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serve perhaps more easily than nearer connexions. For my own part, I am violent, but not malignant; for only fresh provocations can awaken my resentments. To you, who are colder and more concentrated, I would just hint, that you may sometimes mistake the depth of a cold anger for dignity, and a worse feeling for duty. I assure you that I bear you now (whatever I may have done) no resentment whatever. Remember, that if you have injured me in aught, this forgiveness is something; and that, if I have injured you, it is something more still, if it be true, as the moralists say, that the most offending are the least forgiving.

"Whether the offence has been solely on my side, or reciprocal, or on yours chiefly, I have ceased to reflect upon any but two things-viz. that you are the mother of my child, and that we shall never meet again. I think, if you also consider the two corresponding points with reference to myself, it will be better for all three. Yours ever,

"NOEL BYRON."

Some readers will perhaps be disappointed that Moore has scarcely alluded at all to the charges which Lady Byron and her friends have recently advanced against the deceased poet. He has given Lady Byron's "Letter," or "Remarks,” at the end of the volume, without any comment; and he carefully abstains from entering the lists with Thomas Campbell. This may be prudent in so far as he himself is concerned,-but we doubt whether it is generous towards his departed friend. This duty, we think, became more imperative on the biographer, when we see him giving a place in his work to such a passage as the following:

BYRON'S ACCOUNT OF THE CAUSES WHICH LED TO HIS
SEPARATION FROM HIS WIFE.

"The chief subject of our conversation, when alone, was his marriage, and the load of obloquy which it had brought upon him. He was most anxious to know the worst that had been alleged of his conduct; and as this was our first opportunity of speaking together on the subject, I did not hesitate to put his candour most searchingly to the proof, not only by enumerating the various charges I had heard brought against him by others, but by specifying such portions of these charges as I had been inclined to think not incredible myself. To all this he listened with patience, and answered with the most unhesitating frankness, laughing to scorn the tales of unmanly outrage related of him, but at the same time acknowledging that there had been in his conduct but too much to blame and regret, and stating one or two occasions, during his domestic life, when he had been irritated into letting the breath of bitter words' escape him words, rather those of the unquiet spirit that possessed him than his own, and which he now evidently remembered with a degree of remorse and pain, which might well have entitled them to be forgotten by others. It was at the same time manifest, that, whatever admissions he might be inclined to make respecting his own delinquencies, the inordinate measure of the punishment dealt out to him had sunk deeply into his mind; and with the usual effect of such injustice, drove him also to be unjust himself-so much so, indeed, as to impute to the quarter to which he now traced all his ill fate, a feeling of fixed hostility to himself, which would not rest, he thought, even at his grave, but continue to persecute his memory, as it was now embittering his life. So strong was this impression upon him, that, during one of our few intervals of seriousness, he conjured me, by our friendship, if, as he both felt and hoped, I should survive him, not to let unmerited censure settle upon his name, but, while I surrendered him up to condemnation where he deserved it, to vindicate him where aspersed. How groundless and wrongful were these apprehensions, the early death which he so often predicted and sighed for has enabled us, unfortunately, but too soon to testify. So far from having to defend him against any such assailants, an unworthy voice or two, from persons more injurious as friends than as enemies, is all that I find raised in hostility to his name; while by few, I am inclined to think, would a generous amnesty over his grave be more readily and cordially concurred in than by her, among whose numerous virtues a forgiving charity towards himself was the only one to which she had not yet taught him to render justice." The last two sentences of the above extract are to us rather unintelligible. If they mean any thing, they imply a sneer at Campbell, and a compliment to Lady Byron,

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BYRON'S RULES OF LITERARY CONDUCT.
TO MR MURRAY.

"Ravenna, 24th Sept. 1821. "I have been thinking over our late correspondence, and wish to propose to you the following articles for our future: "Istly. That you shall write to me of yourself, of the health, wealth, and welfare of all friends; but of me (quoad me) little or nothing.

"2dly. That you shall send me soda-powders, toothpowder, tooth-brushes, or any such anti-odontalgic or chemical articles, as heretofore, ad libitum,' upon being reimbursed for the same.

"3dly. That you shall not send me any modern, or (as they are called) new publications, in English, whatsoever, save and excepting any writing, prose or verse, of (or reaCampbell, Rogers, Gifford, Joanna Baillie, Irving (the sonably presumed to be of) Walter Scott, Crabbe, Moore, American,) Hogg, Wilson (Isle of Palms man,) or any especial single work of fancy which is thought to be of considerable merit; Voyages and Travels, provided that they are neither in Greece, Spain, Asia Minor, Albania, nor Italy, will be welcome. Having travelled the countries mentioned, I know that what is said of them can convey nothing farther which I desire to know about them.-No other English works whatsoever.

"4thly. That you send me no periodical works whatsoever-no Edinburgh, Quarterly, Monthly, nor any review, magazine, or newspaper, English or foreign, of any descrip

tion.

"5thly. That you send me no opinions whatsoever, either good, bad, or indifferent, of yourself, or your friends, or others, concerning any work, or works, of mine, past, present, or to come.

"6thly. That all negotiations in matters of business between you and me pass through the medium of the Hon. Douglas Kinnaird, my friend and trustee, or Mr Hobhouse, as 'alter ego,' and tantamount to myself during my absence-or presence.

"Some of these propositions may at first seem strange, but they are well founded. The quantity of trash I have received as books is incalculable, and neither amused nor instructed. Reviews and magazines are at the best but ephemeral and superficial reading :—who thinks of the grand article of last year in any given Review? In the next place, if they regard myself, they tend to increase egotism. If favourable, I do not deny that the praise elates, and if unfavourable, that the abuse irritates. The latter may conduct me to inflict a species of satire, which would neither do good to you nor to your friends: they may smile now, and so may you; but if I took you all in hand, it would not be difficult to cut you up like gourds. I did as much by as powerful people at nineteen years old, and I know little as yet in three-andthirty, which should prevent me from making all your ribs gridirons for your hearts, if such were my propensity: but it is not; therefore let me hear none of your provocations. If any thing occurs so very gross as to require my notice, I shall hear of it from my legal friends. For the rest, I merely request to be left in ignorance.

The same applies to opinions, good, bad, indifferent, of persons in conversation or correspondence. These do not interrupt, but they soil, the current of my mind. I am sensitive enough, but not till I am troubled; and here I am beyond the touch of the short arms of literary England, except the few feelers of the polypus that crawl over the channels in the way of extract.

"All these precautions in England would be useless; the libeller or the flatterer would there reach me in spite of all; but in Italy we know little of literary England, and think less, except what reaches us through some garbled and brief extract in some miserable gazette. For two years (excepting two or three articles cut out and sent to you by the post) I never read a newspaper which was not forced upon me by some accident; and know, upon the whole, as little of England as you do of Italy, and God knows that is little enough, with all your travels, &c. &c. &c. The English travellers know Italy as you know Guernsey; how much is that?

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If any thing occurs so violently gross or personal as

requires notice, Mr Douglas Kinnaird will let me know; but of praise, I desire to hear nothing.

"You will say, To what tends all this?' I will answer THAT;-to keep my mind free and unbiassed by all paltry and personal irritabilities of praise or censure-to let my genius take its natural direction, while my feelings are like the dead, who know nothing and feel nothing of all or aught that is said or done in their regard.

"If you can observe these conditions, you will spare yourself and others some pain; let me not be worked upon to rise up; for if I do, it will not be for a little. If you cannot observe these conditions, we shall cease to be correspondents, but not friends, for I shall always be yours ever and truly,

BYRON,

"P.S. I have taken these resolutions not from any irritation against you or yours; but simply upon reflection that all reading, either praise or censure, of myself has done me harm. When I was in Switzerland and Greece, I was out of the way of hearing either, and how I wrote there !-In Italy I am out of the way of it too; but latterly, partly through my fault, and partly through your kindness in wishing to send me the newest and best periodical publications, I have had a crowd of Reviews, &c., thrust upon me, which have bored me with their jargon, of one kind or another, and taken off my attention from greater objects. You have also sent me a parcel of trash of poetry, for no reason that I can conceive, unless to provoke me to write a new English Bards.' Now this I wish to avoid; for if ever I do, it will be a strong production; and I desire peace as long as the fools will keep their nonsense out of my way." Containing as this volume does, like its predecessor, much more of the original letters and memoranda of Byron, than of Moore's more laboured and polished, but far feebler narrative, almost every page teems with original and striking observations, and graphic and powerful sketches. What, for example, could be more perfect of its kind than the following rapid etching, betraying, by a few strokes, the hand of a master?

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BYRON'S ACCOUNT OF PINDEMONTE. "To-day, Pindemonte, the celebrated poet of Verona, called on me; he is a little thin man, with acute and pleasing features; his address good and gentle; his appearance altogether very philosophical; his age about sixty, or more. He is one of their best going. I gave him Forsyth, as he speaks, or reads rather, a little English, and will find there a favourable account of himself. He enquired after his old Cruscan friends, Parsons, Greathead, Mrs Piozzi, and Merry, all of whom he had known in his youth. I gave him as bad an account of them as I could, answering, as the false Solomon Lob' does to Totterton' in the farce, 'all gone dead,' and d-d by a satire more than twenty years ago; that the name of their extinguisher was Gifford; that they were but a sad set of scribes after all, and no great things in any other way. He seemed, as was natural, very much pleased with this account of his old acquaintances, and went away greatly gratified with that, and Mr Forsyth's sententious paragraph of applause in his own (Pindemonte's) favour. After having been a little libertine in his youth, he is grown devout, and takes prayers, and talks to himself, to keep off the devil; but for all that, he is a very nice little old gentleman."

We subjoin a specimen of the manner in which Byron kept his diary. It places the very man before us:

AN EXTRACT FROM BYRON'S DIARY.

arguments. I believe she was right. I must put more love into Sardanapalus' than I intended. I speak, of course, if the times will allow me leisure. That if will bardly be a peace-maker.

"January 14, 1821.

lines of the intended tragedy of Sardanapalus. Rode out "Turned over Seneca's tragedies. Wrote the opening dined-wrote some more of my tragedy. some miles into the forest. Misty and rainy. Returned"Read Diodorus Siculus-turned over Seneca, and some other books. Wrote some more of the tragedy. Took a glass of grog. After having ridden hard in rainy weather, and scribbled, and scribbled again, the spirits (at least mine) need a little exhilaration, and I don't like laudanum now as I used to do. So I have mixed a glass of strong waters Therefore and thereunto I conclude this day's diary. and single waters, which I shall now proceed to empty.

"The effect of all wines and spirits upon me is, however, strange. It settles, but it makes me gloomy-gloomy at the very moment of their effect, and not gay hardly ever. But it composes for a time, though sullenly.

"January 15, 1821. "Weather fine. Received visit. Rode out into the forest-fired pistols. Returned home-dined-dipped into a volume of Mitford's Greece-wrote part of a scene of 'Sardanapalus.' Went out-heard some music-heard some politics. More ministers from the other Italian powers gone to Congress. War seems certain-in that case, it will be a savage one. Talked over various important matters with one of the initiated. At ten and half returned

home.

1914, Moore the poet' par excellence, and he deserves it"I have just thought of something odd. In the year and I were going together, in the same carriage, to dine with Earl Grey, the Capo Politico of the remaining whigs. Murray, the magnificent-the illustrious publisher of that name-had just sent me a Java Gazette, I know not why, or wherefore. Pulling it out, by way of curiosity, we found it to contain a dispute-the said Java Gazette-on Moore's merits and mine. I think, if I had been there, that I could have saved them the trouble of disputing on the subject. But there is fame for you at six-and-twenty! Alexander had conquered India at the same age; but I doubt if he was disputed about, or his conquests compared with those of Indian Bacchus, at Java.

"It was great fame to be named with Moore; greater to be compared with him; greatest-pleasure, at least-to be with him; and, surely an odd coincidence, that we should be dining together while they were quarrelling about us beyond the equinoctial line.

"Well, the same evening I met Lawrence the painter, and heard one of Earl Grey's daughters-a fine, tall, spiritlooking girl, with much of the patrician thorough-bred look of her father, which I dote upon-play on the harp, so modestly and ingeniously, that she looked music. Well, I would rather have had my talk with Lawrence-who talked delightfully-and heard the girl, than have had all the fame of Moore and me put together.

"The only pleasure of fame is, that it paves the way to pleasure; and the more intellectual our pleasure, the better for the pleasure and for us too. It was, however, agreeable to have heard our fame before dinner, and a girl's harp after."

Several pieces of unpublished poetry, of great beauty We and interest, are scattered throughout the volume. have room for only the following stanzas:

STANZAS.

"Sketched the outline and Drams. Pers, of an intended tragedy of Sardanapalus, which I have for some time meditated. Took the names from Diodorus Siculus-I know the history of Sardanapalus, and have known it" Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story, since I was twelve years old-and read over a passage in the ninth vol. octavo of Mitford's Greece, where he rather vindicates the memory of this last of the Assyrians.

"Dined-news come-the Powers mean to war with the peoples. The intelligence seems positive-let it be so-they will be beaten in the end. The king-times are fast finishing. There will be blood shed like water, and tears like mist; but the peoples will conquer in the end. I shall not live to see it, but I foresee it.

The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty, Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

"What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled ? 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled. Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreath that can only give glory? "I carried Teresa the Italian translation of Grillparzer's Sappho, which she promises to read. She quarrelled with "Oh, Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, me, because I said that love was not the loftiest theme for 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, true tragedy; and, having the advantage of her native lan-Than to see the bright eyes of the dear One discover guage, and natural female eloquence, she overcame my fewer She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

"There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory."

Having now exerted ourselves, to the best of our ability, to take off the first edge of our readers' curiosity, we shall return to this important work more methodically and argumentatively next week.

Songs; by the Ettrick Shepherd. Now first Collected. Edinburgh. William Blackwood. 1831. 12mo. HAVING been favoured with a copy of this work in sheets, we should have noticed it sooner, had our Christmas or New-Year's-Day number contained reviews. We now hasten to introduce it to the acquaintance of our readers, fully satisfied that it will speedily acquire an extensive and well-merited popularity.

Having so recently taken occasion to speak of the Shepherd's peculiar talents, we shall not revert to the subject at present; but, as the best mode of recommending the volume before us to the favour of our readers, we shall enrich our columns with a few of its songs, together with the graphic and characteristic notes with which they are accompanied.

We shall begin with the first song in the volume. It is full of that spirit-stirring humour which the Scotch people are fond of mingling with their patriotism. The notes which accompany it are curious and amusing:

DONALD MACDONALD.

"I place this song the first, not on account of any intrinsic merit
that it possesses,-for there it ranks rather low,-but merely because
it was my first song, and exceedingly popular when it first appeared.
I wrote it when a barefooted lad herding lambs on the Blackhouse
Heights, in utter indignation at the threatened invasion from France.
But after it had run through the Three Kingdoms, like fire set to
heather, for ten or twelve years, no one ever knew or enquired who
was the author.-It is set to the old air, 'Woo'd an' married an' a.'
"My name it is Donald Macdonald,
I leeve in the Heelands sae grand;
I hae follow'd our banner, and will do,
Wherever my Maker has land.
When rankit amang the blue bonnets,
Nae danger can fear me ava;

I ken that my brethren around me
Are either to conquer or fa'.

Brogues an' brochin an' a',
Brochin an' brogues an' a';
An' is nae her very weel aff

Wi' her brogues an' brochin an' a'?

"What though we befriendit young Charlie ?—

To tell it I dinna think shame ;
Poor lad, he cam to us but barely,

An' reckon'd our mountains his hame.

'Twas true that our reason forbade us;
But tenderness carried the day ;-

Had Geordie come friendless amang us,
Wi' him we had a' gane away.
Sword an' buckler an' a',
Buckler an' sword an' a';

Now for George we'll encounter the devil,
Wi' sword an' buckler an' a'!

"An' O, I wad eagerly press him The keys o' the East to retain ; For should he gie up the possession,

We'll soon hae to force them again.
Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,
Though it were my finishing blow,
He aye may depend on M'Donald,
Wi' his Heelanders a' in a row:

Knees an' elbows an' a',
Elbows an' knees an' a';
Depend upon Donald M'Donald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'!

"Wad Bonaparte land at Fort-William, -
Auld Europe nae longer should grane;
I laugh when I think how we'd gall him,
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane;

Wi' rocks o' the Nevis and Garny
We'd rattle him off frae our shore,
Or lull him asleep in a cairny,
An' sing him-Lochaber no more!
Stanes an' bullets an' a',
Bullets an' stanes an' a':
We'll finish the Corsican callan
Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a'!

"For the Gordon is good in a hurry,

An' Campbell is steel to the bane, An' Grant, an' M'Kenzie, an' Murray, An' Cameron will hurkle to nane; The Stuart is sturdy an' loyal,

An' sae is M'Leod an' M'Kay; An' I, their gudebrither, M'Donald, Shall ne'er be the last in the fray! Brogues an' brochin an' a', Brochin an' brogues an' a'; An' up wi' the bonny blue bonnet, The kilt an' the feather an' a'!"*

In a different strain, full of tenderness and simplicity, is the following beautiful little lyric:

THE BROOM SAE GREEN

"Is my greatest favourite at present,-probably because the air is my own, as well as the verses; for I find I have a particular facility in approving of such things. It is beautifully set by Bishop, in Goulding and D'Almaine's Select Scottish Melodies.

"Lang I sat by the broom sae green,
An' O, my heart was eerie !
For aye this strain was breathed within,
Your laddie will no come near ye!
Lie still, thou wee bit fluttering thing,
What means this weary wavering?
Nae heart returns thy raptured spring,
Your laddie will no come near ye!

"His leifu' sang the robin sung

On the bough that hung sae near me,
Wi' tender grief my heart was wrung,
For O, the strain was dreary!
The robin's sang it couldnae be
That gart the tear-drap blind my ee;
How ken'd the wee bird on the tree
That my laddie wad no come near me?
"The new-wean'd lamb on yonder lea
It bleats out through the braken,
The herried bird upon the tree

Mourns o'er its nest forsaken ;-
If they are wae, how weel may I?
Nae grief like mine aneath the sky,
The lad I loe he cares nae by

Though my fond heart is breaking!"

"I once heard the above song sung in the theatre at Lancaster, when the singer substituted the following lines of his own for the last verse:

For Jock Bull he is good in a hurry,
And Sawney is steel to the bane,
An' wee Davie Welsh is a widdy,
An' Paddy will hurkle to nane:
They'll a' prove baith sturdy and loyal,
Come dangers around them what may,
An' I, their gudebrither, M'Donald,

Shall ne'er be the last in the fray ! &c.

It took exceedingly well, and was three times encored, and there was I sitting in the gallery, applauding as much as any body. My vanity prompted me to tell a jolly Yorkshire manufacturer that night, that I was the author of the song. He laughed excessively at my assumption, and told the landlady that he took me for a halfcrazed Scots pedlar.

"Another anecdote concerning this song I may mention; and I do it with no little pride, as it is a proof of the popularity of Donald M'Donald among a class, to inspire whom with devotion to the cause of their country was at that time a matter of no little consequence. Happening upon one occasion to be in a wood in Dumfries-shire, through which wood the highroad passed, I heard a voice singing; and a turn of the road soon brought in sight a soldier, who seemed to be either travelling home upon furlough, or returning to his regiment. When the singer approached nearer, I distinguished the notes of my own song of Donald M'Donald. As the lad proceeded with his song, he got more and more into the spirit of the thing, and on coming to the end,

An' up wi' the bonny blue bonnet,
The kilt an' the feather an' a'!'

in the height of his enthusiasm, he hoisted his cap on the end of his staff, and danced it about triumphantly. I stood ensconced behind a tree, and heard and saw all without being observed."

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There is a delicate and touching pathos in the two last lines of the second verse of the above song:

"How ken'd the wee bird on the tree

That my laddie wad no come near me?"

But the Shepherd's versatility is great; and we are not aware of any species of Scotch song in which he is not at home. Let us take, as our next example, "The Women Fo'k," a ballad we have heard him sing a 'hundred times, with all a bard's enthusiasm, in the presence of many a fair and smiling damsel; and heartily do we agree with him in declaring that no one else will ever sing it so well again :

THE WOMEN FO'K.

"The air of this song is my own. It was first set to music by Heather, and most beautifully set too. It was afterwards set by Dewar, whether with the same accompaniments or not, I have forgot. It is my own favourite humorous song, when forced to sing by ladies against my will, which too frequently happens; and, notwithstanding my wood-notes wild, it will never be sung by any so well again.For the air, sce the Border Garland.

"O sairly may I rue the day

I fancied first the womenkind;
For aye sinsyne I ne'er can hae

Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind!

They hae plagued my heart an' pleased my ee,
An' teased an' flatter'd me at will,

But aye, for a' their witcherye,

The pawky things I loe them still.

O the women fo'k! O the women fo'k!
But they hae been the wreck o' me;
O weary fa' the women fo'k,

For they winna let a body be!

"I hae thought an' thought, but darena tell,
I've studied them wi' a' my skill,
I've lo'ed them better than mysell,
I've tried again to like them ill.
Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,

To comprehend what nae man can;
When he has done what man can do,
He'll end at last where he began.
O the women fo'k, &c.

"That they hae gentle forms an' meet,
A man wi' half a look may see;
An' gracefu' airs, an' faces sweet,

An' waving curls aboon the bree;
An' smiles as saft as the young rose-bud,
An' een sae pawky, bright, an' rare,
Wad lure the laverock frae the cludd-
But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair!
O the women fo'k, &c.

"Even but this night, nae farther gane,
The date is neither lost nor lang,

I tak ye witness ilka ane,

How fell they fought an' fairly dang.
Their point they've carried right or wrang,
Without a reason, rhyme, or law,

An' forced a man to sing a sang,
That ne'er could sing a verse ava.

O the women fo'k! O the women fo'k !
But they hae been the wreck o' me;

O weary fa' the women fo'k,

For they winna let a body be."

Our friend the Shepherd is not very well pleased, it appears, with Mr Moore, whom he flatly accuses of jealousy; and, we must confess, with some show of reason, when we find that the agreeable author of the "National Melodies" refused to sanction the publication of a song like the following:

THE MINSTREL BOY

"Was written as a per contra to Mr Moore's song to the same air. But either he or his publishers, or both, set up their birses, and caused it and a great many more to be cancelled,-the most ridiculous of all things, in my opinion, I ever knew. It was manifestly because they saw mine were the best. Let them take that! as Gideon Laidlaw said when the man died who had cheated him.

"The Minstrel Boy to the glen is gone, In its deepest dells you'll find him,

Where echoes sing to his music's tone,

And fairies listen behind him.
He sings of nature all in her prime,
Of sweets that round him hover,
Of mountain heath and moorland thyme,
And trifles that tell the lover.

"How wildly sweet is the minstrel's lay,

Through cliffs and wild woods ringing,
For, ah! there is love to beacon his way,
And hope in the song he's singing!
The bard may indite, and the minstrel sing,
And maidens may chorus it rarely;
But unless there be love in that heart within,
The ditty will charm but sparely.”

This is different from Moore's "Minstrel Boy," but
it is scarcely inferior.
lowing with interest:
Our readers will peruse the fol-

O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY.

"This song was written at Elleray, Mr Wilson's seat in Westmoreland, where a number of my very best things were written. There was a system of competition went on there, the most delightful that I ever engaged in. Mr Wilson and I had a Queen's Wake every wet day-a fair set-to who should write the best poem between breakfast and dinner, and, if I am any judge, these friendly competitious produced several of our best poems, if not the best ever written on the same subjects before. Mr Wilson, as well as Southey and Wordsworth, had all of them a way of singing out their poetry in a loud sonorous key, which was very impressive, but perfectly ludicrous. Wilson, at that period, composed all his poetry, by going over it in that sounding strain; and in our daily competitions, although our rooms were not immediately adjoining, I always overheard what progress he was making. When he came upon any grand idea, he opened upon it full swell, with all the energy of a fine fox-hound on a hot trail. If I heard many of these vehement aspirations, they weakened my hands and discouraged my heart, and I often said to myself, Gudefaith, it's a' ower wi' me for this day! When we went over the poems together in the evening, I was always anxious to learn what parts of the poem had excited the sublime breathings which I had heard at a distance, but he never could tell me.

"There was another symptom. When we met at dinner-time, if Mr Wilson had not been successful in pleasing himself, he was desperate sulky for a while, though he never once missed brightening up, and making the most of the subject. I never saw better sport than we had in comparing these poems. How manfully each stood out for the merits of his own! But Mrs Wilson generally leaned to my side, nominally at least. I wrote the Ode to Superstition" there, which, to give Mr Wilson justice, he approved of most unequivocally. He wrote "The Ship of the Desert" against it-a thing of far greater splendour, but exceedingly extravagant. I likewise wrote "The Stranger" and "Isabelle" there, both to be found in the Poetic Mirror; and I know some of the poems that Mr Wilson wrote against these too, if I were at liberty to tell. The one he wrote that day on which I composed the following song, was not a song, but a little poem in his best style. What with sailing, climbing the mountains, driving with Bob to all the fine scenery, dining with poets and great men, jymnastics (as Wilson spells it in the Noctes), and going to tell our friends that we were not coming to dine with them-these were halcyon days, which we shall never see again!

"O, weel befa' the maiden gay,
In cottage, bught, or penn,
An' weel befa' the bonny May
That wons in yonder glen,

Wha loes the modest truth sae weel,
Wha's aye sae kind, an' aye sae leal,
An' pure as blooming asphodel
Amang sae mony men!
O, weel befa' the bonny thing
That wons in yonder glen!

""Tis sweet to hear the music float

Along the gloaming lea;

'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's note
Come pealing frae the tree;
To see the lambkin's lightsome race-
The speckled kid in wanton chase-
The young deer cower in lonely place,
Deep in her flowing den;
But sweeter far the bonny face
That smiles in yonder glen!

"O, had it no' been for the blush
O' maiden's virgin flame,

Dear beauty never had been known,

An' never had a name;

But aye sin' that dear thing o' blame
Was modell'd by an angel's frame,
The power o' beauty reigns supreme
O'er a' the sons o' men ;
But deadliest far the sacred flame
Burns in a lonely glen! :

"There's beauty in the violet's vest

There's hinney in the haw-
There's dew within the rose's breast,
The sweetest o' them a'.

The sun will rise an' set again,
An' lace wi' burning gowd the main-
The rainbow bend outower the plain,
Sae lovely to the ken;
But lovelier far my bonny thing
That wons in yonder glen!"

We have room for only one more song. It is one which, for simple pathos, is not surpassed by any other in the language:

A FATHER'S LAMENT.

"A young friend of mine, whom I greatly admired for every manly

and amiable virtue, was cut off suddenly in the flower of his age,

(Mr R— An.) The next time that I visited the family, his parent's distress and expressions of fond remembrance affected me so deeply, that I composed the following verses in his character.

I likewise composed an air for it, which I thought adapted to the

words.

It is finely set by Bishop, in his Select Melodies.
"How can you bid this heart be blithe,
When blithe this heart can never be?
I've lost the jewel from my crown-

Look round our circle, and you'll see
That there is ane out o' the ring

Who never can forgotten be
Ay, there's a blank at my right hand,
That ne'er can be made up to me!

"Tis said as water wears the rock,

That time wears out the deepest line;
It may be true wi' hearts enow,

But never can apply to mine.
For I have learn'd to know and feel-
Though losses should forgotten be-
That still the blank at my right hand
Can never be made up to me!

"I blame not Providence's sway,
For I have many joys beside,
And fain would I in grateful way
Enjoy the same, whate'er betide.
A mortal thing should ne'er repine,
But stoop to the Supreme decree;
Yet, oh! the blank at my right hand
Can never be made up to me!"

We could go on multiplying quotations of a similar kind for a long while, but ex pede Herculem. This volume of Songs cannot fail to find its way over the whole country; and on the shelves of many a library-in the recess of many a lowly window-on the top of many an antique chest of drawers, it will take its place side by side with the Poems of Burns.

A New Gazetteer of Scotland. By Robert Chambers, Author of the "Picture of Scotland," and William Chambers, Author of the "Book of Scotland." Nos. I. and II. Edinburgh. Thomas Ireland. 1831. THIS is a very neat, a very useful, and a very amusing work. The typography is good-the different articles are, in general, amusing and well written ;-and, as a book of reference, it is of great value. All our readers have, without doubt, experienced the teazing sensation attendant upon the rencontre in a newspaper, or history, of the name of some district or locality in our native land, the precise relative situation of which we cannot figure to ourselves, either because we have forgotten it, or, for a still better reason, because we never knew it. There is

a restless and feverish curiosity hereby excited, and along with it a painful degree of shame, that we should not know places to which we are so closely bound. For all such evils which flesh is heir to, the Gazetteer of Messrs Chambers is a sovereign and infallible remedy. It shall henceforth, (that is, as soon as it is completed,) neatly bound, occupy a constant place upon our table. We should as soon think of displacing the Edinburgh Almanack, or the Rhyming Dictionary. In short, we do not know how we got on without it before, but we are certain we cannot now dispense with it. It is like tea and potatoes, which our stupid ancestors never seem to have discovered that they wanted; but what a life were this if they should now be taken from us!

The following dissertation upon the nature and origin of those tracts of country to which, in Scotland, the name of "Carse" has been applied, is a fair specimen of the manner in which the work is executed:

watercourses.

THE CARSES OF GOWRIE, STIRLING, FALKIRK, &c. "Modern investigation, assisted by the light of science, has discovered what was long a matter of justifiable conjecture, that these various carses, or flat stretches of land, on the margins of great rivers, have been formed by the deposition of alluvial matter, and the capricious change of the By the discovery of the bones of large marine animals, imbedded many feet below the surface of the soil, it has been satisfactorily demonstrated that such places must have been at one period-and that an epoch long subsequent to the supposed general mixture at the delugewithin the flow of the sea. Some years ago, the perfect skeleton of a whale was found at Airthrie, in the Carse of Stirling, many miles from the sea, or the Firth of Forth, and a considerable distance from the present course of the river. Articles of artificial formation, such as anchors, have been from time to time exposed in the Carse of Falkirk, within the memory of men now alive; and many other circumstances prove that the whole of these two beautiful prairies have been gradually formed from the alluvium of the adjacent stream. The very nature of the soils of these two carses is probative of the theory. The land is generally a reddish, or at least a coloured stiff clay, capable of producing certain kinds of crops in great abundance. The most remarkable changes in the physiognomy of the country have been produced in the Carse of Gowrie and Strathearn. Here the rivers Tay and Earn have doubtless altered their course, and circumscribed their limits in a number of ways. The traditions of the country people, although always suspicious, are generally worthy of some credit, especially when local appearances give them countenance. It is a common tradition, that the Tay, instead of forming the southern boundary of the Carse of Gowrie, formerly bounded it on the north, running under the Sidlaw Hills; and it is related that rings for the tying up of boats have been found attached to the rocks near the supposed obsolete course. The usual tale is, that the Tay turned off from its present cuit described, fell into the Firth, at the eastern extremity course about two miles below Perth, and, making the cirof the Carse; the Earn occupied by itself the channel of the two (now) united rivers. They ran along all the way down the Carse, parallel to, and at no great distance from each other, winding round, and almost isolating various rising grounds which lay between them, and which, from that circumstance, were called Inches, or islands, as Inchira, Meginch, Inchmartin, Inchmichael, Inchture, and others. A countryman, having drawn a furrow with his plough from the Tay along a low field which he wished to irrigate, caused the whole river to take this direction, and to How into the course of the Earn, leaving its former channel bare, and detracting from the Inches their pristine insular character. Another result has been, that the Tay now appears to flow into the Earn as a tributary, instead of sustaining its real character as a principal. Wild and improbable as this story may appear, it is borne partly out by local facts. It is the opinion of the present writers that the whole of that district of country, or space forming the beds of the Tay and Earn, with the carses on their banks, from that part of the Tay where it becomes shallow, a few miles above Dundee, to the eminences which bound the Carse of Strathearn on the west, was, at an early period, one immense lagoon, or jungle, such as is now seen on the continent of America, wherein was a trackless labyrinth of watercourses, pools, brushwood, and forest trees. How

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