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ther in houses or in the highwayes; so that no man maye passe saifly from house to house; and their insolencie in the houses where they are quartered fills poor women and children with terror, and both men and women with great vexation. They make also excursions in tens and twelves upon other places, and specially under cloud of night, and break into houses with bended pistols and naked swords, cursing and swearing that they shall burne and kill if all be not readily given that they demand. I hear not yet of any killed by them, but severals are grievously wounded and beaten; and in effect, the poor people's lives, goods, and chastities, are exposed to the cruelty of these strange locusts. Many of the countrey people have left and abandoned their houses and all to their mercy. The other day I heard, that, at the burying of a child, the burial company was assaulted by some of these ruffians; and, after a great scuffle, the mortcloth was robbed off the coffine, and that notwithstanding all that their officers could do to hinder or recover it. They tell me also, that some of these savages, not knowing what the coffine meaned, as being a thing with them not usual, would have broken it open and searched it, if not restrained by their neighbours. In some places they beginne to exact money over and above their victuals, and also to make the people pay for dry quarters (that is, for men that they have not), and for assistant quarters (that is, where they contract and make the places they leave free pay in money, and yet the places that they lye upon do really maintain all.) I am furder told, that evil company is like to corrupt good manners; and that even many of the militia forces and Perthshire gentlemen beginne to take free quarters. But it is like that a little more time with our march westward will furnish much more matter of this kind; for the marches are indeed the sorest and most afflicting to the poor people, seeing that partly for the service, partly under pretence thereof, horses are forced, and many of them not restored; as likewise there is little order kept in the march, but they run out and spread themselves over the countrey and catch all that they can lay hold upon; for in these occasions, whatever thing they can get is clear prey, without any fear And yet all these are
said to be but whips, wherewith this country is scourged, in respect of the scorpions intended for Ayrshire; and some of the committee being spoke to about the abuse of free quarters, said, that the quarters now taken were but transient quarters, but after the returns made about the Band, there would be destructive quarters ordered against its refuisers. Yet I would not have you think that all those Highlanders behave after the same manner. No, there is a difference both among the men and leaders. And the M. of Athol's men are generally commended both as the best appointed and best behaved. Neither do I hear of any great hurt as yet done by the E. of Murray's men in Cathcart parish: but all of them take free quarters, and that at their own discretion. forces have hitherto carried pretty regularly, and appear very ready on all occasions to restraine and correct the Highlanders' insolencies, of which I could give you several instances; but when these men, who were lately this people's only persecutors, are now commended by them for sobrietie, and in effect are looked on by many of them as their guardians and protectors, you may easily judge what is the others' deportment. Feb. 1, 1678.
(Woodrow MSS. 4to. vol. xcix. 29.)
From "A Mock Poem upon the Expe
dition of the Highland Host; by COL. CLELAND. Edit. 1697.
WHEN this was done their ranks were broken;
Some to her mother and her daddie,
THE DESOLATE VILLAGE.
SWEET Village! on thy pastoral hill
"Tis not the Day to Scotia dear,
Profound as fills the house of prayer,
That thought is gone!the Village still
Is this the Day when to the mountains
And bathe in sparkling pools and fountains
Till far behind their town doth stand,
What if these homes be filled with life?
All nature sinks opprest,-
Yet let the soul think what it will,
Like a church-yard when a friend is dying,
Sweet Woodburn! like a cloud that name
Of uncomplaining lifelessness,
On the troops of silent shades that press Into the church-yard's cold recess, From that region of delight.
Last summer, from the school-house door,
Like small waves racing on the shore,
And still the green is bright with flowers,
On a sudden wafted by,
Obedient to the changeful air,
But where is the tiny hunter-rout
Alas! the fearless linnet sings,
As she was wont at eve, should go-
She stands a while-then sad and slow
Of many a loudly-laughing ring
On-on-through woful images
Death in each drooping flower she sees :
-So high upon the slender bough
The few sheep wandering by the brook
Tossing the long hair from their eyes→→→
From human let their course is free-
Invites the zephyr's breath
And the beggar far away doth roam,
His penury to death.
On that green hedge a scattered row
Now weather-stained-once white as snow-
O blest are ye! unthinking creatures!
What is it to that lovely sky
On the grave where human forms decay,
As o'er the dewy turf of Morn, Where the virgin, like a woodland Fa On wings of joy was borne.
Even now a soft and silvery haze Hill-Village-Tree-is steeping In the loveliness of happier days, Ere rose the voice of weeping! When incense-fires from every hearth To heaven stole beautiful from earth.
Sweet Spire! that crown'st the house of God! To thee my spirit turns,
While through a cloud the softened light On thy yellow dial burns.
Ah, me! my bosom inly bleeds
To see the deep-worn path that leads
In silent blackness it doth tell
Hath o'er the village toll'd its knell,
Oft, wandering by myself at night,
For yon sweet Manse now empty stands,*
Be e'er held up in prayer.
REVIEW OF NEW PUBLICATIONS.
A Series of Discourses on the Christian Revelation, viewed in Connexion with the Modern Astronomy. By THOMAS CHALMERS, D. D. 8vo. pp. 275. Third edition. Glasgow, Smith & Son; Edinburgh, William Whyte; 1817.
ONE of the worst features of the
present times is the separation that has taken place between science and religion. During the early part of the history of English literature, we find great talents combined with a sublime piety, and the most enlightened philosophy with a fervent and glowing devotion; and they who explained to us the system of nature, defended the cause, and venerated the authority, of revelation. The piety of Milton, of Boyle, and of Newton, was not less remarkable than the superiority of their other endowments; and it will ever be regarded as a striking circumstance, that those giant minds, who have exalted the glory of English literature above that of all other nations, and whom we are accustomed to consider as an honour to the species itself, were distinguished above all other men for their habitual and solemn veneration of religion.
Since the age of these distinguished writers the connexion between science and religion seems gradually to have been becoming less intimate. We are unwilling to arrange ourselves with those gloomy individuals who are found in every age to declaim against the peculiar depravity of their own times; but it is impossible not to see, that the profound reverence for sacred things, which distinguished the illustrious characters of a former age, is not now the characteristic of those by whom science is promoted, and knowledge extended. An enlarged acquaintance with the works of nature is no longer the assured token of that deep-toned and solemn piety, which elevated the character, and purified the manners, of the fathers of our philosophy. Science is now seen without religion, and religion without science; and the consequence is, that the sacred system of revelation, however VOL. I.
magnificent and beautiful in itself, is in danger of being considered as fitted only to be the creed of less enlightened minds, and of failing in some measure, from this unfortunate opinion, to produce those important effects upon mankind, for the accomplishment of which it is so pre-eminently adapted.
The volume before us is calculat ed, we think, in no common degree, to counteract this unhappy declension. It is written with an enthu siasm, and an eloquence, to which we scarcely know where to find any parallel; and there is, at the same time, so constant a reference to the improved philosophy of modern times, that it possesses an air of philo sophical grandeur and truth, which the productions of a more popular and declamatory eloquence can never attain. Were the taste of the author equal to his genius, and his judgment always sufficient to control the fervours of his imagination, the labours of Dr Chalmers could not fail to be infinitely beneficial. But here lies our author's
chief deficiency. His genius is of the kind that is marked by its peculiarities as much as by its superiority; and this circumstance, we think, is the more to be regretted, as there is manifestly no necessary connexion between the excellencies and defects by which his works are characterised. The natural relations of the intellectual powers might have been more correctly maintained in his mind, while all his faculties continued to be exerted with the same constancy and vigour,and the same originality and invention might have been combined with greater dignity, and more uniform elegance.-We have therefore but a short process to institute, in order to admit our readers into a knowledge of the character of our author's mind. In our intercourse with the world, we often meet with persons in whom what we call genius predominates over every other feature; and who, though not superior to their fellows in taste, judgment, or understanding, are yet infinitely superior to them in the capacity of forming striking combinations of ideas, or in the endowments of an excur