes it went

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faster than I was able to follow, at last it took a turn awa to the auld kirkyard of Mirkness, which was near by. When I entered Jenny's father's house I nearly fainted. —- What's wrang wi' ye the night, Geordie lad, ye are no yersel ava?'

- Come awa to the door, and ye'll see something that will may be mak ye wonder. Do ye see yon blue low dancing in the corner of the kirkyard?'—That's nae ferlie," said the auld carle; “ whar did it come frae?' — It cam frae the clauchan airt, and up the cairny loan.'—'Weel, weel, there will be a funeral in a few days come the same gate, and if ye wait awee ye will see it gang awa the road it cam.' And I stood upon a knowe and saw it gang awa again, and in three days after the auld miller o' Melderston was brought to his lang hame."

Geordie was beginning another spunkie story when another brilliant light was seen, and he cried out : “Come awa, bodies, come awa, we are lang enough here; there will be waur news than piper's news heard o'ere long. We will, maybe, soon hae to read Bauldy's epitaph, puir chield, for he deserves ane as weel as Habbie Simson the piper o’ Kilbarchan, or anither fiddler, whose name I forget, but it is said of him:

• Here lies dear John, whose pipe and drone,

And fiddle oft has made us glad ;
Whose cheerfu' face our feasts did grace,

A sweet and merry lad.'”

Next morning the young men were greatly amused by the remarks Geordie Lowrie made concerning the “awfu' lights he had seen coming frae the bothy yestreen.” They, however, took care, the next time that Sandy Macalpine made chemical experiments, to hang up one of their aprons over the window, to prevent any of their neighbours imagining that they were rais

ing the devil.

In a few nights after Sandy Macalpine had delivered his remarks on oxygen, Walter Glenesk was prepared to give a short outline of geology, a branch of knowledge which he thought every gardener ought to be acquainted with. It was well, he said, to be acquainted with mathematical, physical, and political geography, to know the general form of the earth, and be able to determine the relative positions of places upon the earth's surface; also to know something about the principal features of the surface of our globe, to have some knowledge of the mountain ranges of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, as well as of the valleys and plains of these extensive districts; to be acquainted with the subject of climate and temperature, and how these and other natural causes affected the condition of the human race; also with the moral and social condition of the various nations of the world. All these were subjects well worth the study of man: but, however varied and beautiful the exterior features of the earth may be, together with the herbs and trees that adorn it, and the numerous tribes of organised beings which people it, yet the interior structure of our earth deserves also our particular attention; for it could be easily shown how close a relation exists between rocks and soils, and how a knowledge of the nature of soils must be of essential benefit to those who cultivate them; every gardener, therefore, ought to be a geologist.

Walter Glenesk took his own way to illustrate his subject. When travelling from place to place, he made himself, as far as he was able, familiar with the geological features of the country through which he passed, and when he had settled he collected specimens of the rocks and erratic boulders which he found in the neighbourhood of the place in which he resided, so he was enabled to make his discourse more interesting, by exhibiting specimens of many of the rocks that form part of the different geological formations. The other lads in the bothy were able to examine the specimens at their leisure, which was an advantage which many students who attend geological lectures do not enjoy. He had prepared an ideal section of part of the earth's crust on a large scale, by means of which he was able to point out more clearly the relation which one rock bears to another.

He commenced with granite, a rock considered as occupy-. ing the lowest part of the series, and often found in mountain ranges at the highest elevation. He did not stop to tell them of its constituent parts, but went on from granite to gneiss, from gneiss to mica-slate, from that to chlorite-slate, talcslate, hornblende-slate, clay-slate, primary limestone, quartz rocks, and serpentine rocks. Having gone over the various rocks of the primary formation several times, until the others could name them in their order, he then proceeded in describing the constituent parts of granite. He told them that it was composed of felspar, quartz, mica, and sometimes hornblende, but they were not to imagine that these were simple substances ; and, taking up a specimen of felspar, he told them that it was composed of potash, silica, and alumina; mica contained potash, silica, alumina, magnesia, and iron; hornblende was composed of silica, lime, iron, and magnesia; and quartz, when pure, consisted of silica alone. He then showed them the difference between the best Aberdeen granite and that of Peterhead and Braemar: how it varied in colour; sometimes it was fleshcoloured, at other times dark grey : how some kinds of it were indestructible, and others were easily decomposed by means of the air and water acting upon the potash of the felspar. The celebrated Cornish clay, much used in potteries, is obtained from decomposed granite; and sometimes, when the clay is mixed with

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